Out of Hours...Cinderella Secretary: The Italian Billionaire's Secretary Mistress / The Secretary's Scandalous Secret / The Boss's Inexperienced Secretary

Angie looked up to see the unfamiliar sight of her boss standing at the door of the staffroom—a place he rarely visited—and instantly there was a buzz of conversation as every single woman in the room sat up straight. She had been sitting chatting to Alicia because the rain was lashing down too hard to even think of going outside during her lunch-hour and she wasn’t expecting Riccardo back in the office until later on. His black hair was spattered with rain and so was his dark cashmere coat. And he had a look of pure, dark fury on his face that set off warning bells deep inside her.

She gave him a slightly uneasy smile—and gestured to her half-eaten sandwich. ‘Sure. Do you mind if I just—?’

‘Why don’t you bring it with you?’ he snapped. ‘I want to talk to you now.’

Angie flushed as she stood up, picking up the rest of her lunch and dropping it in the bin, trying to ignore the interested sympathy in Alicia’s eyes and the exchanged glances of the other secretaries. It was humiliating to be spoken to like that—especially in front of other people. And especially after she’d had to field so many embarrassing questions about what it had been like to have been given a lift home in Riccardo’s chauffeur-driven car after the Christmas party.

Ever since the new year, she had been given a crash-course in evasion—she couldn’t bear to think of it as lying. But what else could she do other than giving fudging, half-truth replies to an impressionable young girl like Alicia? Coming out and admitting that she’d spent a passionate night with the boss was hardly portraying herself as the ideal role model to one of the junior staff, was it?

She followed Riccardo out of the staffroom, trying to keep up with his determined stride, but his long legs meant that he far outpaced her.

‘Is something wrong?’ she puffed, when finally they reached his penthouse office.

‘Shut the door,’ he said ominously.

Angie swallowed. ‘Riccardo—’

‘I said, shut the door.’

Hands trembling, she obeyed him, looking up at him with some inexplicable feeling of dread building inside her as he hung up his rain-spattered coat. ‘Has something happened?’ she questioned.

Black eyes flicked over her. At the way the fabric of her dress clung to her breasts. ‘Damned right it has.’

Her brow creased with anxiety. ‘Nothing to do with the family, I hope.’

He glared down at her. Wasn’t that just like Angie to worry about someone else? But now he found himself wondering how much of her supposedly soft nature had just been an act—concealing a person he was fast discovering he didn’t know at all. And maybe he didn’t. Because, if Riccardo was being honest, hadn’t the very macho side of his nature been slightly appalled at the ease with which Angie had switched from secretary to lover?

Hadn’t he put her in the category of women who would have been appalled that he should have made a pass at her—and primly shown him the door instead of welcoming him into her body with a passionate zeal which had rocked him. Furious with himself for a train of thoughts which was having predictable consequences on his body, he glared at her. ‘Don’t try and change the subject!’ he bit out.

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Tell me, Angie,’ he said, in a voice of soft danger, ‘were you ever going to get around to telling me that you’re planning on leaving?’

Heart scudding fast with panic, Angie stared at him, her mind working overtime. Yes, she’d sent off several job applications—but she hadn’t heard a whisper back from any of them. There certainly hadn’t been any intimation that anybody was currently taking up references about her suitability for any post. Why, she hadn’t even been shortlisted for any interviews!

‘Well, I’m not leaving—strictly speaking,’ she said. ‘I’m thinking about leaving and I’ve applied for a few jobs, but I haven’t got anything else to go to. I haven’t even been for an interview yet.’

‘You didn’t think,’ breathed Riccardo, trying to dampen down his anger—and his growing feeling of frustration, ‘that it might be polite to have given me some kind of warning about your plans—especially in view of the fact that you’ve worked for me for so long? Or didn’t you think I was owed that kind of courtesy?’

For a moment Angie had to struggle with the temptation to fling his accusation back in his face. She wondered what he’d say if she dared challenge him. Had he shown her anything in the way of courtesy when he’d hightailed it out of her apartment—looking as if she’d tainted him?

‘I was going to tell you!’

‘When?’

‘I was waiting to find the right time.’ She regarded him, knowing that when Riccardo was in this kind of spiky mood it was best to tread carefully. ‘How…how did you find out?’

‘How?’ He made an angry little noise, midway between a laugh and a snort. ‘Why, when one of my biggest rivals came up to me at a fancy dinner last night and asked me whether he thought he’d be in with a chance of getting his hands on the best secretary in the business.’

Angie flushed with pleasure. ‘But isn’t that a kind of compliment?’ she asked. ‘To you as well as to me?’

