‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again.’ Luca didn’t move to let Emma past, his broad frame barring the exit from the elevator just slightly. But it was an offer of conversation that Emma didn’t want to pursue. ‘I hear the interview didn’t go too well.’

‘It didn’t.’

‘Shame.’

‘I forgot my bag, I’m just going to get it…’ she offered by way of explanation, but as the lift door started to close she pressed it open. There was a pang, a twinge, almost a snapping. She didn’t want this ending to happen, because he really was divine, and she wished for just a fleeting second that she had the looks, the confidence, the experience to allow him to pursue her.

But she didn’t.

‘Going down?’ She pressed the hold button for him, and he stood back as she stepped out. She caught the heavy scent of him, the brush of his expensive suit as she passed him.

‘No—up…’ he grinned. ‘To the roof. Do you want to join me?’

‘I’m sure another job will come along…’ she said, watching a slow smile spread on his face as he got her dry humour.

‘I’m actually going to Paris.’

‘Lovely.’

‘Helipad’s on the roof.’

‘They usually are.’

‘Formal dinner, very boring. But maybe after…What are your plans?’

Dear Reader

I had a very clear vision of Luca when he arrived in my mind—he smiled at me and I promptly melted. He crooked his finger and I bounded towards him like a puppy in the window—pick me, pick me!

Oh, Carol!

I knew then that I was going to need a special heroine for Luca. Frankly, I’d have been putty in his warm hands, and would have made all the wrong choices (but, oh, so right at the time!). Thankfully, Emma has rather more self-control than her creator.

I loved finding out more about Luca—getting to know the real man behind his rich playboy veneer.

I hope you do too.

Happy reading.

Carol Marinelli x

Carol Marinelli recently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title, and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and after chewing her pen for a moment Carol put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked— ‘What are your hobbies?’ Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered ‘swimming and tennis’. But, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Carol also writes for Medical Romance!

Innocent
Secretary,
Accidentally
Pregnant

By

Carol Marinelli

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Beryl with love from Carol xxx

CHAPTER ONE

EMMA had been honest—had even admitted during her telephone interview that she was attending night school on a Wednesday night and studying art and that in a couple of years she was hoping to pursue it full-time.

Everything had gone really well, until the second Evelyn had walked out to greet Emma—and Emma truly didn’t understand why.

She’d prepared so carefully for the interview. Reading everything she could get her hands on about D’Amato Financiers—about their spectacular rise, even in gloomy times. Luca D’Amato had a no-nonsense attitude—there was no secret formula to his success, she had read in a rare interview he had given—just sound decisions and fiscal transparency and the refusal to be swayed by hype. Yes, she’d read up on him and then gone through her favourite glossy magazines and followed every last piece of advice in preparation for this afternoon.

Emma had scoured the second-hand shops and found a stunning—if just a touch tight for her well-rounded figure—pale lilac linen designer suit, had had her thick brown ringlets blowdried straight and smoothed up into a smart French roll, and, horribly broke, she had, on the afternoon of her interview, as one magazine had cheekily advised, gone to the make-up counter at a department store and pretended that she was a bride-to-be and trying out looks for her wedding day.

Her brothers had always teased her about her obsession with magazines and her father had moaned about how many she had bought, but they had been her lifeline. Growing up without a mother, living in a rough-and-tumble house that the little girls she’d invited to come over and play had never returned to, Emma had lived her childhood and teenage years reading the glossies for advice, about friends and bullying and boys. It was the magazines that had taught her about deodorant and kisses and bras. The magazines she had turned to when at twelve she had been teased for having hairy legs. And though her devotion to them had waned somewhat, at the ripe age of twenty-four it had been the magazines she had immediately turned to for make-up and grooming tips to land her dream job.

She looked fantastic, just the image she had been hoping to achieve—smart, sassy, groomed—exactly the right look for a modern working girl in the city.

Evelyn clearly didn’t agree.

Her interviewer was dressed in a stern grey suit, with black flat shoes. Her fine blonde hair was cut into a neat, practical bob and she wore just a reluctant sliver of coral lipstick. The antithesis, in fact, of the look Emma had been trying to achieve!

‘And Mr D’Amato would also prefer someone who speaks Japanese…’ Evelyn continued.

‘It didn’t say that in the advertisement,’ Emma pointed out. ‘And you didn’t mention it when we spoke on the telephone.’

‘Luca—I mean Mr D’Amato—does not like to put too many specifications in the advertisements for one reason, and I rather agree…’ she gave a small sniff ‘…that when the right person appears, we know.’

Well, there wasn’t much Emma could say to that— clearly at first glance it had been decided that she wasn’t the right person for the job.

Only…

Now, even though it had been an impossible dream, now that she had glimpsed it, Emma wanted it.

The salary was to die for—her family home, despite months on the market, hadn’t sold and the nursing-home fees were piling up. Evelyn had explained during their initial telephone interview that Luca’s staff burnt out quickly. He was a demanding boss, expecting complete devotion, and that this job and the travel would literally overtake her life, but that suited Emma just fine.

One year working hard and she could meet the nursing-home fees. Surely in that time the house would sell and pay off the backlog of debt? One year, burning herself out, and she would finally be free—free to pursue her dreams, free to live the life that had so far been denied her.

And now that glimmer of hope was rapidly being taken away. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’ Evelyn gave a thin attempt at a smile ‘…I have an important phone call to make.’

Well, at least Evelyn hadn’t kept her guessing, at least she wouldn’t be checking her phone every five minutes, or dashing to get the mail.

It couldn’t have been made any clearer—she wasn’t wanted.

‘Well, thank you for seeing me…’ She should just stand and go, shake Evelyn’s hand and leave, except, inexplicably, she was dragging it out and for some stupid, stupid reason tears were threatening as yet another door closed on her push for a better future. ‘Thank you for your time.’

