The Italian's Unexpected Baby. Kate Hewitt
swivelled sharply in her chair, her eyes widening with alarm at the sight of him looking at the screen, but when she spoke her voice was cool. ‘For when I’m no longer useful.’
‘And that is not now.’ With one brisk movement Alessandro clicked the mouse to close the document, without saving any changes. Mia’s mouth compressed but she did not protest against his action. ‘The stylist is here. You may use my office.’
Mia’s eyes flashed and he wondered what she objected to—his dismissal of her dress, or his order for a new one? Or simply his manner, which was even more autocratic than usual, because it felt like the best defence against this irritating and inconvenient attraction that simmered beneath the surface, threatening to bubble up?
Even now he found himself sneaking looks at the tantalising vee of ivory skin visible at the all too modest neck of her blouse, and noting the soft curve of her jaw, and the way a wisp of golden hair had fallen against her cheek. He itched to tuck it behind her ear, let his fingers skim to her lobe, a prospect which was too bizarre to be entertained even for a second.
He didn’t want to do things like that. Ever. Relationships were not on his radar, and sex was nothing more than a physical urge to be sated like any other. He’d always been able to find women who were agreeable to his terms. More than agreeable, so why was he feeling this strange way about Mia James?
He wasn’t. Or at least he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself. Work was too important to risk for a moment’s satisfaction, even with someone as annoyingly beguiling as the woman in front of him.
‘Are you coming?’ he asked tersely, and she nodded, rising from her seat with unconscious elegance, following him with a graceful, long-legged stride. Alessandro found himself watching the gentle sway of her hips before he resolutely turned his gaze away.
A few minutes later the stylist arrived with a flurry of plastic-swathed hangers, an assistant behind her carrying several boxes and bags. Alessandro supervised their setting up before he decided to leave Mia to it.
‘Let me see your final choice,’ he instructed, and she arched one golden eyebrow.
‘To approve it?’
‘Of course.’ That was the point of this whole exercise, was it not? Still, he decided to temper his reply, for her benefit. ‘Thank you for attending to this matter.’
She pressed her lips together. ‘It’s not as if I had much choice.’
Alessandro frowned. ‘I’m offering you a dress. Is that so objectionable?’
‘It’s not the dress and you know it,’ she snapped, and surprisingly, he let out a laugh.
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘It’s your entire manner,’ she emphasised, and he nodded.
‘Yes, I realise,’ he said dryly. ‘So at least we’re in agreement about something.’
For the next few hours he found he could not concentrate on the business at hand, a fact which annoyed him as much as everything else about Mia James had done. What was it about the woman that got under his skin, burrowed deep inside? Was it simply her attractiveness, which was undeniable, or something else? The hint of defiance in the set of her shoulders, the surprising vulnerability he sensed beneath the surface? Why on earth did he care?
It was annoying. It was alarming. And it had to stop.
‘Mr Costa?’ The stylist’s fluttering voice interrupted his unruly thoughts; he’d been staring at his laptop screen for who knew how long? ‘Miss James has selected her dress and is ready for you to see it.’
‘Thank you.’ He rose and walked quickly to the office, steeling himself for whatever he was to see. Despite his best intention to remain utterly unmoved, he was still shocked by the sight of her, her slender body swathed in an ice-blue gown of ruched silk that hugged her figure before flaring out around her ankles in a decadent display of iridescent, shimmering material. Instead of back in a sedate clip, her hair was twisted into an elegant chignon. Diamonds sparkled at her ears and throat. She looked like a Norse goddess, an ice queen, everything about her coolly beautiful, icily intoxicating.
Desire crashed over him in an overwhelming wave, unexpected even now in its intensity and force. He wanted to pluck the diamond-tipped pins from her hair. He wanted to tug on the discreet zip in the back of her dress, and count the sharp knobs of her vertebrae, taste the smooth silkiness of her skin.
He wanted. And he never let himself want.
‘Well?’ Mia asked, her voice taut. ‘Will I pass?’
‘Yes,’ he answered after another beat of tense silence, barely managing to get the word out. ‘You’ll pass.’
She let out a huff of sound, turning away from him, and the stylist’s face fell a little bit at his damningly faint praise. Alessandro didn’t care. Already he was regretting his command to have Mia accompany him tonight. Already he was looking forward to it far more than he should.
‘I’ll go and change myself,’ he said when a few seconds had ticked by without anyone saying a word. ‘Be ready to leave in ten minutes.’
Mia nodded, not quite looking at him, and again Alessandro was captivated by the curve of her jaw, the hollow of her throat, the dip of her waist, each one begging to be explored and savoured. He turned away quickly, striding out of the office without another word.
The sooner this evening was over, the better. This desire he felt was inconvenient and overwhelming and very much unwanted. But, like everything else in his life, he would control it. It would just take a little more effort than he’d anticipated.
MIA FELT AS if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole into some strange, charmed alternative reality…a reality where she rode in limousines, and drank champagne, and walked into a glittering ballroom on the arm of the most handsome man there.
Of course, as PA to Henry Dillard she’d ridden in plenty of limousines. She’d drunk more than enough champagne. But it had always been as an employee, someone to serve and be invisible while she was at it. Someone to make sure the champagne was flowing, and that the limousine arrived on time. Someone who didn’t stride into parties, but sidled along the sidelines, checking that everything was going according to plan and keeping out of the way.
Tonight was entirely different. Tonight, much to her own amazement, she felt like the belle of the ball. It was beyond bizarre. It was also intoxicating, far more than any champagne she might quaff.
It had started with the stylist bringing out several exquisite dresses for Mia to choose from, and then doing her hair and make-up as well, before finishing off her incredible ensemble with the most beautiful diamond earrings and necklace Mia had ever seen.
As someone who had prided herself on always being smart and sensible, no-nonsense and pragmatic, it had felt to her as decadent as an endless dark chocolate sundae to be so pampered and primped. She hadn’t expected to enjoy it; she’d been fully intent on chafing at every opportunity, resenting Alessandro’s needless autocratic intervention, but then…she hadn’t.
She’d submitted to the stylist’s every instruction, and then she’d started to enjoy it. To relish it. Part of her was horrified by her own acquiescence, and what it might mean. And yet…it was one night. One magical night after a lifetime of having her head down, working hard. Why shouldn’t she enjoy it?
At some point she’d let her mind slide into a comforting sort of blurry nothingness, floating on a sea of ease and comfort. As she usually tried to anticipate every possibility, consider every choice, it felt wonderfully relaxing not to overthink this. She wasn’t going to wonder what Alessandro Costa wanted with her, or with Dillard Investments, or whether her job, not to mention any of her friends’,