The Italian Boss's Secret Child(18)

           



       

'No,' he said. 'It's not possible.'

'Oh, it's more than just possible,' she said with a smile that should have hinted at much more.

'Then tell me what you were wearing.'

She allowed the corners of her mouth to kick up another notch. Still he  was fighting the inevitable. 'I was dressed as Cleopatra. You were Mark  Antony.'

'And that proves exactly nothing. Other people would have seen us together. How do I know what you are saying is the truth?'

She sighed, remembering the words he'd greeted her with, the words that  had warmed her soul deep and fixed her in his spell. 'You said you'd  been waiting two thousand years for me,' she remembered, her voice  barely more than a whisper as she recalled that special moment.

'You could have overheard that.'

'True,' she acknowledged, her good feelings evaporating in the harshness  of his desert-dry tone. 'So maybe I should tell you about how you  locked the door behind us and lifted me on to the boardroom table, the  way you released my breasts into your hands and mouth. Or maybe I should  tell you how you entered me, naked but for the leather on your feet … '

Watching his face, she caught the exact moment he realised there was no  escape, caught his eyes darkening, the pupils dilating as if letting in  the truth at last, the slideshow of emotions-surprise, shock and outrage  moving fast over his features as he digested the news.

'That was you?'

He sounded appalled. She'd expected nothing less but the words sliced  into her all the more deeply now, knowing how she felt about him.

'Hard to believe, I know.'

Hard to believe? He'd spent how many hours trying to track down the  mysterious woman who'd plagued his hard, lonely nights and filled his  dreams with unrelenting frequency since the ball and here she was, right  under his nose the whole time. Yet still something didn't make sense.

'But your perfume-it wasn't the same.'

For a moment she looked shocked. 'No, it wasn't. I wore my mother's perfume that night. It seemed to go better with the outfit.'

So it was her. The woman in the filmy gown, with lush red lips and a  body to die for, was none other than Philly, his little brown mouse-his  little not-so-brown mouse-as it turned out. And she was here now.

In his bedroom.

Serendipity.

A very happy accident indeed, he considered, congratulating himself for  preferring the privacy of his apartment to the sofa in his office when  she'd collapsed. There was more than a little justice in the  arrangement.

He moved closer. 'I'll need proof, of course.'

Her eyes darted up to his, uncertainty flickering in their hazel lights. 'What? You mean DNA testing?'

'Eventually, yes.' He took another step closer, angling himself so that  he was between the door and any escape route. She edged back against the  wall of windows and he smiled to himself. There was no escape that way.  'I was thinking of something much simpler for now.'

'What do you mean?' Now she'd just about plastered herself to the glass.

He came to a stop right in front of her. 'You were wearing a mask. Even  though you seem to know the details, someone could have told you.'

She moved to make a sound-a protest-but he shushed her with a finger pressed to her lips.

'I just need to be sure you are who you say you are. If I'm to believe  this story of a baby, I need to know it was you that I slept with.'

He looked down at her, noticed the kick of her chin as she swallowed,  enjoying the play of emotions skitter across her eyes-perplexity, fear  and something else.

Anticipation?

Oh yes, without a doubt if the outline of her peaked nipples through her summer dress was any indication.

'What did you have in mind?'

He lifted a hand and she flinched. 'Relax,' he urged, his voice set to  reassurance. 'You were wearing a mask. I just wondered how you looked  with your eyes covered-just to be sure.'

Her eyes blinked twice and she relaxed a fraction though her breathing  was still tight. It wasn't the only thing, he reflected, shifting  slightly as he lifted his arm, placing his hand palm down across her  eyes. Her lashes moved against his skin, soft and like the touch of a  feather before they fluttered closed.

'There,' he said, his voice little more than a whisper, 'that's more  like it. Now, lift your head towards me so I can see you properly.'

His hand under her chin tilted her face higher. Her breathing was  shallow, her breath warm and inviting and there was no way he was going  to be able to resist.                       
       