It was her horoscope’s fault, Emma told herself as Evelyn scribbled a note on her carefully prepared CV.

It had told her to go for it, reminded her that you have to be in it to win it. Told her that Jupiter and Mars had moved into her tenth house, which assured success in her career…

Stupid horoscopes, Emma thought as she went to retrieve her handbag. She didn’t believe them anyway.

And then in he walked.

And the room went black.

Well, it didn’t go black, but it might as well have, because he was all she could see.

Dressed in a tuxedo at four p.m., he strode over. Evelyn stood up, knotting his bow-tie as she gave him, in a couple of minutes, what seemed like a month’s worth of messages, and all in a language that was foreign to Emma.

‘Mr Hirosiko wants an “in person” next week.’

‘No,’ came his bored response.

‘Kasumi was insistent.’

‘He can have a face-to-face.

‘And your sister rang, upset…she wants you there for the entire weekend.’

‘Tell her that given that I’m paying for the entire weekend…’ he had a thick, deep, Italian accent and Emma felt her toes curl ‘…I can choose my schedule.’ His eyes drifted around the room as Evelyn dealt with his cufflinks and then he gave Emma a bored glance that changed midway and utter disinterest shifted slightly.

He deigned to give her a second look, and it was one she recognised well. It was the same look her father and brothers had used on unsuspecting women—at the petrol station, the supermarket, school concerts, the pub, oh, anywhere…

It was a look that to Emma screamed danger.

Six feet two with eyes of navy blue, Luca D’Amato might just as well have had the word danger stamped on his smooth forehead. Jet-black hair was slicked back, but a thick, raven lock escaped as Evelyn declared him officially knotted, and with one manicured hand he raked it back through his hair and it fell into effortless shape. Oh, she’d seen photos of him, had known that he was good-looking, but a grainy newspaper photo didn’t do him justice, could never capture the essence of him, just the shocking presence of him. A scar ran the length of his left cheekbone, but that one imperfection merely enhanced his general faultlessness.

‘We haven’t been introduced.’ Full, sensual lips curved into a smile as he turned come-to-bed eyes on her, his deep, accented voice for her ears now. ‘This is…?’

Emma was struggling to find her voice, but Evelyn did it for her. ‘Emma Stephenson.’ Evelyn looked as if she were sucking lemons, and it dawned on Emma then that the real reason she hadn’t got the job was perhaps that Evelyn had been hoping for someone plainer, dowdier, older, bigger…in fact, someone who would withstand Luca’s charm. Well, she needn’t have worried. Emma could handle Luca’s sort with her hands tied behind her back—she’d grown up surrounded by them! ‘We were just concluding the interview.’

‘For the assistant PA job?’ Luca checked, holding his hand out, and, because it was the polite thing to do, Emma shook it, feeling his warm fingers close around hers. Then she looked up as he voiced what she was thinking. ‘But I’ve got a cold heart!’ He winked at her.

‘I’m sure you do!’ Emma retorted. He was shameless, utterly shameless, and Evelyn was welcome to him. ‘Well, again,’ Emma said, coolly walking to the door, absolutely refusing to be rattled, ‘thank you for your time.’

She walked out into the foyer, took the lift and only as she went to sign out did she realise that she’d forgotten her bag. That, despite appearances, despite appearing utterly and completely unruffled by his stunning presence, one glimpse of Luca D’Amato and her stomach was in knots. He was devastatingly handsome, with eyes that stripped, undressed and bedded you in a matter of seconds, and she had deliberately not returned the favour.

Emma headed back up in the elevator, moving to step out, only he was stepping in…

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again.’ He didn’t move to let her pass him, his broad frame barring the exit, just slightly, and there was this offer of conversation that Emma didn’t want to take up. ‘I hear the interview didn’t go too well.’

‘It didn’t.’

‘Shame.’

How loaded with meaning was that single word, and Emma swallowed hard before speaking. ‘I forgot my bag, I’m just going to get it,’ she offered by way of explanation and as the lift door started to close she pressed the button to open it. There was this pang, this twinge, this snapping almost, this ending that she didn’t want to happen, because he really was divine, and she wished for just a fleeting second that she had the looks, the confidence, the experience to allow him to pursue her.

But she didn’t.

‘Going down?’ She pressed the ‘hold’ button for him, and he stood back as she stepped out and she caught the heavy scent of him, just the brush of his expensive suit as she passed by.

‘No, up.’ He grinned. ‘To the roof.’

‘Things that bad, then?’ Emma called over her shoulder, safer now that the doors were closing, but he halted them with his hands.

‘Do you want to join me?’

‘I’m sure another job will come along,’ she replied, watching a slow smile spread on his face as he got her dry humour. ‘Things really are never that bad.’

‘I’m actually going to Paris.’

‘Lovely.’

‘Helipad’s on the roof.’

‘They usually are.’

‘Formal dinner, very boring, but maybe after…What are your plans?’

‘TV dinner, a rerun of my favourite murder mystery.’ Emma gave a sweet smile. ‘So there’s really no contest!’

He really was smiling now, thinking he’d got his easy way, holding the lift and waiting for her to step inside. So, so arrogant, so, so assuming, he really thought he could just snap his manicured fingers and summon her—he only seemed to get the message when she opened the doors to his office suite, his rich, assured voice just a touch perplexed.

‘If you’re worried that you’ve nothing to wear…’

‘I’m not worried at all!’ Emma laughed, and she could be as rude as she liked, could tell him exactly where to go with his smutty offer because, after all, he wasn’t going to be her boss. ‘As I said, there’s really no contest!”

As the lift doors closed on him and she walked over to Evelyn’s office, she was too irked to think before she knocked. Her hand rose, the door flung open and Emma stood there stunned as she took in the sight of Evelyn. The assured, pompous woman, who had dashed her hopes just a few moments before, was sobbing her heart out, first jumping up and shooing her out, appalled at being caught, then too upset to care.

