The Italian Boss's Mistress

‘Not excited…upset,’ Pippa conceded jerkily. ‘I bombed out at work, I fell flat on my face—’

‘What on earth—?’

‘I didn’t get the job,’ Pippa muttered in a wobbly undertone and then the whole unhappy story came tumbling out.

Hilary listened and tried not to wince while she dug into a cupboard in the tiny staff room and poured Pippa a stiff drink from the brandy someone had given her at Christmas.

‘I don’t touch it, you know I don’t…’ Pippa attempted to push the glass away.

‘You’re as white as a sheet. You need a boost.’ Hilary pressed her down into a seat by the washbasins and deemed a change of subject the best policy. ‘So you want to knock ’em dead in the aisles at Venstar tonight—’

‘Some chance!’ Wrinkling her nose at the taste, Pippa drank deep and the unfamiliar alcohol ran like fire down into her cold, empty tummy. Like the warmth of her friend’s sympathy, however, it was a soothing sensation and she was incredibly grateful that she had ignored her father’s withering sarcasm and had attended her first school reunion just a few months earlier. After Tabby had made a permanent move to France, Pippa had been delighted to meet up with Hilary again at the reunion and learn that the blonde also lived in London. After that tragic car accident, their paths had been forced apart and Tabby and Pippa had lost touch with Hilary and with the fourth member of that teenage friendship, Jen Tarbert.

‘Even blindfolded, you could knock ’em dead,’ Hilary repeated with determination, trying not to think unkind thoughts about Pippa’s deceased father. However, it was an unfortunate truth that even when Pippa had been a child her parent had been a domineering bully with a wounding tongue and he had done a real hatchet job on his daughter’s self-esteem.

While Hilary washed her hair, Pippa remembered to ask after her friend’s kid sister, Emma. ‘How’s she doing?’

Hilary chattered on happily about the teenage sister she adored before saying, ‘Will you let me do your make-up too?’

‘If you don’t mind…’

‘Why would I mind? I love doing faces!’

‘Well, you can only do your best—’

‘With a bone structure as good as yours, I would hope so.’ Hilary watched Pippa stiffen and sighed before she pressed another brimming glass of brandy into the redhead’s hand, told her that she was far too tense and hustled her upstairs to her cluttered apartment.

‘I’ll have to rush home to get changed,’ Pippa remarked.

‘You haven’t got the time. You’ll be late enough as it is.’ Hilary hurried into her sister’s bedroom and plundered the packed wardrobe there to emerge with a strappy dress in a glorious shade of turquoise.

‘I can’t borrow anything that belongs to your sister!’ Pippa protested.

‘Emma decided that this made her look too old and you know how picky teenagers are…there’s no way she’ll ever wear it now.’

‘I wouldn’t feel comfortable in a style like that,’ Pippa muttered.

‘Lighten up, Pippa,’ Hilary urged in a pained tone. ‘You’re young and you can wear just about anything with your figure. It’s not a revealing dress, so what are you worried about?’

In Pippa’s opinion any garment that bared her shoulders, her thin arms and the sheer pitiful tininess of her breasts was much too revealing. Yet, her friend was being so kind and supportive that she was reluctant to reject her generosity. Both women wore the same size in shoes but, yet again, there was a great gap between their personal preferences. Hilary adored shoes with high heels whereas Pippa rarely wore heels because she already stood five feet eleven inches in her bare feet. A pair of three-inch high gold beaded sandals were set beside the dress and then Hilary showed her guest into the bathroom to enable her to take a shower before her transformation commenced.

Almost two hours later, and only after Pippa had donned the contact lenses she carried in her bag but rarely utilised, Hilary whisked the towel off the mirror and marched Pippa in front of it. ‘You look totally, incredibly gorgeous and if you argue about that I swear I’m going to have a fight with you!’

In shocked silence, Pippa stared at her colourful reflection. ‘I don’t look like me—’

‘No offence intended, but that’s only because “me” neglects her hair, never wears make-up and can’t be bothered dressing up!’

Pippa’s eyes stung a little but she could hardly blink for the amount of mascara on her lashes. She swallowed hard and said gruffly, ‘Thanks. I don’t look like a loser and you wouldn’t believe how much that means to me.’

Andreo D’Alessio was bored. He was also in a very bad mood.

He had not asked for a party. He had not wanted a party. He disliked surprises and he did not think that surprise parties had a role to play in the business world. He was not entertained by long speeches either. He had even less time for flattery and employees in a high state of excitement, particularly when it was obvious that a healthy proportion had overindulged in alcohol before attending the event. Having left the conference hall with the excuse of an important call, he was crossing the hotel foyer when he saw the ravishing redhead. Then he saw her, so stunning that she stopped him in his tracks.

Hair the rich colour of heavy cinnamon silk tumbled to her shoulders in a smooth, shining fall that reflected the light and framed an oval face of perfect symmetry. Her eyes were the clear, bright blue of the midsummer sky, her full mouth painted coral-pink to highlight the invitation of her soft lips. Her height alone would have attracted his attention for she was unusually tall for a woman. Nearly six feet in height, Andreo calculated with appreciation, and still confident enough to wear high heels. Of all things he abhorred the absurdity of trying to match his own very tall, well-built frame to that of some tiny, birdlike creature half his size. The redhead with her taut white shoulders, slender feminine curves and wondrously endless and shapely legs would fit him to perfection…

That fast, voracious male hormones kicking into lusty overdrive at the enervating prospect of the precise intimate fit of the gorgeous woman he was watching, Andreo decided that he was surveying his next lover.

