Affairs Of The Heart: The Italian Boss's Secret Child

‘That was you?’

He sounded appalled. She’d expected nothing less but the words sliced into her all the more deeply now, knowing how she felt about him.

‘Hard to believe, I know.’

Hard to believe? He’d spent how many hours trying to track down the mysterious woman who’d plagued his hard, lonely nights and filled his dreams with unrelenting frequency since the ball and here she was, right under his nose the whole time. Yet still something didn’t make sense.

‘But your perfume—it wasn’t the same.’

For a moment she looked shocked. ‘No, it wasn’t. I wore my mother’s perfume that night. It seemed to go better with the outfit.’

So it was her. The woman in the filmy gown, with lush red lips and a body to die for, was none other than Philly, his little brown mouse—his little not-so-brown mouse—as it turned out. And she was here now.

In his bedroom.

Serendipity.

A very happy accident indeed, he considered, congratulating himself for preferring the privacy of his apartment to the sofa in his office when she’d collapsed. There was more than a little justice in the arrangement.

He moved closer. ‘I’ll need proof, of course.’

Her eyes darted up to his, uncertainty flickering in their hazel lights. ‘What? You mean DNA testing?’

‘Eventually, yes.’ He took another step closer, angling himself so that he was between the door and any escape route. She edged back against the wall of windows and he smiled to himself. There was no escape that way. ‘I was thinking of something much simpler for now.’

‘What do you mean?’ Now she’d just about plastered herself to the glass.

He came to a stop right in front of her. ‘You were wearing a mask. Even though you seem to know the details, someone could have told you.’

She moved to make a sound—a protest—but he shushed her with a finger pressed to her lips.

‘I just need to be sure you are who you say you are. If I’m to believe this story of a baby, I need to know it was you that I slept with.’

He looked down at her, noticed the kick of her chin as she swallowed, enjoying the play of emotions skitter across her eyes—perplexity, fear and something else.

Anticipation?

Oh yes, without a doubt if the outline of her peaked nipples through her summer dress was any indication.

‘What did you have in mind?’

He lifted a hand and she flinched. ‘Relax,’ he urged, his voice set to reassurance. ‘You were wearing a mask. I just wondered how you looked with your eyes covered—just to be sure.’

Her eyes blinked twice and she relaxed a fraction though her breathing was still tight. It wasn’t the only thing, he reflected, shifting slightly as he lifted his arm, placing his hand palm down across her eyes. Her lashes moved against his skin, soft and like the touch of a feather before they fluttered closed.

‘There,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper, ‘that’s more like it. Now, lift your head towards me so I can see you properly.’

His hand under her chin tilted her face higher. Her breathing was shallow, her breath warm and inviting and there was no way he was going to be able to resist.

‘Are you convinced now?’ Her voice was tremulous and soft, her breath sweet on his face.

‘Almost,’ he said. ‘Just one more thing.’

He dipped his head and angled his mouth over hers, brushing her lips with his. Her startled response turned into a shudder and so he deepened his kiss, parting her lips and probing further inside. When her tongue meshed with his he removed the hand over her eyes and brought it behind, holding her away from the glass and closer to him.

He sensed her arms flailing momentarily until they settled around him and her hands tightened to fists bunching up his shirt and it was her turn to pull him closer.

It was her. There was no mistake. He could stop now and be satisfied that what she said was true, that she had been the woman in the boardroom. But why should he stop?

Redundant question, he realised as his lips trailed a line down her neck. He had no intention of stopping. Not when he’d been searching for this woman ever since that night. And he hadn’t been searching for her all this time to let her go again.

Her breathing was coming fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his and making him painfully aware of her breasts and their inaccessibility in this straight dress. His hand released her head, slid lower until it found what he was looking for. He tugged on the tab gently and slid it down to where it ended low down on her back in one silky movement. Her head jerked back, as if suddenly aware of what he was doing, but his mouth took hers again, his tongue tracing the line of her teeth, his teeth nipping at her lips while his hands slid into the gap and up under the fabric across her skin. She gasped into his mouth at the same time that her whole body moved with tremors of promise and expectation.

With his hands he slipped the dress over her shoulders, gently easing her arms down so that it could fall to the floor.

She let it go reluctantly, as if she was doing battle with herself. So be it. Whatever the outcome of her own personal dilemma, however she resolved the battles raging inside, he was intending to win the war. He crushed her to him, feeling the press of her flesh hard up against him, nothing between him and her naked form but a fine lace bra and a tiny white matching thong that left her rounded cheeks exposed to his touch. He groaned as his hands cupped them, pushing her even closer to his aching hardness.

Before she had a chance to change her mind he lifted her, her skin smooth and cool yet at the same time on fire under his hands, and swivelled her around and across to the bed.

She was certifiably insane. She must be, to let Damien do this to her. Five minutes ago he’d been accusing her of sleeping with someone else. She should be so offended she’d never think of giving him even the time of day.

And yet there was definitely something to be said for being insane. She sank into the soft down quilt and writhed under Damien’s hot mouth, currently blazing a trail towards her breasts, relishing the sensations triggered in her flesh.

Because sanity had no place here. Logic had ceased to exist. Feelings took precedence and what she was feeling now, what Damien was making her feel, was extravagant and pervasive enough to block out every other rational thought.

Except one. He wanted her. She’d expected rejection to follow the disbelief; she’d been prepared for it. No way would he have expected her to turn out to be the woman he’d made love to in the boardroom. But it hadn’t happened that way. He hadn’t rejected her.

He wanted her!

His mouth moved lower, fingers tracing under the edge of her bra and hot breath met her lace-covered nipple, already exquisitely sensitive with her early pregnancy, setting off spears of sensation that pierced her deep inside. Her back arched and she shuddered into his mouth.

Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered, but what he was doing to her and the way he made her feel.

Special.

Beautiful.

Loved?

No. That was what she wanted, not what he was giving. He wasn’t the kind of guy to fall in love. And right now she’d settle for feeling special. Right now she’d settle for feeling beautiful.

A noise, half purr, half groan, escaped her. And right now she’d settle for more of what his magic hot mouth was doing to her breasts—and lower…

Her fingers curled in the quilt as his hands caressed her, his tongue possessing her, circling her navel and driving her crazy with want and need as he deftly discarded her lace underwear. He touched her on her now exposed flesh and her breath caught with the intensity of the feeling. Nerve-endings she’d never known existed all but screamed their presence, their effect expanding inwards, waves of pleasure rippling to her every extremity only to come crashing back again at her core.

What force magnified mere touch to make it so bold, so all-consuming that it carried her away on its tide? Whatever it was, it was beyond comprehension, beyond dispute. Instead she let herself go with it as his tongue dipped lower, unable to fight the onslaught of heat and sensation on her skin and deeper, much deeper, inside.

She wanted more of this. She wanted more of him.