Ruthless Revenge: Delicious Demand: Moretti's Marriage Command / The CEO's Little Surprise / Snowbound Surprise for the Billionaire

Now Luca kept his hand on her elbow as he guided her into the boutique, and then slid it to the small of her back as a shop assistant came forward. Hannah felt as if he were branding her back, his palm warm through the thin material of her skirt, his fingers splayed so she could feel the light yet firm pressure of each one. His pinkie finger reached the curve of her bottom, and her whole body stiffened in response as a treacherous flash of heat jolted through her.

‘I would like a complete wardrobe for the weekend for my companion,’ he said to the woman, who batted over-mascaraed lashes at him. ‘Evening gowns, day wear, a swimming costume, nightgown, underthings.’ He glanced at the gold and silver watch on one wrist. ‘In under an hour.’

‘Very good, Mr Moretti.’

Underthings? Hannah felt she had to object. ‘Mr Moretti, I don’t need all those things,’ she protested in a low voice. She certainly didn’t need her boss to buy her a bra. She felt the pressure on the small of her back increase, so she could feel the joints of each of his fingers.

‘Humour me. And why don’t you call me Luca?’ Her jaw nearly dropped at this suggestion. He’d never invited such intimacy before. ‘You’ve been working for me for what, three years?’ he murmured so only she could hear, his head close enough to hers that she breathed in the cedarwood-scented aftershave he wore. When she turned her head she could see the hint of stubble on his jaw. ‘Perhaps we should progress to first names...Hannah.’

For some reason her name on his lips made her want to shiver. She stepped away from his hand, her body bizarrely missing the warmth and pressure of it as soon as it had gone.

‘Very well.’ Yet she couldn’t quite make herself call him Luca. It seemed so odd, so intimate, after three years of starchy formality and respectable distance. Why was Luca shaking everything up now?

The sales assistant was collecting various garments from around the boutique, and another had come forward to usher them both to a U-shaped divan in cream velvet. A third was bringing flutes of champagne and caviar-topped crackers.

Luca sat down, clearly accustomed to all this luxury, and the sales assistant beckoned to Hannah.

‘If the signorina will come this way...?’

Numbly Hannah followed the woman into a dressing room that was larger than the entire upstairs of her house.

‘First this?’ the woman suggested, holding up an evening gown in pale blue chiffon and satin. It was the most exquisite thing Hannah had ever seen.

‘Okay,’ she said, and, feeling as if she were in a surreal dream, she started to unbutton her blouse.

CHAPTER TWO

LUCA WAITED FOR Hannah to emerge from the dressing room as he sipped champagne and tried to relax. He was way too wound up about this whole endeavour, and his too-clever PA had noticed. He didn’t want her guessing his game before they’d arrived on Santa Nicola. He couldn’t risk the possibility of her refusal. Although Hannah Stewart had proved to be biddable enough, he suspected she had more backbone than he’d initially realised. And he didn’t want her to use it against him.

Moodily Luca took a sip of champagne and stared out at the rainy streets of Mayfair. In less than twenty-four hours he’d be on Santa Nicola, facing Andrew Tyson. Would the man recognise him? It had been such a long time. Would there be so much as a flicker of awareness in those cold eyes? If there was it would completely ruin Luca’s plan, and yet he couldn’t keep from hoping that he would garner some reaction. Something to justify the emotion that had burned in his chest for far too long.

‘Well?’ he called to Hannah. She’d been in the dressing room for nearly ten minutes. ‘Have you tried something on?’

‘Yes, but this one’s a bit...’ She trailed off, and Luca snapped his gaze to the heavy velvet curtain drawn across the dressing room’s doorway.

‘Come out and let me see it.’

‘It’s fine.’ She sounded a little panicked but also quite firm. ‘I’ll try something else on—’

‘Hannah.’ Luca tried to curb his impatience. ‘I would like to see the dress, please.’ What woman didn’t enjoy showing off haute couture for a man? And he needed to make sure Hannah looked the part.

‘I’m already changing,’ she called, and in one fluid movement Luca rose from the divan and crossed to the dressing room, pulling aside the heavy curtain.

He didn’t know who gasped—Hannah, in shock that he’d intruded, or himself, for the sudden dart of lust that had arrowed through his body at the sight of his PA.