‘Negative!’ she wept as Emma just stood there. ‘I was so, so sure that I was.’

‘I’m so sorry!’ Well, what else could she say? ‘I’m very sorry.’

And what could she do other than lead the sodden bundle to the nearest chair and peel off tissues as Evelyn gulped out her sorry tale?

Married five years.

Trying for a baby for four and a half of those.

IVF and injections and nasal sprays and tests and scans and egg retrieval.

And now she had to ring Paul and tell him, Evelyn had sobbed, had to ring her lovely, lovely husband, who wanted a baby as much as she did, and say that they’d failed to conceive through IVF for a second time.

Emma really didn’t have to worry about saying the right thing, she couldn’t get a word in. Instead, she just sat there and listened and poured water and offered tissues, and finally, when Evelyn had cried a river, she seemed to remember where she was and who she was talking to.

‘You’ve been so nice—I mean, after I was so cool with you.’

‘It’s not a problem. If I’m not the right person…’

‘No, you see…’ Evelyn was wringing the tissue in her hands ‘…it has nothing to do with your experience or that you don’t speak Japanese…’

‘I know that now.’

‘No, I mean—’

‘I get it, okay? I admit, I assumed you must like him yourself, but…’

Emma giggled as Evelyn gave a watery smile and rolled her eyes. ‘Not at all—I’m just sick of training new assistants, only to have them leave once he’s bedded them. He’s incorrigible, you know.’

‘I know!’ Emma groaned. ‘He just asked me if I wanted to join him for dinner in Paris.’ Emma smiled. ‘Maybe you should look for a male PA.’

‘They’d fall in love with him too,’ Evelyn sighed, then she blinked. ‘You said no to Paris?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘You don’t find him attractive?’ she gasped.

‘He’s divine,’ Emma corrected her. ‘He’s side splittingly beautiful and any woman who says otherwise is a liar.’

‘So why did you say no?’ Evelyn wanted to know.

‘Because I know him,’ Emma explained. ‘Not Luca personally, but I grew up amongst his type—I’ve read their rule book from cover to cover. I grew up in an all-male household—an exceptionally good-looking allmale household at that. ‘

‘What about your mother?’

‘She died when I was four.’ Emma said, and there was nothing in her voice that requested sympathy—she merely stated the facts. ‘My brothers are all considerably older than me…’ She gave a thin smile at the memory of her childhood. ‘And my father, well, a good-looking widower attracts a lot of admirers—all wanting to change him, all assuming he’s just waiting for the next Mrs. Stephenson to come along—and he played them all well.’

‘Luca’s a nice man,’ Evelyn said, just a touch pink at her own indiscretion in discussing her boss so personally. ‘Beneath it all, when he’s not being horrible, he’s a really nice man. Take this assistant PA role that’s currently being advertised—that’s so I can cut back on my travel and late work nights…he’s great really.’

‘So long as you don’t love him,’ Emma said. ‘So long as you have absolutely no intention or hope that one day you might change him…’

‘You really do get it.’ Evelyn blinked in wonder.

‘I really do.’ Locating her bag, Emma plonked it on her shoulder. ‘I’d best get going.’

‘And I’d better ring Paul.’

And it had been no contest—not for a second had she considered accepting Luca’s extravagant offer, but sitting in her pyjamas, eating her TV dinner and watching the credits on her favourite show roll, the house was too big and too lonely for one.

Lonely…

She had never admitted it, not even to herself.

Oh, she had friends and a job and was kept busy— but sometimes, sometimes she wished she wasn’t so wise, so cynical, so mistrusting where men were concerned.

She reached for a magazine, skipped straight to the problem page and read about other people’s lives, other people’s problems, and for the millionth time in her life she missed her mum. Missed the chats that would surely have happened about boys and men. Everyone else seemed to find it so easy—her friends fell in and out of love, skipped from relationship to relationship, and some were even getting married, or moving in with their boyfriends.

Yet Emma felt as if she’d been left at the starting post.

Too embarrassed by her brothers’ teasing, too scared of getting hurt, she’d hid her first innocent crushes, had said no to dates in her teenage years, envying how others found this dating game so easy and just dived in and said yes.

Dear Barbara, she penned the letter in her head.

I’m an attractive twenty-four-year-old, I have friends, a job, a busy life and I’m still a virgin.

Oh, and I just said no to a night in Paris with the sexiest man on earth.

She’d make letter of the week!

And though it was great to have come home to no messages from her father’s nursing home or new bills in the mail, all she felt was deflated. She flicked off the TV, and for just a second she faltered.

A tiny, wobbly second, where she wished she were stupid, wished for that impulse gene where men were concerned that had been so sorely denied her.

Wished she’d just said yes to Luca’s dazzling offer.

Luca flicked through the channels on the television.

Not that he was watching it. It was on all day for background noise for the dog, Pepper—not that the animal appreciated it.

The night stretched on endlessly and he stood there, rueing the fact that he had been yawning and bored at eleven p.m. in Paris, but thanks to the time difference was wide awake and thoroughly restless at five minutes to midnight in London.

He should be exhausted, he had been up since five— but his head was clicking like an abacus. Hemming’s, a large shopping chain, had called him in way too late to stop them from going under.

Except he could see a way to save them.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and tried not to think about it, tried to wind down—just fed up with all the travel, with the demands. Why did everyone want an in-person—why couldn’t they just settle for a face-to-face on a screen in the meeting room?

Hell, an email would usually suffice.

Sex would be nice.

And there were plenty who would be willing.

But he couldn’t be bothered to talk.

Couldn’t be bothered tonight to even pretend to be interested.

