The Italian Billionaire's Secretary Mistress Read Free Page B

to handle? One who felt all kind of squirmy and excited—the way she’d always imagined a woman should feel before a party, but which she couldn’t ever remember feeling before? Or because Riccardo had bought this dress? And that was the most incredible thing of all. Riccardo had bought it for her! Did he imagine me wearing it when he bought it? she found herself wondering—her heart hammering with an urgent kind of longing. And if that were the case—wouldn’t it be wrong not to wear it?
    ‘You have to wear it,’ said Alicia firmly. ‘Because you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.’
    And so Angie allowed herself to be convinced—telling herself that someone as young and as trendy as Alicia would have told her if she was making a fool of herself. She even allowed herself to be taken along to one of the shops on Oxford Street to buy a pair of towering black stilettos to do the dress justice. And the sweetest little sparkly black clutch bag. Even to take her hair down and to brush it until it gleamed and—although she had always despaired of a colour which most resembled wet sand—she had to agree that it looked rather nice. In fact, she took all the advice that Alicia offered and let her put two coats of mascara onto her eyelashes and to coat her lips in an extravagant-looking gloss.
    The trouble was that this high level of preparation took much longer than it normally did and made Angie horribly late. So that instead of being the first to arrive—for once, she was the very last. Usually, she walked into a restaurant and was shown to a corner where she would sit unnoticed, quietly nursing a drink until the others arrived.
    But not tonight.
    Tonight, as the plate-glass doors of one of the city’s most upmarket restaurants slid open, she was aware of something very odd as she put one high-heeled shoe over the threshold. Silence. Complete and utter pindrop silence, before the buzz of conversation resumed. Angie blinked. She was sure she hadn’t imagined it.
    From nowhere, a waiter appeared at her side and stuck very close to it as she mentioned the name of the Castellari table, his smile very wide indeed as he gestured that she follow him. And Angie sensed that every eye was on her as she made her way through the room. Why were they all looking at her? she wondered in a panic. Surreptitiously, her hand slid round to her bottom, smoothing down her dress—because for one awful moment she had imagined that it was tucked into her tights. But no, all seemed well.
    Until she spotted the long, large table containing most of the Castellari workforce and in particular Riccardo, who sat at the head of it—staring at her as she could never remember him staring at her before. And inside, Angie felt a terrible flutter of nerves. What if Riccardo didn’t like the dress? Or was embarrassed that he had ever purchased such a personal gift for his secretary?
    She slanted him a shy smile which he didn’t return. On the contrary. He continued to stare at her with a look of pure astonishment on his face—a look which he didn’t bother to hide, even when he curled his finger to beckon her over. She walked across to stand directly in front of him and his eyes flicked over her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings, or horns.
    ‘Is…something wrong?’ she questioned hesitantly.
    Wrong? Riccardo felt his mouth dry. He wouldn’t quite put it like that. It was just that up until this precise moment he’d had no idea that his secretary possessed a pair of the most pert and lush breasts he had ever seen, and the silky fabric was caressing them like a man’s tongue. He swallowed. Or that her waist should dip in like that. Or her hips swell out into slim curves, or that she had such a luscious bottom. Or indeed that her legs should be so long…long enough to…
    ‘Ma che ca…’ he began, and then halted, his face darkening as the waiter murmured something to him in Italian and Riccardo snapped something back so that the