The Italian Boss's Secret Child(8)

She must be crazy.

And now she was cradled on top of him, Damien's hand at her breast,  caressing her, his naked body below already showing signs of recovery.

The languid feel of her muscles and limbs vanished as cold, hard truth  replaced it. Without trying to touch him too much, she tried to angle  herself off, tried to edge away. How was she going to explain what had  happened? How could she ever face him again? Guilt and shame settled  upon her like a shroud.

She had to get out of here. Before he discovered who she was. There was  even a chance she might even lose her job over this-who knew how he  might react?-and she couldn't afford that, not with the prospect of  expensive hospice care for her mother coming up some time soon.

She had to get out of here. Now.

'What's wrong?'

She glanced at the door and her pulse went into overdrive as an idea  formed in her mind. With Damien naked, at least she had a running start.  Her hand patted her throat. 'Th … thirsty.'

'I think I can fix that,' he said easily, easing her from his lap gently.

She pulled up the bodice on her dress and reached down to retrieve her underwear.

'Don't bother putting that back on,' he said, leaning over to kiss her  on her already swollen lips. 'We haven't finished with each other yet.  Not by a long shot.'

Still she clung to the scrap of material as if it was life-support while  his words turned to a desire that curled deep within her.

He wanted her again.

She wished he hadn't told her that. She didn't want any regrets from  this night-she had enough of those already. But the last thing she  wanted was to lie by herself in bed during the long lonely nights ahead  thinking about what pleasures she might have missed out on.

Naked, he turned and padded his way to a built-in cabinet along the  narrowest wall. She watched him go in the pale light even as she edged  closer to the door, his skin deliciously firm, his legs long and  powerful, unwilling to tear her eyes away. He pulled open a door,  exposing a bar fridge behind and hunkered down to look inside.

This was her chance!

She hit the door running, doing battle with the lock and finally  wrenching it open. Behind her he shouted for her to stop but she  couldn't stop, couldn't turn.

She raced over the parquet floor to the stairs as fast as she could, the  heels on her sandals clattering and echoing in the dark-filled space,  blood pumping so loudly it drowned out the curses ringing in her ears.

She was down the steps and halfway to the exit before she calmed to a  brisk walk, heading purposefully for the safety of the night, ears  straining over the music for anything that would signal less than a  clean getaway. But behind her came no sound of pursuit, no hint of a  chase.

She was going to make it. Euphoria replaced panic.

She was safe.





CHAPTER FOUR





SHE was a mess of nerves.

On Monday morning Philly sat at her desk, responding to emails and  organising herself for the day and the week ahead. Walking into the  office had been hairy-everyone had been talking about the ball, laughing  about the costumes and the night's revelries.

She'd purposely avoided talk of the ball, hinting at a quiet night at  home with her mother-and had waited with breath frozen in her lungs for  someone to out her. If anyone had recognised her, this was it. But her  colleagues just expressed their sympathies that she'd missed the event  of the year and drifted away to talk amongst themselves. Even Sam just  grunted and headed off for a meeting with Damien.                       
       
           



       

Thank heavens Sam had recovered from the flu-she didn't fancy running  into Damien DeLuca right now. She wasn't at all sure how she would ever  face him again.

At least now Sam was back from sick leave and holding the reins again  and she could keep a low profile. Sam would certainly make sure of it.

She was mid-sentence in a response to a lengthy email when the phone  rang. She propped the phone up to her ear, still typing, with her train  of thought still focused on her detailed reply.

'Ms Summers?' Damien's voice belted down the line faster than she could  make her own greeting. Her body tensed on a shiver and the phone dropped  from her shoulder, landing on the desk with a loud thunk. The noise  snapped her out of her temporary paralysis and she grappled for the  receiver. Why was Damien calling her?

Did he know? Had Sam recognised her after all and informed Damien of her identity?

'What the- Ms Summers, is that you?'

'S-sorry,' she stammered. 'The phone slipped.'

She heard something like an exasperated sigh and could imagine the rolling of eyes going on at the other end of the line.

