Protesting was out of the question, even if she had a thought to refuse. She took it, thinking to make short work of it. But as the sweet nectar of the fruit slid down her throat, the heat of his thumb brushed her lower lip again.
A fire exploded in her, foreign and thrilling.
She tried to tamp down her desire. Truly she did. But when he sucked the juice off his fingers while his hot gaze dueled with hers, she was lost.
This was passion. Raw and earthy.
She clutched her steno pad to her breast, heart hammering so hard she was certain that he could hear it. "You wanted me to take a letter?"
"I have changed my mind." His eyes took on a dark opaque glint that tossed her nervous reflection back at her.
He rolled a shoulder in a careless shrug and checked his watch. "The workday is nearly over."
A fact she'd looked forward to all day. Yes, she could escape Stefano's dominating presence for a while. But it was a short reprieve, for she was expected to dine with him tonight.
"Is there anything you need me to do before I leave?" she asked, a question she'd posed to Cesare countless times.
"Leave? But our work is far from finished."
"But you said the day was nearly over."
"Here." His smile was positively rapacious. "As I mentioned before, you'll be taking over the role of my secretary as well. You'll join me when I divide my time between Marinetti Shipyard and Canto Di Mare."
Gemma bit her lip, wanting to refuse. But how could she?
Stefano's secretary was away, and Cesare would not be needing her. Combining the positions made sense.
But it denied her a reprieve from Stefano. It forced her to remain in his company for longer hours and suffer this unsettling attraction that arced between them.
"How much later will we work?" she said, letting her annoyance sound in her voice.
"Two, three hours at the most." He shrugged into his suit jacket and gave each sleeve a sharp tug in turn. "Is there a problem?"
A problem? There were too many for her to count.
She glanced down at the simple skirt and blouse she'd worn to work. "I will need to return home so I can change into suitable clothes for dinner."
Deep lines streaked across his brow. "There won't be time."
"You expect me to wear this?"
Instead of answering, he gave her a long, slow appraisal that scanned her from head to toe. His expression was a combination of indignation and desire that she didn't understand and certainly didn't want. Not from him!
He checked his watch in that impatient way of his. "It is time for us to be off to Livorno."
She didn't bother to hide her annoyance as she retrieved her purse. Was this how it felt to be at his beck and call? To let him choose where you dined? What you wore?
Her gaze fell on her portfolio tucked beneath her desk. That tight, tingling sensation pulled at her stomach. She couldn't go off and leave Cesare's secret files there.
She didn't dare take her bag with her now, not when she was going to be gone half the night with Stefano. Quickly she stuffed it in the back of her file cabinet and locked the door. Nobody had the key but her.
Cesare's secrets and her own would be perfectly safe in there tonight. Tomorrow she'd remove it to her flat.
Tomorrow she'd start off on better footing with Stefano. Tomorrow, he'd have no hold over her.
CHAPTER FOUR
STEFANO guided Gemma to his Alfa Romeo, the sleek silver contours of the 8C Competizione glistening like a diamond in the setting sun. But the luxurious car paled in comparison to the flaxen-haired beauty on his arm.
He suspected the tension he felt eddying off her petite form came from her aversion at being forced to remain in his company. Guilt. It had to be guilt on her part, for he was a generous man who had simply stepped in to manage his father's business.
Women loved him. He loved women.
But he detested manipulative primadonne.
Gemma Cardone definitely fit that description indeed. She'd charmed Cesare Marinetti into her bed and took him for thousands.
So far she hadn't attempted to get in Stefano's good graces. In fact, she'd seemed horrified over assuming the role of his secretary. Had he been right and she'd thought to flee instead of repaying her "loan"?
How easily lies spilled from her pretty mouth. There'd been no loan, yet she'd said there was instead of admitting the truth of being his father's mistress.
Perhaps she realized that he wouldn't be an easy mark like Cesare Marinetti. Or maybe she was wily enough to avoid an overture because she knew he'd not accept his father's leavings.
Then again perhaps neither of those reasons applied.
In hindsight, Stefano had stormed into Marinetti Shipping with one thing on his mind-retaliation. Instead of portraying himself in his typical charming manner, he'd been brusque and demanding. What woman would want to warm the bed of such a tyrant?
His only excuse was that his heart was still heavy over his mamma's passing while his blood roared with the need for vengeance. Why had his father's heart failed when he had been driving with his wife? Why hadn't that attack occurred on one of those trips to Milan?
Why had his mamma died instead of this scheming mistress?
There was no answer. He knew that. Quel che è stato è stato.
It was his duty to protect his father against Gemma's schemes and honor what was his mamma's last wish. Get rid of Gemma Cardone!
That was the only interest he had with his father's mistress. He did not wish to gain her favor. So why had she wormed her way into his thoughts for most of this day with her big sad eyes and wary smile? Why was she commanding his attention now? Why did his body leap whenever she was near?
Maledizione! He didn't give a damn what Gemma thought about him. She'd gotten all she could for herself.
Now he'd see she paid back a portion of the debt. Once his revenge was sated, he'd fire her. She'd be nothing then but an unpleasant memory.
Sì, it was up to Stefano to rebuild the empire his father had once loved and allow him to heal and cope with his grief. He'd systematically collect what was due Marinetti Shipyard and ensure that Gemma Cardone never approached a Marinetti again.
Pride and honor. He understood both well. He lived by that silent code.
Yet when Gemma slid onto the supple leather seat and gave him a teasing glimpse of long, creamy thighs, his body jerked with a sudden bolt of lust. And why wouldn't he find her attractive?
He was a hot-blooded Italian male and she was a provocative woman. He loved and respected women. He loved to make love to them. He ached to make love with this one!
Though he could neither respect nor like Gemma for the heartache she'd brought his family, she did appeal to him on a purely physical level.
Okay, maybe it was more than that. He was moderately impressed that she had carried on an affair with his father for nine months and managed to cloak their assignations under the guise of business trips. Her cunning was ample reason why he must end this nasty business with her as soon as possible.
He'd stepped in to save Marinetti Shipyard from his father's lapse of good judgment and a calculating woman's machinations. He would not fall victim to her charms, too.
Stefano shut the car door a bit harder than he had intended and swore as the sound echoed his annoyance in the near-empty parking lot. But she barely flinched.
His anger mounted as he rounded the sleek front of his car and threw himself behind the wheel, barely sparing her a glance. She raised an eyebrow, as if chastising him for his show of temper.
And that made his blood boil.
For a woman who stood to lose her historic inn, she seemed suspiciously calm. She must have arranged for the first payment to be met.
Fine! He would take her money tonight. He'd let her win this round, but that would be her last victory.
Annoyance thrummed his nerves as he turned over the powerful engine and steered the car into traffic. The pleasure he usually gained behind the wheel of the luxury automobile was absent.
Gemma occupied his thoughts. He was certain she'd been the reason his parents had launched into a vicious argument-an argument that ended with his father suffering a heart attack and losing control of his car on that fateful night.
He would do well to remember that.
He tightened his fingers on the supple leather steering and for a brief moment wondered if he'd made a colossal error in judgment. When he confronted her about the money she'd taken from his father-the "loan" as she called it-he'd expected her to beg for lenience. He'd thought she'd proposition him into forgiving the debt, or at the least take it out in trade.
He'd never dreamed she'd agree to repay the loan, or that she'd actually come forth with any money. If she did honor that agreement, it would take years for her to repay the debt. He'd never be free of her conniving ways!