Hired for Romano's Pleasure

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘I didn’t think you would be interested...’ She’d flushed. ‘We didn’t talk much last night.’

  No, he had been too obsessed with taking her to bed, Torre had acknowledged. He’d vented his anger with himself by accusing Orla of deliberately deceiving him.

  Back then I still believed that princes existed. The comment she’d made a few minutes ago filled him with shame. Dio, far from acting like a chivalrous prince, he had vilified her so that she had fled from his home in Ravello on a goddamned bus. For eight years she had avoided seeing him again, even arranging to visit her mother at Villa Romano only when she’d known he would not be there.

  Had he been wrong about her? he brooded. ‘Your marriage lasted for less than a year. Why did you marry a wealthy sportsman who also happens to be the sole heir to his family’s large fortune, if not for his money?’

  ‘I thought I loved David. He can be very charming and... I was lonely.’ There was a faint tremor in her voice. ‘He seemed kind.’

  Torre frowned as he watched her mouth tremble and he sensed the effort it cost her to firm her lips. ‘Was he kind?’

  ‘No,’ she whispered, almost as if she was ashamed. But why would she be ashamed of her ex-husband’s failings? Anger ran swift and hot through Torre—not with Orla, or even with himself in this instance, but with her ex-husband. He was hardly in a position to judge, he acknowledged, when his own treatment of Orla was not something he was proud of. But when she had spoken of David Keegan there had been fear in her eyes.

  ‘Orla...’ He caught hold of her arms as she went to step past him. She stiffened but made no attempt to pull away from him when he turned her to face him. ‘You know I would never harm you,’ he said softly. It was important to him that she knew she could trust him.

  She stared at him for a moment and then nodded her head. ‘I believe you. But right now I’m tired and I want to go to bed—alone.’ Delicate colour winged along her high cheekbones when he smiled.

  ‘If that’s really what you want then of course you are free to go to your own bed,’ he murmured, releasing her arm. ‘The first time we met, the chemistry between us was white hot,’ he reminded her, ‘and eight years later it is just as explosive. Do you think we can simply ignore it?’

  ‘I am your temporary assistant, and that’s all I want to be,’ she whispered. But she still did not move away from him and he noticed the pulse at the base of her throat jumped erratically.

  ‘Your eyes turn green when you lie.’ He lifted his hand and trailed his fingers down the front of her dress, between the high, firm mounds of her breasts. It was the lightest touch, but she flushed and he heard her breath catch in her throat. He understood, because he too felt the wild heat, the uncontrollable longing that defied reason or logic. ‘You want to be under me, don’t you, cara? You ache for me as much as I ache to make love to you.’

  Her eyes gleamed with green fire. ‘Yes, damn you,’ she said fiercely. ‘You are like a drug in my veins and I can’t think straight when I’m near you.’

  With a groan Torre pulled her into his arms and he was amazed by how perfectly her slender curves fitted against his big, hard body like two pieces of a jigsaw. He sought her mouth and his heart kicked in his chest when she parted her lips. She gave a soft sigh of capitulation and melted into him as if she realised the futility of trying to hold back the tidal wave that crashed over both of them and sucked them down into a maelstrom of desire.

  Without taking his mouth from hers, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the master bedroom, which had been styled like a sultan’s harem with black silk sheets on the bed and that huge mirror on the ceiling. He set her on her feet and reached behind her to slide the zip of her dress down the length of her spine. Slowly he drew the confection of silk and lace from her body until she stood there in her pretty underwear; a sheer black bra through which the rosy crests of her nipples were visible, and a pair of tiny, black lace panties.

  He rocked back on his heels and simply looked at her, taking his fill of her fine-boned beauty and anticipating when she would be completely naked and writhing beneath him. Maybe he would lie on his back and lift her on top of him so that he could watch them in the mirror above the bed. The erotic images in his mind sent a surge of heat down to his groin.

