Unwordly Secretary, Gorgeous Boss. Lee Wilkinson
her past, that literally ended in disaster, as well as a disfiguring scar?’
‘Your scar does not make you any less attractive! Surely you must know that? And as for your marriage—you are right. It is in the past! It does not mean that you cannot make better choices in the present! Choices that will enhance your life and not impede it. I would not treat you cruelly, Laura … you have my word on that. And I would give you the children we both desire! Is that really so abhorrent?’
She felt so torn. It was becoming extremely clear to Laura that the more time she spent with Fabian, the more attached to him she would become. But he had as good as told her she could never hope for him to love her. Yet the idea of bearing his children—children she already knew she would love and protect with everything that was in her—was anything but abhorrent!
Could she really compromise her own need for love to enter into a marriage of convenience with this man? But then she’d married Mark because she’d believed he loved her and would never willingly hurt her. See where that mistaken thinking had got her!
Her breath was exhaled in the longest sigh. ‘I will think about your proposal. That’s all I can say about it right now. But just to let you know … even though my first marriage failed—rightly or wrongly—I still have the idea that marriage should involve a lot more than clear-headed logic! Perhaps I am one of those foolish dreamers that you so disdain? Excuse me. I should get back to work now. The opera company are coming this evening and I—’
‘I am pleased that you are prepared to think over my offer. I really believe that when you have considered all the facts you will see the sense and opportunity in it, Laura. And, if you accept, it will bring more benefits to you than you realise.’
Suddenly he was in front of her, his spicy cologne, blazing blue eyes and the heat emanating from his body crowding her senses and knocking down every one of her poorly equipped defences against him. Laura clung onto the sheaf of papers she held against her chest as though it was some kind of lifeline, thrown to her in the midst of a choppy ocean where she was under dire threat of drowning. He moved, and suddenly his long cool palms were enclosing the tops of her arms. She fought with everything she had to try and desensitise herself against his touch, but that was an outcome that was doomed to failure from the moment he’d stepped close.
Her lower lip quivered helplessly. ‘Please … let me go. I can’t afford to waste any more time this afternoon.’
When Laura thought Fabian was going to release her, he shockingly outwitted her. Almost before she realised what was happening his hands had locked tight around her arms, his chest pressed against hers—and he kissed her. Scorching heat spread over the tender skin of her mouth and consumed her in a sensual conflagration. If she were a forest, she would be charred wood and ashes by now. Making a small husky sound of need in her throat, she let his tongue invade her, and willingly drowned in a sea of hot masculine demand that drove away every ounce of caution and doubt completely.
Seconds ticked by in languorous slow motion, and Laura entered a world of the senses she’d only guessed existed before now. Somehow his fingers were sliding over her scalp, pushing through the tousled strands of her yellow hair with destroying erotic ease and the mercenary kiss—because she didn’t doubt that was what it was—deepened and made her shake. The wallet of papers slid unheeded to the floor, and she held on to his lean hard torso so that she wouldn’t lose her balance. Having no head for heights, she knew of the debilitating effects of vertigo, but this feeling of utter disorientation was even more terrifying.
‘You see?’ Fabian drawled, provocatively disengaging his sensual lips from hers, his clear blue gaze slightly amused. ‘There is nothing to fear about intimacy between us. We will do very well in that regard, as I already knew we would. Now, as delightfully distracting as this is, we do—as you so rightly said—need to get back to work. I think we will talk about this matter again after the concert … agreed?’
Amid the laughter and sense of heightened anticipation that hung in the air of the luxurious salon on the eve of the anniversary concert, where his elegantly attired guests were enjoying the champagne, bowls of lush Tuscan olives and delicious antipasti that Maria and her kitchen staff had provided for the occasion, Fabian found himself from time to time thinking about the sensual impact of the kiss that he and Laura had shared. His skin prickled with sultry demanding heat every time he did so.
The kind of convenient marriage he had proposed to her would have its compensations, he discovered. It would not hurt that he was physically attracted to her and she to him. Oh how he had felt the violent tremors pulsing through her body as he held her! In light of his need for an heir, this was a positive plus! Yet she had been so quiet all the rest of that afternoon—her attention consumed by the demands of the concert, only speaking to Fabian when she absolutely had to. The heightened anticipation that he personally was going through was not about the coming performance tomorrow night, but about the final answer that Laura had promised she would give him concerning his proposal.
A world-famous tenor was shaking his hand and talking about the last time they’d met in Rome for lunch, saying they should do it again soon. Fabian hardly heard him, he was so caught up in his own distracting thoughts. Where was she? He glanced round the room across the big man’s shoulder. She’d still been at work when he’d left the office earlier, to go and get ready for the evening, but surely she had finished what she’d been doing by now? She had better put in an appearance soon, because he needed her here to help entertain his guests. He had noted how good Laura was at putting people at their ease, despite not being totally fluent in the language.
When she did arrive, she slid into the room almost unnoticed amid the melee of people. Fabian registered her appearance with relief and then curiosity. Wearing a demure long-sleeved cream smock with white palazzo pants—her expression a little guarded—she did not look as relaxed as she might. It was the sultriest of evenings, and most of the other females in the room were attired in far more revealing outfits in comparison.
Laura always seemed to be intent on covering up, Fabian noticed. Was she really so painfully self-conscious about her own slender form? When they were married, he would have to see what he could do about that. Perhaps when they shared a bed together he would teach her to be less self-conscious, even proud of what Mother Nature had gifted her with? The highly charged thought revived the languorous heat in his body, and he realised he was very close to being aroused.
Having wished his final guest farewell, Fabian returned to the salon to find Laura chatting to Maria as the housekeeper and two of her young staff began the clear-up after the drinks party. After congratulating the older woman on a job well done, and sharing a gentle good-humoured joke, he drew Laura out onto the moonlit veranda through the opened patio doors to talk to her.
‘You handled that very well tonight. Several of my guests commented on how charming you were,’ he told her, opening the single button on his stylish sports jacket to reveal the perfectly smooth black T-shirt he wore underneath.
‘So many well-known faces from the world of opera!’ she breathed, waving her hand in front of her too-warm face. ‘I’m not generally starstruck, but I had to pinch myself one or two times to convince myself it wasn’t all a dream!’
‘I think they would have been even more impressed with you if they had had the privilege of hearing you sing.’
‘With their phenomenal talent? No way! That would be like comparing a thoroughbred race horse to a nag.’ Folding her arms across her chest, Laura grimaced self-deprecatingly.
‘A nag?’
‘A horse that’s been put out to grass … a non-starter.’
‘Why do you underestimate your talents so? I do not understand.’
‘Perhaps it’s just the way we Brits look at life. We don’t believe in getting above ourselves.’
‘And I do not believe in such ridiculous false modesty! When you have a talent—and a talent such as yours—you should be proud, not act as though you are embarrassed about it and try to hide it away!’
Studying