Affairs Of The Heart: The Italian Boss's Secret Child. Rebecca Winters

followed her into the small office, wondering just what had happened to his little brown mouse. She still smelled the same, the now familiar apricot scent wafting freshly in her wake. It was her looks that had changed. The long-line jacket sat over a fitted white shell top and seemingly floated behind her as she walked in matching trousers that weren’t tight yet still hinted at womanly curves below.

      Her hair, uncharacteristically worn down, was shoulder-length and feathered at the ends and it didn’t look the colour of sand any more. It looked more like honey, honey sprinkled with crystals of sugar, the ends swishing and flicking with her motion. And what had she done with her glasses?

      He was seated at the desk before he could talk. ‘You look—different,’ he said at last.

      She smiled, almost as if self-conscious, as her gaze flicked over the outfit. ‘I hope it’s appropriate. I know business is a little more relaxed up in Queensland.’

      He nodded his approval as his eyes slowly moved up her body. She fingered the ends of her hair and caught him looking. ‘Oh, that. I was due for a cut so I let them talk me into something extra this time. But I didn’t use your money. I paid for the hair myself.’

      ‘What happened to your glasses?’

      ‘Contact lenses. I lost one and had to get a new prescription made up. Still, I don’t wear them as much as I should…’ She hesitated. ‘What’s wrong?’

      He realised he was staring. He coughed as he pulled his eyes away, lifting his laptop case to the table. ‘Nothing,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘We’ll be boarding soon. We’d better get on with it.’

      It was time well spent on the ground and in the air. By the time they’d arrived at Coolangatta Airport they’d thoroughly reviewed their potential client’s specifications and finessed their plan of attack. Damien was feeling more and more confident even though he knew there was still a mountain of work ahead and a myriad of meetings with Palmcorp, their lawyers and financiers. But they could do it. He’d made the right choice in bringing her. They made a good team.

      This was Damien at his best. In the large meeting room at Palmcorp’s offices on the Gold Coast, Philly listened to his spiel, watched him charm, tease and manoeuvre the two directors and get them thinking his way. It was like watching a master at work.

      No wonder he’d built his business to be the success it was. When he spoke he made you believe, the passion for his work and his products coming to the fore.

      He held them in the palm of his hand.

      It was a new side to Damien, one she hadn’t witnessed before. Now his obsession with perfection, with driving his staff hard, made some sort of sense. He couldn’t be that passionate about his business if the people who worked for him gave him less than their best.

      His strong, deep voice flowed over the assembled group, his expressive hands adding gestures for emphasis where required, addressing them at their level, not preaching, not patronising, but taking every one of them with him. No one stopped him for questions or interrupted the flow. He was in his element. He was supreme.

      It was impossible not to be impressed. And it wasn’t just the way he spoke. The way he held himself and the way he looked had as much to do with it. He’d discarded his jacket and the fine white shirt only emphasised his olive skin and dark features.

      He looked great in white. Even though his business shirt contrasted in a major way with the Roman armour he’d worn to the ball, both styles suited the man that he was.

      She swallowed. He’d looked great in that outfit.

      Then again, he’d looked great out of it. The way he’d discarded the armour, then the tunic, pulling it over his head and flinging it on the floor, the way his chest had expanded as her eyes had drunk him in, the way he’d stood next to her, waiting, anticipating…

      Oh Lord, was she never going to get those pictures out of her head?

      ‘Ms Summers?’

      She came back to the meeting with a jolt to meet Damien’s quizzical gaze. ‘Is everything all right?’

      She looked around in panic but the others all seemed busy helping themselves to the pots of filtered coffee and jugs of orange juice that had suddenly materialised from nowhere.

      ‘You would like to handle the marketing perspective next up, I take it?’

      ‘Oh yes, of course,’ she said, her cheeks scorched and with confidence battling for dominance over visions of one gloriously near naked man. ‘I was simply mentally preparing myself for the task. Excuse me, I think I’ll get myself a juice.’

      Her presentation sailed along, her earlier embarrassment soon forgotten as she got underway. She used the same basic format that she’d shown Damien at their meeting just a few weeks ago, expanding it to include additional detail for people less familiar with the company and the product. It seemed to go well and afterwards she fielded questions from the group before they all broke for a late lunch.

      Damien sidled up alongside her as they were heading for the cars that would take them to the restaurant.

      ‘Well done,’ he said, bending down to whisper softly into her ear, his hand at her back. ‘Excellent job.’ He moved on, the curl of his breath against her skin rippling through her and tripping her heart-rate.

      It took a deep breath to know how to respond as she battled to sort out the emotions vying for supremacy inside her. The employee side of her ego couldn’t help but swell with pride that he considered she’d done her job well and his faith in her had been vindicated.

      Yet another side of her that was already battered felt as if he had pressed hard on her most sensitive bruises. If only he had as much faith in her as a woman—if only he hadn’t been so quick to write her off. Maybe there could have been a chance for something more to develop.

      But what chance was there of that? They hadn’t even shared a one-night stand. It had been more of a one shot wonder.

      But by the time she’d realised that she should just smile and thank him he’d already turned away, thoroughly absorbed in a discussion of the finer points of European motor vehicle engineering.

      She sighed. She’d missed her chance. Or she’d read much too much into his comments in the first place. Whatever, she really needed to relax more.

      The afternoon didn’t afford that. It was spent in more discussions and a tour of Palmcorp’s offices before meetings with the finance and legal specialists that ran late. Again Damien steered the proceedings with skill and startling business acumen but did it in such a way that she could see the Palmcorp directors actually believing they were driving the process.

      Businesswise, it was all proceeding very well. But with their early start it was a full-on day and all Philly wanted to do by the end was to go to her hotel room and enjoy a long hot soak. There was no time for that though, with a business dinner already arranged. At a pinch there’d be just enough time to shower and change.

      Her room back at the hotel was spacious and elegant, luxury all the way, decorated in cool pastels with a wall of windows leading to a balcony, showcasing the brilliant blue of the ocean and the white sandy beach that stretched for miles to the north and south. A pity there was no time to enjoy it.

      She had half an hour before she was to meet Damien in the lobby but she rang home before anything else. The nurse answered on the second ring, passing the phone over without hesitation. Her mother came on, her voice weak but with a bright note she hadn’t heard for some time.

      ‘How’s it all going?’ Philly asked her mother.

      ‘I’ve been playing mah-jongg with Marjorie,’ she said, ‘and what’s more I’ve been winning, so don’t you worry about a thing. We’re having a lovely time.’

      She said goodbye and hung up on a smile, satisfied that she could at least relax on the domestic front. Tomorrow she’d be home and then, with any luck, she’d