The Italian Boss's Mistress of Revenge

She shook her head as his hand moved down her arm, his thumb tracking perilously close to the swell of her breast. She could unfold her arms, but then she’d feel too exposed, too open to him, and he’d surely hear her heart thumping crazily. ‘And I must say you have a very fertile imagination. Now, would you please leave me alone?’

‘You didn’t mind me touching you last night, as I recall. In fact, you seemed to enjoy it—a lot.’

She didn’t want to hear it. Those feelings she’d experienced last night, the feelings she was having now when he merely brushed her arm or came close to her breasts, she didn’t understand them. They were all too new, too unfamiliar. She didn’t understand why this man, of all men, would be the one who would so comprehensively mess with her thermostat.

Frustrated, she unfolded her arms in a rush to fend him off as she tried to push past. ‘You’re mad. Let me out of here.’

But he just smiled and moved the same way so that their bodies collided. She bounced back from the contact, short of breath, only to have what breath was left in her throat wrenched away deftly as he removed her glasses, letting them fall gently onto the desk blotter beside them.

‘Hey!’

His smile widened. ‘You have the most amazing eyes,’ he told her. ‘They’re the most brilliant shade of green—almost like emeralds. I knew I’d seen them somewhere before.’

She looked away. ‘Lots of people have green eyes,’ she said, only to feel his hand working at something behind her head. Before she could protest, she felt her hair slip free from its clasp, weight pulling it tumbling down over her shoulders and beyond, helped on its way with a comb of his fingers. Her scalp tingled, but it was her entire body that trembled. ‘There, isn’t that better?’

‘Not really, no.’

He lifted a coil of her hair and snaked it around his fingers, dipping his head and inhaling deeply. ‘I woke this morning with the scent of your hair on my pillow. Why did you leave so soon?’

‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You can’t still pretend it wasn’t you in my bed?’

‘I told you, it was probably a dream.’

He tugged on her hair, drawing her closer. ‘Oh, it was better than a dream. Much better.’ His voice was a warm, silk ribbon that curled around her as his eyes held her prisoner. ‘And so much more satisfying.’

He was too close. So close she could breathe in his own personal scent, between the shower freshness and breakfast coffee—a scent that flung her back, more than anything, to where she’d been just a few short hours ago. A scent that filled her lungs and was pumped around her bloodstream, reminding every last part of her of what they’d shared, and just how amazing he’d felt inside her. How he’d stretched her so deliciously. How he’d fitted her so completely.

She shook her head. She couldn’t afford to think about that. ‘Look, Mr Carrazzo—’

‘Call me Dante.’

‘Wh…?’

‘After what happened last night, maybe it’s time we were on first-name terms.’

Denial, she thought; there was still hope in denial. And in backing away. Even if there were only cold, hard filing cabinets at her back to welcome her. They were solid and real, and in a world where everything she knew had gone pear-shaped she needed their straight, metal lines and reassuring rigidity. ‘Nothing happened last night.’

He followed her, placing his hands on the cabinets either side of her. ‘Why did you disappear? I missed you this morning.’

She was shaking her head. ‘No.’

He lifted one hand to touch the pads of two fingers to her chin, tracing the line of her jaw to her ear, before letting his fingers trail down her neck. ‘We had so much more to explore together.’