Rival Attractions & Innocent Secretary...Accidentally Pregnant

by Penny Jordan

  ‘I’ve done everything the wrong way round. I wanted to do this slowly, properly—to win your confidence and then your love.’

  ‘And that’s why you plied me with champagne and made love to me?’ she asked shakily. A tender hope was growing quickly inside her.

  ‘That wasn’t my intention. Oh, I wanted to make love to you all right. But I wasn’t going to—at least, only a little, but then you looked at me and asked me if I wanted to, and all I’d been able to think about all day was the sight of you in that damned flimsy cotton thing, and—Oh, God, Charlotte, how you could ever for one moment have imagined that you lacked sex appeal, I have no idea. You were the sexiest sight I have ever seen, all the more so because you yourself were so deliciously unaware of the effect you were having on me. Every time I saw you, I had to fight to keep my hands off you.’

  ‘But no man has ever—’

  ‘Because you wouldn’t let them see what you were really like. Because you froze them off and they, poor fools, couldn’t see the real woman you were concealing behind those barriers you used so effectively.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ Charlotte told him in a low voice, and he knew she wasn’t referring to him.

  ‘He was sick,’ he told her rawly. ‘You must never think that it was something you said or did. It was because of his wife.’

  ‘I know,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘Oh, God, I was so frightened.’ Suddenly it all came pouring out, a catharsis of what she had experienced, her need to share it with him so intense that nothing could dam up the words. ‘And do you know what I thought when I felt it was unavoidable that he would rape and probably murder me?’

  Oliver shook his head, aching to hold her as tightly as he could, but terrified of hurting her…or frightening her.

  ‘I was glad that there’d been you,’ she told him simply. ‘So very glad and grateful, because you’d shown me such pleasure, such…’

  ‘Such love,’ he said for her. His throat felt raw with emotion, and when he wrapped her in his arms he knew she would feel his tears against her skin. ‘Oh, God, Charlotte. I’ve been cursing myself to hell and back for that, loathing myself for not having the self-control to wait, to talk to you, to tell you how I felt about you first. I did everything wrong. I wanted to be with you when you woke up, but those damned workmen were there. And then you were so sick; you looked so ill. I thought I’d drive into town and get you something from the chemist. It never occurred to me that you’d just go straight to work.’

  ‘I had to. I thought you were going to say the usual thing about its being something we should both forget, that we should behave like adults.’

  ‘Is that the usual thing?’

  She could hear the amusement in his voice and said defensively, ‘Well, you know what I mean. I didn’t dare hope that you might love me. You see, all my life my father let me know how unsatisfactory he found me as a daughter…as a woman—’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Oliver interrupted her gently. ‘Sheila told me. Parents can do such appalling damage to their children, but you are a woman, Charlotte—the only woman, as far as I’m concerned. A very, very desirable and desired woman, whom I love very much. If you can love me too, that’s all I ask. This experience you’ve had…traumatic for any woman—’

  She knew what he was going to say and gently shook her head.

  ‘No. It was frightening, terrifyingly so, but luckily you came in time, before he could do anything more than simply tell me what he wanted to do to me, and somehow I think the knowledge of what I’d shared with you isolated me from the real horror of it. It was as though nothing he could say or do to me could come between me and the memories you’d given me. I’m not afraid to make love again, Oliver,’ she told him gravely, and then froze as he said wryly,

  ‘I am.’

  He saw from her face that she had misunderstood him, and cursed her father silently. How long would it be before she accepted that she was desirable in every single sense of the word?

  ‘I don’t want our first child to be conceived outside our marriage,’ he told her firmly, ‘and I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to to make you my wife. Will you marry me, my darling?’

  * * *

  Sheila was delighted when they told her, as much by Charlotte’s unexpected and heartwarmingly open admission that, since Oliver refused to make love to her until they were married, she wanted the ceremony to take place just as soon as it could be arranged, as by the actual announcement of their engagement.

  ‘Of course, you know the only reason he’s marrying me is so that he can get his hands on the business,’ she teased.

  They would merge the two businesses, of course; she would continue to work—for the time being at least. She had found she was daydreaming increasingly frequently of those two dark-blue-eyed children.

  Since neither of them had any close family, the ceremony they planned was to be a quiet, simple one, which was what they both wanted.

  The day before they were due to be married, Oliver returned home late in the afternoon and found Charlotte sitting in the orchard under the old apple tree. She was almost asleep, and, when she opened her eyes and saw him, she smiled lazily at him.

  ‘I was just daydreaming about how I felt when you made love to me here.’ She saw the way his eyes darkened, and laughed softly. ‘You were the one who imposed the ban,’ she reminded him, and then whispered wickedly, ‘We’re going to be married tomorrow—in less than twenty-four hours.’ She patted the grass beside her coaxingly and heard him groan.

  There was laughter in her eyes as well as desire as he came down beside her and she whispered in his ear, ‘Thank goodness for that. For a moment I thought I was going to have to resort to this.’

  Behind her, nestling in the grass, was a bottle of champagne with two glasses.

  Oliver laughed with her as he rolled her beneath him but, when he kissed her, for both of them the laughter was stilled.