She stood with her back to him, the dress pooling about her waist in gauzy blue folds as she held the front up to her chest, her face in profile, every inch the outraged maiden.

‘Mr Moretti—’ she muttered and he watched a blush crawl up her back and neck to her face.

‘Luca,’ he reminded her, and sent an iron glare of warning to the assistant, who was waiting discreetly in the corner. He did not want anyone gossiping about the oddity of the occasion.

‘Luca,’ Hannah acquiesced, but she sounded annoyed. Luca felt a surprising flicker of amusement. His little sparrow of a secretary sometimes pretended she was a hawk. ‘Please leave. I am changing.’

‘I wanted to see the gown. I’m paying for it, after all.’ He folded his arms, feeling no more than a flash of remorse for pulling that particular trump card. Hannah, however, did not look particularly impressed. ‘How much is this gown?’ he asked the sales assistant.

The woman hesitated, but only for a millisecond. ‘Nine thousand pounds, Signor Moretti.’

‘Nine thousand—’ Hannah whirled around, the dress nearly slipping from her hands. Luca caught a glimpse of pale, lightly freckled fresh, the hint of a small, perfectly round breast. Then she hauled the gown up to her chin, her face now bright red with mortification.

‘Careful,’ he advised. ‘That material looks delicate.’

‘As delicate as this weekend?’ she retorted, and he smiled.

‘I never knew you had a temper.’

‘I never knew you could spend nine thousand pounds on a dress.’

He raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. ‘Most women of my acquaintance enjoy spending my money.’

‘Your acquaintance is quite limited, then,’ Hannah snapped. ‘Plenty of women aren’t interested only in shopping and money.’

‘Point taken.’

‘Anyway,’ Hannah muttered, ‘it’s wrong.’ She turned around so her back was once more to him.

‘Wrong? But how can you object if it’s my money?’

‘Do you know what could be done with nine thousand pounds?’ she demanded, her back straight and quivering with tension.

‘Oh, no, tell me you’re not one of those bleeding hearts,’ Luca drawled. ‘I expected more of you, Hannah.’

‘I’m not,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ve never objected to you spending money on yourself. But when it’s for me—’

‘It’s still my choice.’ He cut her off. ‘Now zip up that dress and let me see it on you.’

Taking her cue, the sales assistant stepped forward and zipped up the back, although in truth there wasn’t much to zip up. The dress was almost entirely backless, with a halter top and a gauzy chiffon overlay that lent some respectability to the plunging neckline, as Luca saw when Hannah reluctantly turned around.

He schooled his face into an expression of businesslike interest, as if he were assessing the gown simply as an appropriate garment for the occasion rather than for the effect it had on his libido. Why on earth he was reacting to his PA’s unexceptional body this way he had no idea. He supposed that was what you paid for with Diavola. The dresses worked.

‘Very good,’ he told the assistant. ‘We’ll take it. Now we need something casual to wear for the day, and a semiformal dress for the first night.’

‘I have some of these things at home,’ Hannah protested.

Luca held up a hand. ‘Please cease this pointless arguing, Hannah. This is a business expense, I told you.’

She went silent, tight-lipped, her brown eyes flashing suppressed fury. Unable to resist baiting her just a little bit, or maybe just wanting to touch her, Luca reached over and pulled the tie of the halter top of her dress.

‘There,’ he said as she caught the folds of the dress, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Now hurry up. I want to be out of here in forty-five minutes.’

* * *

Hannah’s hands trembled as she stripped off the evening gown and flung it at the assistant, too unsettled and overwhelmed to care how she treated the delicate material.

What was going on? Why was Luca treating her this way? And why had she reacted to the sight of him in the dressing room, her body tightening, heat flaring deep inside when she’d turned around and seen his gaze dip to her unimpressive cleavage?

Perhaps, she thought resentfully, she’d simply never seen this side of her boss before. Outside the office, Luca Moretti might well be the kind of man who flirted and teased and stormed into women’s dressing rooms and undid their gowns...

She suppressed a shiver at the memory of his fingers skimming her back as he’d tugged on the tie. Stupid, to react to the man that way. At this moment she wasn’t even sure she liked him. And yet it had been a long, long time since she’d been touched like that.

Not, of course, that Luca had had any intention other than discomfiting her when he’d undone her dress. Hannah was savvy enough to realise that.

