like a match made in heaven.
Although delicious, the meal seemed to go on for ever, and if Angie was full up after the pasta course no one seemed to notice or to care whether she ate or not. She told herself she was glad Riccardo was sitting far away from her. Yet her feelings were at war with common sense—she ached for his touch, no matter how much she tried to tell herself that she was a stupid fool for wanting him.
Did she make those feelings apparent? Was that why when she looked up from her unwanted plate of sorbet to find herself caught in the crossfire of his gaze his black eyes seemed to mock her while his lips curved into a smile of sensual promise. Angie swallowed. He was so…so sure of himself, wasn’t he? So certain of her—that no matter what he said or did, she would still sink into his embrace whenever he snapped his fingers.
And you will, won’t you? Because despite all your little pep talks about no longer being a doormat, aren’t you secretly counting off the seconds until you can feel him in your arms again?
After dinner, there was dancing in a huge ballroom which had been decked out with garlands of scented blooms and shiny balloons in silver and gold. It seemed that every VIP and dignitary from miles around was attending and Angie told herself that of course Riccardo wouldn’t ask her to dance—and that even if he asked she would refuse. She would sweetly tell him to go and entertain his guests and not his employee. But she was wrong—on both counts. He did ask, and she didn’t refuse—because when it came to it, how could she? Not when her heart was racing with excitement and her skin tingling when he laid his hand on her bare arm.
‘Having a good time?’ he murmured as he pulled her against him, splaying his fingers over the buttery satin of her dress.
It wasn’t her role to spoil his fun and to tell him that she thought this was the strangest atmosphere she’d ever encountered at a pre-wedding party. And besides, those thoughts were fading from her mind already—eclipsed by the sheer pleasure of being in his arms again.
As they danced, sensations began to bombard her—wearing down a resistance which was already thin. She was aware of his own particular musky scent and the now familiar feel of his hard body against hers. Angie certainly wasn’t an accomplished dancer, but she didn’t need to be because Riccardo was guiding her around the dance-floor with a sure touch which made her feel positively graceful.
‘Mmm?’ he prompted, his lips close to her ears.
‘I’m…I’m having a great time,’ she answered truthfully, because in that moment she couldn’t think of a place she’d rather be.
‘Me, too.’ Tightening his hands around her waist, he looked down into her flushed face. Saw the way that her lips had parted. Noted the tiny pulse which hammered at the base of her throat. And suddenly he wanted to kiss her. Damn the ballroom, he thought. And damn the guests with their quick and curious eyes. Riccardo swallowed, pulling her even closer—wanting to demonstrate just how aroused she had made him. ‘I may just take you out for the day tomorrow,’ he added. ‘If you’re lucky.’
Angie’s heart missed a beat. If you’re lucky.
Maybe the words weren’t intended to be patronizing, but that was how they came across—or maybe it was because they were accompanied by the shameless thrust of his pelvis, so that she could feel the hard heat at the very cradle of him. It was nothing but a silent and arrogant sexual boast and it seemed to mock at her own romantic interpretation of the dance, making her feel stupid. Angie pulled back, ignoring the screaming objection of her body. ‘Sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to work tomorrow.’
He stared at her blankly. ‘Work?’
‘That’s what you supplied the laptop for, remember?’
He was in such a state of frustrated desire that she might as well have been speaking in Greek for all the sense he made of her words until his head cleared. ‘But you did that work this afternoon,’ he said quickly.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You didn’t?’
Angie allowed herself a serene smile. ‘No. I took a long bath and read a book instead, actually.’
A pulse began to flicker at his temple. Was this the beginning of rebellion—of Angie abusing her position simply because they’d become lovers? Why, in all the years of working for him she had never refused to carry out one of his orders. ‘That’s not what I wanted,’ he snapped.
‘Well, it’s what I wanted,’ she returned.
‘But I’m paying you to do what I want,’ he reminded her with silken cruelty.
‘No, you pay me to support you in a secretarial role.’ The words came out in a breathless rush, fuelled by a fury at what he’d just said and suddenly Angie didn’t care that they were in the middle of the dance-floor. Because wasn’t this long overdue? ‘Don’t you think I’ve done enough out-of-hours for you over the years to recognise when I deserve some time off, Riccardo? If you trust me enough to make me privy to all your confidential business dealings—then you should credit me with the judgement to decide when I want to ease off!’
There was a stunned kind of silence for a moment, and then he smiled. ‘Oh, cara,’ he murmured. ‘Your insubordination is such a turn-on that I can hardly wait until I get you into bed again. If only I’d realised that I had such a little wildcat hiding away all these years.’
‘Well, you’re the one who’s made me into a wildcat,’ she returned, without thinking.
‘Am I really? Then at least I have something to be grateful for.’ Trickling his thumb down over her hips in what felt like a proprietorial marking of his territory, he bent his mouth to her ear. ‘But you will forgive me if I leave you now. Much more of this on the dance-floor and I shall be dragging you off to the nearest alcove to peel off your panties and that really wouldn’t do, would it?’
And without another word, he turned and walked away and Angie was left staring after him with flaming cheeks and a hammering heart. Had he meant to drive home that her impact on him was purely physical? She felt faint, dizzy, and wondered how soon she could decently slip away from here—away from the eyes which she sensed were looking at her with open curiosity.
Distractedly, she went to the side of the ballroom and was just thinking about making her escape when she felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned to see Floriana standing there.
Up close, her mannequin-like appearance was even more apparent and Angie thought that the girl’s lips looked positively bloodless. Pushing thoughts of Riccardo out of her mind, Angie forced a smile. ‘Lovely party,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ But Floriana’s smile didn’t meet her eyes. ‘Angie, would you like to come and see my wedding dress?’
‘Me?’ questioned Angie in surprise.
‘Please. You’d like to, wouldn’t you? I thought that all women liked wedding dresses.’
Telling herself she should feel flattered, Angie nodded. ‘Of course. I’d love to.’
‘Then come with me—but let’s be quick,’ the Italian girl urged. ‘Before Romano accuses me of neglecting my guests.’ Linking their arms as if they’d been lifelong friends, Floriana led her along one of the long corridors alongside the ballroom and