  ‘This is when we make our vows to one another,’ Charlotte told him huskily. ‘This is when we make the promises that we’ll never break. Make love to me, Oliver.’

  ‘All the days of my life,’ he promised huskily. ‘All the days of my life.’

  * * * * *

  Innocent Secretary…Accidentally Pregnant

  Carol Marinelli

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER ONE

  EMMA had been honest—had even admitted during her telephone interview that she was attending night school on a Wednesday night and studying art and that in a couple of years she was hoping to pursue it full-time.

  Everything had gone really well, until the second Evelyn had walked out to greet Emma—and Emma truly didn’t understand why.

  She’d prepared so carefully for the interview. Reading everything she could get her hands on about D’Amato Financiers—about their spectacular rise, even in gloomy times. Luca D’Amato had a no-nonsense attitude—there was no secret formula to his success, she had read in a rare interview he had given—just sound decisions and fiscal transparency and the refusal to be swayed by hype. Yes, she’d read up on him and then gone through her favourite glossy magazines and followed every last piece of advice in preparation for this afternoon.

  Emma had scoured the second-hand shops and found a stunning—if just a touch tight for her well-rounded figure—pale lilac linen designer suit, had had her thick brown ringlets blowdried straight and smoothed up into a smart French roll, and, horri
bly broke, she had, on the afternoon of her interview, as one magazine had cheekily advised, gone to the make-up counter at a department store and pretended that she was a bride-to-be and trying out looks for her wedding day.

  Her brothers had always teased her about her obsession with magazines and her father had moaned about how many she had bought, but they had been her lifeline. Growing up without a mother, living in a rough-and-tumble house that the little girls she’d invited to come over and play had never returned to, Emma had lived her childhood and teenage years reading the glossies for advice, about friends and bullying and boys. It was the magazines that had taught her about deodorant and kisses and bras. The magazines she had turned to when at twelve she had been teased for having hairy legs. And though her devotion to them had waned somewhat, at the ripe age of twenty-four it had been the magazines she had immediately turned to for makeup and grooming tips to land her dream job.

  She looked fantastic, just the image she had been hoping to achieve—smart, sassy, groomed—exactly the right look for a modern working girl in the city.

  Evelyn clearly didn’t agree.

  Her interviewer was dressed in a stern grey suit, with black flat shoes. Her fine blonde hair was cut into a neat, practical bob and she wore just a reluctant sliver of coral lipstick. The antithesis, in fact, of the look Emma had been trying to achieve!

  * * *

  ‘And Mr D’Amato would also prefer someone who speaks Japanese…’ Evelyn continued.

  ‘It didn’t say that in the advertisement,’ Emma pointed out. ‘And you didn’t mention it when we spoke on the telephone.’

  ‘Luca—I mean Mr D’Amato—does not like to put too many specifications in the advertisements for one reason, and I rather agree…’ she gave a small sniff ‘…that when the right person appears, we know.’

  Well, there wasn’t much Emma could say to that—clearly at first glance it had been decided that she wasn’t the right person for the job.

  Only…

  Now, even though it had been an impossible dream, now that she had glimpsed it, Emma wanted it.

  The salary was to die for—her family home, despite months on the market, hadn’t sold and the nursing-home fees were piling up. Evelyn had explained during their initial telephone interview that Luca’s staff burnt out quickly. He was a demanding boss, expecting complete devotion, and that this job and the travel would literally overtake her life, but that suited Emma just fine.

  One year working hard and she could meet the nursing-home fees. Surely in that time the house would sell and pay off the backlog of debt? One year, burning herself out, and she would finally be free—free to pursue her dreams, free to live the life that had so far been denied her.

  And now that glimmer of hope was rapidly being taken away. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’ Evelyn gave a thin attempt at a smile ‘…I have an important phone call to make.’

  Well, at least Evelyn hadn’t kept her guessing, at least she wouldn’t be checking her phone every five minutes, or dashing to get the mail.

  It couldn’t have been made any clearer—she wasn’t wanted.

  ‘Well, thank you for seeing me…’ She should just stand and go, shake Evelyn’s hand and leave, except, inexplicably, she was dragging it out and for some stupid, stupid reason tears were threatening as yet another door closed on her push for a better future. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  It was her horoscope’s fault, Emma told herself as Evelyn scribbled a note on her carefully prepared CV.

  It had told her to go for it, reminded her that you have to be in it to win it. Told her that Jupiter and Mars had moved into her tenth house, which assured success in her career…

  Stupid horoscopes, Emma thought as she went to retrieve her handbag. She didn’t believe them anyway.

  And then in he walked.

  And the room went black.

  Well, it didn’t go black, but it might as well have, because he was all she could see.

  Dressed in a tuxedo at four p.m., he strode over. Evelyn stood up, knotting his bow-tie as she gave him, in a couple of minutes, what seemed like a month’s worth of messages, and all in a language that was foreign to Emma.

  ‘Mr Hirosiko wants an “in person” next week.’

  ‘No,’ came his bored response.

  ‘Kasumi was insistent.’

  ‘He can have a face-to-face.

  ‘And your sister rang, upset…she wants you there for the entire weekend.’