His tie must have been soldered on, along with his cufflinks—because he had to put down his drink to deal with them.

And deal with Pepper.

He snarled at the ginger miniature poodle, who snarled back at him. He let him out on his vast balcony to do whatever dogs did.

His maid would see to it in the morning.

Martha, an ex-girlfriend, had, after a trip back to his home in Sicily, decided to move in uninvited, and had conveniently forgotten Pepper when Luca had asked her to move out—three years ago!

‘You,’ Luca said, wandering back to the fridge and selecting a few choice morsels, ‘are the most pathetic excuse for a dog I have ever seen.’

He ripped a chicken leg off and gnawed it as he stretched out on his sofa, with Pepper quivering on the floor beside him.

‘You’re on a diet.’ Luca reminded him. Half watching a detective show on the television, finally Luca relented and threw some titbits to the floor in reward for their new game—having recently found out that if he changed the word ‘Paw’ to ‘High five’ the outcome was the same, only much more satisfying.

It had been hellish breaking up with Martha—her tears and protests at the unexpected end had been unprecedented—as over and over she had asked how he could end something so good.

And she’d left Pepper—just hadn’t taken him, sure that Luca would crack and ring, would make contact— but what she hadn’t truly realised was that when Luca ended things, he ended them.

That Luca would rather deal with a senile, smelly old dog than face her again.

The detective show actually wasn’t that boring…

Three minutes from the end of the final episode of the season, Luca decided it was something he might actually get into.

And then the credits rolled.

And he knew this was what Emma had been talking about.

Knew she was watching it too.

He just knew it. And he wished she’d said yes to Paris.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS a quarter to five on a Thursday afternoon and the entire staff of D’Amato Financiers, excluding Emma, seemed to be abuzz with excitement. As Emma walked back from a meeting with the manager of HR she could see make-up, slyly in some cases and blatantly in others, being applied at desks, and the general office area reeked of a clash of newly sprayed perfume. Even the guys were at it—appearing from the men’s room with a generous dash of newly applied hair product and a glint in their eyes as the end of the workday approached.

Thursday night in London, and it seemed everyone had plans.

Everyone except Emma.

She remembered with a pang when Thursday nights had heralded the start of the weekend. When Friday morning had been spent huddled around the coffee machine, dissecting the previous night.

She’d be lucky if she was out of here by seven and she had to visit her father and she had to be back here by six the next morning, to meet with Luca and then fly up for an eight-thirty a.m. meeting in Scotland.

Evelyn had had second thoughts—offering Emma the position the following day—and she had been in her dream job for six weeks now. And though it was still just that, a dream job, it was also extremely hard work—as Assistant Personal Assistant to Luca D’Amato, it wasn’t just her job title that took some explaining. Every minute of Luca’s time was valuable, Evelyn had explained on her first day. Beyond valuable, actually—which was why he had his own travel team, two assistants and looking for a third, four full-time drivers, in fact a whole fleet of staff that took care of the details and allowed Luca to get on with doing what he did best—rescuing struggling companies, turning them around and making an obscene amount of money in the process.

Emma’s job was varied, mostly exciting and yet also downright boring at times—dealing with his sister’s wedding, his dog, his housekeeper’s endless reams of days off. The list was endless.

Ducking into the ladies’ room, Emma knew she ought to attempt a quick repair job on her hair and face before she headed back to her office and to whatever mood Luca was in, but it took for ever to elbow her way to the mirror and her curly dark hair had spent too long in an air-conditioned building because it was looking decidedly frizzy. She borrowed a squirt of serum from a snooty-looking redhead, re-tied her hair back in a low ponytail and then, sick of the coffee on the top floor, she grabbed a hot chocolate and a bag of crisps from the vending machine then headed back up in the lift, knowing that in all likelihood this would double up as dinner.

‘Louse!’

As she walked out of the lift, Emma stepped back as a stunning, raven-haired woman stormed out of Luca’s office and into the lift, tears streaming down her face but watching his closed office door and just standing there, waiting for it to open, waiting for him to follow her out, to call her back, to no doubt tell her that it didn’t have to end like this, that he’d had a change of heart.

Of course he didn’t.

Of course he wouldn’t—no one delivered an ultimatum to Luca and came out smiling, not even this rare beauty, who, with a sob of frustration, finally pushed the lift button, her desperate eyes peeking out of the closing gap, still hoping that Luca would change his mind.

‘That,’ he said, first peering around the door and making sure it was safe to come out, ‘was not my fault.’ He put up his hands in bemusement and said it again. ‘Really, that time it wasn’t my fault.’ Still Emma said nothing, just watched with pursed lips as he helped himself to her hot chocolate, as he always did if she didn’t pour it into her mug before he saw it. ‘Honestly, it wasn’t!’

‘It never is.’ Sarcasm dripped from Emma’s lips, which might seem rude to some, and might be no way to talk to your boss—but it was because she did speak to him like that, because she did keep him at arm’s length and because she was very good at her job, that, despite his stunning initial offer, in the six weeks she had worked there, Luca hadn’t even attempted to flirt.

Well, the odd time perhaps!

But it was quickly, expertly, rebuffed.

‘Did you get my messages?’ Emma checked, because he never read them. ‘A Dr Calista called—he wants you to ring him.’

‘Fine.’

‘And your sister too—she wants to know if you’ve looked at the ties.’

‘Ties?’

‘She sent you an email of some photos of ties—for the groomsmen to wear at the wedding—and she wants to know if you’re staying. She’s rung a few times today.’

‘Remind her of my hourly rate,’ Luca drawled, ‘and if she keeps ringing, bill her.’

He didn’t mean it, Emma knew that, but he could be so scathing at times.

‘I do mean it,’ Luca said as if in response to her private thoughts.

