now.
She was argumentative. He didn’t like argumentative women. A little backbone, a little independence of thought was one thing, but his days were filled with arguments of one kind or another. Why would he want to face more of them at night?
And this thing about sex. She wasn’t just unsophisticated, she was foolish. That remark about them having sex as opposed to making love…
He’d used the polite euphemism women preferred, but did she honestly believe sex was ever about the heart? He’d made that mistake once and, dammit, he’d already thought back to that time earlier today and the lesson it had taught him, that sex was about physical desire and the fulfillment of hunger, and that any emotion aside from the one of pleasure was fodder for fools.
The only thing Emily Madison had going for her was that damnable job application.
Employer and employee. That was the one relationship that would work. And he never, not once, had taken such a relationship any further. Work was work. Play was play and, as the old saying went, never the twain should meet.
The truth was, he’d had a couple of very attractive assistants. The one before the last, in fact, had been beautiful. Or had she been the one prior to that? Whatever. He really had not noticed until a CEO he’d met with had commented on her looks.
“You’re a clever SOB, Santini,” the guy had leered, “having such a good-looking piece of ass on your payroll.”
Marco had been affronted on his PA’s behalf—and on his own. He’d never noticed she was stunning, never thought of her as a woman…
Never wanted to kiss her or undress her or taste her breasts, and how in hell could he even consider hiring Emily when his head was full of those images?
“Excuse me.”
Could he get past that? Could he see her as just another office fixture?
“Mr. Santini. Will you please step—”
“I have a proposition to offer you.”
Emily laughed.
“A business proposition.”
“My God, are we still on that? Trust me. I’d sooner go back to that bar than take that job playing for you on Wednesday.”
“But you can’t go back to that bar,” Marco said in a silken voice. “Can you, Ms. Madison?”
“That’s my business.”
Her chin shot up. The gesture of defiance made the desire to pull her into his arms all the more difficult to ignore… and what he was about to say all the more foolish. No. He was due in Paris tomorrow; this French deal would be one of the most important of his career.
“Mr. Santini. I have asked you, politely, to step aside.”
“Is the information on that application accurate?”
“It certainly is.”
“Do you have a passport?”
“What is this? Twenty Questions?”
“A passport, Emily. Do you have one?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“My personal assistants work very hard.”
“They have my sympathy.”
“In truth, they are—if I am fortunate—more administrative assistants than personal ones.”
“Thanks to the sexual discrimination laws.”
How he wanted to silence that soft, lovely mouth!
“Very amusing.”
“I thought so.”
He cleared his throat. Took his hand from the doorjamb. Folded his arms over his chest.
“I am offering you the job. As my PA.”
“Now who’s being amusing?”
“You must be ready to leave the country immediately.”
“You don’t hear well, do you? I don’t want to play your piano, let alone—”
“We fly to Paris tomorrow.”
“Good for you. As for me, I’m out of here. Goodbye, Mr. Santini.”
He glared at her. Then he inclined his head and stepped aside. She marched past him and the door slammed shut behind her.
What a dreadful man!
All arrogance. All ego. All I-am-the-center-of-the-universe.
Well, in his world, he probably was.
The confrontation had left her drained. Shaky. It wasn’t that kiss. It wasn’t the way it had felt when he’d touched her. Kissed her. The way it would have felt if he’d stripped away her clothing, stripped away his, come
She was argumentative. He didn’t like argumentative women. A little backbone, a little independence of thought was one thing, but his days were filled with arguments of one kind or another. Why would he want to face more of them at night?
And this thing about sex. She wasn’t just unsophisticated, she was foolish. That remark about them having sex as opposed to making love…
He’d used the polite euphemism women preferred, but did she honestly believe sex was ever about the heart? He’d made that mistake once and, dammit, he’d already thought back to that time earlier today and the lesson it had taught him, that sex was about physical desire and the fulfillment of hunger, and that any emotion aside from the one of pleasure was fodder for fools.
The only thing Emily Madison had going for her was that damnable job application.
Employer and employee. That was the one relationship that would work. And he never, not once, had taken such a relationship any further. Work was work. Play was play and, as the old saying went, never the twain should meet.
The truth was, he’d had a couple of very attractive assistants. The one before the last, in fact, had been beautiful. Or had she been the one prior to that? Whatever. He really had not noticed until a CEO he’d met with had commented on her looks.
“You’re a clever SOB, Santini,” the guy had leered, “having such a good-looking piece of ass on your payroll.”
Marco had been affronted on his PA’s behalf—and on his own. He’d never noticed she was stunning, never thought of her as a woman…
Never wanted to kiss her or undress her or taste her breasts, and how in hell could he even consider hiring Emily when his head was full of those images?
“Excuse me.”
Could he get past that? Could he see her as just another office fixture?
“Mr. Santini. Will you please step—”
“I have a proposition to offer you.”
Emily laughed.
“A business proposition.”
“My God, are we still on that? Trust me. I’d sooner go back to that bar than take that job playing for you on Wednesday.”
“But you can’t go back to that bar,” Marco said in a silken voice. “Can you, Ms. Madison?”
“That’s my business.”
Her chin shot up. The gesture of defiance made the desire to pull her into his arms all the more difficult to ignore… and what he was about to say all the more foolish. No. He was due in Paris tomorrow; this French deal would be one of the most important of his career.
“Mr. Santini. I have asked you, politely, to step aside.”
“Is the information on that application accurate?”
“It certainly is.”
“Do you have a passport?”
“What is this? Twenty Questions?”
“A passport, Emily. Do you have one?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“My personal assistants work very hard.”
“They have my sympathy.”
“In truth, they are—if I am fortunate—more administrative assistants than personal ones.”
“Thanks to the sexual discrimination laws.”
How he wanted to silence that soft, lovely mouth!
“Very amusing.”
“I thought so.”
He cleared his throat. Took his hand from the doorjamb. Folded his arms over his chest.
“I am offering you the job. As my PA.”
“Now who’s being amusing?”
“You must be ready to leave the country immediately.”
“You don’t hear well, do you? I don’t want to play your piano, let alone—”
“We fly to Paris tomorrow.”
“Good for you. As for me, I’m out of here. Goodbye, Mr. Santini.”
He glared at her. Then he inclined his head and stepped aside. She marched past him and the door slammed shut behind her.
What a dreadful man!
All arrogance. All ego. All I-am-the-center-of-the-universe.
Well, in his world, he probably was.
The confrontation had left her drained. Shaky. It wasn’t that kiss. It wasn’t the way it had felt when he’d touched her. Kissed her. The way it would have felt if he’d stripped away her clothing, stripped away his, come
Similar Books