  ‘Tell her that given that I’m paying for the entire weekend…’ he had a thick, deep, Italian accent and Emma felt her toes curl ‘…I can choose my schedule.’ His eyes drifted around the room as Evelyn dealt with his cufflinks and then he gave Emma a bored glance that changed midway and utter disinterest shifted slightly.

  He deigned to give her a second look, and it was one she recognised well. It was the same look her father and brothers had used on unsuspecting women—at the petrol station, the supermarket, school concerts, the pub, oh, anywhere…

  It was a look that to Emma screamed danger.

  Six feet two with eyes of navy blue, Luca D’Amato might just as well have had the word danger stamped on his smooth forehead. Jet-black hair was slicked back, but a thick, raven lock escaped as Evelyn declared him officially knotted, and with one manicured hand he raked it back through his hair and it fell into effortless shape. Oh, she’d seen photos of him, had known that he was good-looking, but a grainy newspaper photo didn’t do him justice, could never capture the essence of him, just the shocking presence of him. A scar ran the length of his left cheekbone, but that one imperfection merely enhanced his general faultlessness.

  ‘We haven’t been introduced.’ Full, sensual lips curved into a smile as he turned come-to-bed eyes on her, his deep, accented voice for her ears now. ‘This is…?’

  Emma was struggling to find her voice, but Evelyn did it for her. ‘Emma Stephenson.’ Evelyn looked as if she were sucking lemons, and it dawned on Emma then that the real reason she hadn’t got the job was perhaps that Evelyn had been hoping for someone plainer, dowdier, older, bigger…in fact, someone who would withstand Luca’s charm. Well, she needn’t have worried. Emma could handle Luca’s sort with her hands tied behind her back—she’d grown up surrounded by them! ‘We were just concluding the interview.’

  ‘For the assistant PA job?’ Luca checked, holding his hand out, and, because it was the polite thing to do, Emma shook it, feeling his warm fingers close around hers. Then she looked up as he voiced what she was thinking. ‘But I’ve got a cold heart!’ He winked at her.

  ‘I’m sure you do!’ Emma retorted. He was shameless, utterly shameless, and Evelyn was welcome to him. ‘Well, again,’ Emma said, coolly walking to the door, absolutely refusing to be rattled, ‘thank you for your time.’

  She walked out into the foyer, took the lift and only as she went to sign out did she realise that she’d forgotten her bag. That, despite appearances, despite appearing utterly and completely unruffled by his stunning presence, one glimpse of Luca D’Amato and her stomach was in knots. He was devastatingly handsome, with eyes that stripped, undressed and bedded you in a matter of seconds, and she had deliberately not returned the favour.

  Emma headed back up in the elevator, moving to step out, only he was stepping in…

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again.’ He didn’t move to let her pass him, his broad frame barring the exit, just slightly, and there was this offer of conversation that Emma didn’t want to take up. ‘I hear the interview didn’t go too well.’

  ‘It didn’t.’

  ‘Shame.’

  How loaded with meaning was that single word, and Emma swallowed hard before speaking. ‘I forgot my bag, I’m just going to get it,’ she offered by way of explanation and as the lift door started to close she pressed the button to open it. There was this pang, this twinge, this snapping almost, this ending that she didn’t want to happen, because he really was divine, and she wished for just a fleeti
ng second that she had the looks, the confidence, the experience to allow him to pursue her.

  But she didn’t.

  ‘Going down?’She pressed the ‘hold’ button for him, and he stood back as she stepped out and she caught the heavy scent of him, just the brush of his expensive suit as she passed by.

  ‘No, up.’ He grinned. ‘To the roof.’

  ‘Things that bad, then?’ Emma called over her shoulder, safer now that the doors were closing, but he halted them with his hands.

  ‘Do you want to join me?’

  ‘I’m sure another job will come along,’ she replied, watching a slow smile spread on his face as he got her dry humour. ‘Things really are never that bad.’

  ‘I’m actually going to Paris.’

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Helipad’s on the roof.’

  ‘They usually are.’

  ‘Formal dinner, very boring, but maybe after… What are your plans?’

  ‘TV dinner, a rerun of my favourite murder mystery.’ Emma gave a sweet smile. ‘So there’s really no contest!’

  He really was smiling now, thinking he’d got his easy way, holding the lift and waiting for her to step inside. So, so arrogant, so, so assuming, he really thought he could just snap his manicured fingers and summon her—he only seemed to get the message when she opened the doors to his office suite, his rich, assured voice just a touch perplexed.

  ‘If you’re worried that you’ve nothing to wear…’

  ‘I’m not worried at all!’ Emma laughed, and she could be as rude as she liked, could tell him exactly where to go with his smutty offer because, after all, he wasn’t going to be her boss. ‘As I said, there’s really no contest!”

  As the lift doors closed on him and she walked over to Evelyn’s office, she was too irked to think before she knocked. Her hand rose, the door flung open and Emma stood there stunned as she took in the sight of Evelyn. The assured, pompous woman, who had dashed her hopes just a few moments before, was sobbing her heart out, first jumping up and shooing her out, appalled at being caught, then too upset to care.