‘You really want me to bill your sister for ringing you?’ She knew he didn’t mean it, knew he’d hit the roof if she actually did it, and just refused to play his games.

‘I want you,’ Luca said, very firmly, very clearly, ‘to practise some of the assertion this job demands—I am not to be bothered with these details, is that clear?’

‘Very.’

‘Good.’ Luca said. ‘You choose the ties, you sort things out and you have my full authority to tell her it was me.’

‘Fine.’

He was turning now, heading back to his office, tossing the empty chocolate cup in the bin. Then he turned around.

‘Are you doing anything tonight?’

‘Actually, yes,’ Emma said through gritted teeth, ‘I’ve got plans.’

‘Well, cancel them.’ Luca shrugged. ‘Ruby was supposed to be coming with me to some awful dinner dance at Hemming’s. It’s plus one, so I’m expected to bring someone.’

‘I really do have plans!’ Emma repeated, because she was beginning to get tired of this—she worked hard, more than hard, but this would be the fourth night in a row that she hadn’t got to visit her father and it simply wasn’t fair—surely she was allowed to have a semblance of a life? ‘I need to visit my father,’ she reluctantly explained, loath to let Luca in on her personal life. ‘I told him I’d be over tonight.’

‘So, tell him that you are working.’

‘I’ve been putting him off all week.’ She just couldn’t do it to him again. ‘I’d really like to finish on time tonight.’ When Luca just frowned, she pushed a touch further. ‘Look, I don’t usually say no, but surely there’s someone else you can ask?’

Which was a stupid thing to say. There were plenty of women Luca could ask, and there was one reason and one reason only that he was asking her! ‘I was hoping for an early night,’ Luca sighed. ‘At least with you it would be just dinner!’ Which was a rather strange compliment, but it bought a reluctant smile to her face. ‘I’ll ask Evelyn—where is she, by the way?’

‘No, don’t…’ Emma flustered, for Evelyn had sneaked off to the doctor’s to pick up her vials and needles for her final round of IVF, which she was starting in the morning. The last thing the poor woman needed was a night on the town with Luca. ‘I’ll just go. It’s fine.’

‘You’re sure?’ Luca frowned, just a touch guilty now that he had got his own way, as he knew full well where Evelyn was. ‘Tell you what—we can visit your father on the way.’

‘We can’t,’ Emma fretted. ‘I’ll be in evening dress!’

‘So?’ Luca grinned. ‘Go on, get ready and we’ll leave in an hour.’

It was testament to the nature of her job that she could get ready for a formal function within the hour. There was a bathroom on their floor and Emma stuffed her curls under a cap and quickly showered. She even had a wardrobe in her office—her day bag was already packed and ready for her jaunt to Scotland in the morning and Emma rummaged in it for her styling wand and spare make-up bag then set to work on her face, squirting drops in her eyes in the hope they’d sparkle and then working on her lips and cheeks.

With some difficulty she pulled stockings onto damp legs and then slipped on her fast-becoming-familiar little black dress and clipped on a string of black pearls, before coaxing tired feet into stilettos.

And then she tackled her hair. Spritzing her wayward, corkscrew curls around the wand and trying to coax them into shape.

It was a routine she was starting to perfect.

‘You need some more evening wear,’ was Luca’s only comment when he saw that she was in her black dress again.

‘Just as soon as I get a day off!’ Emma retorted. ‘Aren’t you ready?’

He didn’t answer but, then, Luca rarely answered pointless questions. Instead, he strode out to the lifts with Emma following behind, holding a small suitcase to take to her father and stuffing her evening bag with keys and lipstick and hair serum and sticking plasters as the lift plummeted down.

‘I forgot to put on perfume.’

He sniffed the air. ‘You smell fine.’

Men!

He glanced at the small case she was carrying, but didn’t comment and neither did Emma, not bothering with small talk. She just sat in the back of the car with Luca as they moved at a snail’s pace through the heavy peak-hour traffic, a knot of tension in her stomach, sure that at any moment he’d tell her it was too late to stop by her father’s nursing home. Glancing at her watch, she realised they weren’t going to be able to make it and it was actually a relief—she didn’t want to explain her life to Luca.

‘The old dog’s home first!” Luca drawled, not knowing the nerve he was pricking as he let them into his apartment. The television was blaring as usual and Emma paced as Luca chopped up some chicken breast and added a spoonful of rice to Pepper’s bowl.

‘He’s on a diet,’ Luca explained.

She didn’t quite get where Pepper fitted into the scheme of things. She’d been to Luca’s apartment on several occasions and still couldn’t work out what Luca was doing with a dog. Neither man nor beast seemed to particularly like each other and the last thing a person with Luca’s schedule needed was a dog—and a lapdog at that.

But it wasn’t her place to question. It was her job to just book the vet in for home visits, or make sure that the dog sitter knew when Luca was suddenly called away.

‘Look in the bathroom,’ Luca called from the bedroom. ‘There is probably some perfume there that has been left behind—help yourself.’

It was like the beauty section in a chemist’s shop— perfumes, lipsticks, body lotions, all left behind by their previous owners—but it wasn’t them that caught her attention. In the mirror she could see Luca’s reflection—dressed in black hipster underwear, he was selecting an evening shirt, and though she was getting used to Luca, she wasn’t used to seeing quite so much of him.

He was stunning.

He was so pompous and arrogant that for the most part Emma was able to switch off from the fact he was, quite simply, the most beautiful man she had ever seen—only now she was seeing him.

He had long muscular legs that even managed to look sexy in socks. As he pulled on his shirt, she caught more than a glimpse of his chest, a smattering of black hair that made Emma’s toes curl in her already too tight shoes. Dragging her eyes away, she selected some perfume and squirted it on, but her eyes wandered back to the stunning view of him, to those long lean legs as he sat on the bed and pulled on his trousers.

And then he caught her looking.