  Finally Torre admitted to himself that he had compared every lover he’d had in the past eight years to Orla. No other woman had made him shake with desire like she did. The voice of his sanity was all but drowned out by the thunder of his heart, but still it whispered a warning that she was dangerous. She was a sorceress and it would be too easy to fall under her spell. But he assured himself that once he’d possessed her again, once he’d assuaged the ravenous beast inside him, his obsession with her would surely start to fade and he would regain control of a situation that frankly he had never imagined he would find himself in—a slave to his desire for a woman who had the face of an angel and a sexy body that promised untold sensual delights.

  He stripped with swift efficiency, dropping his shirt onto the floor and removing his shoes and socks before stepping out of his trousers. Another time he would enjoy having her undress him, but not now when he was desperate to be inside her. Desperate went against everything he’d thought he was, everything he wanted to be. But he had stopped kidding himself that he had any control over his response to Orla.

  Her eyes widened when he pulled off his boxers and his erection sprang, thick and long and so very hard from the mass of black hairs growing at its base. He could see the hard points of her nipples outlined beneath her bra and he longed to taste them. With a grunt of impatience he reached behind her again to unfasten her bra and when it fell to the floor he captured her breasts in his hands, spreading his fingers possessively over the pale globes with their dusky pink tips tilted provocatively towards him, as if begging for him to take them into his mouth.

  He resisted the temptation while he hooked his fingers into the top of her panties and tugged them down her legs. And then he lifted her and laid her down on the bed, and he had never seen anything more beautiful than Orla’s slender, milky-pale body stretched out on the black silk sheets, her rose-gold hair spread across the pillows and the green flecks in her eyes casting her magic on him. It was all he could do not to take her there and then, to simply push her legs apart and thrust into her molten heat. The sweet scent of her arousal heightened his urgent need, but when he lifted himself over her and saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes he silently cursed his crass impatience.

  She had intimated that her marriage had been an unhappy experience and her ex-husband had not been kind. Torre did not know what to make of the implications of that, or why she refused to explain the scar that ran from above her eyebrow out to her hairline. His suspicion that David Keegan might have been responsible filled him with cold fury.

  He wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman, but right now she looked unbearably fragile, and he needed her with him, a willing partner, not a sacrificial lamb. His chest expanded as he took a deep breath. He shifted his position so that he was kneeling above her, and leaned forward to kiss her mouth, coaxing her lips apart with his tongue so that he could explore her inner sweetness.

  Slowly she relaxed and he heard her give a shaky sigh as she curled her arms around his neck. He liked it when she ran her fingers through his hair and the inherent tenderness in the way she stroked his face tugged on something buried deep inside him. His hunger for her still burned fiercely; but this was something else and he did not want the kiss to end. Instead it became ever more erotic and by the time he lifted his head and dragged air into his lungs he was shaking with an intensity of desire that was beyond anything he had ever felt before.

  But he still made himself wait. It struck him that the two previous times he’d made love to Orla it had been on his terms. With a stab of guilt he acknowledged that his need for her had made him impatient. But now he took
his time as he trailed his lips over her throat and across the slopes of her breasts, tasting her creamy skin and revelling in its satiny softness. Her nipples puckered as his warm breath grazed them, and when he drew one hard nub into his mouth and sucked, she made a choked sound that caused the beast inside him to roar.

  She was his. The thought pushed into his mind and he should have been horrified by the possessiveness that surged through him. Instead it felt...right.

  He skimmed his hand over her flat stomach and continued down to the V of neatly trimmed red-gold curls between her thighs. A tremor ran through her when he eased her legs apart and rubbed a finger over her, finding her slick heat as he gently parted her. She caught her breath as he slid one finger inside her, then two, while simultaneously he applied pressure with his thumb to her sensitised flesh.

