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The Italian's Virgin Acquisition
Michelle Conder


The Italian’s convenient deal!Sebastiano Castiglione has a problem. His lifestyle of decadent hedonism has convinced his grandfather to retain control of the family dynasty—and to take what’s owed to him Bastian must prove he’s a changed man.The sight of his stunning intern sparks an idea—and the flames of a burning desire!—but innocent Poppy Connolly will not become another Castiglione acquisition. However, she cannot refuse his offer of the chance to change her family’s life. Her response to his smouldering physicality is shocking—and it won’t be long before the molten heat of Bastian’s gaze melts away all her resistance…







The Italian’s convenient deal!

Sebastiano Castiglione has a problem. His lifestyle of decadent hedonism has convinced his grandfather to retain control of the family dynasty. To take what’s owed him, Bastian must prove he’s a changed man. The sight of his stunning intern sparks an idea—and the flames of a burning desire!

Innocent Poppy Connolly will not become another Castiglione acquisition—but she cannot refuse Bastian’s offer of three chances to change her family’s life. Her response to his smoldering physicality is shocking, and it won’t be long before the molten heat of Bastian’s gaze melts away all her resistance...


Sebastiano drew her even closer, releasing the lapels of his jacket to slide his hands into the wisps of hair either side of her face. She stopped laughing instantly, her eyes suddenly wide as saucers. Her hair felt like silk against his fingers, her skin even softer. His eyes drifted from her mouth to the tiny pulse-point flickering at the base of her throat, a sense of victory he couldn’t explain coursing through him.

‘Kind of funny, you think?’

‘Sebastiano...?’ Her voice was soft and her hands came up to grip his thick wrists. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m going to give you a lesson in what I would do if this relationship was real.’

Only it’s one hundred per cent fake, he reminded himself—right before he bent to her and covered her mouth with his.

Her petal-soft lips parted on a gasp of surprise, her body stiffening beneath the onslaught. Sebastiano gathered her closer, feeling her rigidity give way to a trembling need as old as time.

He groaned, pressing his lips harder over hers, seeking access to the warm recesses of her mouth. ‘Open for me, Poppy,’ he growled. ‘Kiss me as I’ve imagined you doing this past week. Let me taste you, bella. Let me—’

Another groan escaped his lips as she did as he requested, willingly parting her mouth for him, a tiny whimper escaping her lips as his tongue swept inside.


With two university degrees and a variety of false career starts under her belt, MICHELLE CONDER decided to satisfy her lifelong desire to write and finally found her dream job. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, with one super-indulgent husband, three self-indulgent but exquisite children, a menagerie of over-indulged pets, and the intention of doing some form of exercise daily. She loves to hear from her readers at michelleconder.com (http://michelleconder.com/).

Books by Michelle Conder

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Defying the Billionaire’s Command

Hidden in the Sheikh’s Harem

The Most Expensive Lie of All

Duty at What Cost?

Living the Charade

His Last Chance at Redemption

One Night With Consequences

Prince Nadir’s Secret Heir

Scandal in the Spotlight

Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


The Italian’s Virgin Acquisition

Michelle Conder






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Thank you to Laura, my beautiful editor,

who deserves amazing things to happen in her life.


Contents

Cover (#u6bae1b55-d76a-5d9c-ac85-0bb1edeeb153)

Back Cover Text (#u937e9196-52e6-5de8-838b-bafe819d9eb8)

Introduction (#u064f570b-7e22-5e71-9e88-9b877939b0f3)

About the Author (#u58600bc0-df40-53bc-87b1-eacb236e151e)

Title Page (#uc9fbe29f-b5a0-53c1-b6c7-b2c7752a07f2)

Dedication (#u293083d0-cb42-5253-ae2c-d1b2a1883bb4)

CHAPTER ONE (#u1c8d4c59-7243-5347-93cd-65a2350b65b6)

CHAPTER TWO (#u3b95e3d4-3e08-513e-869d-ad6c82a302db)

CHAPTER THREE (#u0a323067-fb81-5af6-8684-c69d61bbe9eb)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ua631a476-c136-5754-8ce1-74e2a03018d9)

SEBASTIANO CHECKED HIS Rolex as he strode into SJC Towers, his London office building, completely oblivious to the wintry rain landing like icy pellets on his face. From the moment he’d woken up he’d known it was going to be an interesting day. Interesting as in the Chinese curse ‘interesting’—not ‘it’s going to be great’ interesting. Not that he held much with curses or proverbs.

But he wasn’t going to let noisy workmen, an unexpected early-morning visit from his now ex-mistress or a flat tyre derail him. He had been waiting for over two years for this day and finally his crusty old grandfather was going to give up on his stubbornness and hand over the reins of the family dynasty. And not before time!

Bert, his weekend security chief, gave him a nod as he approached the reception desk, not at all perplexed to see his boss arriving for work on a Sunday morning.

‘Catch the game yesterday, boss?’ Bert asked with a flashing grin.

‘Don’t gloat,’ Sebastiano advised. ‘It’s a very unattractive quality.’

Bert’s grin widened. ‘Yes sir!’

Their friendly rivalry was a source of great amusement to Sebastiano. Too often those around him hid behind a mask of eager deference to get on his good side all because he had been born into a life of wealth and privilege. It was irritating to say the least.

He caught a glimpse of the newspaper Bert had spread out on the desk showing a picture of Sebastiano leaving a posh, and utterly boring, cocktail party the night before. Evidently his now ex-mistress had seen the same photos on the Internet which was why she had decided to ambush him outside his Park Lane home after his early-morning run, wanting to know why he hadn’t invited her to attend with him.

In hindsight, ‘because it didn’t occur to me’ hadn’t been his best answer. Things had rapidly deteriorated after that, ending when she’d issued him with an ultimatum: either move their relationship forward or end it. Not that he could blame her for being frustrated. He’d pursued her a month ago with the ruthless determination that had seen him rise to the top of the Forbes 500 list by the age of thirty-one and he’d yet to sleep with her more than once.

Which wasn’t like him. He normally had a very healthy libido but he’d been off stride lately. Probably only this damned situation with his grandfather. Not to mention the twenty-hour days he had been putting in at the office to finalise a deal that would see him take over as industry leader in the hotel construction market.

Of course, he’d apologised to the world-renowned ballerina, but she hadn’t been impressed, blowing him a kiss over one elegant shoulder and purring that it was his loss as she had gracefully exited his life. Thinking about it now, he might suggest she give break-up lessons to some of his past involvements. She’d make a small fortune teaching basic relationship-exiting etiquette to others, particularly to the Spanish model who had thrown her hair brush at him when he’d suggested they part ways some months back.

‘Better luck next time, eh, boss?’ Bert chortled, feigning contrition. Sebastiano grunted. He knew Bert was referring to yesterday’s football match, in which his team had annihilated Sebastiano’s, but equally he could have applied the sentiment to his stalled sex life.

‘Your team wins again,’ Sebastiano said as he headed for the bank of elevators. ‘I’ll dock your wages by half.’

‘Yes sir!’ Bert’s grin widened as he checked the security monitors on his desk.

Stepping into the lift, Sebastiano stabbed the button for his floor and hoped that his adroit EA had found time to collate the reports he wanted to present to his grandfather this morning as part of his winning pitch. Ordinarily he’d never ask Paula to come in on a Sunday, but his grandfather had landed this visit on him at the last minute and he hadn’t wanted to leave anything to chance.

