his David—which is the greatest sculpture in the world.’
She heard the pride and fervour which had deepened his voice—a side of Riccardo she’d never seen before, and one which was oddly stirring. Had she been naïve in hoping that prolonged exposure to this man might remove her longings for him? What if the reverse were true—her passion for him growing while Riccardo grew bored with her?
Surely here was a lesson to be learned. That she must protect her emotions at all costs. She felt the car swing off the main road and then turned to him as they bumped their way up a lonely little track and came to a halt. ‘This isn’t where you live,’ she said slowly as she heard the engine die.
‘No.’
The confusion in her voice was genuine. ‘Then what are we doing in the middle of—?’
‘This.’ He pulled her into his arms and stared down at her—a fierce dark blaze in his eyes. ‘What I’ve been wanting to do since I first saw you walk towards me at the airport with that misleading butter-wouldn’t-melt look on your face. To kiss you, Angie.’
It occurred to her that he could have kissed her back then—but maybe that would have been too public a display of affection for a secret mistress. People he knew might have been watching them and started asking questions; demanding answers. She was here as his sec-retary and the sex would be furtive—as if he were somehow ashamed of what he was doing.
‘I—’
‘Shh.’
His lips silenced her and all her objections were banished in that first sweet touch. She heard the low growl of appreciation he made and for a moment she luxuriated in the pleasure of being in Riccardo’s arms again. Of being able to tangle her fingers in the rich silk of his ebony hair and for his raw, musky scent to invade her nostrils like a welcome marauder. Desire flashed over her skin like sheet lightning.
‘Riccardo,’ she breathed.
‘Angie,’ he murmured back, briefly removing his lips from the soft petals of hers to stare down at her. ‘You’ve been driving me crazy with wanting, you know. It’s insane but I just can’t stop thinking about yesterday. About how we…how we…’ His fingertip seemed to be activated by memory as he began to trail it down over her cashmere coat. All the way down the thick barrier until he reached the hem, which sat primly over her knees.
She held her breath as the finger tiptoed underneath before he began sliding his hand slowly up over her thigh. Let him, she thought greedily. Let him touch me just for a minute and then I’ll stop him. She closed her eyes as the direction of his hand became more purposeful. Now it was skating even further upwards—tracing light erotic circles over each inner thigh and causing her to expel a breathless little gasp.
She could feel the stealthy and inexorable heat building. The responsive prickle of her breasts. The clamouring of sexual hunger which hadn’t featured in her life for so long that she’d almost forgotten it—and yet which Riccardo had activated and which now burned with a fierce flame inside her.
‘Riccardo!’ She caught his face between her hands as his fingers skated over the hot and aching core of her—the barrier of panties and tights doing nothing to lessen the growing hunger within her. Her throat felt constricted, her cheeks on fire—and then she realised that he was now pulling at the belt of her coat.
He wanted her here—in his car—down some little Tuscan track! His furtive secretary lover.
Her body screaming its protest, Angie wrenched herself out of his arms. ‘Stop it,’ she whispered from between lips which felt swollen to twice their normal size. ‘Stop it right now.’
A nerve worked at his temple. ‘You don’t want me to stop it.’
Maybe her body didn’t—but her dignity demanded it. Or did he think he was just going to erode that too with his sexual mastery—the way he had chipped away at her heart?
‘Oh, yes, I do.’ Ineffectually, she pushed at the hard wall of his chest. ‘Do you really want me to turn up at your house and to meet your family with my cheeks all flushed and my hair awry—making it perfectly obvious what we’ve just been doing?’
‘They won’t care what you look like,’ he snapped insultingly.
‘I find that very hard to believe,’ she returned, enjoying the outrage on his face as she dared to stand up to him. ‘And even if they don’t care—then I most certainly will. I’m here as your secretary, remember? And there’s a certain standard to maintain—a decorum—which I don’t intend to compromise with a quick fumble in your car!’
‘A quick fumble?’ he echoed, outraged.
‘Well, what would you call it?’
‘You do not think that such an experience would be pleasurable?’
‘N-no.’ She was on less sure ground now. ‘I’m not saying that at all. You’re very good, as I’m sure enough people have told you. I’m just refusing to turn up to your house giving people ammunition to make negative judgements about me.’
Struggling to rein in his ragged breath and trying to ease the unbearable ache at his groin, Riccardo glared at her. This was no coy little game she was playing, he realised with dawning disbelief. She really meant it. Did she think that he would fall under her spell if she resisted him?
And yet he could not remember the last time a woman had spurned his sexual advances.
For a moment, an unwilling respect warred with his feelings of frustration—and then he moved away from her with an impatient click of his tongue and started up the car.
‘Riccardo—’
‘Don’t talk to me when I’m driving!’ he thundered.
‘But you’ve left the handbrake on.’
With a curse, he released it—wishing that his body could be freed from its tight, aching constriction with such ease. Then he forced himself to concentrate on a road which suddenly seemed unfamiliar—though he had driven along it many times since the age of seventeen. He would make her pay in his bed tonight, he thought angrily. And she would suffer such sweet torture for the frustration she had dared inflict on him.
In the simmering atmosphere of the car, they didn’t exchange another word until they had descended a winding mountain road and they came to a small village. Angie looked out of the window, captivated by all she could see. There were lots of little houses and a clutch of shops, which were shuttered up for the afternoon, as well as a small schoolhouse, and a beautiful grey-stone church. And through it all snaked a river—crystal-clear and fast-moving as it curved a silver line through the green pastures.
Up one of the steep adjoining side-roads Riccardo drove, until at last he reached his hilltop destination and then he stopped to allow her that first view—the view which always took people’s breath away, no matter how rich or how jaded their appetites.
‘The Castellari home,’ he said, with an unmistakable ring of pride to his voice. ‘La Rocca.’
Their stand-off forgotten, Angie stared at the family home which she’d heard him mention over the years. She had always known it was a castle—had even talked about it to her mother—but the reality of actually
