The Italian Boss's Secret Child(2)

She knew what he looked like, from the calculating, sharp eyes topped  with thick, dark brows to his rugged, square jaw and the cleft in the  centre of his chin. Dark hair backswept to control the strong natural  wave and generous classic bow lips. He had features that film stars  would envy. Some would have to spend a fortune on cosmetic surgery in an  effort to attain the same brooding good looks.

Yes, she knew exactly what he looked like-yet still she felt a frisson  of sensation shimmy down her spine. None of the photos hinted at what  she now felt, at what his shadowed face spoke to her.                       
       
           



       

Danger.

Excitement.

And maybe, just maybe, something more …





CHAPTER TWO





'WHO are you?'

The woman in the mousy-brown suit seemed to stiffen, her jaw open as if  in shock as her eyes searched his face. She clung on to the folder in  front of her as if it was body armour and, given the size of her, she  could do with it. There was so little to her it looked as though the  folder was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

'You're not Sam,' he accused.

Her mouth snapped shut and her chin kicked up. The action added only  millimetres to her tiny frame but by the sudden spark in her eye he got  the impression she imagined she was looking straight into his. Then her  eyebrows arched and her lips curved into a smile.

Momentarily he relaxed. She wasn't completely mousy, now that she was  smiling. In fact, in a way, she was quite pretty-in a homely sort of  way. Of course, the tortoiseshell glasses and shapeless brown suit  didn't do her any favours.

'Mr DeLuca,' she said, tilting her head to one side, her surprisingly  husky voice edged with honey as she relaxed her grip on the folder  enough to hold out a hand to him. 'They told me you were a genius.  Obviously they were right.'

The way her hazel eyes glinted told him she hadn't just paid him a compliment.

He sucked in a breath, desperate to replace the lungful that had just  been knocked out of him, as she kept right on smiling and holding her  hand out in the air between them as if she hadn't meant a thing with her  last comment.

'I'm Philly Summers, from Marketing. Pleased to meet you.'

He looked at her hand, hanging there, then crossed to the fake smile she  was brandishing, and knew she was lying. She was no more pleased to  meet him than he was to find Miss Brown Mouse lurking outside his  office. What on earth was Sam Morgan thinking to send her? He gave her  hand a brief shake, momentarily annoyed that someone so diminutive could  have such a firm grip, before he swivelled around and stalked across  the floor of his office.

'Where's Sam?' he asked once he'd deposited himself back in his deep  leather chair, elbows on arm rests, a Mont Blanc fountain pen spinning  between his fingers.

She hesitated for a moment by the door before apparently assuming he'd  invited her to follow him, taking a few tentative steps towards the  desk.

'Hopefully home by now. He's got the flu. He just about collapsed at his desk half an hour ago. We sent him home in a taxi.'

'And no one thought to inform me?'

Her head tilted to one side again and her eyes narrowed to slits, almost  as though she thought he had a nerve asking the question.

'I was led to believe you were informed.'

'I wasn't.'

She considered him for a second, looked for a moment as if she would argue, but then thought better of it.

'In any event I assume it is more important that your presentation goes  ahead as planned. I understand you have a very tight schedule and who  knows when Sam will be back on deck? And we really need your go-ahead on  this proposal today if we're to meet our timelines for the new product  launch.'

And her taking the initiative was meant to impress him?

Dammit but it did. Everything she said made sense. So why did he still feel so aggrieved?

Because he should have been told!

He grunted in response, waving to a seat. 'So long as you have some idea  of what the proposal is. I don't want to waste my time here.'

The muscles tightened around her mouth as if she'd just had to button  it, but she kept on standing. 'I'll do my best not to waste a moment.  However, I'll need to access your computer, if you don't mind. I've put a  PowerPoint presentation on the share drive we can go through. This hard  copy … ' she indicated the file in her hands ' … is for your records.'

He shrugged and gestured to the laptop on his desk. 'Be my guest,' he said, without moving an inch.

A blink was her only response. Good. Did she really expect him to make  this easy for her after the lip she'd given him? If she wanted his  computer, she could come and get it.

'I'm all ears,' he invited, a smile finally finding its way to his face.  At last it looked as if he'd turned the tables on Miss Mouse. He  wouldn't be surprised if any moment now she scampered back to her hole  in the wall.

He watched her swallow, following the movement in her throat to her  chest, which rose on a deep breath, considerably further than he would  have expected. But then, with her jacket buttoned up to her neckline,  there was no way of saying what lay beneath the uninspiring cut of her  suit.                       
       
           



       

'All right,' she said, rounding the desk until she was on his side. She  surveyed his legs, currently providing a very effective barrier between  her and easy access to the computer, and almost as if she'd determined  they were an immovable object reached over them to the laptop on the far  side of his desk. A faint hint of something fruity and sweet stirred  his senses as she stretched across him.

He prided himself on knowing the names of all the top perfumes and he  had a talent for picking them for his dates. A different perfume for a  different skin, a different personality, a different woman. To Carmel,  sleek and elegant, he'd given the classic Chanel No. 5. Warm and lush,  Kandy had adored the heady tones of Opium, while for Belinda, fair and  dreamlike, he'd chosen Romance.

But this perfume was something new, totally unlike anything else he'd come across. Something tantalisingly unsophisticated.

It suited her. She sure looked innocent enough. Though the way her skirt  hugged her as she stretched over his legs-there was shape hidden away  under that skirt after all. She straightened and his nostrils caught a  second subtle whiff. Apricot? Yeah, she smelled like apricots. That was  different.





Where did this guy get off? Didn't he realise she was doing him a  favour? Next time he could wait for Sam to get back from sick leave. She  didn't need this kind of aggravation in her life right now.

She swivelled the laptop around and drew it closer to where she stood so  that she didn't have to keep bending over the boss's legs. She could  almost feel his eyes boring into her back, searing her skin through her  wool mix suit until it prickled, just knowing he was there, a bare metre  behind her, scrutinising her every step of the way.

Knowing he was her boss in no way suppressed the sensations she was  experiencing right now. Raw sexuality. It emanated from him in waves.  Even the way he casually sprawled in his chair couldn't hide the latent  power contained in those long limbs. She was used to dealing with bosses  on equal terms-not one had ever made her so aware of his inherent  sexuality.

Not one had made her so aware that he was a man.

That she was a woman.

She shifted, comfortable with neither where her thoughts were going nor  how her body was suddenly tingling. He sure wasn't making this easy. But  then, no one had ever described Damien DeLuca as easy.

Impossible; arrogant; genius-she'd heard all those words used in  conjunction with his name. But easy? Ha! Not a one. The sooner she got  through with this meeting and got out of here the better. If only she  could focus on her presentation!

Naturally his sudden appearance at the door had thrown her. Just for a  moment there had seemed something more to Damien than she'd heard,  another angle, another dimension.

She'd been kidding herself. Now that his face was out of the shadows he  was just another good-looking, over-achieving workaholic who had no  people skills whatsoever.

She turned her head a fraction and caught a glimpse of his smug-looking  face out of the corner of her eye as she manoeuvred her way through  explorer to the share drive.

Okay, maybe that wasn't quite fair. Make that drop-dead gorgeous,  over-achieving workaholic who lacked people skills but exuded  testosterone by the bucketload. That might be closer to the mark.

The photos in the marketing files certainly didn't do him justice. No  doubt the current photographer had been in place since the year dot.  First thing she'd do when she got back to her office would be to  organise a new photographer who knew how to use great material rather  than take it for granted. Because whatever his personality faults, the  guy sure had great genes. No doubt that with his looks and IQ his kids  were bound to be intelligent and great looking, just like their dad.