‘And how precisely do you work that out?’ he questioned silkily, wondering why her cheeks had gone so pink. Was there something else she wasn’t telling him? Had she enjoyed the chauffeur-driven ride home more than she’d let on? So much that she had seen a glimpse of a world she would like to inhabit—because wasn’t that what women did when they caught that first heady whiff of real wealth?

Had she perhaps reconciled herself to the fact that he knew her far too well to ever contemplate taking her as his lover? But that maybe with her new and inexplicable brand of sexuality—which had been kick-started by the red dress—she might now find a more receptive audience in another wealthy man. Did that explain the new haircut—and the way she seemed to have sexed-up her wardrobe? His mouth hardened. ‘How is it flattering to me for everyone in the business world to be aware that you’re leaving—except for me?You know that at this end of the corporate world good secretaries are like gold dust!’

‘Exactly!’ said Angie. ‘It’s a reflected compliment. Don’t you see? He rates me and so therefore he is applauding your judgement!’

‘My ego isn’t so diminished that I need my worth to be reflected by my staff,’ came the cutting retort.

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘It was the “getting his hands” on you that made me rather concerned for your welfare and concerned about something else, too,’ he responded coolly. There was a pause as the black eyes drifted over her. ‘Have you been gossiping about our night together, Angie?’

Her colour heightened as the hateful sting behind his words pricked at her skin. ‘Of course I haven’t!’ she retorted.

‘Sure?’ he questioned mockingly. ‘You haven’t been boasting to the typing pool that you managed to get your clutches in the boss and that he’s a red-hot lover? Word gets around, you know—especially over something as sensational as that.’

That did it. Angie’s temper boiled over. Despite knowing that it was probably the most foolish response in the world, her indignation was so intense that she just couldn’t help herself.

‘You bastard!’ she shot at him, her hand flying to his face, hating him for making her feel like some gossipy little nobody who for one night only had bagged the big prize. ‘You think you’re so great, do you?’

But his reaction was lightning-sharp and he instantly deflected her intended strike with a swift and effortless capture—his hand wrapping around her tiny wrist as he hauled her up close to him. And that was dangerous. More than dangerous. She could feel the sheer heat which was emanating from his powerful body and she could feel its hard contours, too.

‘My greatness was never in any doubt,’ he hissed. ‘But don’t you think you’ve made me look a fool?’

‘Is that all you care about, you arrogant pig—your reputation?’

He gave a low laugh, knowing that with her carelessly insulting words she had sealed her fate. Their professional relationship was to all intents and purposes over—and thus there was no longer any need to deny himself what he wanted. What she wanted too, judging from the way her lips trembled and her eyes had widened into black pools he could have dived into. ‘No, piccola, that’s just where you’re wrong,’ he mocked softly. ‘You see, right now there are more immediate concerns on my mind than my professional reputation.’

And with that he drove his mouth down on hers in a hard, almost punishing kiss.

Angie tried to fight it. Tried to fight herself—but within seconds she knew that it was a battle she was destined to lose. Anger made her frantic and desire made her weak. And despite everything—Riccardo made her feel alive. Alive.

‘Riccardo,’ she breathed against his seeking lips as she caught onto his broad shoulders as if they were a lifeline. As if he were the only solid object in her world and she needed to hold onto him. As if she needed to say his name aloud again to convince herself that he was real. ‘Oh, Riccardo.’

The unashamed emotion in her voice struck him in a way he had not expected and he went up in flames. He had spent the entire holiday season see-sawing between calming the pre-wedding nerves of his sister and remembering that stolen night with Angie. As the days had ticked away he had wondered whether it really could have happened. Whether he really could have allowed it to happen. And now, feeling her soft and supple body in his arms once more, he could see exactly how.

Lust—pure, potent and powerful—pumped through his veins like life-blood as his hand grasped a cashmere-covered breast and he felt it peak against the fine wool.

‘Oh,’ she breathed instantly, melting into his hard body—her fingers wrapping themselves around his neck, wanting him closer still. She made no protest when he pushed her to the floor, nor when he began to smooth his hands down the sides of her body—as if he were reacquainting himself with her, by touch alone. Instead, she felt her body rearing towards his—as if it had been conditioned to put as little space between the two of them as possible.

His lips moved to her neck. ‘You’re driving me crazy—do you know that?’

‘S-snap,’ she managed, through bone-dry lips.

He tried to tell himself that he shouldn’t be doing this—but hard on the heels of that one intrusive thought came another. Could he strip her bare? Was there time to have her lying naked on the floor of his office—her limbs splayed out with indolent abandon—so that he could feast his eyes on her pink and white softness while he made love to her one more blissful time?

No. This whole scenario was crazy enough—but that would be sheer madness. And what if someone came in? Urgently, Riccardo began to ruck up her dress. Nobody would dare to come in—not without knocking first. And in the meantime, he couldn’t wait any longer.