And as for the cost... Maybe it was irrational to protest when a millionaire spent what was essentially pocket change, but it was a lot of money to her. With nine thousand pounds she could have redone her kitchen or afforded a better life insurance policy...

‘Signorina? Would you like to try on the next ensemble?’

Letting out a long, low breath, Hannah nodded. ‘Yes, please.’ This whole evening had entered into the realm of the utterly surreal, including her own reactions. When had she ever dared to talk back to her boss? Yet he didn’t feel like her boss when she was in a dressing room, her back bare, her breasts practically on display. And yet at the same time he felt more like her boss than ever, demanding and autocratic, expecting instant compliance. It was all so incredibly bizarre.

The assistant handed her a shift dress in pale pink linen that fitted perfectly. Would Luca want to see this dress as well? And what about her swimming costume, or the lacy, frothy underthings she could see waiting on a chair? A blaze of heat went through her at the thought, leaving her more disconcerted than ever.

‘It’s fine,’ she told the assistant, and then took it off as fast as she could. Maybe if she worked quickly enough Luca wouldn’t bother striding into her dressing room, acting as if he owned the world, acting as if he owned her.

Forty-two minutes later all the clothes Hannah had tried on, including the most modest bikini she’d been able to find and two sets of lingerie in beige silk and cream lace, were wrapped in tissue paper and put in expensive-looking bags with satin ribbons for handles. She hadn’t even seen Luca hand over a credit card, and she dreaded to think what the bill was. Why on earth was he spending a fortune on her clothes, and for such a negligible business deal? She didn’t like feeling beholden to him in such a way. She worked hard and earned everything she got, and she preferred it like that.

‘I think you’ve spent more on me tonight than you’ll make taking over these resorts,’ she remarked as they stepped out into the street. The rain had cleared and a pale sickle moon rose above the elegant town houses of Mayfair. ‘Andrew Tyson only owns about half a dozen resorts, doesn’t he?’

‘The land alone makes it worth it,’ Luca replied, buttoning his jacket. Seconds later the limo appeared at the kerb, and the sales assistant loaded the bags into the boot.

‘I should get home,’ Hannah said. She felt relieved at the thought of being away from Luca’s unsettling presence, and yet reluctant to end the bizarre magic of the evening. But it was a forty-five-minute Tube ride to her small terraced house on the end of the Northern Line, and she’d be late enough as it was.

‘I’ll drive you,’ Luca answered. ‘Get in.’

‘I live rather far away...’

‘I know where you live.’

His calm assertion discomfited her. Of course her boss knew where she lived; it was on her employment record. And yet the thought of Luca invading her home, seeing even just a glimpse her private life, made her resist.

‘I don’t...’

‘Hannah, get in. It’s nearly eight and we’re leaving at nine tomorrow morning. Why spend nearly an hour on the Tube when you don’t have to?’

He had a point. As it was she’d be getting back later than she liked. ‘All right, thank you.’ She climbed into the limo, sitting well away from Luca. She could still remember the feel of his fingers on her back. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’d probably been amused at how embarrassed she’d been. He probably undressed women in his sleep. The only reason she’d responded to him like that was because he was attractive and she hadn’t been touched by a man in over five years. Her mother had told her it was more than time to jump back in the dating pool, but Hannah hadn’t had time even to think about dipping a toe in.

The limo pulled into the street and Hannah sat back, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. The last few hours had taken an emotional toll.

‘Here.’ Luca pressed a glass into her hands, and her fingers closed around the fragile stem automatically. She looked in surprise at the flute of champagne. The driver must have had it ready. ‘You didn’t have any in the boutique,’ Luca explained, ‘and you said you had never tasted it before.’

‘Oh.’ She was touched by his thoughtfulness, and yet she felt weirdly exposed too. When had her boss ever considered what she wanted in such a way? ‘Thank you.’

‘Drink,’ Luca said, and Hannah took a cautious sip, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles fizzed their way upward. Luca smiled at her faintly, no doubt amused by her inexperience.

‘It’s a bit more tickly than I thought,’ she said. She felt incredibly gauche. Luca had most likely first imbibed Dom Perignon from a baby’s bottle. He kept a bottle in his limo, after all. And here she was, saying how the bubbles tickled her nose.

She handed back the champagne with an awkward smile, and Luca took it, one dark eyebrow arched. ‘Is it not to your liking?’