           



       

'Are you convinced now?' Her voice was tremulous and soft, her breath sweet on his face.

'Almost,' he said. 'Just one more thing.'

He dipped his head and angled his mouth over hers, brushing her lips  with his. Her startled response turned into a shudder and so he deepened  his kiss, parting her lips and probing further inside. When her tongue  meshed with his he removed the hand over her eyes and brought it behind,  holding her away from the glass and closer to him.

He sensed her arms flailing momentarily until they settled around him  and her hands tightened to fists bunching up his shirt and it was her  turn to pull him closer.

It was her. There was no mistake. He could stop now and be satisfied  that what she said was true, that she had been the woman in the  boardroom. But why should he stop?

Redundant question, he realised as his lips trailed a line down her  neck. He had no intention of stopping. Not when he'd been searching for  this woman ever since that night. And he hadn't been searching for her  all this time to let her go again.

Her breathing was coming fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly  against his and making him painfully aware of her breasts and their  inaccessibility in this straight dress. His hand released her head, slid  lower until it found what he was looking for. He tugged on the tab  gently and slid it down to where it ended low down on her back in one  silky movement. Her head jerked back, as if suddenly aware of what he  was doing, but his mouth took hers again, his tongue tracing the line of  her teeth, his teeth nipping at her lips while his hands slid into the  gap and up under the fabric across her skin. She gasped into his mouth  at the same time that her whole body moved with tremors of promise and  expectation.

With his hands he slipped the dress over her shoulders, gently easing her arms down so that it could fall to the floor.

She let it go reluctantly, as if she was doing battle with herself. So  be it. Whatever the outcome of her own personal dilemma, however she  resolved the battles raging inside, he was intending to win the war. He  crushed her to him, feeling the press of her flesh hard up against him,  nothing between him and her naked form but a fine lace bra and a tiny  white matching thong that left her rounded cheeks exposed to his touch.  He groaned as his hands cupped them, pushing her even closer to his  aching hardness.

Before she had a chance to change her mind he lifted her, her skin  smooth and cool yet at the same time on fire under his hands, and  swivelled her around and across to the bed.

She was certifiably insane. She must be, to let Damien do this to her.  Five minutes ago he'd been accusing her of sleeping with someone else.  She should be so offended she'd never think of giving him even the time  of day.

And yet there was definitely something to be said for being insane. She  sank into the soft down quilt and writhed under Damien's hot mouth,  currently blazing a trail towards her breasts, relishing the sensations  triggered in her flesh.

Because sanity had no place here. Logic had ceased to exist. Feelings  took precedence and what she was feeling now, what Damien was making her  feel, was extravagant and pervasive enough to block out every other  rational thought.

Except one. He wanted her. She'd expected rejection to follow the  disbelief; she'd been prepared for it. No way would he have expected her  to turn out to be the woman he'd made love to in the boardroom. But it  hadn't happened that way. He hadn't rejected her.

He wanted her!

His mouth moved lower, fingers tracing under the edge of her bra and hot  breath met her lace-covered nipple, already exquisitely sensitive with  her early pregnancy, setting off spears of sensation that pierced her  deep inside. Her back arched and she shuddered into his mouth.

Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered, but what he was doing to her and the way he made her feel.

Special.

Beautiful.

Loved?

No. That was what she wanted, not what he was giving. He wasn't the kind  of guy to fall in love. And right now she'd settle for feeling special.  Right now she'd settle for feeling beautiful.

A noise, half purr, half groan, escaped her. And right now she'd settle  for more of what his magic hot mouth was doing to her breasts-and lower …

Her fingers curled in the quilt as his hands caressed her, his tongue  possessing her, circling her navel and driving her crazy with want and  need as he deftly discarded her lace underwear. He touched her on her  now exposed flesh and her breath caught with the intensity of the  feeling. Nerve-endings she'd never known existed all but screamed their  presence, their effect expanding inwards, waves of pleasure rippling to  her every extremity only to come crashing back again at her core.