The Italian Billionaire's Secretary Mistress Read Free Page A

the designer whose name was embroidered so beautifully on the label. She swallowed. This gown must have cost a small fortune. For a brief, mad moment the thought sped through her mind that she might be able to sell it on one of the many internet auction sites. But what if Riccardo found out? Would that look awfully rude—his secretary ungratefully flogging a present which had clearly cost him a lot of money?
    She held it up to the light. It felt so gossamer-light it shimmered like some kind of rich red syrup, and a feeling she’d never had before crept over her. It was curiosity and it was wistfulness and it was a desire to know whether someone like her could carry it off. Shouldn’t she just try it on? Just to see. Slipping into the en-suite bathroom where Riccardo sometimes took a shower if he was going straight out to dinner from the office, Angie locked the door and then stripped off her skirt and blouse.
    The first thing which became apparent was that it was the kind of dress where it was impossible to wear a bra—unless you happened to have one of those backless, halter-neck bras, which Angie most certainly didn’t. Her underwear was as practical as the rest of her wardrobe. Pants and bras made in fabrics whose main function was to show no visible panty line.
    Rather furtively, she removed her bra and then slithered into the dress just as she heard someone entering the office and she froze in absolute horror. Riccardo hadn’t told her he was expecting anyone!
    ‘Hello?’ she called out nervously.
    ‘Angie?’
    Cautiously, Angie opened the door and put her head round to see young Alicia standing there and she let out a sigh of relief. ‘Yes, what is it?’ she questioned briskly, though it was difficult sounding efficient when this buttery-soft fabric was whispering against her skin like a sensual kiss.
    Alicia was blinking. ‘What are you doing?’
    For a moment it occurred to Angie to tell the junior secretary that it was none of her business what she was doing. But mightn’t Alicia tell her the truth? ‘Will you give me your honest opinion on what I’m thinking of wearing to the party?’ she questioned.
    Alicia smiled. ‘Of course.’
    Angie stepped out into the office and the minute she saw Alicia’s shell-shocked face she knew that she’d been right to ask. ‘I’ll go and take it off.’
    ‘Don’t you dare ,’ said Alicia fiercely. ‘Come and stand in the light and let me see you properly. Oh, Angie—I can’t believe it’s really you. You look…you look gorgeous .’
    No one had ever called her gorgeous before and Angie wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t allowed herself to bask in the unexpected—if rather back-handed—compliment. But then she caught sight of herself in the large mirror which reflected back the London skyline and she stared at herself in disbelief. She had never really understood why women were prepared to pay hundreds and hundreds of pounds for a garment which could be reproduced for a modest sum in just about any high street store, but suddenly she did. Because how on earth could a simple piece of fabric be fashioned to make the wearer look so…so…
    Angie swallowed. The scarlet satin seemed to mould her skin like cream poured over a peach and the rich material skated over her bottom and clung to her bust. It should have looked tarty and yet it didn’t—for the material was rich and the gown seemed to accentuate qualities she hadn’t even known she possessed. It sung of sensuality and quality instead of screaming availability.
    ‘Oh, Angie,’breathed Alicia. ‘You look like a princess.’
    ‘And I feel like a princess,’ Angie responded slowly, before turning away from the mirror with a resolute shake of her head. ‘No, I can’t possibly wear it.’
    Alicia stared at her in disbelief. ‘Why ever not?’
    ‘Because…because…’ Because, what? Because it made her into an Angie she’d never seen before? One she didn’t know and had no idea how