Description
EXCERPT
Phoebe reentered her office at Androtti’s clutching a bag of Chinese takeout from a nearby restaurant. A drizzling of rain had left her golden hair a mass of waves, and she ran a hand through it in an attempt to restore some semblance of order after setting lunch on her desk. She took time to remove her raincoat, stow her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk and check the voicemail for messages before picking up the bag and moving to Luca’s office. A soft tap elicited an, “Enter,” in his deep, lightly accented baritone, and she opened the door.
Luca looked up, his eyes gleaming darkly behind the gold frames of his reading glasses. The amber glow from the lamp on his desk brought out rich blue highlights in his thick, black hair, making it difficult for Phoebe to focus on the task he had set for her. She stood stupidly in the doorway, unable to tear her eyes from her boss. A lock of hair flipped onto his forehead made her fingers itch to push it back, before proceeding down his face, to lightly caress the slight lines at his eyes. She would then move downward, across the strong bridge of his nose, to savor the firm texture of his full lips, before touching the slight cleft in his chin. Once her hands had explored the strong column of his throat, she would splay them across his chest as she sank onto his lap, her lips moist and ready to taste his….
Luca clearing his throat brought her back to reality. With a shake of her head, Phoebe did her best to hide her embarrassment at slipping into the fantasy. She lifted the bag higher. “Fried rice and spicy beef, as requested.”
He removed his glasses, setting them atop the file in one movement, even as he beckoned her forward with his other hand. Phoebe’s feet propelled her toward him, the heels of her shoes sinking into the frosted-gray carpet that was so plush it was probably more comfortable to sleep on than her own bed.
Upon reaching his desk, she put down the bag, opened it, and began removing the boxes. Each one was marked, so it was a simple matter to separate his order from hers. Silence filled the room while she completed the task, and Phoebe tried to pretend she wasn’t aware of Luca’s eyes sweeping over her as she worked. It was a difficult charade to maintain, since she could almost feel his sensual gaze touching her, caressing her intimately.
He wanted her as much as she wanted him. She was convinced they were both aware of the smoldering magnetism that arced between them whenever they shared the same space. Phoebe knew enough about men to read the awareness in his eyes, to pick up on his subtle signals. She wasn’t naïve enough to think Luca lacked any experience with female companions, so she couldn’t delude herself into thinking he didn’t know she was equally attracted to him. The three months she had worked for him had only increased her attraction and, judging from recent behavior, his too.
Phoebe’s hands trembled slightly when she picked up the two boxes containing her order, along with a plastic fork, preparing to return to her desk. She held her breath, tensing as Luca slid away from his desk to gain his feet. Her heart hammered in her ears when he walked toward her. She held breath escaped in a harsh exhalation when he brushed against her arm in the process of pointing to the cozy arrangement of a sofa, two chairs and a coffee table in the corner of his office.
“Stay, have lunch with me.”
Was she imagining the hint of smokiness in his tone? Phoebe tried to appear nonchalant when she asked, “Shall I fetch the recorder?” The only times he had asked her to join him before had entailed working lunches, where he dictated memos into the recorder, or they discussed various strategies for dealing with a particular situation.
Luca shook his head, scooped up his containers, and walked toward the sofa. His broad shoulders and lean waist, emphasized by the expertly tailored suit, drew her eyes, and it was all she could do not to fling herself at him.
With the fervent hope lunch was only foreplay, that finally some progress would take place today, leading them toward the seemingly inevitable affair, Phoebe followed. Luca had selected a middle cushion on the long sofa, and she sat beside him. The distance she left was enough to be provocative, but not completely blatant.
It took seconds to open her boxes, leaving her uncomfortably aware of his proximity and her lack of sparkling conversation. Being so close to him wasn’t that unusual. After all, they worked together every day, usually in the confines of this office. But it was different today. Tension hung between them, and awareness of each other, of how easy it would be to lock the door and make love.
Or maybe she was imagining it all, Phoebe wondered with a frown when Luca leaned back and began eating. His posture suggested relaxation, without a hint of tension or suppressed awareness of her as more than his personal assistant. Had she manufactured in her own mind the exchanged glances that spoke of mutual longing? Was she so desperate for this man’s touch that she was allowing herself to believe he was equally needy for hers?
Second-guessing her interpretation of his signals, Phoebe absently picked at steamed rice. As the silence stretched, her confidence grew shakier by the moment, until she was convinced she had imagined any sort of interest from her boss.
Panic took hold, and she buried the fork into the box and scooted away from him, ready to launch herself from the sofa and as far away from him as possible. Her face burned with humiliation, and she was desperate to escape. Silently, Phoebe cursed Luca when he finally decided to break the silence.
“What is it?” As he asked the question, Luca grasped her forearm, his palm burning through the thin layer of silk separating them.
Phoebe gasped when he rubbed a slow circle across her skin while turning her to face him. Her knees rested against his with the new position, and she had nowhere to look except into his eyes. They smoldered with banked desire. Her lips parted in response to his when she saw them forming a bow. Anticipation quickened her pulse and she arched forward, lifting her chin to facilitate the first meeting of their mouths.
She could already taste Luca, had done so in countless nighttime fantasies, and it took every ounce of self-control to allow him to set the pace. He would appreciate that, being Italian. As modern as he was in business, he could be equally traditional in his dealings with the “fairer” sex.
A frown pursed her lips before she forced herself to dismiss thoughts of any other woman with Luca. Only she was here with him now, about to share a kiss she knew would be magical.
His head lowered at a steady pace, and she waited impatiently. Her eyes closed when he got close enough for his breath to wash across her cheek. She curled her hands into fists in her lap to resist the urge to bury them into his hair and drag his mouth to hers.
Just as his lips were close enough for her to flick out her tongue to taste, the door opened without so much as a knock. A sound akin to a sob of frustration escaped Phoebe, drowned out by the mechanical hum of Salvatore Androtti’s wheelchair as it glided across the thick carpet.
His dark eyes raked over her, leaving Phoebe exposed and raw, feeling as though he had measured her worth in a single glance and found her lacking. She leapt to her feet, counseling herself to act as though nothing unusual had been about to happen, even as she did her best to avoid the cold gaze of Luca’s father. “If you don’t need me for anything else, Mr. Androtti, I’ll leave you.”