by Annie West
‘No,’ Raffa croaked. ‘Nothing. I’m here for peace and quiet.’
Abruptly he levered himself up, barely acknowledging the other man’s babble about meeting soon for sundowners at his house.
Raffa nodded and strode away. He told himself his tactic to make Bradshaw sweat could only help negotiations. But the truth was he couldn’t stomach being within spitting distance of the man. He didn’t trust himself not to do him violence.
CHAPTER NINE
SEEING BRADSHAW LEFT a sour taste in Raffa’s mouth. He wanted this wrapped up. But after more long distance discussions with his legal team, he acknowledged there were still matters to be sorted before he brought Bradshaw to his knees. The delay rankled, but at least it had the bonus of making Bradshaw even more desperate.
When Lily knocked on his villa door for their early evening meeting, relief hit like the smack of an ocean wave. Raffa needed distraction from his circling thoughts but more, he’d wondered if she’d show after what had passed between them.
He couldn’t explain it but since seeing Bradshaw and that girl at the pool, Raffa had been unsettled, ridiculously on edge as emotions crowded close. Calm evaded him as if the thick skin he’d spent a lifetime nurturing had been scraped raw. He felt... He felt! And it wasn’t just hatred of Bradshaw.
He told himself he needed the distraction of work.
Yet Lily looked anything but professional in the clothes he’d chosen. An aqua scoop-necked top and wraparound skirt in aqua with a swirl of gold that fluttered enticingly around her legs. She hesitated in the doorway, giving him time to drink her in and to stifle the urge to haul her close. His gaze dipped briefly, taking in the ankle ties on the sandals that accentuated her sexy calves.
An appreciative smile curled inside him, a smile he repressed. She was skittish enough already. ‘You’re here. Good. We’ve a lot to get through.’
Predictably, instead of stiffening at his tone, Lily seemed reassured as she stepped over the threshold and onto the polished wood floor.
‘This is for you.’ She offered an envelope.
Her resignation? The idea tore his thoughts completely free of Bradshaw and business. His chest hollowed as he made himself reach for it, noting the way she relinquished it as soon as he grasped it.
Had he pushed her too far? She was like a porcupine, raising spiky quills if he got too near. Yet he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. If only he could entice her to let down her guard.
Mouth firm, Raffa tore open the envelope. ‘Money?’
‘For the clothes.’ Her voice was as tight as her shoulders.
Briefly Raffa considered admitting it had been pure pleasure choosing clothes for her, ones that suited her and made the most of her delectable body. That if he’d had his way he wouldn’t have stopped there. He’d have bought the ivory lace nightgown for starters. Just for the pleasure of seeing her in it, then peeling it away.
‘Consider it a business perk.’ He held the envelope out to her. ‘I insisted on bringing you here.’
She shook her head. For once there was no accompanying ripple of brown silk around her shoulders. She’d pinned her hair up again. Pinned it so tight it was a wonder she didn’t have a headache.
Definitely one for gestures, his piccola istrice. How sharp, he wondered, were her quills?
‘I buy my own clothes.’
‘Even if you didn’t choose them?’ If she’d had her way there’d have been more concealing shirts and baggy trousers.
‘I accepted them, therefore I pay.’ As she said it her hand rose to her neckline. A sign of nerves?
It struck him anew how difficult it must be for Lily to reveal herself like this. But he knew better than to show his thoughts, much less praise her courage.
‘Fine.’ He tossed the envelope onto the table where he’d drawn up two chairs. ‘Now, let’s get started. I want to go over every last detail. Nothing can be missed.’
* * *
As ever when they worked, time slid by unnoticed. Lily began to relax as Raffaele focused on business.
There were no kindling glances or personal comments. They were again boss and employee, or more precisely, colleagues. Raffaele recognised the expertise of his team and treated them with respect. Lily thrived on feeling appreciated.
‘When are you meeting Robert Bradshaw?’ They’d been at the resort two nights and she knew there’d been at least one invitation to dine at Bradshaw’s house on the far side of the island.