Pippa gazed into the crowded conference hall, which was buzzing with Venstar employees, and wondered if anyone would even recognise her. With the curls she loathed straightened by Hilary’s expertise with a blow-dryer, her spectacles discarded and in borrowed finery, she looked different. The amount of male attention she had attracted since her arrival at the vast hotel had made her very aware of that fact.

Unfortunately, the girlie dress made her feel horribly exposed and self-conscious. She wasn’t used to men staring at her and all her life she had been shy. Got up in a no-nonsense trouser suit with work-related issues providing the framework for every dialogue with male colleagues, she had managed fine. But, shorn of that sensible façade, it was a challenge to appear impervious to the lustful appraisals she was receiving. Her chin tilting, she was on the brink of entering the hall when sudden silence fell within. Seeing the man moving towards the podium on the platform, she decided to stay where she was until he had finished making his speech.

As the speaker took up position Pippa stared and then laughed out loud. Oh, dear, Jonelle and every other woman fantasising about the physical attractions of the billionaire Andreo D’Alessio were suffering a very big let-down indeed to their wild fantasies.

‘Care to share the joke?’ a male voice urged lazily by her side.

Pippa stiffened in surprise for she had not noticed that there was a man standing that close and she felt far too awkward to turn her head to look at him direct. ‘I was just thinking that a lot of people must have been very disappointed with Andreo D’Alessio,’ she said a little breathlessly.

Disconcerted, Andreo frowned. ‘And why would you think that?’

Something in that accented drawl sent a tiny little shiver of warning down her spine and might have silenced her had not Pippa been in the mood to be sharp, rather than soothing. ‘I suppose that I should’ve said that the women will be disappointed. He’s not even a little bit fanciable,’ Pippa remarked with some satisfaction.

‘No?’ At that point, Andreo believed that she was only pretending not to know who he was. After all, the Venstar shindig had kicked off over an hour earlier and he had been the centre of attention from the outset. He assumed she was making a move on him and, having been subjected to some strange pick-up routines in his time, he was curious to see where she planned to travel after such an opening.

‘No, he’s downright short. In fact, he’s so small, he would look more at home sitting under a mushroom dressed all in green like a leprechaun,’ Pippa pronounced.

Belatedly, Andreo realised that she was studying Salvatore Rissone, whom he planned to put in charge of Venstar after the business had been restructured. ‘Height is not everything.’

‘He looks like he’s rather too fond of his food as well,’ Pippa added with a cruelty that was quite unlike her. ‘And he’s definitely going bald. No wonder he doesn’t like publicity photos. He’s not exactly Mr Universe, is he?’

‘Movie-star looks are not required in business.’ Andreo was angered by her unkind comments about Sal’s homely appearance. ‘He is a fine man—’

‘No, he’s not,’ Pippa cut in with growing heat. ‘Andreo D’Alessio is a very rich man and the only reason people talk him up is because they’re either hugely impressed by his money or…’ As she spun round, giving way to her hurt resentment of Andreo D’Alessio to address her companion direct, she looked at him for the first time and what she was about to say went clean out of her mind again.

It was rare for Pippa to be forced to look up at a man. But what sent her brain into free fall was the sheer dazzling effect of this particular male animal up close. From the bronzed skin enhancing the lean, hard, elegant planes of his proud cheekbones to the stubborn masculine angularity of his jawbone, he was strikingly handsome. His mouth was wide and firm, his brows level and dark to match the gleaming luxuriance of his cropped black hair. But it was the piercing quality of eyes dark as ebony and accentuated by a frame of lush inky lashes that entrapped her.

‘Or…?’ Andreo collided with her turquoise gaze and found his annoyance mysteriously evaporating beneath the onslaught of those spectacular eyes. She was staring up at him in the most uncool way, her response to his sexual magnetism patent in her dilated pupils, and amused satisfaction gripped him.

She really didn’t know who he was. She really had mistaken Sal Rissone for him. She was not teasing him or trying to capture his interest with a novel approach. Perhaps he was at risk of turning into one of those painful guys who took himself much too seriously, Andreo reflected abruptly. He decided that he ought to be challenged rather than antagonised by the unusual experience of hearing himself criticised. It certainly made a change from the fawning flattery that had been his lot throughout the evening.

‘Or…?’ Pippa was magnetised by his proximity and inexplicably feeling very short of breath.

‘You were saying that people talk up Andreo D’Alessio because he is wealthy and because…?’

‘His reputation scares them half to death,’ Pippa filled in jerkily.

‘What have you got against Andreo?’

‘You’re an Italian, aren’t you?’ Somewhat belatedly, Pippa connected his delicious growling accent to his likely nationality. Delicious? The dark timbre of his deep, low-pitched drawl was impossibly sexy. Thrown by the strange emergence of thoughts that seemed to have no direct input from her brain, she shifted off one foot onto the other. Without the smallest warning, she felt her nipples snap tight into stiff little buttons inside her bodice and her cheeks burned hot while she wondered what on earth was happening to her.