Nicola Marsh - Undressed by the Boss

‘Coffee?’ she said, struggling for normality in a world full of just one man.

‘Coffee would be good for everyone at this point.’

Raffa called a ten-minute break while she tried to ignore the effect his deep rich baritone was having on her senses.

‘No one wants to stop talking,’ he said, returning to her side. ‘They’re too enthused by your plan.’

‘I’m pleased they like it.’

‘Like it? They own it already.’

‘It’s only in the planning stages at the moment,’ she pointed out. ‘But if you think it’s what you want …’

‘It is what I want.’

His gaze strayed to her lips. She tried hard not to react or show by any means that her body yearned to be touched by him.

‘Shall we return to the table?’ Raffa suggested, as if this highly charged moment had never happened.

She practically galloped there.

They finally broke at three in the morning, by which time Casey was wide awake. But, as Raffa pointed out, they all ought to get some sleep as they had to start again first thing in the morning. This morning, Casey reflected as the team filed out. It was hardly worth going to bed.

Raffa was the last to leave. During the course of the meeting he had taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a tempting few inches of hard, bronzed flesh. With his sleeves rolled back, revealing hard muscled forearms, he was quite a distraction—one she hadn’t had the chance to appreciate fully during the meeting. As she said goodbye to him he looked at her another beat too long. His stubble was blacker than ever, making him look like a buccaneer. He made her feel very small and not very safe, and suddenly she wasn’t sure what to say next. A brisk goodnight was safest, Casey concluded, reaching for the door handle.

She drew a swift intake of breath when Raffa’s hand covered hers. Was this the moment? She remained motionless as he lightly ran the knuckles of one hand down her cheek.

‘You did well tonight, Casey …’

‘Thank you …’ Everything slipped out of focus while she examined the effect Raffa had on her inexperienced body.

That had to be why it took her a moment to realise he’d gone.

CASEY let her clothes lie where they fell and collapsed into bed. She’d probably been unconscious before her head had hit the pillow, she realised when the bedside alarm rang. She hadn’t noticed how tired she was—but Raffa had. Was that why he had left her so abruptly? She traced the path his hand had taken down her face. She still wore the memory of his touch, which led seamlessly on to wondering how the rest of her might feel now if he had continued his explorations.

Don’t even think that way, she told herself firmly, swinging her legs over the side of the divan. She was innocent, she was inexperienced, and this was business. She might have had only three hours’ sleep, but another working day had started and she had to be ready for anything Raffa threw at her.

The phone was ringing when she came out of the bathroom. She pounced on it, thrilling at the sound of the familiar voice—though she started smiling when she heard his words. ‘This time don’t tell me you’re ready if you’re not.’

‘Give me five minutes.’

‘I’m in the lobby.’

And pacing up and down, Casey guessed as the line went dead.

Raffa took Casey to the venue where the auction would be held. It was the ballroom of his latest hotel. He showed her the guest list, as well as the table plan she’d asked to see. She said it was crucial to understand the rivalries between the various tables, and that was where he could help out. By lunchtime she had a good overview, and had convinced Raffa that he had a strong new team member in Casey Michaels. He had only one small niggle left. Casey could pull people together and work effectively in a team, but could she whip jaded billionaires into a frenzy of competition? That remained to be seen. Meanwhile …

‘Lunch?’ he suggested.

‘I’ve no time for lunch,’ she said as a florist arrived.

‘Delegate,’ he said, taking hold of her arm.

‘But, 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.