‘In good time.’ Raffa’s voice was brusque.
‘But isn’t that why you’re here?’ Raffaele had driven his team like the devil to prepare for this deal. He’d come here himself rather than delegate. ‘You’re deliberately delaying?’
One eyebrow rose. ‘The time’s not right. I’m waiting till he’s heard confirmation his play for more capital has failed. Then he’ll be more amenable to my terms.’
‘What if it doesn’t fail?’
‘Oh, it will.’ Raffa’s eyes flashed with an expression that unsettled, until Lily reminded herself they were discussing Robert Bradshaw.
She had no sympathy for the Englishman. Born with wealth, he’d squandered his fortune through excess. His few attempts at running any of the businesses he’d inherited had ended disastrously and now he teetered on the brink of ruin. Not that you’d know it from his lavish lifestyle.
‘You’re turning the screw?’
Raffa leaned back, linking his hands behind his head. The movement emphasised the heavy breadth of muscled shoulders and taut biceps beneath his casual shirt. Lily dragged her gaze to the old deeds she’d unearthed. But her breath came in shallow little bursts. She didn’t feel professional but dizzy and shamefully entranced.
How much longer could she pretend disinterest?
‘I’ve shown my hand by coming here. That’s enough. No point letting Bradshaw think he’ll get everything he wants.’ Venom dripped from Raffaele’s tone as he said the Englishman’s name, confirming her suspicion of bad blood between the men. Yet her searches had uncovered no link.
‘He’s desperate for a partner to put up cash to renovate the place. Even he recognises profits aren’t what they could be and it’s his last money-making asset.’
‘So the longer he waits, the more desperate he becomes.’
‘Unless he finds another partner. It’s a calculated risk not to rush in. The resort is an appealing investment.’
Lily nodded. It was like Paradise. She wouldn’t be surprised if at least one of the other companies she’d worked for, De Laurentis Enterprises, was interested.
‘But he wants you because you’ve got the golden touch.’ Raffaele’s hotels were a byword for discreet luxury that appealed to the seriously wealthy who sought respite from the paparazzi. And who had deep, deep pockets.
‘It seems a shame to change the place. It’s wonderful as it is.’ Her gaze drifted to the white curve of beach framed by lush gardens. To her surprise the bright sky had darkened to indigo, torches lighting the path through the trees. It was later than she’d thought.
‘It needs updating to attract the clientele Bradshaw wants.’
‘The way the poolside bar has been updated?’ Lily pursed her lips. While the rest of the resort had a graceful if slightly worn charm with plantation shutters, airy rooms and individual bungalows, the bar was sleek, black-tiled and ostentatiously modern with vivid neon light displays and uncomfortable, trendy metal chairs.
Raffaele’s lip curled. ‘Bradshaw’s one effort at updating the place. The man’s got no sense. The clientele he wants to attract can fly to New York or elsewhere if they want urban modern. They’ll come here for premium luxury and privacy. And to experience the Caribbean, its tastes and laid-back style.’
‘So what would you do? How would you change it?’
‘Reduce the number of bungalows for a start.’ He responded almost before she’d finished speaking. ‘Keep the best and get rid of the rest. People pay for the privilege of privacy. Remodel a
nd upgrade everything. Each villa would have its own pool, spa, butler and chef. Put in a truly fabulous restaurant on the hill featuring a new twist on traditional local flavours and produce. Bring in the absolute best in everything. Improve...’
‘What?’ She leaned across the table.
Abruptly Raffaele shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Bradshaw to accept my offer.’ His voice was harsh, his words clipped.
Lily sat back. It was stupid to feel rebuffed. She wouldn’t be involved when Raffaele put his plans into action. He had other staff for that. But she’d been caught up in his enthusiasm. His energy had drawn her, making her want more.
There was no more. Not with Raffaele. Not unless it was legwork for some other project.
She swallowed, realising it wasn’t even his vision for the resort that had held her spellbound. It was Raffaele. She’d never known a man so charismatic, so vital. If she reached out a hand towards him she knew she’d feel the buzz and zap of energy radiating from him.