Not that his business acumen was the reason behind his grandfather’s reticence to hand him control of the company. No, what he wanted was to see Sebastiano settled down with a lovely donna who would one day become the mother of his multiple bambini. His grandfather wanted him to have something other than work to sustain him. Something called work-life balance. A modern-day catch cry if ever Sebastiano had heard one, and one he suspected his grandfather had acquired from his cherished wife. Whatever Nonna wanted, Nonna got.

‘How can I expect you to take on another demanding role when you already have so little time to relax?’ his grandfather had said over the phone a month ago. ‘Your grandmother and I just want to see you happy, Bastian. You know how we worry. I can’t die if I don’t know you will be taken care of.’

‘You know I can take care of myself,’ Sebastiano had growled. ‘And you’re not dying. At least, not right now.’

But his grandparents were old-world Italian. If there wasn’t a good woman cooking in his kitchen and warming his bed at night, they considered him to be living a lonely, substandard existence. And apparently having a housekeeper providing those hot meals, and as many women as a man could want offering to warm his bed, wasn’t what they were talking about.

More’s the pity.

Because for Sebastiano being busy was his work-life balance. He thrived on it. There wasn’t a day went by he didn’t wake up wanting to conquer some new business opportunity or some new corporate challenge. Love? Marriage? Both required a level of intimacy he didn’t have it in him to give.

Being a little removed from those around him had served him well over the years and he couldn’t see a reason to change that. And if some nights he had a lonely, late-night aperitif by himself, overlooking the glittering lights of whichever city he happened to be in at the time...well, so be it.

Right now he was in the prime of his life, and as he had just bought Britain’s largest steel and concrete supply company there was no better time to take over as head of Castiglione Europa. The two businesses dovetailed so beautifully that Sebastiano had already asked his marketing and sales team to work up a plan to move into the hotel refurbishment industry across Eastern Europe.

He just had to convince his hard-headed nonno to retire and see out his twilight years with the wife he adored in the family’s Amalfi coast villa. Then, and only then, could Sebastiano make up for the hardship he had caused his family fifteen years ago.

Deep in thought, he flicked on the lights to the executive floor and heard a text come through on his phone. Switching on the coffee machine on his way to his office, he opened the text and pulled up short.

He read it twice. Apparently Paula was in Accident and Emergency with her husband who had a suspected broken ankle. The report he required was still on her computer. His frown turned into a scowl. With his grandfather due any minute, he didn’t need this kind of delay.

Texting back that he hoped her husband was okay, he retrieved her laptop from her desk and carried it into his office. Glancing at the screen festooned with multi-coloured icons that made his eyes cross, he couldn’t find any folder that looked like it held the report he needed.

Great. That was just great.

* * *

Poppy checked the Mickey Mouse watch on her wrist and groaned. She had to get out of here. Her brother Simon would be waiting and he always became agitated when she was late. On top of that Maryann, her wonderful neighbour who had been more of a mother to both of them than anyone else they had ever known, had just been diagnosed with MS. It was a cruel blow for a woman who was beautiful both inside and out and Poppy wanted to do something nice for her today.

Trying not to dwell on the awful news, Poppy tightened her haphazard ponytail and skimmed over the legal brief she wanted to present to her boss tomorrow morning. She only had one week left of her internship at SJC International and she wanted to make sure she sparkled. Who knew, once her law degree was finished she might even be offered a job here if she impressed the powers that be enough. The ultimate power being her boss’s boss, Sebastiano Castiglione. She hadn’t had anything to do with him directly, but she had seen him stalking through the halls, his long stride indicating a man who was always on a mission, his wide shoulders denoting that likely he would succeed at that mission.

Catching herself daydreaming about his dark bad-boy good looks, and reminding herself that he had a bad-boy reputation to match, she stacked the files she had been using back in the cabinet and switched off the computer. Not being a morning person, she would have liked to work from home this morning, but the laptop she used for university was a thousand years old and wouldn’t run the program she needed to use. On top of which intern privileges didn’t extend to downloading company files on her private device, even if she was doing company business.

Stretching the kinks out of her neck, she was about to leave when she noticed the legal book she had borrowed from Paula a week earlier. Tomorrow was going to be a hectic day so it made sense to return it on her way out today.

Ordinarily she wouldn’t have access to the big boss’s hallowed ground, but since her boss had lent her his access pass she did. Still, she hesitated for a second. She didn’t want to get Mr Adams into trouble by doing something she shouldn’t, but she also didn’t want to risk the chance she would return the book late and look sloppy. One of the best ways to stand out as an intern was to be as efficient as possible and Poppy took her job very seriously. And, since no one else was around this morning, who would know?

Making her mind up, she grabbed the book and headed for the lift. After having been raised in the foster care system since she was twelve, and having to take care of a brother ten years younger who had been born deaf, she knew the only way out of her current poverty-riddled existence was to focus on bettering herself. She’d been given a second chance when Maryann had found them both huddled up to a heater at Paddington Station eight years ago and she intended to use every second of that chance to make sure that they both had a future to look forward to.

Swiping the access card and pressing the button for the executive floor, she waited patiently for the lift to open out onto the stylish elegance that denoted that one had truly arrived in the world. Crossing the softly carpeted floor into Mr Castiglione’s outer office, Poppy paused to take in the sweeping views of London she so rarely got to see. Despite the pale grey sky the city looked picture-perfect with its seamless blend of new-and old-world architecture. It was as if nothing could touch a person from way up here, but Poppy knew that, once you got down to ground level, things could not only touch you; they could destroy you if you let them.

Caught up as she was by dark, unwanted memories, she jumped when a deep male voice cursed loudly, shattering the stillness.

Heart thumping, Poppy turned to find who it was, but no one was about. Then another curse coloured the air and she realised it was coming from inside her boss’s office.

Always too curious for her own good, she stepped forward on light feet and paused at the open doorway to Mr Castiglione’s internal space. She sucked in a sharp breath as she saw the man himself standing, legs braced wide, in front of the plate glass windows.

She’d recognise him anywhere, of course. Powerful. Untamed. Stunningly good-looking. He raked a hand through his hair, mussing it into untidy black waves. He was tall for an Italian, and muscular, as if he worked out every day and then some. Since he was reputed to work about twenty hours a day, Poppy didn’t know where he found the time, but she was glad he did. He was eye-candy extraordinaire. Or ‘sex on a stick’, as Maryann was wont to say.

As if he sensed her silent perusal, he shot round from studying the phone in his hand, his brilliant green eyes piercing her straight to her core. For a moment Poppy forgot to breathe. Then he spoke, his aggravated gaze sweeping over her and lighting tiny spot fires of sensation in its wake.

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘I’m an intern.’ Poppy cleared the frog from her throat. ‘Poppy. Poppy Connolly. I work for you.’

His frown deepened as he looked her up and down again. ‘Since when have jeans and a sweater been considered appropriate office attire?’

Poppy flushed at the dressing down. ‘It’s a Sunday,’ she explained, forcing herself not to tuck thick strands of her untidy brown hair behind her ear. ‘And I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in.’ Which wasn’t really much of an explanation when he stood before her in a snowy-white dress shirt, red tie and dark trousers that did little to hide his powerful thighs.

‘Yes, it is a Sunday. So why are you here?’

‘I have a week left and I wanted to finish up a presentation for Mr Adams. He said it would be fine if I came in.’

One dark eyebrow rose. ‘Taking dedication a bit far, isn’t it?’

‘Not if you want to get ahead,’ she said simply. ‘And I’d love to work here when I graduate. Being flexible and committed are just two of the things interns can do to stand out.’

Sure that he was about to toss her out of his office, maybe via one of those plate glass windows, she was surprised when instead he asked, ‘What are the others?’

