The Italian Billionaire's Secretary Mistress

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Having a good time?’ he murmured as he pulled her against him, splaying his fingers over the buttery satin of her dress.

  It wasn’t her role to spoil his fun and to tell him that she thought this was the strangest atmosphere she’d ever encountered at a pre-wedding party. And besides, those thoughts were fading from her mind already—eclipsed by the sheer pleasure of being in his arms again.

  As they danced, sensations began to bombard her—wearing down a resistance which was already thin. She was aware of his own particular musky scent and the now familiar feel of his hard body against hers. Angie certainly wasn’t an accomplished dancer, but she didn’t need to be because Riccardo was guiding her around the dance-floor with a sure touch which made her feel positively graceful.

  ‘Mmm?’ he prompted, his lips close to her ears.

  ‘I’m…I’m having a great time,’ she answered truthfully, because in that moment she couldn’t think of a place she’d rather be.

  ‘Me, too.’ Tightening his hands around her waist, he looked down into her flushed face. Saw the way that her lips had parted. Noted the tiny pulse which hammered at the base of her throat. And suddenly he wanted to kiss her. Damn the ballroom, he thought. And damn the guests with their quick and curious eyes. Riccardo swallowed, pulling her even closer—wanting to demonstrate just how aroused she had made him. ‘I may just take you out for the day tomorrow,’ he added. ‘If you’re lucky.’

  Angie’s heart missed a beat. If you’re lucky.

  Maybe the words weren’t intended to be patronizing, but that was how they came across—or maybe it was because they were accompanied by the shameless thrust of his pelvis, so that she could feel the hard heat at the very cradle of him. It was nothing but a silent and arrogant sexual boast and it seemed to mock at her own romantic interpretation of the dance, making her feel stupid. Angie pulled back, ignoring the screaming objection of her body. ‘Sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to work tomorrow.’

  He stared at her blankly. ‘Work?’

  ‘That’s what you supplied the laptop for, remember?’

  He was in such a state of frustrated desire that she might as well have been speaking in Greek for all the sense he made of her words until his head cleared. ‘But you did that work this afternoon,’ he said quickly.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  Angie allowed herself a serene smile. ‘No. I took a long bath and read a book instead, actually.’

  A pulse began to flicker at his temple. Was this the beginning of rebellion—of Angie abusing her position simply because they’d become lovers? Why, in all the years of working for him she had never refused to carry out one of his orders. ‘That’s not what I wanted,’ he snapped.

  ‘Well, it’s what I wanted,’ she returned.

  ‘But I’m paying you to do what I want,’ he reminded her with silken cruelty.

  ‘No, you pay me to support you in a secretarial role.’ The words came out in a breathless rush, fuelled by a fury at what he’d just said and suddenly Angie didn’t care that they were in the middle of the dance-floor. Because wasn’t this long overdue? ‘Don’t you think I’ve done enough out-of-hours for you over the years to recognise when I deserve some time off, Riccardo? If you trust me enough to make me privy to all your confidential business dealings—then you should credit me with the judgement to decide when I want to ease off!’

  There was a stunned kind of silence for a moment, and then he smiled. ‘Oh, cara,’ he murmured. ‘Your insubordination is such a turn-on that I can hardly wait until I get you into bed again. If only I’d realised that I had such a little wildcat hiding away all these years.’

  ‘Well, you’re the one who’s made me into a wildcat,’ she returned, without thinking.

  ‘Am I really? Then at least I have something to be grateful for.’ Trickling his thumb down over her hips in what felt like a proprietorial marking of his territory, he bent his mouth to her ear. ‘But you will forgive me if I leave you now. Much more of this on the dance-floor and I shall be dragging you off to the nearest alcove to peel off your panties and that really wouldn’t do, would it?’

  And without another word, he turned and walked away and Angie was left staring after him with flaming cheeks and a hammering heart. Had he meant to drive home that her impact on him was purely physical? She felt faint, dizzy, and wondered how soon she could decently slip away from here—away from the eyes which she sensed were looking at her with open curiosity.

