Chapter Five #2
He absorbed this in silence and nodded, running a slow thumb over the shadow of his jaw. ‘A habit which perhaps became a little more pronounced after I arrived?’ he suggested, after a moment.
He knows, Flora realised, with a sudden wash of shame.
For all her supposedly determined efforts to keep her feelings beneath the radar, had Vito Monticello been aware of her lust for him all along?
Perhaps this was an occupational hazard where he was concerned.
Did he sit back and witness countless foolish secretaries losing their hearts to him?
Did he think she’d deliberately cannoned into him upstairs, hoping for a kiss?
‘What do you want me to say, Vito?’ she questioned, in a low voice. ‘That I fancied you like mad and was terrified of how vulnerable that made me feel at work?’
There was a pause. ‘Only if it’s true.’
She wanted to deny his silken suggestion.
To maybe give a short laugh and tell him he was out of his mind.
But she wasn’t the kind of woman who could carry off such a barefaced lie and besides, indignation was in short supply when confronted by the smoky smoulder of his gaze, which was setting her blood on fire.
And what was the worst that could happen if she admitted it?
Since he was the one probing for an answer, he could hardly accuse her of insubordination if she answered him honestly.
The much more likely scenario was that he’d reassure her, telling her he would regard it as nothing more than a sweet and rather naive compliment and they would never speak of it again.
‘Yes, it’s true!’ she said, with a fervour which seemed to rush from her lips of its own accord, before lifting a defiant chin. ‘Satisfied?’
‘Satisfied?’ He gave an odd laugh. ‘Oh, Flora. Did you choose that word to taunt me, knowing that the only thing which would satisfy me right now would be if I were to lie you down on that rug and start making love to you?’
Flora’s hand fluttered to her sternum, her fingertips colliding with the soft, red wool as she stared at him in confusion. ‘Is that some sort of joke?’
‘Do you really think I’ve been immune to you all this time?
’ he demanded unsteadily. ‘That it was only your short skirt and clingy sweater which turned me on—that I am like a magpie, only attracted to something shiny?’ He paused.
‘Surely you must realise that the imagination can be the most powerful aphrodisiac of all, which is why your dowdy attire failed to do its job properly.’
‘D-did it?’
He shrugged. ‘Frankly, I get bored by the amount of flesh I see on display these days. I know it’s a deeply unfashionable view, but I find it vulgar.
Don’t you realise that modesty can be unbearably tantalising?
That what you can’t see can be even more enticing than what you can?
I didn’t imagine the chemistry we shared a couple of hours ago, and neither did you.
’ His voice dipped into a velvety caress.
‘It was so innocent and yet so damned…hot that it was almost combustible. What’s the matter, Flora?
Why are you staring at me like that? Do you consider yourself so undesirable that you don’t believe what I’m saying? ’
I know I’m undesirable, she wanted to tell him miserably, yet somehow the way he was looking at her was managing to contradict all her old beliefs.
She could feel her body silently responding to his words and for a moment she allowed herself to revel in this alluring and entirely unexpected reinforcement of her own sexuality.
But that was dangerous. She stared down at the fingers which were clasped together in her lap, not daring to speak nor even to move, unsure of where this was going.
And that was dangerous too.
‘Flora?’
She lifted her head, acknowledging the dark melt of his eyes and her heart turned over with lust and longing. ‘What?’ she whispered.
‘We could spend hours skating around the subject, or we could cut to the chase.’
She nodded. ‘Go on, then,’ she said cautiously.
‘Do you want me?’
Her mind was working frantically, trying to fight with her body—and her mind was losing. ‘You know I do,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But you’re my boss.’
‘But I’m not. Not anymore. Dante Antonelli will be arriving after the holidays and you told me yourself that you intend to look for a new job.’ There was a pause as he shot her a look of soft challenge. ‘So if that’s your only objection…’
It wasn’t, of course—there were others. Flora stared into his beautiful face.
He was about as far out of her reach as the cold stars in the sky above.
Their worlds were poles apart. She was an ordinary woman from West London who just about managed to make ends meet—not a model, or an actress, or a high-powered businesswoman, who were undoubtedly his more usual type of bed partner.