‘Be punctual, treat the position like a job and dress for success.’ She ticked off each item on her fingers.

His gaze fell to her ancient skinny jeans and Poppy tried not to cringe. When she had first started at SJC five weeks ago she had imagined one day meeting this man, who was reported to be some sort of corporate god, but in her imaginings it hadn’t quite gone like this.

‘Broke that one, I see,’ he said sardonically.

Poppy felt heat creep into her cheeks and realised that her heart was beating at double its normal rate. Probably ‘finding your boss attractive’ wasn’t on that special intern’s list either, and she tried to crank up the wheels of her sluggish brain to think of a way to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation.

When the phone rang on his desk it broke the taught silence between them and also threw Poppy a welcome lifeline.

‘Let me get that,’ she said in her most businesslike manner.

Before he could respond, she had made it to his desk and snatched up the phone. She smiled widely at him as she chirped, ‘Mr Castiglione’s office,’ in her most professional voice.

Her smile dimmed as she strained to listen to the teary sound of a woman on the other end of the line. She had a heavily accented voice and, coupled with her distress, Poppy could just make out, ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ and, ‘Is Sebastiano in?’

‘Yes, he is here,’ Poppy said, all too aware that the man they were discussing had not taken his eyes off her. ‘Yes, of course. Just a moment.’ Not knowing which button on the handset was the mute, she held out the phone. ‘It’s for you,’ she half-whispered.

Once more his eyebrow climbed his forehead. ‘What a surprise.’

Feeling as if she had mucked up again, she stepped back from his radiating warmth as he moved closer and took the phone.

‘Yes?’ he barked into it.

Seeing his scowl instantly deepen, Poppy decided to take the initiative and make him a coffee. She had noticed the red light glowing on the coffee machine in his outer office and, since there was no cup on his desk, it stood to reason that he’d intended to make one but hadn’t had the time.

Well, she would fix that and earn herself some Brownie points in the process. Maybe some of the ones she had lost handing him a call that, now that she thought about, was most likely from his current girlfriend. Or ex, given that the woman was crying. His short-term conquests were the stuff of legend around the office. As was the expensive break-up-and-move-on jewellery he supposedly got Paula to buy for them at the end.

Eager to get home and check on Simon, and give Maryann a hug and a cup of tea, she hurried to the coffee machine, surprised to find her boss still on the call when she set the cup down beside him. He passed a weary hand through his hair and she was inordinately pleased with herself for thinking of the coffee when he suddenly reached out and manacled her wrist with his large hand, preventing her from leaving.

Poppy instantly stilled, staring down at his darkly tanned fingers that were now idly stroking the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. Her breath hitched as darts of wicked pleasure shot up her arm. Her eyes shot to his and she could tell by the way his brilliant green eyes narrowed that he had registered her heated reaction.

Lust turned her knees to water. Lust and disbelief because, not only was this man her current boss, but he was listening to a woman—who she was now pretty certain was his girlfriend—sobbing on the end of the phone while caressing her!

Louse!

Annoyed that she had felt such pleasure given the circumstances, Poppy jerked her hand back, knocking over the coffee mug she had only moments ago set so carefully in front of him. Before either of them could react, the contents of the mug went flying over the desk, dark liquid splattering all over the front of her boss’s pristine white shirt.

Sebastiano let out an explosive round of Italian curse words that made Poppy blush even though she didn’t understand a single one of them.

She stared open-mouthed as he hung up his call, holding his sopping wet shirt away from his chest.

‘What the hell was that?’ he ground out, fury splitting the air between them.

‘I... You...’ Glancing around wildly, Poppy grabbed a wad of tissues from a side cabinet and started dabbing at his chest. When he held his hand up for her to stop, she noticed that drops had splashed down onto his crotch and, without thinking, she dabbed at the offending liquid only to have that hand manacle her wrist again. This time without the light stroking.

‘There’s a shirt hanging in the closet behind you. Get it.’

Glancing up into his irritated gaze, Poppy felt a fresh wave of heat fill her cheeks. The air seemed to thicken and crackle between them like heat shimmering off concrete on a hot day. ‘Yes, sorry. I...’

‘Any time today would be good,’ he growled.

‘Right,’ she stammered.

Even more annoyed with herself, she reached into his closet and ripped the clear plastic from a fresh shirt, not at all ready to turn around and find her boss shirtless and wiping his ripped, tanned abdomen with another wad of tissues.

Good God, the man had sheets of muscles layered on top of more muscles, and all of that bronzed, fit perfection was covered in a pelt of healthy dark hair that arrowed down...

‘I—You—’ She pointed to the vicinity of his torso. ‘You have a red mark on your chest. Do you want me to get some salve for it?’

‘No, I do not want you to do anything else,’ he bit out.

‘Okay.’ Poppy thrust the shirt at him, turning her burning face away, hoping he couldn’t hear her thundering heartbeat. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered, her throat tight with embarrassment. ‘I don’t know what happened. I’m not usually so clumsy—really I’m not—but when you... I just... I’m really sorry.’

‘I’m sure you are,’ he bit out tersely.

Hearing the rustle of fabric, Poppy turned back to find him shoving the ends of his shirt into his trousers and swallowed hard. She wished she didn’t know what lay beneath that shirt because she couldn’t get the image of his toned torso out of her head. She watched, mute, as he straightened his cuffs and wound his red tie around his neck.

‘At least the coffee missed your tie,’ she offered.

His cutting glance told her more than words how little he thought of her comment. ‘Is that supposed to make up for you dousing me with coffee?’

‘I didn’t douse you,’ she said with a touch of asperity. ‘You were rubbing my wrist while breaking up with your girlfriend.’

‘And that made you spill coffee all over me?’

‘I didn’t do it deliberately,’ she said, secretly thinking that actually he deserved it. ‘Maybe you should be thankful it wasn’t hot.’

His implacable gaze held hers. ‘It was hot.’

Poppy bit her lip and watched with interest as he tussled with his tie. Cursing, he yanked it off and started over. Her lips twitched as her annoyance dissipated. There was something completely disarming about a man of his size and capability wrangling with an innocent strip of fabric. ‘Do you want me to help you with that?’

Once more he flicked her with his green gaze. ‘I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?’

She held her hands up in front of her. ‘Look—no coffee.’

Not even the trace of a smile crossed his sinful lips and she thought it such a shame that a man who was so good-looking should have no sense of humour.

Wondering if now might be the best moment for her to cut her losses she paused when he indicated to the computer open on his desk.

‘Can you use a Mac?’

Hesitating only briefly she marshalled her usually sunny nature and smiled at him. ‘Yes.’

‘I need a report printed off before my grandfather arrives for a meeting. Think you can handle it?’

Poppy moistened her dry lips. ‘Of course.’ She sat down in his chair and set her fingers on the keyboard. ‘What’s the name of the file?’

He leaned forward and she got a delicious whiff of sandalwood cologne. ‘If I knew that, intern, I’d already have it done, wouldn’t I?’

‘Oh, well, yes...’ When she realised how close he was behind her Poppy’s voice trailed off, her lips drying up again faster than a trickle of water in the Mojave Desert.

‘It’ll be something to do with Castiglione Europa, or CE for short,’ he growled.

Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach Poppy scanned the folders on the screen and didn’t see anything related to either of those. Then her eyes fell on an interesting one.

‘Are you getting married?’ she queried, peeking up at him.

‘No.’ He scowled. ‘Why would you ask that?’

‘No reason. Except Paula’s got a file called “Operation Marriage” but that’s probably got to do with the bet and not what you’re looking for.’

