PunishingPhoebe by Kit Tunstall Page A

she
could do not to fling herself at him.
    With the fervent hope lunch was only
foreplay, that finally some progress would take place today, leading them
toward the seemingly inevitable affair, Phoebe followed. Luca had selected a
middle cushion on the long sofa, and she sat beside him. The distance she left
was enough to be provocative, but not completely blatant.
    It took seconds to open her boxes, leaving
her uncomfortably aware of his proximity and her lack of sparkling
conversation. Being so close to him wasn’t that unusual. After all, they worked
together every day, usually in the confines of this office. But it was
different today. Tension hung between them, and awareness of each other, of how
easy it would be to lock the door and make love.
    Or maybe she was imagining it all, Phoebe
wondered with a frown when Luca leaned back and began eating. His posture
suggested relaxation, without a hint of tension or suppressed awareness of her
as more than his personal assistant. Had she manufactured in her own mind the
exchanged glances that spoke of mutual longing? Was she so desperate for this
man’s touch that she was allowing herself to believe he was equally needy for
hers?
    Second-guessing her interpretation of his
signals, Phoebe absently picked at steamed rice. As the silence stretched, her
confidence grew shakier by the moment, until she was convinced she had imagined
any sort of interest from her boss.
    Panic took hold, and she buried the fork
into the box and scooted away from him, ready to launch herself from the sofa
and as far away from him as possible. Her face burned with humiliation, and she
was desperate to escape. Silently, Phoebe cursed Luca when he finally decided
to break the silence.
    “What is it?” As he asked the question,
Luca grasped her forearm, his palm burning through the thin layer of silk
separating them.
    Phoebe gasped when he rubbed a slow circle
across her skin while turning her to face him. Her knees rested against his
with the new position, and she had nowhere to look except into his eyes. They
smoldered with banked desire. Her lips parted in response to his when she saw
them forming a bow. Anticipation quickened her pulse and she arched forward,
lifting her chin to facilitate the first meeting of their mouths. She could
already taste Luca, had done so in countless nighttime fantasies, and it took
every ounce of self-control to allow him to set the pace. He would appreciate
that, being Italian. As modern as he was in business, he could be equally
traditional in his dealings with the “fairer” sex.
    A frown pursed her lips before she forced
herself to dismiss thoughts of any other woman with Luca. Only she was here
with him now, about to share a kiss she knew would be magical.
    His head lowered at a steady pace and she
waited impatiently. Her eyes closed when he got close enough for his breath to
wash across her cheek. She curled her hands into fists in her lap to resist the
urge to bury them into his hair and drag his mouth to hers.
    Just as his lips were close enough for her
to flick out her tongue to taste, the door opened without so much as a knock. A
sound akin to a sob of frustration escaped Phoebe, drowned out by the
mechanical hum of Salvatore Androtti’s wheelchair as it glided across the thick
carpet.
    His dark eyes raked over her, leaving
Phoebe exposed and raw, feeling as though he had measured her worth in a single
glance and found her lacking. She leapt to her feet, counseling herself to act
as though nothing unusual had been about to happen, even as she did her best to
avoid the cold gaze of Luca’s father. “If you don’t need me for anything else,
Mr. Androtti, I’ll leave you.”
    Luca got to his feet slowly, his demeanor
one of complete calm, as opposed to the one she feared she projected—guilt,
though she had done nothing wrong. “That will be all, Ms. Sanders .”
    She didn’t miss the slight emphasis he
placed on her surname. He seemed to want to remind