Rival Attractions & Innocent Secretary(30)

           



       

'That wasn't my intention. Oh, I wanted to make love to you all right.  But I wasn't going to-at least, only a little, but then you looked at me  and asked me if I wanted to, and all I'd been able to think about all  day was the sight of you in that damned flimsy cotton thing, and-Oh,  God, Charlotte, how you could ever for one moment have imagined that you  lacked sex appeal, I have no idea. You were the sexiest sight I have  ever seen, all the more so because you yourself were so deliciously  unaware of the effect you were having on me. Every time I saw you, I had  to fight to keep my hands off you.'

'But no man has ever-'

'Because you wouldn't let them see what you were really like. Because  you froze them off and they, poor fools, couldn't see the real woman you  were concealing behind those barriers you used so effectively.'

'Not all of them,' Charlotte told him in a low voice, and he knew she wasn't referring to him.

'He was sick,' he told her rawly. 'You must never think that it was something you said or did. It was because of his wife.'

'I know,' Charlotte admitted. 'Oh, God, I was so frightened.' Suddenly  it all came pouring out, a catharsis of what she had experienced, her  need to share it with him so intense that nothing could dam up the  words. 'And do you know what I thought when I felt it was unavoidable  that he would rape and probably murder me?'

Oliver shook his head, aching to hold her as tightly as he could, but terrified of hurting her … or frightening her.

'I was glad that there'd been you,' she told him simply. 'So very glad  and grateful, because you'd shown me such pleasure, such … '

'Such love,' he said for her. His throat felt raw with emotion, and when  he wrapped her in his arms he knew she would feel his tears against her  skin. 'Oh, God, Charlotte. I've been cursing myself to hell and back  for that, loathing myself for not having the self-control to wait, to  talk to you, to tell you how I felt about you first. I did everything  wrong. I wanted to be with you when you woke up, but those damned  workmen were there. And then you were so sick; you looked so ill. I  thought I'd drive into town and get you something from the chemist. It  never occurred to me that you'd just go straight to work.'

'I had to. I thought you were going to say the usual thing about its  being something we should both forget, that we should behave like  adults.'

'Is that the usual thing?'

She could hear the amusement in his voice and said defensively, 'Well,  you know what I mean. I didn't dare hope that you might love me. You  see, all my life my father let me know how unsatisfactory he found me as  a daughter … as a woman-'

'Yes, I know,' Oliver interrupted her gently. 'Sheila told me. Parents  can do such appalling damage to their children, but you are a woman,  Charlotte-the only woman, as far as I'm concerned. A very, very  desirable and desired woman, whom I love very much. If you can love me  too, that's all I ask. This experience you've had … traumatic for any  woman-'

She knew what he was going to say and gently shook her head.

'No. It was frightening, terrifyingly so, but luckily you came in time,  before he could do anything more than simply tell me what he wanted to  do to me, and somehow I think the knowledge of what I'd shared with you  isolated me from the real horror of it. It was as though nothing he  could say or do to me could come between me and the memories you'd given  me. I'm not afraid to make love again, Oliver,' she told him gravely,  and then froze as he said wryly,

'I am.'

He saw from her face that she had misunderstood him, and cursed her  father silently. How long would it be before she accepted that she was  desirable in every single sense of the word?

'I don't want our first child to be conceived outside our marriage,' he  told her firmly, 'and I don't want to wait any longer than I have to to  make you my wife. Will you marry me, my darling?'

* * *

Sheila was delighted when they told her, as much by Charlotte's  unexpected and heartwarmingly open admission that, since Oliver refused  to make love to her until they were married, she wanted the ceremony to  take place just as soon as it could be arranged, as by the actual  announcement of their engagement.

'Of course, you know the only reason he's marrying me is so that he can get his hands on the business,' she teased.

They would merge the two businesses, of course; she would continue to  work-for the time being at least. She had found she was daydreaming  increasingly frequently of those two dark-blue-eyed children.                       
       
           



       

Since neither of them had any close family, the ceremony they planned  was to be a quiet, simple one, which was what they both wanted.

The day before they were due to be married, Oliver returned home late in  the afternoon and found Charlotte sitting in the orchard under the old  apple tree. She was almost asleep, and, when she opened her eyes and saw  him, she smiled lazily at him.

'I was just daydreaming about how I felt when you made love to me here.'  She saw the way his eyes darkened, and laughed softly. 'You were the  one who imposed the ban,' she reminded him, and then whispered wickedly,  'We're going to be married tomorrow-in less than twenty-four hours.'  She patted the grass beside her coaxingly and heard him groan.

There was laughter in her eyes as well as desire as he came down beside  her and she whispered in his ear, 'Thank goodness for that. For a moment  I thought I was going to have to resort to this.'

Behind her, nestling in the grass, was a bottle of champagne with two glasses.

Oliver laughed with her as he rolled her beneath him but, when he kissed her, for both of them the laughter was stilled.

'This is when we make our vows to one another,' Charlotte told him  huskily. 'This is when we make the promises that we'll never break. Make  love to me, Oliver.'

'All the days of my life,' he promised huskily. 'All the days of my life.'

* * * * *





Innocent Secretary … Accidentally Pregnant

Carol Marinelli





CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue





CHAPTER ONE


EMMA had been honest-had even admitted during her telephone interview  that she was attending night school on a Wednesday night and studying  art and that in a couple of years she was hoping to pursue it full-time.

Everything had gone really well, until the second Evelyn had walked out to greet Emma-and Emma truly didn't understand why.

She'd prepared so carefully for the interview. Reading everything she  could get her hands on about D'Amato Financiers-about their spectacular  rise, even in gloomy times. Luca D'Amato had a no-nonsense  attitude-there was no secret formula to his success, she had read in a  rare interview he had given-just sound decisions and fiscal transparency  and the refusal to be swayed by hype. Yes, she'd read up on him and  then gone through her favourite glossy magazines and followed every last  piece of advice in preparation for this afternoon.

Emma had scoured the second-hand shops and found a stunning-if just a  touch tight for her well-rounded figure-pale lilac linen designer suit,  had had her thick brown ringlets blowdried straight and smoothed up into  a smart French roll, and, horribly broke, she had, on the afternoon of  her interview, as one magazine had cheekily advised, gone to the make-up  counter at a department store and pretended that she was a bride-to-be  and trying out looks for her wedding day.

Her brothers had always teased her about her obsession with magazines  and her father had moaned about how many she had bought, but they had  been her lifeline. Growing up without a mother, living in a  rough-and-tumble house that the little girls she'd invited to come over  and play had never returned to, Emma had lived her childhood and teenage  years reading the glossies for advice, about friends and bullying and  boys. It was the magazines that had taught her about deodorant and  kisses and bras. The magazines she had turned to when at twelve she had  been teased for having hairy legs. And though her devotion to them had  waned somewhat, at the ripe age of twenty-four it had been the magazines  she had immediately turned to for makeup and grooming tips to land her  dream job.

She looked fantastic, just the image she had been hoping to  achieve-smart, sassy, groomed-exactly the right look for a modern  working girl in the city.

Evelyn clearly didn't agree.

Her interviewer was dressed in a stern grey suit, with black flat shoes.  Her fine blonde hair was cut into a neat, practical bob and she wore  just a reluctant sliver of coral lipstick. The antithesis, in fact, of  the look Emma had been trying to achieve!

* * *

'And Mr D'Amato would also prefer someone who speaks Japanese … ' Evelyn continued.