‘The what?’

Poppy told herself to shut up but knew by his thunderous expression that she was going to have to explain herself. ‘The bet,’ she said in an upbeat manner. ‘Even I’ve heard that your grandfather is encouraging you to settle down—and, well... some of the legal department have dubbed it “Operation Marriage”.’

His gaze turned flinty. ‘I see the office grapevine is alive and well, then. Why have I not heard it?’

‘Well, because the gossip is about you—obviously. But don’t worry. Nobody thinks you’ll do it.’

‘Good to know my staff know me well at least.’

Poppy shrugged, relieved that he didn’t seem annoyed by her revelation. ‘I take it by your reaction you can’t imagine anything worse than marriage?’

‘Death.’

Poppy’s smile grew at his grim tone. ‘Right. But I think it’s kind of sweet, actually. Your grandfather wanting you to find love.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’ He leaned over her. ‘Click on the folder. Now open that file.’ He pointed at the screen and Poppy had to force herself to focus on his instructions and not his steely arm brushing the outside of hers. ‘There. Send that report to print.’ He straightened away from the chair and cursed again.

Poppy glanced up to find him yanking his tie open again.

‘I do know how to tie a tie,’ she murmured.

His gaze told her he’d rather set his hair on fire than have her help him again.

‘Fine.’ His hands dropped to his sides and the two ends of the tie dangled down his lean body like twin arrows signalling paradise. ‘I’m all yours.’

Sure that her face must look as hot as it felt Poppy reminded herself of the last man she had found attractive, and how that had ended for her and her brother.

Fortified by that particularly humiliating memory, she gripped the tie and reached up, doing her best to ignore the dark stubble that lined his hard jaw. He was tall, well over six feet, and she had to rise onto her toes to position the knot in the centre of his throat. This close, she could feel his heat, and smell his potently male scent. It made her want to lean in and nuzzle against him, to breath it in more deeply.

Not that she would. She wasn’t a fool.

She noticed his tanned throat working as her fingers grazed his skin and she steadfastly refused to look at his face. ‘What kind of knot do you want?’ she asked, her voice husky and unlike the way it usually sounded.

‘What kind of knots can you do?’ His seemed deeper too, rougher.

‘All of them.’

‘All of them?’

Braving a quick glance upwards, she found that his eyes were heavy lidded as they met hers.

‘Just how many are there?’ he asked.

‘Eighteen that I know of.’

‘Eighteen.’ His eyes glittered down into hers. ‘Can you name them?’

‘Yes. Do you want me to?’

‘No.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘You’ve obviously done this before. Lucky guy.’

‘Mannequin.’ She adjusted the length of the tie and created a loop. ‘I dressed in-store mannequins part-time during high school.’

His lips twisted into a small smirk. ‘Lucky in-store mannequins.’

Poppy’s hand flattened against his chest as the tie slipped. She could feel his heart beating heavy and strong beneath his breastbone... Was that a shudder that just went through his big body?

All of a sudden she felt surrounded by his warmth, his deliciously male smell, and she had to swallow hard before speaking. ‘So, which one do you want?’ she asked thickly.

‘Just do a Windsor knot.’ The words seemed to rumble out of his chest.

‘That’s the one most men prefer,’ she said.

‘Are you calling me common, Miss Connolly?’

‘No.’ Poppy tugged a length of the tie through another loop, her heart beating twice as fast as usual. ‘It’s just that it’s the largest, and most men who wear neckties like to have a large knot.’

‘Most women probably like them to have a large knot as well.’ His voice was deep, his chest rising and falling evenly beneath her suddenly clumsy fingers. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’

Deciding not to take this conversation any further for fear that he might actually be flirting with her, and it was the last thing she wanted, she concentrated on finishing the knot. ‘I wouldn’t know, Mr Castiglione. I don’t date men who wear ties.’ In fact she didn’t date period.

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Then what do they wear?’

‘Nothing. That is they...’ Blushing furiously she folded his collar into place. ‘There. All done.’

‘A word of advice, Miss Connolly,’ he began, waiting for her to look up at him before continuing. ‘If you do happen to get a job here, don’t ever hand me a call without first finding out who it is.’

Remembering how upset the woman on the end of the phone had been, Poppy pursed her lips. ‘Not even if the person is crying?’

‘Especially if the person is crying.’

Shaking her head Poppy wondered if he was really as ruthless and heartless as he was reputed to be. Of their own accord her eyes drifted to his mouth. His lips were firm and chiselled without seeming hard. Rumour also had it that he knew how to make a woman go wild in bed, and she wondered if his mouth would be rough or soft if she reached up and kissed him.

Instantly another fierce blush suffused her face as she registered the insanely inappropriate impulse, making her flustered. ‘Why were you holding my wrist before anyway?’ she asked belligerently. ‘When you were on the phone?’ He’d been stroking her skin so tenderly she could still feel the impression of his fingers against her skin.

‘I don’t really know.’ His gaze flitted over her face, his green eyes hot and hungry. Poppy blinked, unable to look away. She was used to men noticing her, finding her attractive even, but she wasn’t used to this answering heat rise up inside of her. She wasn’t used to this overwhelming urge to...

‘Scusa, Sebastiano, sono in anticipo?’

A deep, croaky voice intruded on the moment, startling Poppy out of her sensual haze.


CHAPTER TWO (#ua631a476-c136-5754-8ce1-74e2a03018d9)

HER BOSS WAS the first to step back and a floodgate of embarrassment rushed into Poppy’s face. For a moment she had forgotten they were boss and employee. Forgotten that she was now late to meet Simon, who would be starting to fret when she didn’t return when she said she would—a leftover issue from their childhood.

‘No, you’re not early, Nonno—in fact, you’re late,’ Sebastiano murmured, his eyes still on her. ‘Miss Connolly was just helping me fix my tie.’

Feeling as if she’d just had her hand caught in the cookie jar, Poppy turned to face a much older version of her handsome boss and tried to smile.

His dark-green eyes were warm and encompassing as they swept over her.

‘Nonno, this is Poppy Connolly. Poppy, this is my nonno, otherwise known as Signor Castiglione, or Giuseppe.’

‘Buongiorno, come stai? Pleased to meet you.’ His grandfather smiled broadly.

Still reeling from the shock of imagining how it would feel to kiss her boss—the owner of the company she at least needed a great reference from—Poppy murmured a greeting and wondered how rude it would be just to cut and run out the door.

About to suggest she do exactly that, her words were cut off when Sebastiano’s mobile phone rang.

Glancing at the screen, he scowled. ‘Nonno, scusa un momento.’

Poppy wondered if it was his teary ex-girlfriend again, but then realised that the poor woman probably didn’t have his private mobile number or she would have rung it earlier instead of his office phone. It probably demonstrated her level of importance in the scheme of his life. Which was low. She wondered what a temporary girlfriend warranted at the end of an affair with the virile Sebastiano Castiglione? Diamonds or sapphires?

Shaking herself out of such senseless ruminating about a man who no doubt intended to put her on the black list with HR, Poppy smiled at his grandfather and once more tried to salvage something of the situation. ‘Would you like a drink? Some coffee?’ She tried not to cringe as she offered that. ‘Or sparkling water?’ That would be much better. No stains from sparkling water.

‘No, no.’ Signor Castiglione smiled. ‘You relax.’ He took a seat in one of the bucket chairs opposite the large oak desk. ‘So, how long you know my grandson?’

‘Oh, not long. About five weeks.’ Or really, under an hour, if you counted face-to-face time.