But more than any of these things, she just didn’t know much about men. She’d hardly been able to deal with Liam—who was a painter and decorator from West London—let alone a powerful billionaire who jetted around the world on his private jet.
This shouldn’t be happening and there was a bit of her which didn’t really believe it was.
Yet the reality was that Vito Monticello wanted to get intimate with her and the idea didn’t seem a bit outrageous.
Was that because they were stuck in this picturesque lodge with thick snow outside—with the added magic of Christmas thrumming away in the background—which made such an idea seem so normal?
But it was risk all the same, and risk was something Flora had avoided, ever since those grim-faced police officers had knocked on her door all those years ago to tell her that Mum was gone. When she had vowed that nothing or no one, was ever going to hurt her like that again.
So she had played safe.
With Liam.
With everything.
The thrift-shop clothes and the homemade sandwiches. The money she still squirreled away in case Amy might one day need it. She’d denied herself stuff for so long that she did it automatically and convinced herself she didn’t mind. And mostly she didn’t. But…
Couldn’t she do something for herself for a change?
Why the hell not?
Stretching her legs out in front of her she saw Vito’s eyes following the movement almost helplessly and Flora was filled with a sudden rush of elation as she saw the expression on his face.
She wanted to remember this moment, when this gorgeous, powerful man had looked at her with hunger darkening his icy eyes.
She wanted to bury it deep inside her mind so that she could drag it out like a glittering treasure on dark and drizzly days and study it.
‘No, it’s not my only objection,’ she conceded, in a voice which didn’t sound like her voice at all.
Just like her body didn’t feel like her body as she leaned back on her elbows, the movement automatically thrusting her breasts forward in silent invitation, as if she’d just received a crash course in provocation.
‘But I’m prepared to overlook the rest, if you are. ’
He made a sound at the back of his throat, midway between a growl and a laugh.
It was primitive and triumphant and seemed to set down invisible markers, which Flora knew she’d be a fool to ignore.
The earthy sound drove home the fact that this was sex—and nothing more than sex.
But who cared when he was moving towards her like that, his eyes flashing dark fire as he reached her and captured her face between his palms.
‘But we need to be clear on something, Flora,’ he stated huskily, as he stared down at her.
‘What?’ she whispered distractedly, wishing he would just kiss her.
‘I want you. Very, very much. But what I don’t want are any regrets or recriminations. This is for one night, and one night only.’
‘Like the circus, you mean?’ she questioned flippantly.
His thumb grazed the outline of her trembling lips, which opened instantly beneath his touch. ‘Do you understand?’ he demanded urgently.
‘Yes, yes!’ she said, trying to convince herself that she should be grateful for his candour.
Of course it was only going to be one night—and she told herself that was a good thing.
A liberating thing, meaning she could be as wild as she liked.
Because suddenly she was feeling really wild, which also wasn’t like her.
She swallowed. Not like her at all. ‘Just kiss me,’ she urged.
‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and lowered his head to hers.
She’d thought it would be a hard and masterful demonstration of power, but she was wrong.
Flora moaned, because who knew a kiss could be this slow?
Especially when delivered by a man known for his impatience.
But it was as though Vito Monticello had decided he had all the time in the world, or maybe he was just demonstrating his steely sense of control.
He kissed her until she was soft with longing, until she tightened her arms around his neck and her breasts started pressing against the hard wall of his chest. And then the kiss got deeper. Seeking. More urgent than before.
Flora trembled as he pushed her down onto the thick sheepskin, realising he was going to do it to her here, in front of the fire and the Christmas tree.
And something about the way he was looking at her and the way he was touching her was turning her on even more.
He was taking off her clothes as if he wanted to see her properly, rather than hiding her away beneath a duvet.
Could it get any more fantastic? she wondered dazedly.
The answer was yes. Much more. Especially when he peeled her sweater over her head.
‘Wow,’ he murmured, his eyes narrowing with smoky appreciation when he clocked her new bra. ‘Your breasts are incredible.’
‘Are they?’
‘You know damned well they are,’ he growled.