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‘I can’t help you there, I’m sorry,’ she apologised, comforting herself with the weak excuse that her reply hadn’t been a full lie—only a half one. She couldn’t help him, and she was sorry. But she was feeling as if the combination were presently burning itself in block letters across her guilty face and all he had to do was get her to turn and face him so that he could read it!
‘Maybe Howard knows it,’ he murmured.
‘Maybe he does,’ she agreed, sure in the knowledge that Howard didn’t know. Then she whipped quickly through the door before he could come up with any more uncomfortable questions…
Giancarlo Cardinale watched her go with his head fizzing on the very edge of a violent eruption. Lying little witch, he was thinking angrily. Lying, cheating, beautiful witch! he tagged on hotly as he watched that tight rear-end disappear through the door and felt his fingers itch to go chasing after it.
‘You will get yours, Miss Deyton,’ he promised. ‘One day soon you will most certainly get yours.’
Picking up the phone, he punched in Howard Fiske’s number. Five minutes later he was putting the phone down again and feeling downright miffed on so many fronts that he couldn’t make his mind up which took priority.
Howard didn’t know the combination to Edward’s safe, which didn’t really surprise him, or the deceitful Miss Deyton would have gone to pieces, he was sure. But Miss Deyton had not gone to pieces. She had tossed off her airy replies with guileful ease! Which meant he was going to have to keep a very keen eye on her if he didn’t want that safe opening today without him knowing it.
And Howard himself was another problem he was going to have to deal with. Having fed Giancarlo all the ammunition he needed to do something about Edward’s little office affair, Howard had expected him to come here and get rid of Natalia without any compunction. Now the mean-mouthed swine was angry because Giancarlo was refusing to play it his way.
What was it with Howard, anyway? he suddenly asked himself as he got up to go and stand by the window. Did the man fancy Natalia himself—was that it? Was his attitude sour grapes because Edward was enjoying something Howard would like to enjoy himself?
Something hot began to burn in his stomach, and he knew exactly what was causing it. It was the sudden image of not one, but two, middle-aged lechers pawing her smooth white flesh, while she let them—because she liked it.
His hand snaked up, and with a violent tug on the pull-cord he cut out that
image by snapping shut the blinds he had insisted Natalia opened.
Petty or what? he asked himself. Petty—yes, he admitted. Angry—yes. With Edward, with Howard—with himself for all wanting the same woman!
Well, one third of the competition had already been removed from the picture. And another third could go the same way quick enough, he decided as he turned to snatch up the phone again.
Ten minutes after that particular call, and he was beginning to feel back in control. By tomorrow Howard Fiske and his filthy mouth would be flying to Milan to spend a couple of weeks smouldering in frustration beneath the wing of Giancarlo Cardinale’s second in command, learning how his job should be done. By the time he was due back, Natalia Deyton would be so much Giancarlo’s woman that Howard would only have to glance at her to know that the problem had been dealt with—Giancarlo’s way.
Yes, he felt a whole lot better about that little scenario…
She’d forgotten to take the requested files in to him. Seeing them sitting there, still neatly stacked on her desk where she had placed them before taking in his coffee, made her want to hit something in utter frustration—because it meant she was now going to have to go back in there.
And she just didn’t want to. She didn’t want to face another barrage of awkward questions, or face the man himself, for that matter! Giancarlo was like a ride on a roller coaster, she likened. One minute rocketing her into a steep dive through all the senses, the next he was hurling her into a corkscrew twist, making her struggle with her own guilty secrets. It was all so very precarious that she dared not so much as breathe in case she caused the whole thing to come crashing down around her!
The intercom on her desk began to beep. ‘Those files, Miss Deyton?’ drawled her tormentor with a coolness that did nothing to ease her turmoil.
That sexy voice should be X-rated, she decided as she flicked a switch to acknowledge the reminder with what she hoped was a matching cool. Then, taking a deep breath, she gathered up the armful of files and began walking back towards that connecting door, which was beginning to resemble the entrance to a torture chamber…
The moment she stepped through it, she sensed the change in the atmosphere. The blinds had been drawn, blocking out the shafts of sunlight which had given the room such a sharp edge before.
And he wasn’t where she’d expected him to be, she realised, glancing at the empty chair behind the desk before beginning to scan the new softer light until she located him over on the other side of the room. He was sitting comfortably stretched out on one of Edward’s soft grey leather sofas with his dark head thrown back, his eyes closed and with his feet propped up on the low beech-wood coffee-table. The tray she had brought in earlier now resided beside his feet—and, like his jacket, his tie had now disappeared and the top couple of buttons on his shirt had been tugged free.
Was he intending to complete a full strip before the afternoon was over? she found herself speculating sarcastically.
Then wished she hadn’t thought such a stupid thing when, on a sudden rush to the head, she found herself picturing him stretched out there naked. Brown skin, long, powerfully muscled legs, a hard-toned, superbly built masculine torso, she saw in that single fevered flash of a moment. But it did not stop there. Oh, no, because she was also picturing the look in his eyes as he waited for her to join him in the self-same naked state.
‘Come and join me,’ he murmured.
She almost jumped out of her skin! As it was she reacted violently enough to send the top file sliding off the pile so it slithered to the floor in a spill of white paper. In a flurry of pure wit-scattering dismay, she bent to place the rest of the files on the floor then began gathering together the papers with fingers that had lost the ability to co-ordinate.
How could you—how could you? She was railing at herself, relieved to have the diversion so she could hide her flaming cheeks, which she knew without a doubt were displaying every naughty thought running through her wicked head!
Never ever had she indulged in wild fantasies over any man—so why start now with this one of all the men she could have chosen?
‘Here, let me…’
A pair of black leather shoes appeared in her vision. Then a pair of dark silk worsted-covered knees as he bent into a very male squat. She felt ready to self-incinerate when her eyes began flickering along his inner thighs. Dragging them away again, she made a reckless grab at a piece of paper—as a long brown hand did the same.