  Distractedly, she went to the side of the ballroom and was just thinking about making her escape when she felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned to see Floriana standing there.

  Up close, her mannequin-like appearance was even more apparent and Angie thought that the girl’s lips looked positively bloodless. Pushing thoughts of Riccardo out of her mind, Angie forced a smile. ‘Lovely party,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’ But Floriana’s smile didn’t meet her eyes. ‘Angie, would you like to come and see my wedding dress?’

  ‘Me?’ questioned Angie in surprise.

  ‘Please. You’d like to, wouldn’t you? I thought that all women liked wedding dresses.’

  Telling herself she should feel flattered, Angie nodded. ‘Of course. I’d love to.’

  ‘Then come with me—but let’s be quick,’ the Italian girl urged. ‘Before Romano accuses me of neglecting my guests.’ Linking their arms as if they’d been lifelong friends, Floriana led her along one of the long corridors alongside the ballroom and which led to yet another staircase. At the top of the stairs was Floriana’s bedroom and as she pushed open the door Angie could see the gleam of ivory satin beneath Chantilly lace.

  ‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ she exclaimed, walking over to where the gown hung, marvelling at the delicate fabric and thinking that this was the kind of wedding dress that little girls sometimes dreamed of. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ said Floriana, but her voice was flat as she shut the door and Angie turned round, her eyes narrowing with concern.

  ‘Floriana, is…is something wrong?’

  There was a pause as the girl raked long olive fingers through her fringe, dislodging a diamond pin in the process but ignoring it as the precious clip clattered to the floor. And eventually, like someone who had finally thrown in the towel, she nodded. ‘I can’t marry Aldo,’ she breathed. ‘I just can’t do it!’

  Realising that the girl was trembling, Angie walked over to her and put her arm round her shoulders, thinking how bony and birdlike they felt. ‘Listen—every bride gets nerves,’ she soothed, realising that she was echoing what Riccardo had told her. And you didn’t believe him, did you? ‘It’s perfectly natural.’

  ‘No!’ Distractedly, Floriana moved away. ‘It isn’t that, believe me. People keep telling me it’s nerves, but it’s not. I’ve allowed myself to get into a situation which should never have happened. I feel as if I’ve sleepwalked my way into a nightmare. Angie, I can’t go through with it!’

  Angie stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘But why are you telling me all this?’

  Dark brown eyes were fixed on her unwaveringly. ‘Because you are an outsider.’

  Angie flinched.

  ‘And you must be a sensible woman to have been employed by Riccardo for all these years. You will not tell me what you think I should hear. You will tell me what I must do.’

  ‘That’s too big a responsibility,’ Angie protested, shaking her head.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘What about your brothers?’ questioned Angie. ‘Can’t you confide your fears in them?’

  ‘In them? You have to be joking. They are so keen for this marriage that I suspect they would march me down the aisle!’ said Floriana bitterly. ‘They are nothing but tyrants!’

  There was a long pause while Angie considered what to say. But Angie knew she couldn’t look into the frightened eyes of a woman panicking on almost the eve of her wedding, and pretend that everything would be all
right in the morning.

  ‘And does Aldo—the Duca—does he know how you feel?’

  ‘I’ve tried speaking to him but he will not listen,’ whispered Floriana. ‘His mind is set on this wedding. He would never allow it to be cancelled. Every time I say something it is as if I have not spoken at all. For I am his trophy bride—his innocent virgin—or so he thinks.’

  Angie’s eyes narrowed with comprehension as she realised what Floriana had just told and its possible implications for the future. Was purity an essential factor in this marriage? Remembering what Riccardo had said about his own desire to marry a virgin, she supposed it was.

  ‘Are you afraid to go through with the wedding because you think that your sexual experience will disappoint your husband—is that it, Floriana? Because I’m sure if you explained—’

  ‘No.’ Floriana’s stark word interrupted her. ‘That is not the reason why. The reason is much more simple that that, Angie—you see…’ She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘I simply do not love him—not the way a woman should love the man she is about to marry.’

