The Flaw In Raffaele's Revenge

Well, she wasn’t playing.

Especially since his light tone didn’t match that assessing scrutiny.

‘How do you know I’m not trying to impress you with my diligence?’ Better to stick to concrete issues than try to guess what was going on in that brilliant, convoluted mind.

He shrugged, the fluid movement innately Italian.

‘You never look to me for approval. You don’t hang about my office asking questions or showing off your success with what you’ve unearthed about Bradshaw.’

Lily’s mouth twitched, a smile hovering at the implication he’d been impressed. But she was too much on edge to allow her lips to curve up. If she let down her guard with this man, she sensed she might never be able to resurrect it.

No matter how charming he could be, Raffaele Petri was dangerous. He’d forced her here. He’d unleashed a sexual awareness in her that terrified her. Every day and every night he’d loomed in her thoughts, a forbidden temptation when she should have been focusing on work or sleep or anything but mortifyingly sensual imaginings.

‘You see the end results anyway.’ Carefully she laced her fingers together as if relaxed. ‘What would be the point of hanging around your office showing off every little success?’

Those sculpted lips stretched in a smile that tugged a sexy crease down one tanned cheek.

Heat drilled from Lily’s lungs to her belly, cramping her abdominal muscles and stirring sexual arousal, instant and unmistakable.

That was why she needed to be vigilant. Raffaele Petri didn’t just have the power to make or break her. He made her crave things that were impossible.

‘You’re paying for the best.’ It had taken her a long time to develop self-confidence about her work and she refused to play coy about something that meant so much. ‘I’m not so needy I require a pat on the head every time I do well.’

If she’d aimed to deflect his attention she’d erred. Instead of backing off, he surveyed her through narrowed eyes.

‘Sometimes it’s not about a pat on the head,’ he murmured. ‘Sometimes people just want my attention.’

Lily looked up into that bright, deliberate gaze, sifting his words.

Seeking attention.

From him.

Why? As soon as she asked the question she had the answer. Because they were attracted to him. Because they wanted him to notice them, respond to them. Just as a tiny, unstoppable part of her had fantasised he might—

She moved so abruptly her chair slid back from the desk, rolling till it crashed into the wall.

Lily found herself standing, her stomach churning so hard she tasted bile. He’d touched too close to her own secret desires and made them seem all the more pathetic. As if he suspected the attraction she couldn’t quell.

Her right hand lifted in that old, compulsive gesture she’d taken years to vanquish. At the last moment, just before her fingers reached her scarred face, she remembered, forcing it back down, planting both palms on her desk. Her hands were damp against the wood, her throat jammed with distress.

It wasn’t just that Raffaele Petri would never find her attractive. No man would.

She was experienced enough to accept that, after several painful experiences where she’d tentatively reached out to a man and had to endure horrified, embarrassed rejection. Yet some foolish part of her still fantasised.

It wasn’t him she was angry with, but herself.

‘You mean they want you to notice them because they’re attracted to you?’ Her voice was raw, stretched tight.

‘It’s been known to happen.’ Again that fluid shrug, but she was beyond noticing how appealing it was. She was too caught up with the burn of shame and self-consciousness.

‘You’re annoyed I haven’t fallen over myself to get your attention?’ She almost choked on the words. Pride was her only lifeline and she clung to it tenaciously. ‘You do realise there are some people who aren’t bowled over by your beauty, Signor Petri?’ Her tone made it clear she was one of them.

If only that were true! Daily exposure to Raffaele Petri had done nothing to inoculate her against his golden good looks. Instead it had given her a respect for his incisive decision-making and his ability to get the best out of his team. She’d discerned fairness and even a self-deprecating humour she found far too appealing.

The sound of laughter sliced her thoughts. Rich and warm, it encircled her like a caress. There was nothing calculated about it, or about his expression, and Lily had the impression that for a moment she saw Raffaele Petri as few did. For, despite his approachability to his staff, he usually exuded a sense of being utterly self-contained.

‘You’re absolutely right, Lily.’ Her pulse gave a throb of pleasure at the sound of her name in that deep, lush voice. ‘And an antidote to my overblown ego. Not everyone finds me attractive. It’s good to know you’re one of them. It makes working together much simpler.’