‘It’s just... I haven’t eaten anything. And you know, alcohol on an empty stomach, never a good idea...’ She was babbling, out of her element in so many ways. She, the calm, capable, unflappable PA, had been reduced to stammering and blushing by her boss, who was acting more like a man than an employer. She couldn’t understand him or herself, and it was incredibly annoying.

‘I’m sorry,’ Luca murmured. ‘I should have thought.’ He pressed the intercom button and issued some directions in Italian. Hannah eyed him askance.

‘What are you doing...?’

‘I asked him to stop so we can eat. You don’t have plans?’

Surprised alarm had her lurching upright. ‘No, but really, it’s not necessary—’

‘Hannah, you’re hungry. When you work late at the office, I provide dinner. Consider this the same thing.’

Except this didn’t feel like the same thing. And when the limo stopped in front of an elegant bistro with red velvet curtains in the windows and curling gold script on the door, Hannah knew their meal would be a far cry from the sandwiches and coffee Luca usually had her order in when they were both working late.

She swallowed audibly, and then forced back the feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy. She’d been working as PA to one of the most powerful men in real estate for three years. She could handle dinner at a restaurant.

Straightening her spine, she got out of the car. Luca opened the door to the restaurant for her and then followed her in. The muted, understated elegance of the place fell over her like a soothing blanket.

‘A table for two, Monsieur Moretti?’ The French waiter asked, menus already in hand. Was her boss known everywhere?

Luca nodded and within seconds they were escorted to a private table in the corner, tucked away from the few other diners in the restaurant.

Hannah scanned the menu; it provided a temporary escape from Luca’s penetrating gaze. Foie gras. Roasted quail. Braised fillet of brill. Okay, she could do this.

‘Do you see something you like?’ Luca asked.

‘Yes.’ She closed the menu and gave him a perfunctory smile. ‘Thank you.’

The waiter came with the wine list, and Luca barely glanced at it before ordering a bottle. He turned to Hannah the moment the man had gone, his gaze resting on her. Again she had the sense of coming up short, of not being quite what he wanted, and she didn’t understand it.

‘It occurs to me that I know very little about you.’

‘I didn’t realise you wanted to,’ Hannah answered. Luca had never asked her a single personal question in her three years of employment.

‘Information is always valuable,’ he answered with a negligent shrug. ‘Where did you grow up?’

‘A village outside Birmingham.’ She eyed him warily. Where was this coming from? And why?

‘Brothers? Sisters?’

‘No.’ Deciding this could go both ways, Hannah raised her eyebrows. ‘What about you?’

Luca looked slightly taken aback, his eyes flaring, mouth compressing. In the dim lighting of the restaurant he looked darker and more alluring than usual, the candlelight from the table throwing his face into stark contrast from the snowy whiteness of his shirt, his whole being exuding restless power, barely leashed energy. ‘What about me?’

‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’

His mouth flattened into a hard line and he looked away briefly. ‘No.’

So apparently he didn’t like answering personal questions, just asking them. Hannah couldn’t say she was surprised. The waiter came to take their order, and she chose a simple salad and the roasted quail, which she hoped would taste like chicken. Luca ordered steak and then the sommelier was proffering an expensive-looking bottle. Hannah watched as Luca expertly swilled a mouthful and then nodded in acceptance. The sommelier poured them both full glasses.

‘I really shouldn’t...’ Hannah began. She didn’t drink alcohol very often and she wanted to be fresh for tomorrow. And she didn’t relish getting a bit of a buzz in Luca’s presence. The last thing she needed was to feel even sillier in front of her boss.

‘It won’t be on an empty stomach,’ Luca replied. ‘And I think you need to relax.’

‘Do you?’ Hannah returned tartly. ‘I must confess, this is all a bit out of the ordinary, Mr—’

‘Luca.’

‘Why?’ she burst out. ‘Why now?’

His dark gaze rested on her for a moment, and she had the sense he was weighing his words, choosing them with care. ‘Why not?’ he finally replied, and reached for his wine glass. Hannah deflated, frustrated but also a tiny bit relieved by his non-answer. She didn’t know if she could handle some sort of weird revelation.

Fortunately Luca stopped with the personal questions after that, and they ate their meal mainly in silence, which was far more comfortable than being the subject of her boss’s scrutiny, but even so she felt on edge, brittle and restless.

