Undressed by the Boss. Nicola Marsh

Raffa, I—’

      ‘Can you delegate or not? You’re no good to me if you can’t.’

      ‘I can delegate.’

      ‘Then do so. Give the florist credit for knowing what she’s doing. You can’t handle everything single-handedly, Casey.’ His eyes lit with humour. ‘Even I can’t do that.’

      He took her to his private elevator. Discreet and luxurious, it played host to one man. There were no bodyguards here, and no glass walls. There was just one man and one woman on a three-hundred-metre trip to a fabulous penthouse that took up the whole of the top floor.

      He brought the elevator to a halt halfway to its destination. Casey stared at him in alarm. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

      ‘Absolutely.’ As he spoke he placed one fist against the wall next to her face, effectively pinning her in position.

      She stared at him. Her eyes darkened. ‘I don’t understand …’

      ‘I think you do.’

      ‘Did you lean on the controls by accident?’

      ‘Have some confidence in yourself, Casey.’

      She looked at him, and then her glance flickered away.

      ‘Would you like me to say I leaned on the controls by accident? Would that make you feel more relaxed?’ He angled his head to look at her—to drink her in. She was aroused, and their lips were only inches apart. ‘Yes?’ he prompted when she remained silent. She eased her shoulders in a tiny shrug and looked away, but he cupped her chin and made her look at him. ‘Believe in yourself, Casey …’

      Her breathing was unsteady in the silence, and he remembered how innocent she was. The comfortable banquette, the mirror and accommodating padded wall would all have to go to waste, he accepted.

      ‘Are you hungry?’ he murmured.

      ‘I’m starving,’ she said with relief.

      ‘Then I’m going to feed you.’ As he spoke he activated the control that would take the elevator the rest of the way up. ‘I’m afraid it will only be a lunchtime snack,’ he warned, ‘since we don’t have time for the type of banquet I have in mind.’

      Her eyes widened. She was off in her fantasy world, he realised. Her lips were swollen with arousal, as if he had kissed them for hours, and her blue eyes had turned black with just the tiniest rim of sapphire remaining. He turned away to give her a moment, ruffling his hair as he stared into the mirror.

      ‘Do you like sushi?’ he said then.

      ‘I love sushi.’

      ‘Sushi it is, then,’ he said, smiling at her infectious enthusiasm.

      In Casey’s opinion everyone deserved at least one fairytale in their life. And this was hers, she thought as Raffa led her over the threshold of his fabulous apartment. She wasn’t a fairy princess, but a rather ordinary girl from the north of England who happened to have a talent for marketing—but look where that talent had brought her! She was standing at the side of the hottest man in town, in the middle of an interior designer’s dream.

      ‘What do you think?’ Raffa said, turning to her.

      With the light flooding in from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbour, she thought that he looked magnificent … that he looked like a true warrior king of the desert, with his powerful legs firmly planted in his golden lion kingdom …

      Was everything made of gold?

      ‘Vulgar, isn’t it?’ he said.

      She blinked, trying to take in the apartment and give him her honest opinion—but he was so distracting. ‘I think it’s lovely, actually,’ she admitted. What was a fairytale if it was all magnolia walls and plain furniture? This was luxury such as she had never seen before, luxury on an unprecedented scale, and she thought it absolutely perfect for her lion of the desert.

      ‘Just try to bear in mind this is a hotel room and not my home,’ Raffa told her dryly.

      A hotel room? Right. They really did come from two different worlds. Hotel rooms in Casey’s world came with a bed, a chair and a Formica desk.

      ‘Describe what you see in one sentence,’ Raffa suggested.

      ‘Fabulousness pumped up on gold dust and dressed like a movie set fit for a king?’

      ‘Bravo!’ He laughed, strong even teeth a flash of brilliant white against his bronzed face.

      With her heart thundering like an express train she took a look around to distract herself … Venetian glass, Italian leather, and a vast wall of windows overlooking the marina and the turquoise ocean far below. On the walls Fauvist paintings, flaunting colour. She crossed the room to take a closer look at them, remembering Fauvist was French for wild beast. Casey smiled. Someone here really had a sense of humour.

      ‘Do you like them?’ Raffa asked as she went to take a closer look at a Matisse.

      ‘I love them. They’re so vibrant …’ And she was trembling all over. Her enthusiasm could so easily get the better of her, Casey realised, reining it in. She was alone with Raffa in his apartment; this was not the time to get carried away.

      ‘I’m glad you like them. Which one is your favourite?’

      The group of naked people, dancing free, hand in hand around a grassy mound …

      ‘The townscape …’

      ‘Ah, the view of Collioure …’

      ‘Yes, that’s the one,’ she lied.

      Raffa’s darkly luminous stare had followed her gaze, and now he looked openly disbelieving. She had told a silly lie that only betrayed her lack of sexual confidence. Lucky for her that wasn’t a consideration for him when it came to deciding on the best candidate for the job.

      Seated on facing sofas a safe distance apart, they settled down to enjoy the food the waiters brought them. The tempting platters of savoury and sweet delicacies were delicious, as was the freshly squeezed mango juice served with ice and fizzy water.

      And Raffa was delicious too. Everything about him said he was a sensualist, a man of potent sexuality who would be completely without inhibition in the bedroom. Maybe he could help her … Maybe she should find out …

      Maybe she should pull herself together, Casey’s sensible self advised.

      ‘I’m going to suggest something to you,’ Raffa said, breaking the spell. ‘And I’ll be angry if you refuse me.’

      Casey’s mouth turned dry. She found it wasn’t quite that easy to pull herself together—especially when Raffa got up from the sofa and proceeded to come round the table towards her.

      ‘I know how difficult you can be about money …’

      With her bubble well and truly burst, she frowned. ‘I’m not difficult.’

      ‘Stubborn, then?’ he suggested, clearing his throat to hide his laugh.

      ‘Absolutely not.’ She was as stubborn as a mule, but with one eye on the job she wasn’t about to admit to it.

      ‘Well, if you’re so compliant and easygoing, why don’t you sit down and relax while I tell you what I’ve got in mind?’

      It took her a moment to realise the most dangerous thing in Raffa’s hand was his wallet. ‘You carry money?’

      ‘Of course I do. What century do you think this is?’

      ‘And what’s that for?’ She stared suspiciously at the credit card he was holding out to her.

      ‘Do you have a gown for the ball, Cinderella?’

      ‘Cinderella?’ Casey’s eyes narrowed.

      Raffa