His eyes held hers in the mirror for an indecently long time, a ghost of a smile spreading on his lips, and then she snapped her eyes away.

‘Ready?’ So flustered was Emma that his voice in the doorway made her jump. ‘If we want to stop at your father’s, we’d better leave.’

He knew.

Cheeks burning, her back and thighs pressed into the leather seat of Luca’s car, Emma knew that he knew.

That despite the banter, despite the rebuffs, despite her thoroughly cool demeanour around him—Luca D’Amato knew that he moved her.

And suddenly, for the first time in six weeks, Emma felt vulnerable.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO WHERE does he live?’

Emma gave the driver the address and sat back in her seat, her tension mounting as the car neared the leafy street, lined with huge impressive homes.

‘It’s nice here…’ Luca glanced out of the window. ‘So, is this where you grew up?’

He had no idea, must just assume that her father could afford a house in this area, but instead of answering she just shook her head, tempted to tell the driver to forget it and take them straight to the Hemmings’ dinner dance, except her father would be devastated if she rang and cancelled again.

‘After that red car on the left…’ Emma instructed the driver. ‘Just here will do.’ Only he went past the red car and pulled up at the gates, pressing the button in the intercom. Emma could feel her cheeks burning as Luca took in the nursing home sign. ‘Could you tell them Mr Stephenson’s daughter is here for a visit?’

‘I’ll wait in the car.’ She could feel Luca’s eyes on her as he spoke, but couldn’t look at him, just climbed out as the driver handed her the small suitcase.

‘I shouldn’t be long.’

‘Hi, Dad!’

The way his face lit up when she walked into his room only made her feel worse. He looked forward so much to her visits, but lately they had been becoming fewer and further between.

‘You look like your mum…’ Frank beamed ‘…when we used to go out dancing.’ And on and on he chatted as Emma put away his laundered pyjamas and replaced his deodorant and talc and filled up his little dish with money for a newspaper in the morning. And it seemed like a nice visit because her father was chatty and for once there wasn’t a hint of malice about her mother, but it hurt more than she could explain.

His face had never used to light up when Emma had walked in the room—that had only started to happen in these past few months. Growing up, he’d practically ignored her, or when he did talk to her, it was to badmouth her mother, as if it had been her fault she’d died. So in all it had been a pretty wretched excuse of a childhood and Emma knew she had every reason to walk away, to leave it to the system to look after him. Only now, since his stroke, it was as if her horrible childhood had somehow been erased. For the first time they had a fatherdaughter relationship, for the first time she was hearing little bits about her mother, about her history, and despite it all, he was her dad—and even if they’d left it rather late they did have a relationship and she could never, like her brothers had, bring herself to just walk away from him.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in more recently.’ She broke his favourite chocolate she had brought him into pieces and put some on a plate in front of him. ‘Work’s so busy…but I’ll be in properly at the weekend.’

‘You have to go?’ Frank’s eyes filled with tears. ‘You’ve only just got here.’

‘Dad, I have to work.’

She felt awful leaving him so soon—except she had no choice. Until the house sold, it was her work that was paying for the home.

She knew what the nurses must think of her as she clipped past the desk in high heels, and she was so close to crying it hurt—she was tired, so tired of juggling things, of scrambling to get everything half done. At work she was calm and efficient, yet on the inside she was a festering mess.

‘Miss Stephenson.’ As the cool night air hit her she gulped it in, turning to see who was following her. Aware Luca must be watching, she died inside as the supervisor waved an all too familiar manila envelope. ‘We’ve been trying to contact you about the account.’

‘I spoke with Accounts yesterday…’ Emma tried to keep her voice even, tried to lower her shoulders and pretend, for Luca if he was watching, that there was nothing wrong. ‘I explained that I have a new job, that I’m catching up on the outstanding balance—they’re putting a new payment plan in place.’

‘I’m aware of that—it’s here for you in writing.’

She took the envelope. ‘Thank you.’

‘Any default on this plan and I’m afraid…’

‘There won’t be.’ Emma swallowed. ‘You know Dad’s house is on the market.’

‘We have a long waiting list,’ the supervisor answered. ‘We’re trying to help, Miss Stephenson, but we’re not a charity.’

The car was full of music when she entered, and Luca was sending emails on his phone. She breathed out a sigh of relief that he surely hadn’t noticed the uncomfortable exchange with the supervisor.

‘How was he?’ Luca checked.

‘A bit teary,’ Emma admitted. ‘Still, I’ll see him properly at the weekend.’

‘Does he get other visitors…?’ His voice trailed off. Evelyn had told him about her mother’s death and, seeing Emma’s tight lips, he changed tack. ‘It looks like a nice place,’ Luca commented, glancing up at the impressive building as the car crunched out of the driveway. ‘Expensive?’

‘A bit.’ Emma shrugged. ‘You do what you can.’

Unexpectedly, Emma found herself enjoying the Hemmings’ dinner dance.

It wasn’t an exceptionally lavish function they attended—that was the type of thing that had got the company into a mess in the first place—but it was a genuine, feel-good party and Luca was the man everyone wanted to greet. His prowess had salvaged a sinking ship and in the process had saved hundreds of jobs.

And Luca was a very nice date.

He turned off his phone the moment they arrived and he remembered to introduce her to enough people so that when he was circulating she didn’t feel like a complete spare part. He even swapped his white chocolate and nougat mousse with her when she got landed with the almond torte, and when the dancing started he didn’t ditch her just because she was a work date, even though on many occasions he could have. In fact, apart from one duty dance with the CEO’s wife and a long conversation with some potential investors, Luca for once appeared off duty.

‘Thank you…’ He held her loosely in his arms as they danced. ‘I know you had other things to do tonight.’

‘It’s actually been nice.’

‘It has,’ Luca agreed. ‘I was worried, I admit.’

