Revenge In The Boardroom: Fonseca's Fury / Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Boss? / Unfinished Business. Nina HarringtonЧитать онлайн книгу.
graceful throat work, as if she couldn’t quite get out what she wanted to say. He felt no pity for her.
She couldn’t be more removed from the woman of his memory of seven years ago, when she’d been golden and sinuous and provocative. The woman in front of him now looked pale, and as if she was going for an interview in an insurance office. Her abundantly sexy white-blonde hair had been tamed into a staid chignon. And yet even that, and the sober dark suit, couldn’t dim her incredible natural beauty or those piercing bright blue eyes.
Those eyes had hit him right in the solar plexus as soon as she’d walked into his office, when he’d been able to watch her unobserved for a few seconds. And the straight trousers couldn’t hide those famously long legs. The generous swell of her breasts pushed against the silk of her shirt.
Disgust curled through him to notice her like this. Had he learnt nothing? She should be prostrating herself at his feet in abject apology for turning his life upside down, but instead she had the temerity to defend herself: ‘My family have nothing to do with this.’
His clear-headed focus was being eroded in this woman’s presence. Why was he even wondering anything about her? He didn’t care what her nefarious motivations were. He’d satisfied whatever curiosity he’d had.
He clenched his jaw. ‘Your time is up. The car will be waiting outside for your return to the airport. And I do sincerely hope to never lay eyes on you again.’
So why was it so hard to rip his gaze off her?
Anger and self-recrimination coursed through Luca as he stepped around Serena and stalked back to his desk, expecting to hear the door open and close.
When he didn’t, he spun round and spat out tersely, ‘We have nothing more to discuss.’
The fact that she had gone paler was something that Luca didn’t like to acknowledge that he’d noticed. Or his very bizarre dart of concern. No woman evoked concern in him. He could see her swallow again, that long, graceful throat moving, and then her soft, husky voice, with that slightest hint of an Italian accent, crossed the space between them.
‘I’m just asking for a chance. Please.’
Luca’s mouth opened and closed. He was stunned. Once he declared what he wanted no one questioned him. Until now. And this woman, of all people? Serena DePiero had a less than zero chance of Luca reconsidering his decision. The fact that she was still in his office set his nerves sizzling just under his skin. Irritating him.
But instead of admitting defeat and turning round, the woman stepped closer. Further away from the door.
Luca had an urge to snarl and stalk over to her, to put her over his shoulder, physically remove her from his presence. But right then, with perfect timing, the memory of her lush body pressed against his, her soft mouth yielding to his forceful kiss, exploded into his consciousness and within a nano-second he was battling a surge of blood to his groin.
Damn her. Witch.
She was at the other side of his desk. Blue eyes huge, her bearing as regal as a queen’s, reminding him effortlessly of her impeccable lineage.
Her voice was low and she clasped her hands together in front of her, knuckles white. ‘Mr Fonseca, I came here with the best of intentions to do work for your charity, despite what you may believe. I’ll do anything to prove to you how committed I am.’
Anger surged at her persistence. At her meek Mr Fonseca.
Luca uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on the table in front of him, leaning forward. ‘You are the reason I had to rebuild my reputation and people’s trust in my charitable work—not to mention trust in my family’s mining consortium. I spent months, years, undoing the damage of that one night. Debauchery is all very well and good, as you must know, but the stigma of possessing Class A drugs does tend to last. The truth is that once those pictures of us together in the nightclub surfaced I had no defence.’
It almost killed Luca now to recall how he had instinctively shielded Serena from the police and detectives who had stormed the club, which was when she must have taken the opportunity to plant the drugs on him.
He thought of the paparazzi pictures of her shopping in Paris while he’d been leaving Italy under a cloud of disgrace, and bitterness laced his voice. ‘Meanwhile you were oblivious to the fallout, continuing your hedonistic existence. And after all that, you have the temerity to think that I would so much as allow your name to be mentioned in the same sentence as mine?’
If possible, she paled even more, displaying the genes she’d inherited from her half-English mother, a classic English rose beauty.
He straightened up. ‘You disgust me.’
Serena was dimly aware that on some level his words were hurting her in a place that she shouldn’t be feeling hurt. But something dogged deep inside had pushed her to plead. And she had.
His eyes were like dark, hard sapphires. Impervious to heat or cold or her pleas. He was right. He was the one man on the planet who would never give her a chance. She was delusional to have thought even for a second that he might hear her out.
The atmosphere in the office was positively glacial in comparison to the gloriously sunny day outside. Luca Fonseca was just looking at her. Serena’s belly sank. He wasn’t even going to say another word. He’d said everything. He’d just wanted to see her, to torture her. Make her realise just how much he hated her—as if she had been in any doubt.
She finally admitted defeat and turned to the door. There would be no reprieve. Hitching up her chin in a tiny gesture of dignity, she didn’t glance back at him, not wanting to see that arctic expression again. As if she was something distasteful on the end of his shoe.
She opened the door, closed it behind her, and was met by his cool assistant who was waiting for her. And who’d undoubtedly been privy to the plans of her boss well before Serena had been. Silently she was escorted downstairs.
Her humiliation was complete.
* * *
Ten minutes later Luca spoke tersely into his phone. ‘Call me as soon as you know she’s boarded and the plane has left.’
When he’d terminated the call Luca swivelled around in his high-backed chair to face the view. His blood was still boiling with a mixture of anger and arousal. Why had he indulged in the dubious desire to see her face to face again? All it had done was show him his own weakness for her.
He hadn’t even known she was on her way to Rio until his assistant had informed him; the significance of her arrival had only come to light far too late to do anything about it.
Serena DePiero. Just her name brought an acrid taste of poison to his mouth. And yet the image that accompanied her name was anything but poisonous. It was provocative. It was his first image of her in that nightclub in Florence.
He’d known who she was, of course. No one could have gone to Florence and not known who the DePiero sisters were—famed for their light-haired, blue-eyed aristocratic beauty and their vast family fortune that stretched back to medieval times. Serena had been the media’s darling. Despite her debauched existence, no matter what she did, they’d lapped it up and bayed for more.
Her exploits had been legendary: high-profile weekends in Rome, leaving hotels trashed and staff incandescent with rage. Whirlwind private jet trips to the Middle East on the whim of an equally debauched sheikh who fancied a party with his Eurotrash friends. And always pictured in various states of inebriation and loucheness that had only seemed to heighten her dazzling appeal.
The night he’d seen her she’d been in the middle of the dance floor in what could only be described as an excuse for a dress. Strapless gold lamé, with tassels barely covering the top of her toned golden thighs. Long white-blonde hair tousled and falling down her back and over her shoulders, brushing the enticing swell of a voluptuous cleavage. Her peers had jostled around her, vying for her attention, desperately trying to emulate her golden