  For a moment Angie said nothing—because what could she say? And yet—did the words come as a great surprise to her? No, of course not. You would need to be blind not to have noticed the lack of chemistry between the engaged couple. Gently, she placed her hand on the girl’s arm. ‘Then you must have the courage to tell him that,’ she whispered. ‘You must.’

  Leaving Floriana sitting on the bed, Angie somehow managed to find her way back to her own bedroom without having to return to the party. Stripping off the red gown, she washed off all her make-up before climbing into bed, bone-tired now, the comfort of the soft bed soothing her troubled senses as she lay there worrying about the outcome of Floriana’s revelation.

  Should she tell Riccardo? As she lay there in the darkness Floriana’s disconcerting words came flooding back to her. ‘They are so keen for this marriage that I suspect they would march me down the aisle!’

  Would he really go that far? Somehow she doubted it. But would Romano?

  Her mind buzzed uncomfortably but the long and emotional day had worn her out and she must have dozed off, because when she awoke it was to the sensation of a warm, naked male getting into bed beside her and then a mouth edging luxuriously over her breast.

  ‘Riccardo?’ she murmured sleepily.

  ‘Why, were you expecting someone else?’

  ‘I…oh!’

  ‘Oh, what, piccola?’

  ‘I must…’ Struggling against the blissful sensation of his tongue trailing a warm, sensual path over her bare skin, Angie’s hands moved up to his shoulders. ‘Riccardo—I must talk to you.’

  ‘Not now.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I said, not now,’ he growled. ‘I have been wanting to do this all night.’

  She told herself that there was no point in bringing up a contentious subject when it was past midnight and nothing could possibly be done. That she would tell him in the morning—in the cold clear light of day. But wasn’t some of her reasoning bound up in the fact that he was now kissing her, and she couldn’t prevent herself from sinking into that kiss? So that he became the central focus of her world and in that moment nothing outside it existed?

  Dreamily, Angie tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back as he began to make slow, sweet love to her—the feel of his body deep inside hers washing away everything except pleasure itself. Afterwards their lips stayed touching—locked in a lazy kind of kiss—and with a jolt Riccardo remembered back to earlier, when they were dancing. Thinking just how much he wanted to kiss her. Kiss her? In the darkness, his eyes snapped open. This was getting dangerous. Crazy.

  Beside him, Angie stirred, murmuring her way into sleep, but Riccardo’s eyes stayed open—he knew that he must leave the warm comfort of her bed before he was tempted into staying all night. And it wasn’t just the thought of the servants’ gossip, but his own reluctance to wake up beside her which made him wait until he was certain she was asleep. Then he pushed aside the covers and dressed in the inhospitable darkness.

  It was icy-cold as he made his way to his own room, where he slept fitfully, waking to the sound of loud banging, which he thought was all part of the strange, Angie-fuelled dream he’d been having—and it took him a moment to realise that someone was at his door and it was morning.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ he raged.

  Romano appeared in the doorway, still buttoning up his jeans, his face a study in anger as he shot out a few terse Italian sentences at his brother, and minutes later Riccardo was dressed and storming through the castle towards Angie’s room.

  She was clearly fresh out of the shower—wrapped in a towel with her hair all wet—and sitting by the window reading a book with that innocent look which belied her bedroom antics. He felt the heavy twist of lust and anger.

  ‘Riccardo!’ she exclaimed when she saw the look of dark fury on his features. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘You tell me,’ he snapped. ‘Exactly what do you know about my sister’s disappearance?’

  ‘Her disappearance?’ The book slid from her fingers and Angie stood up, her heart pounding so loudly she felt as if it would deafen her. ‘Why, what’s happened?’

  ‘That,’ Riccardo said grimly, ‘is what I intend to find out. My brother tells me that you and Floriana were seen leaving the party last night. What the hell did she say to you?’