  ‘Oh.’ She shuddered and jerked her hips towards his hand, her fingers clutching the silk sheets. A rosy flush of sexual heat spread over her face and breasts, and he felt the ripples of her orgasm squeeze and release his fingers. But Torre wasn’t done with her yet, not nearly. She gave a soft moan of protest when he withdrew his fingers and then stiffened as he nudged her legs wider open with his shoulders and lowered his mouth to her feminine heat. ‘You can’t...’ she whispered, sounding appalled yet excited, her fingernails digging into his back as she held onto him.

  ‘Hold on tight, gattina mia,’ he told her thickly, and then he bent his head and breathed in the sweet scent of her sex as he used his tongue with devastating effect.

  She came apart utterly, and he delighted in the sound of her ragged breaths and the husky moans she made as he pleasured her with his mouth. He tasted the nectar of her femininity and groaned when she raked her nails down his back and buttocks. Her wild response evoked a primitive hunger in him that would not, could not be controlled.

  ‘Now, Torre...please.’

  With a low growl he positioned himself over her and hooked her legs over his shoulders. And then he claimed her, thrusting into her eager body with deep, measured strokes that tested his self-control to its limits. She felt like velvet surrounding the rigid steel of his body. Soft against hard, her slender body so pale against his darkly tanned skin.

  He would never have enough of her. The words sang in his heart as his body soared higher and he drove them both on, on, until she suddenly gasped and sobbed his name as her body convulsed around him.

  At last he reaped the rewards for his patience. His control splintered as he surged into her one more time. Buried deep in her wild heat he came so hard that he felt ripped apart by the force of his climax.

  For a long time afterwards he simply lay on top of her, his body lax and his face against her throat as his heart rate gradually returned to its normal, steady beat. He was reluctant to move, but he was aware that his weight must be heavy on her and shifted to lie next to her, propping himself up on one elbow.

  ‘Well, gattina,’ he murmured, but Orla silenced him by holding her fingers across his mouth.

  ‘Don’t.’

  He frowned and she said huskily, ‘This is the point when you are no doubt going to say something horrible, and I... I can’t deal with it tonight.’

  Her words felt like a punch in his gut, made worse because he knew he deserved her wariness. ‘I was going to say that you are perfect.’ His mouth curved into a wry smile. ‘And you are without doubt the most beautiful engineer I have ever met.’

  Again her bottom lip gave a little quiver that made him want to cover her mouth with his and kiss her better. ‘I’m not an engineer,’ she said flatly. ‘I told you I didn’t finish my BSc in civil engineering.’

  ‘Why don’t you go back to studying and sit your final exams? It was clear from hearing you talking to Sheikh Bin al Rashid that you have a good knowledge of engineering principles.’

  ‘I can’t afford the university fees. Anyway, there’s a good chance I’d fail the exams.’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘David didn’t believe that I was clever enough to have a career in engineering.’

  ‘On what grounds did he make that assumption?’ Torre managed to disguise the blast of red-hot anger he felt towards a man he had never met.

  Orla did not answer him and when he looked at her, he saw that she had fallen asleep. Her hand was tucked under her cheek and her long, golden eyelashes lay on her pale skin. She was as fragile—and as prickly—as an English rose, he thought, and once again he felt an odd tug in his chest. Tonight in his arms she had revealed a bewitching sensuality that had blown his mind.

  He was already hard again and he was tempted to wake her and enjoy her delectable body for a second time, take them both on a ride that would end with their mutual satisfaction of an explosive orgasm. Every time he made love to her would, he was confident, take him closer to the point of satiation and his fascination with her, this damnable desire that roared like a ravenous beast inside him, would simply wither and die.

  But it was likely that she was suffering from jet-lag after the long-haul flight to Dubai. She was sleeping peacefully and he did not have the heart to disturb her. As he strode into the en suite bathroom and stood beneath the shower, Torre reminded himself that his heart was in no way involved with Orla.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TEN DAYS LATER, Orla followed Torre down the steps of the ARC private jet after it had landed at London City Airport. Drizzle was falling from a leaden sky and the temperature was at least ten degrees lower than it had been in Dubai and cooler than in Rome, where they had attended a party at ARC’s headquarters to mark the company’s centenary. Both the official opening of Qasr Jameel in Dubai and ARC’s one hundred years celebrations had attracted international media interest.