Yet the desire to touch was more than that.
She wanted to touch him the way a woman touched her lover.
Lily stood. ‘It’s time I left.’
He stood when she did, his expression unreadable. ‘There’s no rush. I’ve ordered dinner to be served here.’
Dinner? With Raffaele?
Lily felt the punch of her heart against her ribs. She imagined them sitting, drinking in the view, sipping wine and feasting on seafood as they relaxed in each other’s company. He’d be charming and she’d be witty and insightful and when their gazes locked she’d read heat and hunger and—
‘We’ve finished for the day, haven’t we?’ Her voice was scratchy. Better that than needy, she told herself. Heat crept up her throat at the thoughts she’d harboured. ‘Unless there’s something else you wanted me to do.’ She made a production of gathering her gear.
‘There is, as it happens.’
Her head snapped up as those deep cadences wrapped around her. ‘Yes?’
‘I want you to dine with me.’
Lily blinked. ‘Why?’
‘I want your company.’
Her fingers curled around her laptop. She felt out of her depth.
The look he gave her, grave yet knowing, sent a wobble from her chest all the way to her knees. It was the sort of look she’d imagined a man gave a woman he was interested in. It made her pulse flutter in her throat as if she’d swallowed a swarm of bright island butterflies.
Lily had never received such a look before.
She didn’t know what to do with it.
Or with the hammering excitement within.
She swallowed hard. Clearly she was superimposing her secret cravings on him. Raffaele Petri had a host of beautiful women to choose from. It was laughable to think he could be attracted to her.
Beyond laughable. It was pathetic.
‘It’s time I went.’ Before she made a fool of herself.
‘You said that before.’ He crossed his arms over his chest and it struck her for the first time that he stood between her and the door.
Lily spread clammy hands on the table, hoping its solidity would help penetrate the fog in her brain. Help her think straight and stop imagining things.
Except, when she looked up, Raffaele’s blue eyes sparked with something that made her belly curl and her nipples bud against her bra. Her skin felt tight, as if the woman inside were bursting to escape.
‘It’s true. We’ve finished for the night.’
Slowly he shook his head, the movement accentuating the shadows beneath his high cheekbones.
‘I sincerely hope not.’ Was it imagination or was his voice thicker, his accent more pronounced? It ran through her veins like warm caramel.
Lily dragged her hands from the table as if its surface was electrified. A large hand snapped out and captured her wrist. Instantly she stilled, all except for the quiver reverberating from her tingling fingers up her arm and down to the soles of her feet.
‘What do you want, Raffaele? What are you playing at?’ Old habit came to the rescue and her chin jutted. She’d spent half a lifetime pretending to be impervious to hurt.
‘What do you think I want?’ It was the voice of her dreams, seductive, alluring and full of desire.
Impossible!
She yanked her hand free, stepping out of reach. Her breath sawed through searing lungs.
He was flirting. Sending her that half-lidded look that had turned a single photo into a multi-million-dollar success for a famous men’s clothing company.
The impact of it in the flesh, on her flesh, was devastating.
‘Stop it, Raffaele!’ She was almost beyond caring that he might hear the hurt beneath her belligerence. She needed to get away. ‘I don’t...’ She shook her head, wishing she hadn’t made a point of pinning her hair up, wishing it could swish around her face, concealing an expression she feared must reveal the yearning in her soul.
‘Don’t what?’
Don’t flirt. She didn’t know how. Had no experience of it. Which made this game he played even more cruel.
‘What are you afraid of, Lily?’ His voice, rough suede, caressed her skin, drawing it to tingling life.
You.
Of you and everything you make me feel.
‘I didn’t think anything fazed you, Lily. You’re so feisty, so focused.’
She cleared her throat to speak as he moved close enough for her to inhale the tantalising scent of warm male skin, salt spice and the sea. But determination wasn’t enough. Not when she looked up into ocean-blue eyes. They burned with a heat that beckoned to every feminine instinct she’d spent fourteen years suppressing.
