Untamed Italians: Innocent in the Italian's Possession / Italian Tycoon, Secret Son / Italian Marriage: In Name Only

“Emilio, are you gambling again?” she asked, gripping the phone like a lifeline, but he’d already hung up.

Worry seeped into her bones like a cold mist rolling in off a winter sea. Were those casino bells? Had her brother reverted to the vice that had nearly destroyed him before?

No, she must be mistaken. He’d been fishing. Perhaps what she’d heard were the chime of bells on nearby ships. Yes, that had to be it.

All would be well. Emilio would lend her the money for the first loan, and she’d secure the rest from the banker. Perhaps once Cesare recovered from surgery he could lift this burden from her. And if he didn’t recover?

A chill swept through her blood and left her trembling. She had promised Cesare that she’d hold his secret and she would. She’d promised she’d take care of his daughter while he was unable to. But she hadn’t thought she’d have to come up with the money that Cesare had used for his daughter’s care each month!

It was a staggering sum, simply because Cesare insisted on the finest for Rachel. And Gemma couldn’t deny her, either. The child had been through so much pain in her short life.

If only Stefano put family first like his father did. But he’d been in charge less than a day and had already changed many things. She’d heard the department heads grumbling to themselves as they left his office.

No, she had no choice but to shoulder this alone.

“Did you take lunch?” Stefano asked.

She nearly jumped out of her skin to discover he stood right behind her. Realizing he was that close had her whole system going haywire again.

“No,” she said, tidying her already neat desk to keep her hands busy. “The time got away from me.”

He said nothing for the longest time, just stood behind her chair. She was intimately aware of each breath he took. Of the spicy scent that was subtle yet powerful all the same.

“Come and take a letter,” he said, laying a hand on the back of her chair and just barely grazing her spine with his thumb.

That’s all it took for a bolt of energy to hum through her and send her senses reeling again. She lurched to her feet and out of his reach, not caring if her aversion to him was obvious.

His hot gaze snared her for a moment and she flushed at the amusement dancing in those dark, fathomless eyes. My God, nothing got past this man. Nothing!

She grabbed her notepad and marched into his office, eager to take her dictation or notes and get the hell out of here when she was keenly aware of him as a man. And how could she be anything but?

He’d removed his jacket at some point and rolled up the sleeves on his crisp white shirt. She didn’t want to notice that his forearms were muscled and generously sprinkled with black hair. She certainly didn’t wish to appreciate the male power and beauty of his physique, but it was impossible not to.

She damned her gaze for returning to—no, for lingering on—the wedge of hair visible at the open V of his shirt. Was his chest hair soft? The muscles firm? The deep olive skin hot and smooth?

Again, she was reminded of the hard-muscled gods. Stefano could certainly have been a noble model. And when he chose to turn on the charm, he simply took her breath away.

How in the world was she going to work with this man when being close to him turned her into a weak-kneed ninny? She couldn’t. But she couldn’t afford to quit her job and search for another, either, not when she’d have a sizable debt hanging over her.

It was an untenable situation.

He was masculinely beautiful. Sexy as hell. But he was also domineering. Arrogant. And a man she dared not trust with Cesare’s deepest secret.

She hurried toward the desk only to find it laden with files. Clearly Stefano was going over every asset of Marinetti with a fine-tooth comb.

What had he said to the supervisors, managers and assistants today? She could only guess that those who’d left with smiles on their faces were assured of their position here. The others who’d scurried out with grim faces? She dreaded to imagine what had been said regarding their future with Marinetti.

“My apologies that so little food is left,” he said, successfully coming up behind her and trapping her between his desk and the chair.

With the day she’d had coupled with his commanding nearness her stomach was in knots. She couldn’t have tolerated the bruschetta, salamis, olives and cheeses anyway.

“That’s okay. A few grapes will suffice for now.”

She reached for a red grape, but he was quicker. And much, much too close.

Move, her mind screamed. But her legs refused to obey.

Frustrated, she shot him a sharp look and that was her undoing. His gaze captured hers and her mouth went dry at the naked desire blazing in his dark eyes. No man had ever looked at her like this. Ever.

It was decadent. It was shocking. It was oh, so tempting.

Heat radiated off his big body while his spicy scent ribboned around her, as if to bind her to him. Her other senses exploded with sensual awareness and a want so keen she physically ached.

She’d never experienced anything like it. She certainly didn’t want to feel it now, toward him of all people.

“Allow me the pleasure, bella.”

“No, really, I’m not—”

He brushed a grape over her lips, slowly, sensuously. Her protest withered in her throat.

Her body tingled and pulsed with a need so powerful she feared her legs would fail her. She wanted to reach for him. To lean on him. To fall into the promise in his darkly mesmerising eyes and forget the world.

Part of her mind that wasn’t numbed by lust warned her that she was treading on dangerous ground. Yet she parted her lips and took the ripe fruit from his fingers anyway, unable not to do so.

“Succulent, hmm?” he asked, his thumb grazing her lower lip again and again, then sliding to her chin as his eyes danced with wicked lust and amusement.

She managed a weak nod as sizzling sensations exploded in her mouth and a pulsing need expanded between her legs.

This was a side of Stefano she hadn’t seen before, and he was even more devastating to her senses. Never mind that he was arrogantly sure of his sexuality and masculinity. Never mind that he was in a position to call all the shots. Never mind he was taking over Marinetti…and her.

“You must try more of the insalata di frutta,” he said, lifting a slice of strawberry to her mouth.

Protesting was out of the question, even if she had a thought to refuse. She took it, thinking to make short work of it. But as the sweet nectar of the fruit slid down her throat, the heat of his thumb brushed her lower lip again.

A fire exploded in her, foreign and thrilling.

She tried to tamp down her desire. Truly she did. But when he sucked the juice off his fingers while his hot gaze dueled with hers, she was lost.

This was passion. Raw and earthy.

She clutched her steno pad to her breast, heart hammering so hard she was certain that he could hear it. “You wanted me to take a letter?”

“I have changed my mind.” His eyes took on a dark opaque glint that tossed her nervous reflection back at her.

He rolled a shoulder in a careless shrug and checked his watch. “The workday is nearly over.”

A fact she’d looked forward to all day. Yes, she could escape Stefano’s dominating presence for a while. But it was a short reprieve, for she was expected to dine with him tonight.