Lee Wilkinson - Unwordly Secretary, Gorgeous Boss

‘You are right, Signor Pasolini. I am sorry I made a fuss,’ he heard her say, and he had to seriously fight not to impel her into his arms there and then and kiss her. ‘Fabian … would you mind leaving us again?’

‘You are sure you want to do this?’ he asked a little gruffly.

‘I don’t want to let you down tonight,’ she replied, her soft gaze like a jewelled misty dawn.

‘I know that will not happen.’

Turning away, Fabian returned to the adjoining salon and, instead of sitting, walked straight to the window and gazed out unseeingly at the busy scenes of activity in front of him. The preparations for tonight’s event were underway with a vengeance, but now he anticipated it with even less enthusiasm than usual. Instead he pondered the devastating effects—both mental and physical—the car accident must have made Laura suffer, and a profound stab of unease and regret pulsed through him.

He should not have coerced her into trying on the dresses—and he would not have if he’d known why she was so reticent. Yet it struck him how dignified and beautiful she’d appeared in the stunning red dress, in spite of her scars. She would make an ideal wife for him. Not showy or avaricious, but composed and serene—he would be able to take her anywhere. Maybe, given time, they might even become good friends? Reluctantly recalling the husband she had lost, he refused to consider that Laura might well refuse his offer of marriage because she was afraid that this marriage too would ultimately end in disaster. She had said that marriage should involve much more than clear-headed logic! Clearly a woman of deeply held passions, could she be satisfied with the kind of loveless arrangement that Fabian was suggesting? Albeit one that had numerous attractive benefits, in his opinion?

Clenching his jaw grimly, he determinedly pushed the disquieting possibility of her refusal away.

A couple of hours before the concert—when the phones had finally stopped ringing and all the lastminute arrangements had been taken care of—

Laura stretched her arms high above her head at her desk and groaned. The muscles at the back of her neck and across her shoulders cramped painfully, testimony to the tension that had been slowly building all day.

It had started with that scene earlier on, when she’d tried on the stunning red dress Dante Pasolini had brought and had known she couldn’t hide her scars any longer. She had never felt more vulnerable or scared than she had in that moment. But the fashion designer had turned out to be the kindest of men, and when Fabian had walked in and seen the scar too the gaze that had swept over her had been anything but repulsed, as Laura had feared it might be. She had definitely seen compassion in his eyes—and how could a man who demonstrated that admirable quality so naturally profess to almost scorn love as he did? What his wife had done had obviously made him deeply cynical about trusting his heart.

Adding to Laura’s discomfort now was not just the fact that she had to present some of the performers during the evening, and act as her boss’s hostess, but that after the concert she had promised Fabian to give him her final answer regarding his marriage proposal. He might want her to treat it like a business proposition, but every time she thought about it her stomach was flooded with butterflies the size of small helicopters.

‘Laura … why are you still at your desk? You should have finished work at least half an hour ago! It is nearly time to get ready.’

He’d entered the room barefooted, as was his custom when he was at home, and—wrapped up in her own pressing concerns—Laura hadn’t heard him.

‘I was only seeing to a few last-minute things,’ she said, turning. ‘A couple of guests lost their invitations, and there were one or two requests from people travelling from further afield for directions to the villa.’

But Fabian hardly seemed to be listening to any of this. Instead he was frowning deeply as he regarded her. ‘You look tired and drawn, and there are dark circles beneath your eyes.’

‘I’ll be fine when I shower and freshen up. You’d be amazed at the transformation a little make-up can effect!’

Ignoring her false attempt at humour, Fabian frowned again, and the furrow between his golden brows didn’t disappear.

‘No doubt you are far too tense. This morning was an ordeal for you, instead of the pleasure I intended.’

Without waiting for her to comment, he swivelled her chair around and slid his hand beneath her hair behind her neck. Gently but firmly he started to knead the muscles there. His touch was silk and velvet, summer rain and scorching sun, all rolled into one. For weak-willed moments Laura let herself bask in the almost unbearable pleasure of it. Then she abruptly brought herself to her senses and told herself she shouldn’t be encouraging him to touch her like this. It was simply too intimate, and it crushed all possibility of making rational decisions where he was concerned ever again.

‘You have to stop.’ She laid her hand over his and pulled it away. Turning in her seat, she lifted her gaze to his in mute appeal.

‘Why?’

‘You ask me that when—’ ‘When what?’

‘When you are confusing me to such a degree that I can’t even remember my own name!’

Rising to her feet, she found herself with bare inches between their two bodies. He was smiling at her, and that confused her even more. With his slightly crumpled white linen shirt, softly napped jeans, bronzed skin and sun-kissed hair, he was the kind of fantasy that she’d never dreamt would come into her sphere.

‘Don’t, Fabian!’

‘What have I done?’ he asked, in apparent innocence.

You’re leading me down a road I am frightened to go down, Laura answered in the silence of her mind. And yet every second you smile at me the temptation to travel it grows too great to resist.

‘I’m only here to work for you, and you’re treating me like—like something far more personal than that.’

‘I have asked you to be my wife … remember?’

‘But the marriage you have in mind is hardly a proper one.’

‘It will be legal and proper in every way!’ He looked affronted for a moment.

Sensing this was not the time to confront the issue, Laura sighed. ‘You know what I mean! But I suppose we have no choice but to wait until later to discuss it properly. Well … I’d better go and get ready for the evening.’

‘Before you do that I think you should get a massage first. Iron is more yielding than the muscles in the back of your neck! And I want you to be as relaxed as possible tonight, so that you will enjoy the occasion and not dread it.’

His words brought up a new concern. ‘Are you dreading it, Fabian?’ she asked quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I haven’t been immune to the fact that you seem a little less than thrilled about the whole event … yet your dedication to helping the children at the hospice is unquestionable!’

Her comment definitely seemed to take him aback. The very blue irises around much darker pupils seemed to acquire an even more intense hue. ‘You are an astute woman, and I cannot deny that promoting and holding this concert brings up some difficult challenges for me personally. But this is not something that I want to consider right now, when I am just a short time away from greeting my guests … si?’

‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Come with me.’ Getting hold of her hand, he steered her firmly towards the door. ‘Where are you—?’

But Fabian wouldn’t say where he was taking her, and Laura had no choice but to allow him to lead her through corridors and vestibules she’d never entered before, and finally down some marble steps to an area that was done out like a Roman spa—complete with inviting swimming pool, and the scent of lemon and pine and sweet herbs clinging to the moist air.