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‘Have it in for you?’ he echoed incredulously. His narrowed eyes homed in on the accusing finger she was waving in front of his nose and with a grunt of sheer exasperation he caught the offending digit and, folding it into her palm, covered her small fist firmly with his own. Her hand was lost within his.
His grasp was firm but not constricting; Natalie could have pulled away, but she didn’t. The blood drained from her face as, almost fearfully, she stared at the long, elegant fingers that looked very dark curled against her fair skin. Illogically the contrast excited her…a furtive excitement that she dared not admit even to herself.
His thumb began to move against the blue-veined inner aspect of her wrist and she let out a sharp gasp. A heat that began low in her belly suddenly flared hot and spread through her body invading every cell with a strange, enervating weakness. She raised her shocked eyes and Rafe smiled, a smile that held a terrifying mixture of sexual speculation and understanding as if he knew exactly how she was feeling. Well, at least one of us does.
‘I was meant to be overcome with gratitude—’ Natalie could barely hear her own hoarse whisper above the heavy throbbing beat of her heart.
‘Gratitude…? You…?’ he interjected with a wry laugh. ‘I’m not that unrealistic.’
She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. ‘And I said no.’ His skin was cool against her overheated flesh and there was controlled strength in his light touch that she found deeply exciting. ‘You took it as a personal insult, that’s why I’ve been given every crummy job going!’ The moment the words were out of her mouth she wished them unsaid.
Determined not to lay herself open to an accusation of asking for preferential treatment, Natalie had consistently refused to complain…until now.
With an angry cry she wrenched her fingers away from his grasp and, covering them with her uncontaminated hand, nursed them against her chest.
‘Personal…!’ A feral smile illuminated the darkness of his face. He could have told her about personal—personal was wanting to take her face between his hands before kissing her senseless, the kind of kiss that might go some way to relieve a little of the frustration being around her filled him with. The errant nerve in his lean cheek began to pulse erratically as he visualised the pleasure of her willingly opening her lips to offer his tongue access to the soft sweetness of her mouth. His body reacted to the erotic imagery that filled his mind with all the subtlety and control of an adolescent boy.
Natalie was almost relieved when he frowned and suddenly barked, ‘And what do you mean every crummy job going?’ For a moment there the way he was looking at her had been almost frightening—not that she could ever have been physically scared of him, but there had been a combustible quality to his fixed stare that had been deeply unsettling.
By way of reply Natalie picked up a pile of documents from her desk and held them out to him. ‘The perfect cure for insomnia,’ she promised him.
‘I don’t suffer from it,’ Rafael replied as he took them from her. He didn’t look at them or—much to her relief—appear to notice when she snatched her hand away as if scalded when their fingertips accidentally brushed. ‘I’m sorry if you feel your talents are being underused,’ he replied, replacing the stack on her desk. He was detecting Maggie’s handiwork here.
‘Do you think I have any?’ she exclaimed in mock amazement.
‘You have a remarkable talent for making me lose my temper,’ he told her drily. ‘As for personal, you underestimate my ego…I have it on excellent authority that it is Teflon-coated.’ The memory was one that seemed to entertain him—at least his expression had lost some of the edginess of a few moments ago that had made her feel uneasy. ‘Apparently nothing short of a nuclear explosion could dent it.’
Natalie would have liked to meet the person who was daring and perceptive enough to tell him this to his face.
‘My mother.’
Natalie’s eyelashes swept down as she averted her gaze from his face; either she was awfully obvious or he was scarily perceptive. With my luck probably both, she concluded wryly.
‘I hate to disappoint you, Natalie, but my job is to look at the big picture. I have neither the time or the inclination to exact revenge upon some junior members of staff with a lack of ambition.’
Well, that puts me firmly in my place, she thought bleakly. This seemed as good a time as any to remind herself that her position in the scheme of things at least at Ransome was a small and insignificant cog.
‘I have ambition,’ pride made her insist stubbornly. She lowered her eyes. ‘But I also have other responsibilities,’ she admitted with a rush. Her head came up. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m asking for any special favours.’