  Walking through the airport’s arrivals lounge, Orla was horrified when she saw pictures of her and Torre on the front pages of several newspapers. The caption above a photo of them dancing together at the party read: Italy’s sexiest CEO and his stunning assistant—the construction industry’s most glamorous couple?

  ‘I bet you wouldn’t have danced with your usual assistant,’ she muttered.

  Torre looked amused. ‘To be fair, you are a lot prettier than Renzo.’ They exited the concourse and he led her towards a black limousine, nodding to the chauffeur who opened the rear door for them to climb into the car.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ Orla insisted as she secured her seat-belt and the car moved off. ‘I like my job, even though it is only temporary. I don’t want the other staff at ARC to guess that I’m sleeping with you.’

  He gave a careless shrug. ‘It does not matter what anyone else thinks.’

  ‘It does to me.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’ve seen on the company’s internal website that another secretarial position will become vacant at ARC UK in a couple of months’ time, and the recruiting process is starting now. I’d like to apply for the job, but if I am offered it I want it to be on my own merits and not because everyone knows that I’m in a relationship with the chairman of the company.’

  ‘Relationship?’ Torre’s cool voice sent a chill through Orla. ‘I don’t know what you think is happening, cara, but it certainly is not a relationship.’

  ‘What is it then?’ she demanded, hiding her sense of hurt with anger. ‘We have spent every one of the last ten days working together and we’ve shared a bed every night.’ They had shared a lot more than just a bed, she thought ruefully. Their passion had grown more intense every night as they had discovered the secrets of each other’s bodies and learned how to give one another the utmost pleasure.

  She was aware of Torre’s surprise at her outburst of temper, and in truth she had shocked herself. Her marriage to David had taught her to suppress her emotions but Torre’s scathing tone made her see red.

  How dared he speak to her in that dismissive way? she thought furiously. He wasn’t always so controlled. She knew how to use her hands and lips on him to make him groan. Only this morning
, when they had shared the shower cubicle at his exquisite apartment in Rome, she had knelt in front of him and pleasured him with her mouth while he’d threaded his fingers into her hair and muttered that she was a sorceress.

  ‘We have sex,’ he said harshly, as if he’d read her mind. ‘Very good sex, admittedly, but that’s all it is. In a little over six weeks Renzo will return to his job as my assistant, and I fully expect that the inconvenient sexual attraction between you and I will have burned out.’ His grey eyes were as hard as steel. ‘I don’t have relationships.’

  ‘Why is that?’ She ignored his frown warning her that he wanted her to drop the subject. On some level she realised that she was deliberately provoking him, which she would never have risked doing with David. ‘I wonder if your fear of forming meaningful relationships stems from losing your mother when you were young,’ she mused aloud. ‘You said you were six when she died. I was ten when I lost my father. It’s such a shock and nothing prepares you for how much it hurts here.’ She pressed her hand over her heart.

  Beside her, Torre stiffened and the furious gleam in his eyes told her to back off. So why didn’t she do the sensible thing? Orla wondered. Maybe it was because she sensed that she had touched a raw nerve in him. ‘Who took care of you after your mum died? Giuseppe must have been busy running ARC, but did he encourage you to talk about your mother and grieve for her?’

  He swore savagely. ‘What the hell is this? If you must know, I was looked after by nannies until Giuseppe married my stepmother Sandrine. I never spoke about my mother’s death to anyone. I understood that my father found it upsetting and so I did not mention her and neither did he.’ He slashed his hand through the air. ‘I’m really not interested in your amateur psychoanalysis.’

  She looked at him and saw beneath his scowl the heartbroken boy he must have been when he had lost his mother. ‘You said you don’t have relationships, but you were engaged once,’ she reminded him. ‘Jules said that your fiancée decided not to marry you. But he thought you were still in love with Marisa.’