‘Ah, va bene. He is very demanding, no? He needs a firm hand.’

The image of someone handling Sebastiano Castiglione with a firm hand made Poppy want to laugh. But she fully agreed. ‘Oh, absolutely.’

‘But you handle him, si?’

Ah, definitely not si! She might have tied his tie before, but just being that close to him had completely tied her insides up in knots. ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly,’ she hedged. ‘Your grandson is his own boss.’

‘Don’t let him get his own way all the time. It is not good for him.’

He was telling her!

Poppy grinned at the lovely old man. ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ she murmured, thinking that there was little chance she’d even see her boss again after next week. If she even made it to next week. Especially after the way she’d just been caught staring at his mouth.

Mortified all over again, she stole a quick glance in Sebastiano’s direction. Despite his less than stellar reputation with women, he was the most superb specimen of a man she had ever come across. Tall, broad-shouldered and with that air of power that was like an invisible warning to those who might dare to take him on.

Which would not be her. She was more a ‘steer well clear of overpowering men’ sort of girl. In fact, she was a steer well clear of any kind of men sort of girl. She had definite plans for the future, and they included climbing the corporate ladder, not falling for some good-looking, over-confident business mogul!

Unfortunately, before she could drag her gaze away from him, his eyes connected with hers and something hot and shivery jolted inside her. Once again sensing the effect he’d had on her, his eyes turned darker, his gaze telling her that he could read her most secret thoughts. The ones that said that he was so hot, she thought she might combust on the spot.

‘Sei la persone giusta,’ the old man said, nodding and smiling at her.

‘What? Oh...yes.’ Poppy turned to face him, relieved to have the unwanted spell of his grandson broken. ‘Okay, well...’ She moistened her lips and turned just as Sebastiano stepped forward, bringing them almost nose to chest. ‘Sorry.’ She stepped back quickly. ‘I’ll...uh...let you have your meeting. It was nice to meet you, Signor Castiglione.’

‘What? No coffee?’ Sebastiano mocked.

Poppy’s eyes widened. Was he making a joke?

‘Yes. It was a joke. Seems I’m a bit rusty. Thank you for tying my tie,’ he said softly. Intimately.

‘You’re welcome.’

Cut and run! her common sense shouted at her. ‘Have—er—have a good meeting,’ she said, finally kicking her brain into gear and hurrying through the office door. She didn’t take another breath until the lift doors had closed around her and she could put that surreal experience behind her. Then she slumped against the wall and wondered if any of that had really happened.

* * *

As soon as she closed his office door, Sebastiano turned back to his grandfather. ‘How was your flight?’

‘Good. This woman.’ He nodded slowly. ‘I approve.’

An image of his intern’s nimble fingers skating over his chest as she fixed his tie jumped into Sebastiano’s consciousness.

He approved as well, or at least his body did.

From the first moment he’d looked round and seen her standing in his doorway he’d felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. It was why he had sounded so rude about her clothing. Of course she could wear casual clothing to the office on a weekend if she wanted. He wasn’t a tyrant. He’d just been thrown by those velvet-blue eyes staring squarely back at him with no artifice in them at all.

The rest of her wasn’t bad either. Understatement, he acknowledged wryly. Her figure was glorious: slim hips, rounded breasts pushing against her thin sweater and a thick pile of ash-brown hair pulled into a high ponytail, revealing a slender neck below sweet rosebud lips. She wasn’t his usual type by a long shot but there was something about her that was at once innocent and impish. And hot. The way she had looked at him...an intelligent sparkle lighting those blue eyes as if she could see right through him.

When she had turned pink and asked him why he had been holding her wrist, he’d had an inexplicable desire to know what it would be like to wake up beside her, her face that colour from his love-making.

The memory pulled him up short. She was an intern in his office so she was automatically off limits—no matter how tempting—and, even if she wasn’t, he kept his relationships light and uncomplicated. Something about the way she hadn’t turned coy or giggly to attract his attention told him that she was neither light nor uncomplicated. Which was why he intended to forget that he had even met her.

‘I’m glad you approve,’ he said to his grandfather. ‘But it’s your approval for me to take over as CEO of Castiglione Europa that I want. You can’t keep travelling to Rome every other day to bark at everyone, and you know it. You also know that Nonna wants you to retire,’ he added, playing his trump card. ‘It’s time.’

‘Time to do what?’ his grandfather grouched. ‘Play boules? Pick grapes? Spend time with my grandchildren? Now there—’ he pointed a knotted finger at Sebastiano ‘—there would be a reason to retire.’

And here were go, Sebastiano thought. Operation Marriage. It was a clever name for it but he’d still give Paula grief about not informing him of the office betting pool when she came in tomorrow morning. ‘Yes, yes, I know what you want,’ he said. ‘And I’m working on it.’

‘So what is the hold-up?’ his grandfather asked. ‘You are having trouble making her say yes, is that it?’ His grandfather grinned, seeming to like that idea. But having a woman say yes wasn’t a problem Sebastiano had ever encountered. Quite the opposite, in fact, but regardless of that he understood that he was too much of a loner to make any relationship work in the long term. A fact many of his women would be more than happy to attest to.

Realising that his grandfather was waxing lyrical about how nice Poppy seemed, Sebastiano shrugged off his uncharacteristic lapse in concentration. ‘Forget all that,’ he dismissed, not wanting to let his mind wander back to his sassy little intern. ‘Tell me what I want to hear. You need to retire, and now, with this new deal I just finalised, the timing couldn’t be better to merge SJC with the family business. You know it as well as I do.’

His grandfather steepled his hands beneath his chin, taking his time answering, as he was wont to do. When he was a child Sebastiano had grown fidgety under that steady regard—now he just used it himself when it suited him.

‘I’ll tell you right now, I’m impressed with what I just saw,’ his grandfather said slowly. ‘You should have mentioned Poppy sooner.’

Poppy? Were they still talking about his intern? ‘Why would I mention her sooner?’ he rasped, his brain prodding him that he was missing something important.

‘Ah, I see, you want me to hand over the family company on your terms and not mine. That pride of yours will not do you any good in the long run, I’ve always told you that.’

‘Nonno—’

‘You always were a good boy, and now you have grown into a fine man. But seriously, Sebastiano, sometimes you cannot see what is in front of your face. Fortunately for you I am here to point out the obvious.’

Sebastiano frowned. ‘Wait, do you...?’

His grandfather reached across the desk and laid a hand over his. His nonno’s skin was old and leathery, almost papery in its frailty, his fingers vibrating slightly as they gripped onto him. ‘We have been waiting for you to ditch all those party girls and choose a nice girl to settle down with. And this girl is good.’

Sebastiano went perfectly still. His grandfather thought he and Poppy were an item—it was written all over his craggy features—which was ironic, when in fact they had only just met. But he supposed he could see how his grandfather had got that impression. For one, she had turned up in the office looking as much like an intern as he looked like a monk. And, two, he had very nearly lost his head and kissed her when she’d finished tying his tie.

‘She is the one for you, and when your grandmother sees you together she will be so proud that we did right by you after all.’

Hold on—what? ‘The one?’

‘Si. And she said she knows how to handle you.’ His grandfather chuckled. ‘You need a strong woman like that.’

Sebastiano knew his grandmother ruled their casa but, hell, had Poppy—Miss Connolly—truly said she had him under the thumb?

His frown deepened; no wonder his grandfather had jumped to all the wrong conclusions. But why would she say that? And more importantly what was he going to do about it?

He recalled the slumberous way her eyes had moved over him when she’d been tying his tie. It had been from desire; he would have put money on it because his own body had sent the same message to his brain.