'Ms Summers, I need you in my office. Now.'

Philly clutched the phone. She wasn't ready for this. How was she going  to explain what had happened? How could she look him in the eye after  what they'd done together, the intimacy they'd shared?

She was bound to get the sack over this. She didn't deserve anything  less. How was she going to explain that to her next prospective  employer?

'Are you still there?'

She swallowed. 'I'll be right up,' she croaked.





He slapped the phone down, regarding it critically. What was her problem? He hoped he wasn't making a big mistake over this.

He turned back to Sam, who was waiting anxiously in the chair opposite,  scraping at his fingertips with his thumbnail and looking every inch a  man insecure about his position in the world.

Right now Damien knew the feeling. He'd had it ever since the woman  dressed as Cleopatra had abandoned him on Saturday night. No one had  ever walked out on Damien DeLuca before-that was bad enough. But right  now there was a woman out there who'd done even more than that-she'd run  out on him and he didn't even have a clue who she was.

It had only taken him a few seconds to throw his costume back on but by  the time he'd done that and raced downstairs there'd been no sign of her  anywhere. She'd been swallowed up by the night.

What was her game?

Why had she run away like that? Why had she panicked? She'd had plenty  of opportunity to change her mind if she'd so wanted-and she hadn't  wanted-that much was patently clear. On the contrary, she'd been  perfectly willing all the way-perfectly accommodating-perfectly  inviting.

A perfect fit.

He'd been cheated of exploring that knowledge further. He'd been cheated  of seeing how far they could take each other. He'd been cheated of  seeing her eyes …

Could it be that she'd recognised him? Was that what had scared her off?  Suddenly afraid of being with the company founder and CEO she'd fled?  But she hadn't seemed that obtuse-surely she would have realised when  he'd been called away suddenly by Enid, if not before, of his true  identity? So why would she suddenly panic later on?

He didn't like it one bit-the prospect of her knowing his identity when  he had no idea who she was or where to start looking for her. He studied  the man sitting nervously opposite him.

But Sam might.

When the masks had come off he was sure he'd seen Sam dressed up as a  nun. There'd been a nun in the group where he'd first seen the woman  standing. He might know. And if Sam didn't someone else had to. She'd  been there for hours waiting for him to return. Someone had to have  spoken to her, someone had to know who she was.

'Sam,' he said, adding a smile for good measure. 'Did you have a good time on Saturday night?'

Sam chortled and sat up, eager to please. 'A great time. Wonderful party. Just wonderful. The staff are very grateful to you-'

Damien held up one hand. 'Good, that's fine. But I wonder if you can help me with something.'

'Anything-name it.'

'Only there's someone there I meant to catch up with before the end but I  missed her. She was dressed up as Cleopatra. Dark hair, white  gown-sound familiar at all?'

'Too right, she does,' said Sam enthusiastically before he suddenly  frowned. 'Not sure where she got to, actually-one moment she was there  and the next-poof-she was gone.'                       
       
           



       

Damien felt his pulse kick up. He was on the trail. Hot on the trail.  She wouldn't stay out of his clutches for long. 'And her name,' he  prompted. 'Can you tell me her name?'

Sam thought for a moment. 'She did tell me.' He looked ceilingwards and  scratched his chin while Damien resisted the urge to slam his fist into  it. If he thought it would jog his memory the fist would have won hands  down.

'Oh, that's it. I remember now.' Sam looked triumphant. Damien tried to remain seated.

'And?'

'Marie, from the Sydney office I think she said. Didn't catch a surname.  She was a little bit wary of going in-must have been off-putting, not  knowing anybody at one of those things. Awkward when you hardly know a  soul. She came in with us but then we lost contact with her.' He  frowned, contemplating his nails. 'Wonder where she got to?'

Damien knew something of where she'd disappeared to. He'd asked her to  dance and at first she'd seemed reluctant but then something had changed  and she'd moved like warm chocolate in his arms-soft, luscious and  ready to be consumed.