Ruthless Revenge: Delicious Demand: Moretti's Marriage Command / The CEO's Little Surprise / Snowbound Surprise for the Billionaire

‘I’m already changing,’ she called, and in one fluid movement Luca rose from the divan and crossed to the dressing room, pulling aside the heavy curtain.

He didn’t know who gasped—Hannah, in shock that he’d intruded, or himself, for the sudden dart of lust that had arrowed through his body at the sight of his PA.

She stood with her back to him, the dress pooling about her waist in gauzy blue folds as she held the front up to her chest, her face in profile, every inch the outraged maiden.

‘Mr Moretti—’ she muttered and he watched a blush crawl up her back and neck to her face.

‘Luca,’ he reminded her, and sent an iron glare of warning to the assistant, who was waiting discreetly in the corner. He did not want anyone gossiping about the oddity of the occasion.

‘Luca,’ Hannah acquiesced, but she sounded annoyed. Luca felt a surprising flicker of amusement. His little sparrow of a secretary sometimes pretended she was a hawk. ‘Please leave. I am changing.’

‘I wanted to see the gown. I’m paying for it, after all.’ He folded his arms, feeling no more than a flash of remorse for pulling that particular trump card. Hannah, however, did not look particularly impressed. ‘How much is this gown?’ he asked the sales assistant.

The woman hesitated, but only for a millisecond. ‘Nine thousand pounds, Signor Moretti.’

‘Nine thousand—’ Hannah whirled around, the dress nearly slipping from her hands. Luca caught a glimpse of pale, lightly freckled fresh, the hint of a small, perfectly round breast. Then she hauled the gown up to her chin, her face now bright red with mortification.

‘Careful,’ he advised. ‘That material looks delicate.’

‘As delicate as this weekend?’ she retorted, and he smiled.

‘I never knew you had a temper.’

‘I never knew you could spend nine thousand pounds on a dress.’

He raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. ‘Most women of my acquaintance enjoy spending my money.’

‘Your acquaintance is quite limited, then,’ Hannah snapped. ‘Plenty of women aren’t interested only in shopping and money.’

‘Point taken.’

‘Anyway,’ Hannah muttered, ‘it’s wrong.’ She turned around so her back was once more to him.

‘Wrong? But how can you object if it’s my money?’

‘Do you know what could be done with nine thousand pounds?’ she demanded, her back straight and quivering with tension.

‘Oh, no, tell me you’re not one of those bleeding hearts,’ Luca drawled. ‘I expected more of you, Hannah.’

‘I’m not,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ve never objected to you spending money on yourself. But when it’s for me—’

‘It’s still my choice.’ He cut her off. ‘Now zip up that dress and let me see it on you.’

Taking her cue, the sales assistant stepped forward and zipped up the back, although in truth there wasn’t much to zip up. The dress was almost entirely backless, with a halter top and a gauzy chiffon overlay that lent some respectability to the plunging neckline, as Luca saw when Hannah reluctantly turned around.

He schooled his face into an expression of businesslike interest, as if he were assessing the gown simply as an appropriate garment for the occasion rather than for the effect it had on his libido. Why on earth he was reacting to his PA’s unexceptional body this way he had no idea. He supposed that was what you paid for with Diavola. The dresses worked.

‘Very good,’ he told the assistant. ‘We’ll take it. Now we need something casual to wear for the day, and a semiformal dress for the first night.’

‘I have some of these things at home,’ Hannah protested.

Luca held up a hand. ‘Please cease this pointless arguing, Hannah. This is a business expense, I told you.’

She went silent, tight-lipped, her brown eyes flashing suppressed fury. Unable to resist baiting her just a little bit, or maybe just wanting to touch her, Luca reached over and pulled the tie of the halter top of her dress.

‘There,’ he said as she caught the folds of the dress, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Now hurry up. I want to be out of here in forty-five minutes.’

* * *

Hannah’s hands trembled as she stripped off the evening gown and flung it at the assistant, too unsettled and overwhelmed to care how she treated the delicate material.

What was going on? Why was Luca treating her this way? And why had she reacted to the sight of him in the dressing room, her body tightening, heat flaring deep inside when she’d turned around and seen his gaze dip to her unimpressive cleavage?

Perhaps, she thought resentfully, she’d simply never seen this side of her boss before. Outside the office, Luca Moretti might well be the kind of man who flirted and teased and stormed into women’s dressing rooms and undid their gowns...

She suppressed a shiver at the memory of his fingers skimming her back as he’d tugged on the tie. Stupid, to react to the man that way. At this moment she wasn’t even sure she liked him. And yet it had been a long, long time since she’d been touched like that.

Not, of course, that Luca had had any intention other than discomfiting her when he’d undone her dress. Hannah was savvy enough to realise that.

And as for the cost... Maybe it was irrational to protest when a millionaire spent what was essentially pocket change, but it was a lot of money to her. With nine thousand pounds she could have redone her kitchen or afforded a better life insurance policy...

‘Signorina? Would you like to try on the next ensemble?’

Letting out a long, low breath, Hannah nodded. ‘Yes, please.’ This whole evening had entered into the realm of the utterly surreal, including her own reactions. When had she ever dared to talk back to her boss? Yet he didn’t feel like her boss when she was in a dressing room, her back bare, her breasts practically on display. And yet at the same time he felt more like her boss than ever, demanding and autocratic, expecting instant compliance. It was all so incredibly bizarre.

The assistant handed her a shift dress in pale pink linen that fitted perfectly. Would Luca want to see this dress as well? And what about her swimming costume, or the lacy, frothy underthings she could see waiting on a chair? A blaze of heat went through her at the thought, leaving her more disconcerted than ever.

‘It’s fine,’ she told the assistant, and then took it off as fast as she could. Maybe if she worked quickly enough Luca wouldn’t bother striding into her dressing room, acting as if he owned the world, acting as if he owned her.

Forty-two minutes later all the clothes Hannah had tried on, including the most modest bikini she’d been able to find and two sets of lingerie in beige silk and cream lace, were wrapped in tissue paper and put in expensive-looking bags with satin ribbons for handles. She hadn’t even seen Luca hand over a credit card, and she dreaded to think what the bill was. Why on earth was he spending a fortune on her clothes, and for such a negligible business deal? She didn’t like feeling beholden to him in such a way. She worked hard and earned everything she got, and she preferred it like that.

‘I think you’ve spent more on me tonight than you’ll make taking over these resorts,’ she remarked as they stepped out into the street. The rain had cleared and a pale sickle moon rose above the elegant town houses of Mayfair. ‘Andrew Tyson only owns about half a dozen resorts, doesn’t he?’

‘The land alone makes it worth it,’ Luca replied, buttoning his jacket. Seconds later the limo appeared at the kerb, and the sales assistant loaded the bags into the boot.

‘I should get home,’ Hannah said. She felt relieved at the thought of being away from Luca’s unsettling presence, and yet reluctant to end the bizarre magic of the evening. But it was a forty-five-minute Tube ride to her small terraced house on the end of the Northern Line, and she’d be late enough as it was.

‘I’ll drive you,’ Luca answered. ‘Get in.’

‘I live rather far away...’

‘I know where you live.’

His calm assertion discomfited her. Of course her boss knew where she lived; it was on her employment record. And yet the thought of Luca invading her home, seeing even just a glimpse her private life, made her resist.

‘I don’t...’

‘Hannah, get in. It’s nearly eight and we’re leaving at nine tomorrow morning. Why spend nearly an hour on the Tube when you don’t have to?’