I want her, it had said, right now.

Sebastiano didn’t want to think about his grandfather’s reaction when he told him that, far from being his latest girlfriend, Poppy Connolly was nothing more than a temporary employee. But, instead of wasting his breath to try and convince the old man he was wrong, Sebastiano tried again to direct him away from his love life. ‘Let’s get down to business.’

‘No. Let’s save it for your trip to Italy.’

Sebastiano went as still as a stone. As a general rule he limited his trips to his home country as much as possible. Especially to the family casa where his memories were so strong. ‘What trip to Italy?’

‘For your grandmother and my sixtieth wedding anniversary. We are having a party. Bring your lovely Miss Connolly.’

Sebastiano couldn’t move as his grandfather stood up. A look of sorrow briefly clouded his nonno’s eyes, his voice quiet when he broke the lengthening silence between them.

‘We need to put the past to bed, nipote mio, and we want you to come. No more excuses. No more putting work first. It is time to move forward.’ He cleared the emotion from his throat. ‘After I tell Evelina about Miss Connolly she will want to meet her. In fact, I will text her now.’

Sebastiano blinked. ‘Since when do you and Nonna text?’

‘Since I bought her a smart phone for her birthday.’

His grandfather pulled his own phone out of his pocket and pressed the keys with the agility of someone half his age.

Sebastiano watched him, brooding. He would do a lot of things for his grandparents—he would even cast aside his deeply buried memories of the past to attend their anniversary—but pretend he had a relationship with a woman he barely knew and who might have just set herself up to become the next Mrs Castiglione?

Not a chance in hell.


CHAPTER THREE (#ua631a476-c136-5754-8ce1-74e2a03018d9)

‘TWO HUNDRED AND fifty thousand pounds?’ Poppy stared at Sebastiano, who sat behind his desk like a leanly muscled King Tut with a pot of gold in front of him.

When he had requested to see her in his office she’d been convinced she was about to be fired. Instead he had offered her enough money to make her heart stop beating, in exchange for her pretending to be ‘the light of his life’, as he had condescendingly put it.

‘As in two hundred and fifty thousand pounds cash?’

‘You want more? Fine. Make it five hundred.’

Poppy’s mouth was so dry it was arid. The man was insane. Or drunk. She narrowed her gaze, scanning his face for signs she was right. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Not since last night, and unfortunately the effects have worn off by now.’

She glanced around, waiting for a camera crew to jump out from behind his Chesterfield and yell, ‘Surprise!’ Only they didn’t. All that happened was her heart thumped so fast she felt faint. ‘I don’t think this is very funny.’

‘I never joke about money. And you only have yourself to blame.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Something you said to my grandfather suggested that we were a couple. Something about handling me.’ His dark brows rose mockingly. ‘Which I can assure you, Miss Connolly, no woman will ever do.’

Poppy’s throat felt tight and uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t say I could handle you.’ She frowned. ‘Your grandfather said something about you needing a firm hand and I agreed. Then he said something in Italian that I didn’t get.’

‘Do you remember what it was?’

She gave him a look. ‘I grew up in the outskirts of Leeds, Mr Castiglione. My Italian starts with si and ends with ciao.’

‘Well, thanks to my grandfather mistaking you for my latest mistress, it’s about to extend to a few days on the Amalfi coast. So, what’s your price?’

Poppy was so shocked at the thought that anyone could mistake her for this man’s anything that she couldn’t take any of this seriously. ‘You’re so desperate to impress him you’re prepared to lie?’

‘I like to think of it as taking advantage of an opportunity when it arises. And, believe me, I spent most of those wasted hours last night trying to come up with an alternative plan. I failed.’ His sculpted mouth quirked at one corner. ‘Something I don’t admit to easily.’

Poppy let the subtle insult that he would rather do anything else than pretend he was in a relationship with her slide. She felt a little drunk herself at the thought of all that money. Five hundred thousand pounds? That kind of offer only happened in the movies, didn’t it?

She stood up. ‘I... I can’t take your money.’

‘Really? You’ll do it for free?’

She heard the mockery in his tone and frowned. ‘No, of course not, I—’

‘Which is as I suspected. So, what is your price?’

‘I’m not a prostitute,’ she informed him sharply, those early schoolyard taunts about her biological mother coming back to haunt her.

‘There’s no reason to get in a temper,’ he said calmly. ‘I’m not suggesting we sleep together.’

Poppy scowled. ‘Your arrogance knows no bounds, does it?’

‘I’m a businessman, Miss Connolly, and I have a problem. Like it or not, you’re my solution.’

‘You’re out of your mind.’ Poppy shook her head. ‘I won’t do it.’

He regarded her steadily, making her feel hot in her navy suit. ‘You’re knocking back half a million pounds?’ His toned was loaded with arrogant disbelief and it only made Poppy more determined to deny him. ‘In cash.’

‘I just...’ She frowned. Growing up poor and without a proper family made a half a million pounds seem like a dream come true. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’

‘It doesn’t feel right?’ She had no doubt that if he’d been a car he would have blown a head gasket by now. ‘Are you seriously turning me down because it doesn’t feel right?’

‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ she shot at him, thinking of the devastated woman on the end of the phone the day before. ‘You’d need to have feelings for that.’

‘I have feelings,’ he shot at her.

Poppy might have debated that but she still had a week left of her internship and she wanted to get a good reference—and, frankly, she felt a little dizzy. Five hundred thousand pounds was a lot of money. What she could do with it was mind-boggling.

Buy Simon new trainers, for one. The poor kid had been wearing hand-me-downs for as long as she had. But he was fifteen and the right trainers were integral to a teenager’s self-esteem. With five hundred thousand pounds he would never have to go without anything again!

And five hundred thousand would be enough to help Maryann, whom she’d spent the rest of Sunday visiting. She’d also been researching MS on the computer to see if there was something she could do to help. Unfortunately the information had been depressing. Once the effects of the disease set in, Maryann would need a flat on the ground floor and, with no family or funds at her disposal, moving was going to be difficult. Poppy had already thought of asking Maryann to move in with her and Simon, but Maryann was as fiercely independent as Poppy was herself, so she knew she wouldn’t take to that idea easily.

But with half a million pounds Poppy might be able to buy her a flat rather than have her continue to rent. She could pay Maryann back for all the help she had given her over the last eight years. Or could she? She had no idea how far half a million pounds would stretch.

For a moment she was tempted to take the money, oh, so tempted, but she knew there was no such thing as a free lunch. Taking money for nefarious reasons would always come back to haunt her. It would make her feel as cheap as her beginnings.

‘Well?’

Poppy felt a jolt go through her as Sebastiano impatiently advanced into her personal space with the lazy grace of a man who had it all.

‘Well, what?’ she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘Your answer?’ he said in his rich bedroom voice.

Holding her ground against his intimidating force, Poppy shook her head. ‘I’m not for sale, Mr Castiglione.’

‘I know that.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m not asking for this to be real. It’s a few days of your time. A trip to Italy.’ He pinned her to the spot with his stare alone. ‘I’ll even throw in a new wardrobe. No budget. It’s every woman’s dream. Not to mention you could buy yourself jeans that aren’t about to fall apart.’

The fact that he had noticed her unfashionably worn jeans made Poppy feel unclean. The fact that he was so arrogant, and thought he could buy anyone with his money, made her even more resolved to hold her own against him.

‘No.’ Poppy stepped back from him, feeling immediately cold without his body heat radiating close to hers. ‘You’ll have to find someone else.’