  Angie swallowed. She should have told him last night. She should have done. ‘That she couldn’t bear to go through with the wedding. And that…that she didn’t love Aldo.’

  ‘So she confided in you?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose she did.’

  ‘Why you—a stranger?’

  She stared at him. How much of the truth could he take? she wondered. ‘Maybe because she felt that nobody else would listen,’ she whispered.

  His face remained cold and obdurate. ‘So what did you say?’

  The question whipped out like the accusation it was clearly intended to be and Angie realised that Riccardo was not interested in home-truths. It was facts he wanted and facts he could deal with, not emotions. Ignoring the look of disdain which iced from his eyes, she forced herself to concentrate, telling herself that she would not let him intimidate her.

  ‘I told her that it was better she speak to Aldo. To sort it all out with him. Has she done that?’

  ‘Has she done that?’ He gave a bitter kind of laugh. ‘No, Angie, she has not done that. What she has done is to have left a note which currently has my mother in hysterics and the castle in chaos. And she’s taken her damned passport and is on her way to England with that dumb bridesmaid of hers unless Romano and I can stop them!’

  Angie’s fingers flew to her lips. ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘Didn’t you realise that my sister has a history of this kind of behaviour? That there was a man in her past—some Englishman she thought she was in love with when she was at school. Who has now reappeared on the scene and made my crazy sister believe that she still loves him?’

  ‘N-no. I…of course I didn’t.’ Angie met the fury in his black eyes. ‘But that shouldn’t make any difference, Riccardo. It’s still her life. She’s old enough to make her own mistakes—if that’s what it is—and it isn’t necessarily a mistake just because you don’t happen to agree with it! You can’t force her to behave how you want her to behave!’

  ‘Didn’t you think—?’ He took a step forward and saw her bite her lip, but he was so angry that he couldn’t think straight. ‘Didn’t you think that it might have been an idea to speak to me about it?’

  ‘I was going to tell you—’

  ‘But just not last night, hmm?’

  ‘It was late. You were tired.’

  ‘And you, cara, just couldn’t wait to get me to…’

  He said something in Italian which Angie didn’t understand, but she didn’t need to be a linguist to comprehend its crude meaning.

  ‘All you we
re thinking about was your own damned pleasure!’ he finished witheringly, and saw her flinch.

  ‘Actually, I was going to tell you—only you slipped from my bed in the night, like a thief!’ she retorted. ‘But now when I stop to think about it—what good could you have done, Riccardo? Because when a girl like Floriana is in some kind of turmoil, why try to involve someone like you—who has the emotional capacity of a gnat?’

  His fists clenched. ‘How dare you speak to me in this manner?’ he hissed.

  ‘And don’t you dare pull rank on me at a time like this!’ she stormed back. ‘Either Floriana is old enough to be married, or she isn’t. And if she is—then she has to learn to stand on her own two feet and not take advice from her two brothers who are treating her like some kind of puppet simply because they like to control the world and the people in it!’

  Riccardo’s nostrils flared in aristocratic disdain. ‘That is enough,’ he grated. ‘You know nothing of these matters, Angie—you are a member of my staff who is here as my guest.’

  ‘Not any more, I’m not. I resign as of now!’

  His black eyes were cold. ‘You’d better get your stuff packed and I’ll have someone drive you to the airport. The place is in chaos and there’s no point in you staying.’

  Angie swallowed down the great lump which had lodged itself in her throat. ‘I’ll have my desk cleared by the time you get back to London.’

  At this, he stilled—and pushed his face a little closer to hers, noting with some masochistic kind of satisfaction that her eyes automatically darkened. ‘Spare me the melodrama, cara. You will clear your desk when I tell you to,’ he bit out.

  ‘But you said…’ Her breathing coming in short, painful puffs of air, she stared at him. ‘You said I could leave straight away with six months pay if I came out to Tuscany with you,’ she whispered.