Unwordly Secretary, Gorgeous Boss. Lee WilkinsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
included everyone in the convivial greeting as he went to his desk and set down his coffee cup, nonetheless Fabian’s glance came to rest specifically on Laura. It was a feat quite beyond her to glance away from the ocean of achingly vivid blue that blazed back at her.
‘You slept well?’ he asked her.
‘Fine, thank you … You?’
‘Like a bambino!’
His lips broke into the most boyish and captivating grin Laura had ever seen. The sun pouring in through the huge windows behind him illuminated him in a dazzling aura of gold. She knew she was staring, but she would defy anyone—man, woman or child—not to do the same.
‘Really?’ she murmured.
‘Last night I heard an angel singing.’ The expression on Fabian’s face was deliberately provocative, and it made Laura’s skin heat and her heart race. It seemed to suggest that they shared a secret … a secret that placed her in his power somehow. ‘Yes … I went to sleep with the sound of her exquisite voice lingering tantalisingly in my ears … bella!’He kissed his fingers in an extravagant gesture and his smile grew even wider.
The two workmen grinned hugely at this, nodding in vicarious appreciation. Meanwhile, Laura’s whole body was trembling so hard she felt sure everyone must see it.
‘Yesterday the house was full of so much beautiful music.’ Forcing herself to smile nonchalantly, she returned her attention to the waiting workmen, because it was far safer than allowing herself to be caught up in the dangerous spell that Fabian seemed to cast so easily. Striving to maintain an even, slightly authoritative tone in her voice, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘Now, you know what’s to be done? The lanterns are all ready and waiting in the storeroom. They arrived yesterday, and I’ve checked that we received the right number. When the job is completed I’ll come and have a look. Grazie.’ ‘Si, signorina.’
The room fell silent again after the workmen’s departure, and Fabian dropped thoughtfully down into his seat. Running his critical gaze over his assistant’s porcelain skin and willowy form, he noted that she was looking almost as pale as the marble of one of Michelangelo’s sculptures this morning. Had his teasing upset her? Hearing her sing was the first thing he had thought about that morning on waking, and he had been thinking about it ever since.
‘Why didn’t you join me for breakfast?’ he asked.
‘Maria very kindly brought some coffee and fruit to my room.’
‘Coffee and fruit? Are you trying to starve yourself? No wonder you are so slender!’
‘I assure you there is nothing wrong with my appetite, Signor Moritzzoni! I enjoy my food just like anyone else! This just happens to be my natural build.’
‘No doubt many women would envy you.’
Even as he made the comment, Fabian knew his own preference usually ran to the more voluptuous feminine form. Yet he could not deny that Laura’s small frame was perfect for her fine, delicate bone structure.
‘I doubt it. I am well aware of how I look, and there is hardly anything to envy.’
Surprised by her self-deprecating reply, Fabian did not believe she’d said it to elicit his protest to the contrary. Yet he could not help but find it a puzzle that she seemed not to realise her own attraction. After all … a scar was just a scar. To him it hardly signified at all, yet he understood that for a woman it might not prove so easy to bear in the looks-obsessed culture that they lived in. About to turn away from her, he saw that she now had two spots of colour in her otherwise still pale cheeks.
‘Anyway … I promise I will make up for my small breakfast by eating a good lunch, so you need not worry that I might faint from hunger at your feet, Signor Moritzzoni!’
‘That would definitely not be good for my reputation, Laura,’ he answered dryly. ‘And, please … it is about time you started to call me Fabian. Formality only gets in the way when we are working so closely together.’
‘If that’s what you prefer. Now, there are a couple of things I need to ask you concerning the supper party after the concert.’ Turning back to her desk, she picked up a sheaf of paper and a pen.
There was something quite irresistible about the expression she got on her face whenever she was concentrating, Fabian realised. It had the strange effect of making all his muscles tighten with what he had to acknowledge was most assuredly sensual pleasure. He clenched his jaw a little as she approached. Her captivating summery scent reached him first, and he was genuinely perturbed that his reaction to her was so acute. It was an unexpected discovery that could no doubt lead to some unnecessary complications if not handled correctly.
‘What is it you want to know?’ he asked, frowning.
‘It’s about the protocol for the evening.’
To his further discomfiture, she came round to stand by his side, then crouched down low, so that he could clearly see the list of invitees with their various titles and designations. But all Fabian could really focus on right then was how her hair seemed to be woven through with dancing sunlight, and how with her small straight nose and delicate jaw her profile was like the most exquisite cameo …
‘Si.’ Taking the list out of Laura’s hands, Fabian heard the dismissive tone in his voice. ‘I will make some notes in English at the side of each name for you. In the meantime I have some important phone calls to make. This afternoon after lunch we will go through the entire plan and programme together, and find out exactly the state of play.’
‘That would be good. Thank you.’
He had said to Carmela that he hoped his new assistant would not expect him to hold her hand or guide her step by step, yet here he was—her desk conveyed to his office and a strangely inexplicable impulse in him not to leave her to cope on her own …
Moving away from him, she suddenly paused. ‘Your father must have loved music very much … and this is such an exquisite setting for such an event. Was it your idea to hold a concert in his memory each year?’
Stunned by the question, Fabian stared hard at Laura. A muscle throbbed in his cheek and for a long moment he struggled to stem the swift tide of resentment that flowed through his bloodstream. ‘Music meant a lot to him, yes. He considered himself an avid aficionado of the opera. He considered himself an expert in many things as a matter of fact! But holding the concert was not my idea. Far from it! My father left instructions in his will. Even in death, Roberto Moritzzoni wanted to ensure that he was not forgotten. He did not easily let go of his possessions or his life.’
‘I see.’
‘I doubt that you do, Laura. But perhaps one day before you leave the Villa De Rosa … I will explain.’
Moving his coffee cup out of the way, Fabian concentrated his focus on the list of dignitaries in front of him. They were all—with the exception of some of the key performers in the concert—ex cohorts of his father’s who still ‘milked’ their association with Roberto Moritzzoni for all it was worth. As if they had not dined in the style of kings enough throughout the years at the expense of Fabian’s family! At that moment he honestly felt like putting a lighted match to that damned list and having done with it. Glancing up, he saw that Laura had quietly made her way back to her desk, her attention captured by whatever was on the computer screen in front of her. What would Roberto have said if Fabian had introduced someone like her to him as his wife-to-be? He could hear the old man’s mocking laughter even now, after all these years, at the thought that he would even entertain such an absurdity! Everything about her would have been wrong, he realised—starting with the fact that she was not Italian. Add to that the probability that she had no important or useful family connections—that would be two more strikes against her suitability. As for her looks and figure—Roberto would no doubt have disparagingly dismissed her as too pale, too thin, and not maternal or voluptuous enough to be the bearer of his grandchildren …
‘Bigoted