‘Admit it,’ he demanded quietly, his voice preventing her from turning around and walking out. ‘You’re tempted.’

‘Of course I’m tempted,’ she shot at him. He was so sure of himself. So sure of her. ‘I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t tempted, but...’ She smoothed her already neat hair into place and noticed her hand was shaking. Turning it into a fist at her side, she raised her chin. ‘I don’t think I would like myself very much if I agreed to take your money to pretend to be something I’m not.’

Sebastiano blew out a beleaguered breath. ‘Dio, save me from martyrs.’

‘I’m not a martyr.’ She tilted her head back to glare up at him, wishing he wasn’t quite so tall. ‘I just have principles.’

He nodded and she felt that finally she’d penetrated his shallow exterior. It should have only taken the flick of her nail, given his lack of depth. Somehow finding out that he really wasn’t a man of substance, but a self-absorbed rat like the rest of his ilk, had seriously disappointed her.

‘Will that be all?’ she asked stiffly, a picture of five hundred thousand pounds flashing like a neon sign inside her head.

Sebastiano stuck his hands in his pockets, his thunderstruck expression priceless. ‘You’re really turning me down?’

‘Yes.’ She tilted her chin higher, wondering if she wasn’t being an idiot to do so. But then she thought about what she would have to do to get that money. Pretend to be this man’s girlfriend. There was no way she could carry that off. Not for a million pounds!

His eyes gleamed predator-like as he watched her, and Poppy had the distinct impression she was in danger. Run, her inner voiced urged. So she did, reversing out of his office with the pace of a teenager texting on a phone.

When she was safely on the other side of the door she blew out a breath and walked on unsteady legs towards the lift. Since Paula’s husband had indeed broken his ankle, she wasn’t in the office, and Poppy was glad she didn’t have to face the older woman’s knowing gaze. Various employees had already warned her that every woman who came into contact with Sebastiano fell in love with him, and Poppy didn’t want anyone to think that she had joined their adoring ranks when she hadn’t.

Taking her phone from her handbag, she decided to duck into the ladies powder room before heading downstairs and facing her colleagues. She was tempted to call Maryann—Lord knew she could use the pep talk, and Maryann had been there for her right from the start. Well, not the start, exactly. Maryann had found her and Simon after Poppy had made the mistake of trusting a man that she shouldn’t have. She had met him on the long train ride to London and somehow he had wheedled out of her that she was underage and that she and Simon were runaways with no place to stay.

At first Poppy had thought him a knight in shining armour. And he had been for two weeks. He’d been everything she could have asked for: complimenting her at every turn, giving them a place to stay and buying Simon little gifts. Then one night he’d come to her bedroom to extract payment for his many kindnesses, and when she’d refused he’d grown angry. He’d made her wake Simon and had turfed them both out into the wintry night, shouting that there was no one who would take her on anyway. Not with her ‘idiot brother’ in tow.

Finding out that he had stolen all her hard-earned savings was the lowest point and had shattered her trust altogether. Unable to go to the police for fear they would take Simon from her, they had been forced to slum it, sleeping in train stations and eating out of rubbish bins. Simon had only been seven at the time, to Poppy’s seventeen, and she had cried silent tears every night, praying to God that an angel would come down and rescue them.

And one had. Without batting an eyelid, Maryann had taken them in, fed them, clothed them and given them the kind of affection they had missed out on for most of their early life. Through Maryann Poppy had learned real kindness and respectability and that was what she wanted for herself. For Simon.

But Maryann, who had lost her dear husband many years earlier, was a proponent of true love and would most likely ask Poppy all sorts of probing questions about her boss’s offer that she’d rather not answer. Questions such as: Is this the sexy boss whose photo you showed me? The one with more women than hot dinners? The one who makes you blush every time his name is mentioned?

To which Poppy would have to answer yes, yes, and double yes.

She stared down at her phone and screwed up her nose. Probably best not to call her.

‘Miss Connolly, are you in here?’

Poppy gave a small yelp when her boss’s voice broke the heavy silence.

‘Maybe.’ She gripped her phone in both hands as if it were a sword, making no attempt to open the door.

‘Are you planning to come out any time soon?’

Poppy rolled her eyes. Was it too much to ask to have a moment of privacy? ‘Do I have to?’

‘I prefer having conversations face-to-face. So, yes.’

‘I thought we were done.’

‘No.’ He narrowed his eyes on her as she reluctantly opened the stall door. ‘It ends when you say yes.’

‘God, you’re relentless. You should have been a barrister.’

He leaned his perfect butt against the basin, a killer grin on his face, his muscular arms braced either side of his lean hips as if he was totally relaxed. Yeah, right.

‘If that was supposed to be an insult, it failed,’ he drawled. ‘I respect people who go after what they want and succeed.’

‘In other words, you’re pushy.’

‘Determined.’

Poppy rolled her eyes. ‘You know you’re in the ladies’ loo right?’

His grin widened. ‘I’m aware.’

‘Well, I was having a private moment, and I’d like to go back to it.’

‘It looks like you were about to have a meltdown. But you shouldn’t. In my world women know what they want and go after it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

A shiver snaked down her spine. ‘Why does that sound so cold?’

His half-smile turned mocking. ‘I don’t have a problem with it and I won’t think badly of you for taking my offer.’

‘You’re all heart.’

‘Actually, I’m all business.’

‘Yes, well, it’s an awful lot of money.’

‘It isn’t to me.’

Poppy shook her head. ‘You could sound a little humble when you say that,’ she said, a touch of exasperation in her tone.

‘Why? It’s the truth. I’m a wealthy man. That brings with it certain perks.’

‘Like buying fake girlfriends.’

His green eyes glittered down into hers. He was too tall for her. His grandparents would notice that right away. ‘I think I might have insulted you when I offered you five hundred thousand pounds,’ he said.

Poppy blinked, hearing that figure again. Five hundred thousand was an amount of money she had never thought to see in one lump sum in her lifetime. The temptation to take it was wicked, and she finally understood those fairy tales where the hapless princess was lured to her doom by the evil villain. ‘Yes, you did,’ she murmured, holding firm to her flagging principles. ‘Because I—’

‘So I’m willing to up it to a million.’

‘I am not—Did you just say a million pounds?’

He smiled at her smugly, victory lighting his green eyes. ‘I did.’

Poppy stared at him blankly. She was sure that what he was offering must be immoral, and if she said yes she’d be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life, expecting to see someone pointing a finger and accusing her of coming by the money unethically. It would be like being back at school all over again, when kids had whispered behind her back and called her ‘Poor Poopy Poppy’. The memory put some much-needed steel in her voice. ‘Stop. I already told you that I’m not for sale.’

His smiled dimmed and he stared at her for a long, tense minute before releasing a harsh breath. ‘But you are exactly what I need. Okay, what do you want, then? What’s your end goal?’

Poppy’s head was spinning with so many pound signs she doubted she could even spell ‘end goal’ right now. She frowned. Did merely surviving each day count as an end goal? ‘I don’t really think in terms of end goals,’ she said.

‘Then you should start.’ He paced away from her and glared at his reflection in the mirror with distaste. Or was that her reflection he was glaring at? ‘Can we take this back to my office?’ He held the door open for her, automatically expecting her to obey his request, his commanding demeanour suggesting that if she didn’t he’d be happy to make her. ‘The ladies’ bathroom is hardly the place to have this conversation.’

Poppy stopped beside him. ‘I’d rather not have this conversation at all.’

‘I can see that. Be careful you don’t knock yourself on the door.’

He steered her around the door she’d nearly walked into and Poppy found herself reluctantly seated on the opposite side of his desk before she thought better of it.