‘Is it this you’re afraid of?’ His head lowered and warmth brushed her lips. The soft caress of perfectly sculpted lips. The fleeting, beckoning taste of Paradise as his tongue slicked the seam of her mouth.
Lily’s eyelids flickered, weighted by the desire rolling through her, inexorably growing, expanding, clogging every sense. All she knew was the scent and taste of Raffaele, the heat of his breath on her lips, the pulse of longing throbbing within.
Air brushed her mouth as his lips left hers and for a heartbeat nothing moved. She didn’t even breathe.
Lily forced her eyes open. Azure depths captured her and it was as if she’d ventured too far out to sea. Except she wasn’t sinking, she was floating, buoyed by an anticipation so acute she felt she’d shatter if he didn’t put an end to it and kiss her properly.
‘I’m not afraid,’ she lied.
She was terrified. Thrilled. Exultant. Curious.
Lily felt her hand settle against the muscled plane of his chest. Beneath her palm beat a steady pulse that seemed leisurely compared with her own wildly careering heartbeat.
He was real. Not the phantom lover of her dreams. His flesh was hotter than hers even through his shirt.
His chest rose under her touch, making her aware of the masculine power beneath the designer panache. The air of languid relaxation Raffaele so often adopted was a front, she realised, as sparks tickled her palm, racing up her arm. The man was all potent power.
But he was her boss. He was one of the most beautiful men on the planet, and she—
‘Lily.’ His voice was so deep she felt its reverberation in her belly. His hand was hard as it clamped her palm to his chest.
She shifted back. ‘This is a mistake.’
He moved with her, his thigh brushing hers. Ripples coursed up her leg to the spot between her thighs where a different pulse beat—needy and quick.
‘No mistake. Admit it, Lily. This feels right.’
His left hand captured her nape, long fingers spearing through her hair to hold her still as his head slanted down.
Time moved in infinitely slow seconds. Slow enough for her to realise that, despite his hold, she had only to turn her head or step back and she’d be free.
But she didn’t move. It did feel right. More, it felt inevitable. Why
pretend when for weeks she’d wondered what it would be like to kiss Raffaele?
His lips touched hers again, once, twice, before settling on her mouth, sealing her breath with his. For a moment he held utterly still. She absorbed the rich, warm scent of his skin, the delicious tang of him on her tongue, the long body hard up against hers, and the gentleness of his hand at the back of her head, cradling, tender...
Then those azure eyes closed, his head tilting as he delved between her parted lips. One swiping caress and sensation shuddered down her backbone and further, weakening her knees. They trembled as she clutched him, drawn by the slide of his mouth, his probing tongue and the waves of need, dark and intoxicating, that buffeted her.
His hand tightened on her skull, the angle of his mouth changed and the kiss grew harder, insistent, demanding. Raffaele drew her tongue between his lips, sucking, and a shot of adrenaline, of something, fired in her blood. The pulse between her legs quickened, her nipples against his chest so sensitive she almost cried out as each muffled breath abraded them against him. She was on fire, burning up in a heat he both kindled and promised to assuage.
Was it possible to climax just from kissing?
Lily slipped her hands up to clasp his face, framing hard bone and taut skin, learning sculpted contours as his tongue flicked hers, inviting her to join him, to give in.
A mighty shudder ran through her, a sigh that made no sound in the whirling ecstasy of the moment. A sigh of surrender as Lily let herself go and for the first time in her life kissed a man.
* * *
He’d guessed she’d be delicious. He’d expected fire beneath her guarded prickliness.
But still he wasn’t prepared. Lily’s slender body turned to flame against him, all eager passion and flagrant, hungry need. He felt her shake in his hold, her whole body trembling. But not with fear. Not when she kissed him back with such glorious abandon.
He couldn’t get enough, clutching her greedily.
Tongue on tongue, lips against lips, heart to heart, soft belly to quickening arousal—she was all he’d hoped for and more. The scent of sweet pears vied with a tantalising hint of musk and she tasted...he couldn’t describe her flavour, other than addictive.