‘I’m sure you’d have found someone else to join you.’

‘I meant, I was worried whether I could salvage them from bankruptcy,’ he explained, and he laughed at her blush. ‘I do think about work sometimes.’

‘Sometimes!’ Emma laughed. ‘I don’t know how you fit it all in.’

‘I just do.’ He stared down at her. ‘And so do you.’ He looked down at her for a long moment. ‘How long has he been there?’ All evening he had made no comment about her father, yet the question had hung between them.

‘Six months.’

‘You are very young for him to be…’

‘Dad was quite a bit older than Mum.’

‘Oh.’

‘He had a stroke at the beginning of the year…’ Her voice trailed off, she didn’t want to talk about it, she really, really didn’t. Yes, tonight was work, but in his arms, swaying to the music, when Luca didn’t push or press the point, really it was just a relief to be here, to be away from it all, even for just a little while.

‘I am glad it is you tonight,’ Luca said. And close to midnight, with champagne inside her, it would have been very easy to lean closer, very, worryingly easy to rest her head on that chest that was just inches from her, terribly, terribly easy to wonder at his words. So to stop herself, she reminded herself of the real reason that she was here, and couldn’t help herself from asking.

‘What happened with Ruby?’ She spoke to his lips, the same way that he was speaking to hers, and suddenly it wasn’t working. Reminding herself of his appalling reputation wasn’t keeping her safe—she was having to forcibly resist the urge to move closer to him.

‘She said those four little words.’

‘Three little words!’ Emma corrected, because occasionally his excellent English slipped.

‘No, four…’ She could see the shadow of growth on his chin, his full mouth moving as he spoke, feel his breath and wished suddenly he’d just kiss her. ‘Where is this leading?’

She could only smile at her own stupidity as realisation hit, and was so, so glad she hadn’t quickly answered what she had briefly assumed was a question, because it took a second to work out he wasn’t talking about them—he was answering her question about Ruby.

‘So I told her—nowhere!

‘Come on,’ he said as the music ended and he broke away, ‘let’s go. I’m staying at the office. We have a helicopter to catch…’ he squinted at his watch ‘…in five hours.’ Which translated to about three hours’ sleep if she went home. ‘What about you?

That extra hour actually counted when you were operating on Luca time.

Ever the gentleman, he pulled out the sofa bed in her office then retired to his luxury suite. Emma lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about him. Not once had he pounced on her, had never made her feel uncomfortable, and apart from that blistering first invitation, there had been nothing else.

Except he’d caught her looking at him earlier.

Emma squirmed in embarrassment and then consoled herself that if she’d been standing in her bra and panties, he’d have had a quick peek too.

It offered no consolation.

‘What’s the point of it all, Em?’

His voice over the intercom penetrated the darkness and made her smile. He did this every now and then.

‘So you can make pots of money,’ she responded.

‘I’ve made pots of money.’

‘So you can have any woman you want.’

There was a pensive pause.

‘I have any woman I want.’

‘I don’t know, then.’

‘So why are you here?’ Luca asked. ‘Working yourself into the ground, that cruel boss never giving you a night off?’

‘Because I love my work!’ she duly answered.

‘Rubbish!’ came the voice over the intercom, and Emma smiled. ‘Why are you here Em?’

She paused for the longest time—almost expecting the door to open and Luca to walk in. This conversation, despite taking place over an intercom, was surprisingly intimate. And lying in dark, she was almost tempted to tell him, about the bills and the house, about her dream of going to art school. About how this job was her lifeline, about how, one day, she hoped it might set her up to pursue her goals…

Which was hardly the conversation to have with your boss.

‘’Night, Luca!’

She could never have guessed but save for those two words her office door would have opened.

He liked her.

Luca stared up at the familiar ceiling, at the dimmed lights that never actually went off—and it was a measure of how much he liked her that he didn’t go to her.

It had nothing to do with Evelyn’s stern warnings— well, maybe a bit, as Evelyn was too good to lose, and her husband was getting less and less impressed with the hours his wife put in.

But it was more than that.

He didn’t want to lose Emma.

He liked her.

Not just liked her, but actually liked her.

Liked having her in his day.

She was nothing like anyone he’d met before. She brightened up the office with her chatter and her fizz and she answered him back and made him smile.

And she liked him too. In that way.

He’d actually been beginning to wonder—he’d been a bit taken aback when she’d so coolly turned him down at their first meeting. Working with him, she was so on guard, so scathing of his ways, that he’d wondered if the reason he liked her was that she was the one woman who didn’t fancy him.

Then tonight he’d seen her expression in the mirror, and in that second before she’d realised he’d caught her, he had seen the want in her eyes.

He lay racked with rare indecision.

His instinct was to let nature take its course.

With women, Luca always followed instinct—and instinct told him to go out there to where she lay, in those ugly pyjamas she wore. Luca became instantly hard at the thought of those curls on the pillow, and her soft skin.

So why the reticence?

Because it would last a couple of weeks, a couple of months perhaps—and then she’d want more from him, like they all did, like Martha had…

He closed his eyes on that sudden thought, but circles of light still danced before his eyes.

Martha had been the only one it had really hurt to let go.

It was a thought that till now had comforted him—that he had said goodbye to the one, that the hardest part of the deal he had made all those years ago was over.

So why, when he hadn’t so much as kissed Emma, was he comparing her to Martha?

He hadn’t seen anyone since Emma had joined the staff, had finally dumped Ruby, whom he’d kept dangling for weeks.

He thought about going out there to Emma—how he thought about going out there—but something stopped him: she really needed this job and for now, at least, he wanted her around.

He couldn’t have both.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘YOUR sister is insisting that she speak with you. She’s tried your mobile, she’s been calling all morning,’ Emma said to the silence of the intercom. ‘And now she is insisting.’

