The Italian Boss's Secret Child(4)

By: Trish Morey


‘All right,’ she said, rounding the desk until she was on his side. She surveyed his legs, currently providing a very effective barrier between her and easy access to the computer, and almost as if she’d determined they were an immovable object reached over them to the laptop on the far side of his desk. A faint hint of something fruity and sweet stirred his senses as she stretched across him.

He prided himself on knowing the names of all the top perfumes and he had a talent for picking them for his dates. A different perfume for a different skin, a different personality, a different woman. To Carmel, sleek and elegant, he’d given the classic Chanel No. 5. Warm and lush, Kandy had adored the heady tones of Opium, while for Belinda, fair and dreamlike, he’d chosen Romance.

But this perfume was something new, totally unlike anything else he’d come across. Something tantalisingly unsophisticated.

It suited her. She sure looked innocent enough. Though the way her skirt hugged her as she stretched over his legs—there was shape hidden away under that skirt after all. She straightened and his nostrils caught a second subtle whiff. Apricot? Yeah, she smelled like apricots. That was different.





Where did this guy get off? Didn’t he realise she was doing him a favour? Next time he could wait for Sam to get back from sick leave. She didn’t need this kind of aggravation in her life right now.

She swivelled the laptop around and drew it closer to where she stood so that she didn’t have to keep bending over the boss’s legs. She could almost feel his eyes boring into her back, searing her skin through her wool mix suit until it prickled, just knowing he was there, a bare metre behind her, scrutinising her every step of the way.

Knowing he was her boss in no way suppressed the sensations she was experiencing right now. Raw sexuality. It emanated from him in waves. Even the way he casually sprawled in his chair couldn’t hide the latent power contained in those long limbs. She was used to dealing with bosses on equal terms—not one had ever made her so aware of his inherent sexuality.

Not one had made her so aware that he was a man.

That she was a woman.

She shifted, comfortable with neither where her thoughts were going nor how her body was suddenly tingling. He sure wasn’t making this easy. But then, no one had ever described Damien DeLuca as easy.

Impossible; arrogant; genius—she’d heard all those words used in conjunction with his name. But easy? Ha! Not a one. The sooner she got through with this meeting and got out of here the better. If only she could focus on her presentation!

Naturally his sudden appearance at the door had thrown her. Just for a moment there had seemed something more to Damien than she’d heard, another angle, another dimension.

She’d been kidding herself. Now that his face was out of the shadows he was just another good-looking, over-achieving workaholic who had no people skills whatsoever.

She turned her head a fraction and caught a glimpse of his smug-looking face out of the corner of her eye as she manoeuvred her way through explorer to the share drive.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t quite fair. Make that drop-dead gorgeous, over-achieving workaholic who lacked people skills but exuded testosterone by the bucketload. That might be closer to the mark.

The photos in the marketing files certainly didn’t do him justice. No doubt the current photographer had been in place since the year dot. First thing she’d do when she got back to her office would be to organise a new photographer who knew how to use great material rather than take it for granted. Because whatever his personality faults, the guy sure had great genes. No doubt that with his looks and IQ his kids were bound to be intelligent and great looking, just like their dad.

Maybe what she needed was a guy like him?

Her fingers stopped dead over the mouse, her mouth suddenly, inexplicably dry.

Why would that occur to her? Clearly her other problem was starting to affect her brain. Now she was having fantasies about the men at work. Or, at least, fantasies about this one.

And having fantasies about Damien DeLuca was pointless. He was so far out of her league it wasn’t funny. Even if he wasn’t, from what she’d heard, the guy was a confirmed bachelor—a one man band all the way and probably just as well the way he treated people. You’d have to be mad to get tangled up with someone like him.

Not that getting tangled up with Damien was on the cards.

‘Is something wrong?’

She jumped as if she’d been stung. ‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head, shielding from him what she had no doubt would be a give-away red face. ‘Not at all. Um, here’s the file…’

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