Which was too bad, she realised as Luca was paying the bill, because, really, she’d just had the most amazing evening—being bought a designer wardrobe and then treated to a fantastic meal by an undeniably sexy and charismatic man. Too bad it didn’t feel like that. It felt...weird. Like something she could enjoy if she let herself, but she didn’t think she should. Luca Moretti might have dozens of women at his beck and call, at his feet, but Hannah didn’t intend to be one of them. Not if she wanted to keep her job, not to mention her sanity.

They drove in silence to her little house; by the time they’d arrived it was nearly ten o’clock. Her mother, Hannah thought with a flash of guilt, would be both tired and worried.

‘I’ll see you here tomorrow at nine,’ Luca said, and Hannah turned to him in surprise.

‘I thought I would be making my own way to the airport.’

‘By Tube? And what if you’re later? It’s better this way. Here, let me get your bags.’

Hannah groped for her keys while Luca took the bags from the boutique to her doorstep. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered. ‘You can go—’

But he was waiting for her to open her front door. She fumbled with the key, breathing a sigh of relief when the door finally swung open.

‘Hannah?’ her mother called. ‘I’ve been wondering where you were—’

‘I’m fine—’ Hannah turned to Luca, practically grabbing the bags from him. ‘Thank you very much. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine.’

He was frowning, his gaze moving from her to the narrow hallway behind her, her mother coming around the corner. Clearly he was wondering about her living situation.

‘Goodnight,’ Hannah said, and closed the door.

Her mother, Diane, stopped short, her eyes widening as she saw all the expensive-looking bags by Hannah’s feet. ‘What on earth...?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Hannah said. ‘Sorry I’m so late. Did Jamie...?’

‘Went to bed without a whimper, bless him,’ Diane said. Her gaze moved to the bags. ‘Goodness, that’s a lot of shopping.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Hannah agreed rather grimly. ‘Let me go see Jamie and then I’ll tell you all about it.’ Or at least some of it. She’d probably omit a few details, like Luca undoing her dress. The memory alone was enough to make a shiver go through her. Again.

‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ Diane said. Hannah was already heading up the narrow stairway and then down the darkened hall to the small second bedroom. She tiptoed inside, her heart lifting at the familiar and beloved sight: her son. He slept on his back, arms and legs flung out like a starfish, his breathing deep and even.

Gently Hannah reached down and brushed the sandy hair from his forehead, her fingers skimming his plump, baby-soft cheek. He was five years old and the light of her life. And she wouldn’t see him for a whole weekend.

Guilt niggled at her at the thought. Hannah knew her job was demanding and she wasn’t able to spend as much time with Jamie as she would like. She also knew, all too well, the importance of financial independence and freedom. Working for Luca Moretti had given her both. She would never regret making that choice.

With a soft sigh Hannah leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead, and then quietly left the room. She needed to get ready for her weekend with her boss.

CHAPTER THREE

LUCA DRUMMED HIS fingers against his thigh as the limo pulled up in front of Hannah’s house. He’d been there less than twelve hours ago, dropping her off after their shopping and meal. He’d been strangely disquieted to have a tiny glimpse into her life—the narrow hall with its clutter of coats and boots, the sound of a woman’s voice. Her mother? Why did he care?

Perhaps because since he’d met her he’d viewed Hannah Stewart as nothing more than a means to his own end. First as his PA, efficient and capable, and now as his stand-in wife-to-be. Last night he’d realised that if this ridiculous charade was going to work, he needed to know more about Hannah. And he hadn’t learned much, but what he had discovered was that getting to know Hannah even a little bit made him feel guilty for using her.

Sighing impatiently at his own pointless thoughts, Luca opened the door to the limo and stepped out into the street. It wasn’t as if he was making Hannah’s life difficult. She was getting a luxurious weekend on a Mediterranean island, all expenses paid. And if she had to play-act a bit, what was the big deal? He’d make it worth her while.

He pressed the doorbell, and Hannah answered the door almost immediately. She wore her usual work outfit of a dark pencil skirt and a pale silk blouse, this time grey and pink. Pearls at her throat and ears and low black heels complemented the outfit. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t what his fiancée would be wearing to accompany him on a weekend house party. She looked like a PA, not a woman in love on a holiday.