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‘Just give me five minutes, will you, Ginger?’ Aisling gave a grim kind of smile as she flicked up the switch of the intercom. This time he could wait. This time she wouldn’t buckle beneath his domineering ways. If they really were to continue working together, then he was going to have to show her a little respect—no matter what had gone on that night in Italy. Il Tigre wouldn’t scare her.
She would finish her coffee and reapply her lipstick and generally psych herself up to greet him. As if that might somehow magically repair the damage of a largely sleepless night.
Aisling gazed into the mirror. There were dark shadows smudged beneath her eyes and her face was pale. But so what—she wasn’t trying to impress him, was she? Was she?
Smoothing her fingers down over the already smooth cap of her hair, she went back to her desk, took a deep breath and buzzed Ginger.
‘Would you send Signor Palladio in now?’
‘Sure thing!’
Was it Aisling’s imagination, or did her assistant sound a little giddy? But then the door opened and Ginger came in with an expression of such pleasure on her face that anyone would have thought she’d just won the national lottery. No, it hadn’t been Aisling’s imagination at all.
‘I’ll go and get you both some coffee,’ Ginger said, beaming up at Gianluca.
‘I don’t remember asking for any,’ said Aisling mildly.
Ginger wriggled her pale-green cashmere-clad shoulders and the titian hair which had provided her nickname shimmied all the way down her back. ‘No, but Gianluca looked so … tired… that I offered to make him some.’
Ginger was gushing, thought Aisling furiously. She was actually gushing! And just when had she been given permission to start calling him by his Christian name? ‘Thank you,’ she said crisply, and as the door closed behind her secretary Aisling dared look him in the eyes for the first time.
In a way it was easy to see why Ginger had been so uncharacteristically simpering towards him. He was dressed in a pale grey suit, which accentuated the golden glow of his skin and the jet-black gleam of his hair. The shadow around his jaw was fainter than usual and his black eyes were brilliant and gleaming.
He seemed so alive—exuding an air of vitality which set him apart from the usual men she met. Was it any wonder that she had acted the way she had?
‘Your assistant is very cute, cara,’ murmured Gianluca, who had watched the little exchange between the two women with amusement.
‘She’s very good at her job,’ said Aisling defensively, and to her horror she felt a violent stab of something like envy.
He assumed an expression of shock. ‘Did I say she wasn’t?’ he protested. ‘Just because a woman is warm and giving towards a man, doesn’t mean that she’s in any way inadequate.’
Was that a dig at her? And was she going to react to it? No, she was not. Aisling picked up her fountain pen and twirled it around between her perfectly manicured fingers like a mini-baton.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said coolly, watching as he spread his elegant frame in the chair and made it look as substantial as a piece of dolls’ house furniture. ‘And then we can discuss what you have in mind.’
He allowed himself the idle fantasy of telling her that what he really had in mind was to rip that horrible skirt from her body and to press his tongue into the little dip in the centre of her belly and to lick her there until she gasped with pleasure.
She stared at him with polite question in her eyes and reluctantly he dragged his thoughts away from the silken softness of her thighs to the infinitely more mundane subject of his recent takeover.
‘You remember that I said I was thinking of expanding further in England?’
Aisling nodded.
‘Well, the opportunity to do just that presented itself to me recently.’ He paused. ‘I’m in the process of buying a hotel and it’s all been very hush-hush. I would prefer you to say nothing until the official announcement is made.’
‘Oh?’ Concentrate on what he’s saying to you, and not on the high, proud slash of his cheekbones. ‘Which hotel?’
‘It’s the Vinoly,’ he said, seeing her blue eyes widen.
Aisling blinked. ‘You mean theVinoly in central London?’
‘I wasn’t aware there was more than one.’
‘Good heavens!’ she said faintly, putting the pen down on the desk. ‘It’s one of the city’s most famous landmarks!’ She blinked again. ‘In fact—it’s practically an institution.’
‘But of course. That’s why I wanted it.’
Aisling gave a dry laugh. ‘Just like that?’