‘I’m still in a meeting.’

Luca did everything the other way around from anyone else she had met: he didn’t drop a thing for family! He had several mobile phone numbers—yet his family all went directly to message bank, no exception, no deviation. Emma knew he checked them—had seen him listen, scowl and hit ‘delete’, yet unless he was in the right frame of mind, Luca refused to pick up.

Which left Emma to deal with the fallout.

‘I’m sorry, Daniela,’ she said for the umpteenth time. ‘He really can’t be disturbed—is there anything that I can help you with?’

‘You can ask why he no come, why all he can give me on my special day is two hours of his precious time, familia is everything, my own brother…’ It really was rather draining to listen to, yet she was being paid fabulously to do so. And dealing with Daniela’s histrionics was actually easier than dealing with Luca right now— as the wedding approached his mood blackened. Oh, nothing had been said, he was still his fastidious, energetic self, barking orders, making her laugh every now and then, but there was this tension to him that was palpable—this grey, gathering cloud that seemed to be following him wherever he went.

‘I’m going over to Hemming’s.’ Evelyn came to her desk. ‘Luca needs some files and I have to speak with the accountant.’

‘Sure.’

‘Whatever you do, Emma—’ Evelyn’s voice was serious ‘—don’t put Daniela through—with Luca in this mood, he’ll surely say something he regrets and guess who will have to deal with it?’

‘What is going on?’ Emma asked for the fiftieth time. ‘Why can’t he just go for the weekend? He does it for his clients all the time.’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Suddenly Emma realised Evelyn wasn’t putting her off with vague answers. ‘I’ve worked for Luca for years now and have had little to do with his family, but since this wedding was announced, they’re on the phone every five minutes, and it’s doing nothing to improve his mood.’

‘I had worked that one out.’

‘Get me Dr Calista on the phone.’ Luca’s voice through the intercom was a brusque order and Evelyn rolled her eyes as Emma picked up the phone.

‘Good luck.’

It was rather like knowing there was a wild bear in the building with the door unlocked.

Luca wandered out every now and then, snarling and sniping, giving his orders and then retreating. The phones were ringing red hot and with Evelyn out, Emma rang the deli and had some sandwiches sent up for her own lunch. Luca had snapped, when she’d asked him, that he didn’t want anything.

‘What’s in them?’ He peered at her lunch and selected the smoked salmon and cream cheese without a word, but Emma was used to him now, and the second he slammed the door of his office she opened her drawer and pulled out her own smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches, smiling at her own foresight as she picked up the phone.

She wasn’t smiling now—the sandwich like sawdust in her mouth as she faced a new challenge, wondering if she should ring Evelyn and check, completely unsure what to do.

‘Luca…’ she swallowed the mouthful of water she had quickly taken ‘…it’s your mother on the phone.’

‘I’ll call her later,’ came the curt reply.

Which she relayed, to no avail.

‘Luca…’ She felt as if she were pressing the demolition button as she pressed the intercom again.

‘What?’

‘She’s crying. I don’t know if something’s happened…’

When he swore in Italian, Emma held her breath, hardly letting it out when she saw the red light on and realised he had taken the call, wondering if she had done the right thing. The thick door to his office meant she could hear nothing and Emma paced up and down, staring at the red light, knowing they were talking, wondering if she should go in and apologise afterwards, berating herself for not checking with Evelyn what she should do in these circumstances. And then, after an interminable time, the red light went off.

She waited a moment for his angry summons but, worse than that, there was only silence and a closed door.

She knocked—as he insisted she did.

And knocked again, ignoring that he didn’t answer—deciding to ‘practise some of the assertion this job demands’. Taking a deep breath, she walked in. Afterwards, she fervently wished she hadn’t, but by then it was already too late.

He couldn’t stand it—he just couldn’t stand it!

For weeks Daniela had been ringing, every day, then every hour, and now and then his mother too.

And now had come the tears.

The pleading.

‘Familia, Luca.’

He hated familia!

‘Just this—all I ask of you, all I have done for you, all I have suffered for you!’

For him?

Always his mother twisted things—and she was twisting them now, telling him she had suffered for him, that she had taken the beatings, the hell, the agony—for him.

And now, supposedly, he had to repay the favour.

He hated this!

There was a rip of anger in him, this fury that sixteen years living away from home had only slightly dimmed, because it was always there, churning beneath the surface. His vast office was tiny, too small to contain his fury, his loathing, his hate.

Then he became distantly aware that his mobile was ringing.

Ma.

Ma.

Ma.

He picked the mobile up and threw it across the room—but still it rang.

He picked up his landline phone and tossed that too.

Ah, but soon would come the emails…

So with one swoop he cleared his entire desk of its contents, the computer, papers, his lamp, his coffee, everything, crashing in one swoop, a smash of glass and chaos, with no relief, no reprieve because Emma walked in.

‘Out!’

He roared it at her, but she just stood there, frozen.

‘Get out now!’ Except she didn’t, just stood there eyes wide in shock and then, worse, with tears in them…refusing to leave, refusing to go. So he stormed out of his office and on to the lift, pounded on the button and then gave in, resting his head on his forearm and dragging in air.

He would explain.

He must explain.

He hadn’t wanted her to see him like that…

Luca turned and walked back, calmer now, together now, and then he saw her.

Kneeling on the floor, crying and scared and shaking, picking up the lamp, retrieving shards of glass—trying to clear up the chaos so that it might appear to have never happened.

It could have been his mother twenty years ago— only this time it was he who had caused the chaos, and he who had reduced Emma to frightened tears.

‘I’m sorry!’ Her voice was shaky as she took the blame, and that was what almost killed Luca. ‘I should never have put her through to you.’

It almost killed him, because Luca realised with a dread that had been building for years now—he was turning into his father.

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