‘Why not?’
Natalie was perplexed by his unexpected response. ‘Oh, sure, you’re really geared up to parents…’
Rafe inhaled sharply and his hard-boned face darkened with annoyance. ‘I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect the people I employ to be capable of sorting out their personal lives without my unwanted interference, but that doesn’t mean I’m unsympathetic when there’s a problem.’
‘I don’t think anyone would want to invite you home to tea…’ If they were talking beds she might be on shaky ground. The thought of the female staff who lusted after their good-looking boss brought a disgruntled frown to her smooth brow. ‘But something as basic as a crèche and more flexible working hours might be appreciated.’
If she ever heard Mandy, his PA’s scheme for a back-to-work package for new mums that included a voucher for a health spa he was in serious trouble! ‘And you, I suppose, have been nominated to speak on behalf of this dissatisfied section of the workforce?’ he interrupted smoothly.
‘Not exactly,’ she conceded, shifting her weight from one foot to the other under his ironic gaze. Not only did he make her feel like a gauche schoolgirl, now she was acting like one, too, she thought, only just stopping herself before she began to chew on a loose strand of hair—she hadn’t done that since she was twelve, but at twelve she hadn’t needed to distract herself from tender breasts that ached and tingled as they chafed against the fabric of her thin top.
Her chin lifted. ‘A happier workforce makes for a more productive workforce…’ she began defensively.
‘Well, that’s just fascinating. Have you any other little gems of management theory you’d like to share…any other little pearls of wisdom? You know I really ought to introduce you to the guy who drove me to the airport last week—he had some great ideas about how to run the country.’
CHAPTER FOUR
WHY am I even trying? Natalie wondered. The man is never going to take advice from anyone, least of all me. Hell, he made it pretty clear that I’m too low down the pecking order to even approach him directly!
Even now the memory of Rafe’s bored, ‘Send my PA a memo, Ms Warner,’ had the power to send a flush of mortification over her skin. It had been especially hurtful because before that he had seemed perfectly happy when she’d approached him; in fact she had found herself looking forward to their conversations as the highlights of her days.
She had been deluded enough to think they’d been friends, and had even—God, she cringed to think about it now!—spun romantic little fantasies about them being more. That was why him cutting her dead publicly had hurt so much. Since then she had always been guarded and circumspect in front of him…until today!
People had been very sympathetic, assuring her they’d never seen him act like that before; the popular theory was he must have been crossed in love. This explanation didn’t seem at all likely to Natalie as he seemed to change the women in his life almost as frequently as he did his shirts and, as far as she could tell, with about the same degree of emotional attachment.
‘There’s no need to be so damned patronising!’ she exploded. ‘I don’t suppose it’s your fault,’ she added bitterly. ‘It’s probably genetic.’ The same genes that had made him the most physically perfect specimen of manhoo
d imaginable had also made him an élitist sod. ‘God, I bet you hate children!’ sheer frustration made her accuse wildly.
‘Genetically impossible. My mother is Venetian and the—’
‘I know your mother is Italian!’ she snapped. ‘Everybody knows that,’ she added quickly—the last thing she wanted was him to run away with the idea she took a personal interest in him. ‘You’re famous.’
Rafe had heard people say serial killer with the same distaste Natalie Warner managed to inject in ‘famous’.
‘My mother’s family come from Venice. I make the distinction because she likes to—it’s a regional pride thing. As I was about to say, the Italians adore children. I have a nephew and several godchildren…’
‘And you think that makes you an expert?’ Natalie laughed, blinking to clear her head of the image of Rafe with a golden-skinned baby in his arms…the irony was she had no doubt Rafe would be as exceptional at fatherhood as he was at everything else. In short, he’d be the sort of dad that Rose would never have. The thought brought an uneasy mixture of guilt, sadness and envy—envy…? Her smooth brow wrinkled as alarm shot through her. ‘You’ll find being a parent is quite different,’ she told him with a superior sniff.
‘I have no plans to find out any time soon, but you may be sure that when I do have a child I will be financially able to support a family and in a stable relationship.’
