New Year At The Boss's Bidding. Rachael Thomas

reached the stairs and he turned to look at her, pressing his lips firmly together in discontent as she looked around the large hallway, which showcased the Christmas tree he’d expressly asked to be removed before his guests arrived. Its decorated branches were yet another reminder of what he no longer deserved.

      ‘This is so beautiful.’ Clutching her files against her, she walked slowly towards the bottom of the wide staircase, where he stood. She stopped and looked around her at the magnificence of the main entrance of the manor. ‘And this tree, it’s just gorgeous. I always wanted a tree like this when I was young. Something grand and tall, but of course it never happened.’

      The laughter in her voice held a hint of sadness and abruptly she stopped talking. Had his reaction to the mention of Christmas been that severe?

      ‘Yes, the tree.’ He gritted his teeth again, feeling even more like a grumpy bear, trying to ignore the longing in her voice. ‘I did ask for it to be taken down before I arrived.’

      ‘Take it down. Why? It’s Christmas.’ The shock in her voice was crystal clear but, then, she didn’t understand that he no longer indulged in sentiments like that.

      ‘It was Christmas.’ The words were growled out as he pushed back emotions he still couldn’t deal with. How could anyone come to terms with the knowledge that they’d caused an accident that had taken the life of a friend? His recklessness that day on the track had wrecked one family’s Christmas for ever, depriving young children of their father.

      She shook her head. Fast little shakes that made her hair move and glisten like gold beneath the hall lights. ‘Christmas hasn’t finished yet and you are celebrating New Year here.’

      ‘I’m entertaining my family. Nothing more.’ He didn’t want to take this any further and turned towards the dining room, leaving her little choice but to follow. She’d only been here a short time and already she was disturbing the inner peace he’d thought he was finally beginning to achieve, threatening to open up wounds that had only just started to heal.

      ‘This is where I will entertain my guests this evening.’ He stood back as she entered the large and stately room, the long table capable of seating at least ten people taking centre stage.

      She stood quietly next to him but he could tell she was desperate to walk around the room, touch the old furnishings and feel the ambiance of the place. He stifled a smile as she took out her notepad and pen, using the cover of efficiency to hide that fact.

      ‘It’s a very big table. How would you like it set for this evening’s dinner? At one end, perhaps closest to the fireplace?’ She looked up at him and he felt as if he’d been caught out as his study of her had been blatant. For a moment her eyes searched his, questions lingering in hers, and a flush of heat coloured her cheeks, something he found quite endearing.

      ‘Sì, by the fire is good.’ He moved away from her and the temptation she represented, but he couldn’t stop watching her.

      As she wrote down notes, he enjoyed the way her hand moved fluidly across the page. With her head bent, her blonde hair slid off her shoulder, forming a curtain of gold. He itched to reach out and push it back, wanting to see the concentration on her face, to feel it with the stroke of his hand across her skin.

      She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes locking with his, and questions surfaced once again in the summer sky blue of hers. ‘And the champagne? Perhaps here would be best?’ She moved further away from him and he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d held onto. He had to stop this.

      Her footsteps were muffled on the carpet as he watched her walk towards the ornate sideboard, stopping to make further notes. Then she moved to the tall windows, her air of professionalism momentarily forgotten as an almost childlike joy shone from her. ‘It’s snowing again.’

      Thankful for the distraction, he crossed the room to join her. As he stood behind her he realised just how small and delicate she was and a powerful urge to protect her washed over him.

      He looked down at her at the exact moment she turned to look up at him. The warm blue of her eyes, which instantly reminded him of the Mediterranean Sea, drew him closer to her. He could smell her perfume, dusky roses, as it weaved around him, invading every part of him. The urge to lower his head and feel her full lips against his was so strong that he could actually taste her.

      ‘I had better get started.’ She ducked away from him, leaving him looking out at the view. What had just happened? He’d nearly lost control, nearly allowed himself to imagine things that were no longer possible. He hadn’t been the same man after the accident and he had no right to want any woman, especially this bubbly blonde—not in any way.

      He couldn’t risk hurting anyone else.

      * * *

      Tilly’s heart pounded so hard she was sure it must be echoing all around the old house. For a brief moment she’d seen raw desire in Xavier’s eyes and had been convinced he was about to kiss her. No, that couldn’t be possible. An attractive and successful man would only look past her, but she couldn’t shake the thought of him kissing her. Worse than that, she’d wanted him to. The heady longing that had engulfed her so rapidly still hummed inside her, shocking her with its intensity. She’d never felt anything like this before. Was this what Jason had wanted from her when in her innocence she’d thought she could keep him as a friend?

      She almost groaned aloud. She didn’t want to think of Jason and what had happened last New Year’s Eve. She’d left London to avoid doing that. Now Xavier Moretti, with his dark and brooding attitude, which called to her on a level she hadn’t known existed, opened all those memories up again for further scrutiny.

      ‘I have made slight amendments to your menu requests,’ she said officiously, desperate to regain control. She took in a somewhat ragged breath, trying to find her normal well-balanced sense of what was right and wrong. And wanting this man to kiss her was wrong. Very wrong.

      ‘So long as it still remains mostly Italian, as I requested.’ He strode across the room and she moved back away from him until she stood against the ornately carved chair at the head of the dining table, its solidness grounding her.

      ‘I spent some of my early childhood in Tuscany with my grandmother. It’s where my love of food and cooking came from, so I can assure you your menu will remain true to Italy.’

      He stopped and looked directly into her eyes, his brows raised in question. Or was that shock? ‘Your grandmother is Italian?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said, unashamedly proud of her heritage. ‘She named me Natalie because I was born on Christmas Eve. My mother, however, preferred Tilly so it was only ever Nonna who used my full name.’

      ‘Your surname is not Italian.’ His accent had become more pronounced, but his tone was firm and controlled.

      ‘No, my grandmother married an Englishman, which divided the family, and my father was the only child of that love match. Then he married my mother, an Englishwoman, and they moved to London.’ She began to explain, then realised he probably wasn’t interested and that she’d better concentrate on work, instead of divulging her family history.

      He took a step towards her and instinctively she moved back, pressing herself more firmly against the back of the chair, wishing he would leave and give her space to think, room to breathe. The effect he was having on her was unlike anything she’d ever known.

      ‘In that case, I am looking forward to seeing your changes.’ His accented voice had a deep sensual undertone, which only intensified the flutter of attraction she was finding hard to ignore.

      ‘Thank you, I’m sure you will be more than pleased with them,’ Tilly rambled, still confused by the way her body reacted each time he spoke or looked at her from those sexy black eyes. It certainly wasn’t professional but it made her feel alive.

      He continued in fluid Italian and she blinked in shock. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as the usual sadness washed over her. ‘I don’t remember much of the language. Nonna died when I was only thirteen.