hadn’t bought herself an evening gown for him. She didn’t relish the idea of parading clothes in front of him, but maybe he’d just let her choose a gown and get on with it.
Of course he would. He was already impatient, wanting to get onto the next thing; Luca Moretti wasn’t going to entertain himself watching his PA try on different dresses. Comforted by this thought, Hannah slid out of the limo.
Luca followed her quickly, placing one hand on her elbow. The touch shocked her; Luca never touched her. Not so much as a hug or a pat on the back in three years of working for him. Hannah had always got the sense that he was a solitary man, despite the parade of women through his life, and she hadn’t minded because she appreciated the focus on work. She didn’t have room in her life for much else.
Now Luca kept his hand on her elbow as he guided her into the boutique, and then slid it to the small of her back as a shop assistant came forward. Hannah felt as if he were branding her back, his palm warm through the thin material of her skirt, his fingers splayed so she could feel the light yet firm pressure of each one. His pinkie finger reached the curve of her bottom, and her whole body stiffened in response as a treacherous flash of heat jolted through her.
‘I would like a complete wardrobe for the weekend for my companion,’ he said to the woman, who batted over-mascaraed lashes at him. ‘Evening gowns, day wear, a swimming costume, nightgown, underthings.’ He glanced at the gold and silver watch on one wrist. ‘In under an hour.’
‘Very good, Mr Moretti.’
Underthings? Hannah felt she had to object. ‘Mr Moretti, I don’t need all those things,’ she protested in a low voice. She certainly didn’t need her boss to buy her a bra. She felt the pressure on the small of her back increase, so she could feel the joints of each of his fingers.
‘Humour me. And why don’t you call me Luca?’ Her jaw nearly dropped at this suggestion. He’d never invited such intimacy before. ‘You’ve been working for me for what, three years?’ he murmured so only she could hear, his head close enough to hers that she breathed in the cedarwood-scented aftershave he wore. When she turned her head she could see the hint of stubble on his jaw. ‘Perhaps we should progress to first names...Hannah.’
For some reason her name on his lips made her want to shiver. She stepped away from his hand, her body bizarrely missing the warmth and pressure of it as soon as it had gone.
‘Very well.’ Yet she couldn’t quite make herself call him Luca. It seemed so odd, so intimate, after three years of starchy formality and respectable distance. Why was Luca shaking everything up now?
The sales assistant was collecting various garments from around the boutique, and another had come forward to usher them both to a U-shaped divan in cream velvet. A third was bringing flutes of champagne and caviar-topped crackers.
Luca sat down, clearly accustomed to all this luxury, and the sales assistant beckoned to Hannah.
‘If the signorina will come this way...?’
Numbly Hannah followed the woman into a dressing room that was larger than the entire upstairs of her house.
‘First this?’ the woman suggested, holding up an evening gown in pale blue chiffon and satin. It was the most exquisite thing Hannah had ever seen.
‘Okay,’ she said, and, feeling as if she were in a surreal dream, she started to unbutton her blouse.
LUCA WAITED FOR Hannah to emerge from the dressing room as he sipped champagne and tried to relax. He was way too wound up about this whole endeavour, and his too-clever PA had noticed. He didn’t want her guessing his game before they’d arrived on Santa Nicola. He couldn’t risk the possibility of her refusal. Although Hannah Stewart had proved to be biddable enough, he suspected she had more backbone than he’d initially realised. And he didn’t want her to use it against him.
Moodily Luca took a sip of champagne and stared out at the rainy streets of Mayfair. In less than twenty-four hours he’d be on Santa Nicola, facing Andrew Tyson. Would the man recognise him? It had been such a long time. Would there be so much as a flicker of awareness in those cold eyes? If there was it would completely ruin Luca’s plan, and yet he couldn’t keep from hoping that he would garner some reaction. Something to justify the emotion that had burned in his chest for far too long.
‘Well?’ he called to Hannah. She’d been in the dressing room for nearly ten minutes. ‘Have you tried something on?’
‘Yes, but this one’s a bit...’ She trailed off, and Luca snapped his gaze to the heavy velvet curtain drawn across the dressing room’s doorway.
‘Come out and let me see it.’
‘It’s fine.’ She sounded a little panicked but also quite firm. ‘I’ll try something else on—’
‘Hannah.’ Luca tried to curb his impatience. ‘I would like to see the dress, please.’ What woman didn’t enjoy showing off haute couture for a man? And he needed to make sure Hannah looked the part.
‘I’m already changing,’ she called, and in one fluid movement Luca rose from the divan and crossed to the dressing room, pulling aside the heavy curtain.
He didn’t know who gasped—Hannah, in shock that he’d intruded, or himself, for the sudden dart of lust that had arrowed through his body at the sight of his PA.
She stood with her back to him, the dress pooling about her waist in gauzy blue folds as she held the front up to her chest, her face in profile, every inch the outraged maiden.
‘Mr Moretti—’ she muttered and he watched a blush crawl up her back and neck to her face.
‘Luca,’ he reminded her, and sent an iron glare of warning to the assistant, who was waiting discreetly in the corner. He did not want anyone gossiping about the oddity of the occasion.
‘Luca,’ Hannah acquiesced, but she sounded annoyed. Luca felt a surprising flicker of amusement. His little sparrow of a secretary sometimes pretended she was a hawk. ‘Please leave. I am changing.’
‘I wanted to see the gown. I’m paying for it, after all.’ He folded his arms, feeling no more than a flash of remorse for pulling that particular trump card. Hannah, however, did not look particularly impressed. ‘How much is this gown?’ he asked the sales assistant.
The woman hesitated, but only for a millisecond. ‘Nine thousand pounds, Signor Moretti.’
‘Nine thousand—’ Hannah whirled around, the dress nearly slipping from her hands. Luca caught a glimpse of pale, lightly freckled fresh, the hint of a small, perfectly round breast. Then she hauled the gown up to her chin, her face now bright red with mortification.
‘Careful,’ he advised. ‘That material looks delicate.’
‘As delicate as this weekend?’ she retorted, and he smiled.
‘I never knew you had a temper.’
‘I never knew you could spend nine thousand pounds on a dress.’
He raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised.