‘So, if a lump sum is too difficult a concept for you to grasp, let’s get to what it is that you do want.’

Too many things to count, Poppy thought, but none she would share with him. Especially not the number of wakeful hours she had spent last night reliving every hard angle of his torso. Sheesh! She had even imagined what it would have felt like if she had stretched up onto her toes and kissed him. ‘I don’t want anything.’

Sebastiano snorted at her prim response. ‘That’s patently untrue. Everyone wants something.’ He glared at her. ‘Even me. In fact, I find myself in the rare position of being a desperate man. So, what is it going to take, bella, to get you to give me one weekend out of your life to help an old man?’

Poppy’s gaze sharpened. ‘Is your grandfather unwell?’

‘Would that influence your decision?’

Her frown deepened at the way he pounced on her unconscious show of sympathy. ‘You would really use that as a bargaining tool?’

Sebastiano shrugged. ‘If it would work.’

‘You are such a shark!’ Poppy exclaimed, both awed and shocked by his ruthlessness.

‘Probably.’ He sat forward, his green eyes intense on hers. Poppy’s heart thumped heavily behind her breastbone. ‘But my grandfather is old and I really don’t know how much time he has left.’ His lips firmed, as if that thought made him truly uncomfortable. ‘And the old goat is far too stoic and proud to admit it if he were ill.’

Poppy heard the deep caring in those terse words. Perhaps it was Maryann being sick, and the dread Poppy felt at possibly losing her some time in the near future, but in that moment she felt an unexpected connection with her big, bad boss. Caring deeply, she knew, was an avenue for pain and she didn’t wish that on anyone.

About to tell him that she understood how he felt, he undermined that feeling of accord with his next words.

‘How about I grant you three wishes? Would that be more palatable to those prized principles of yours?’

‘What are you, a genie now?’ She snorted. The thought of seeing him wearing a turban and harem pants softened her irritation at his superior tone. ‘Or my fairy godmother?’

‘I’m hardly nice enough to be anyone’s fairy godmother.’

‘You got that right,’ she agreed. ‘You’re a ruthless wolf.’

‘I thought I was a shark.’

Poppy’s lips twitched again. ‘Shark... Wolf...’ She swallowed as his gaze lingered on her lips. ‘Anything with big teeth, really.’

The air between them suddenly pulled taut, and Poppy’s mouth went dry as his smile kicked up at one corner. The man was devastating. Devastatingly attractive and devastatingly persistent.

‘Think about it, Poppy,’ he said, his soft tone and the use of her first name lending the moment an intimacy she didn’t want to feel. ‘Three wishes. Anything you want. If they are within my power to grant them, they are yours.’

She blinked in an attempt to shake off the spell he was subtly weaving around her. Three wishes did seem strangely more palatable than a cold, hard lump of cash, though she didn’t know why it should, because in the end it would amount to the same thing.

He leaned forward, his gaze unwavering, a predator sensing weakness and homing in on the kill. ‘People marry for money and status all the time. This is merely a weekend away. Nothing more.’

But it felt like more to her. She had never thought of herself as someone who could be bought. Not when so many of her foster families had taken her and Simon in for the government grants they would collect, rather than wanting to offer them a secure home.

‘Come on, Poppy,’ he urged. ‘Tell me something you’ve longed for lately.’

Love. Companionship.

She frowned. Where had that come from? She had her career to work towards. That was more important than a transitory state such as love.

‘New shoes.’ Distracted as she was by her own thoughts and his persuasive tone, she said the first thing that came into her head.

‘New shoes?’ A sexy grin crept across his face. ‘Done. Name the designer and you can have a wardrobe full.’

‘Nike, I think.’

‘Nike?’

‘Size ten.’

‘You’re serious?’

‘Yes. Do you have a problem with that?’

‘Okay, okay. Fine. Nike trainers. What else?’

‘I don’t know...’ Suddenly her thoughts veered to Maryann. In particular to the issue of her needing a ground-floor flat. Like Poppy, she lived hand to mouth, and Poppy knew her lovely neighbour was scared about what the future held for her now.

‘A new apartment,’ she said, waiting for her boss to laugh and tell her she was dreaming.

‘Now you’re speaking my language,’ he said, confidence oozing from every pore. ‘A penthouse, no doubt. How many bedrooms?’

‘It can’t be a penthouse, they’re on the top floor.’

‘I’m well aware of where a penthouse is located,’ he said. ‘I own several.’

Poppy was so deep in thought she barely heard him. ‘It has to be on the ground floor. And near Brixton.’

‘Brixton?’

‘Yes. Maryann is really attached to Brixton.’

‘Maryann?’

‘My neighbour.’ The more she thought about it, the more she warmed to the idea. ‘And it should be near a park and the tube. Maryann likes to go into Stratford most Saturday afternoons. Her husband is buried there.’

‘Right.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m getting a headache just thinking about it. Give the details to HR.’

‘I’m not giving the details to HR!’ Poppy exclaimed. ‘It will completely ruin my professional reputation before I’ve even got one.’

‘Fine, send me an email. But what does your neighbour have to do with this anyway?’

‘The apartment is for her.’

‘I thought it was for you.’

‘She needs it more than I do.’

He looked at her as if she’d suddenly grown two heads. ‘Okay, fine, whatever. And the last one?’

Poppy stared at him, realising too late that in negotiating with him she was entering into a deal she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to make. A deal with the devil. ‘I...eh... I don’t have a third.’ Mostly because her brain had now turned to mush.

‘Nothing for yourself?’

Those first two were for her. For her peace of mind. She shook her head, trying to clear her thinking. What was she doing even considering this?

‘No need to stress,’ he said, once more reading her correctly. ‘When you think of it, you let me know. In the meantime we will leave for Italy at the end of the week.’

‘I don’t have a passport!’

‘I’ll take care of it. And Poppy?’

She raised troubled eyes to his. ‘Yes?’

He came around his desk all lean, hard, muscular grace. ‘Thank you.’

He held out his hand and guided her to her feet. Poppy felt a tingling sensation light up her arm at his touch, distracting her. ‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘The end of the week? That’s too soon. I can’t get organised by then.’ Meaning that she couldn’t organise care for Simon by then.

‘You’ll have to. That’s when my grandparents are holding their anniversary party.’

‘Anniversary party?’ Her stomach pitched alarmingly. ‘This gig just gets better and better.’

‘My grandparents are very important to me. Please remember that.’

‘So how can you lie to them so easily?’ she asked, hoping to see some faint trace of humanity in him.

He shrugged, giving her nothing. ‘I see this more as an opportunity to get an outcome that is long overdue.’

‘You running your family business.’ Him making even more money.

‘Yes.’

He really was a shark, Poppy thought, a shark who swam around in shallow waters. What was she doing getting mixed up in this? ‘Can’t you tell them we broke up and take one of those breathtaking blondes you apparently date instead?’

‘No.’ His jaw hardened. ‘My grandfather has it in his head that you are “the one” for me, and no blonde, no matter how breathtaking, will cut it.’

What didn’t cut it for Poppy was how attracted she was to him. He was a shining example of how little taste her hormones truly had when it came to choosing men. ‘Don’t you find this all a bit deceptive?’ she pleaded.

Sebastiano’s lids came down to shutter his gaze. ‘Your point?’

‘My point is that you don’t seem to care.’

She wasn’t sure she’d kept the distaste from her voice when he scowled. ‘What I care about right now is taking over CE.’

‘So you believe that the end justifies the means?’

‘When it fits.’

Just like the well-dressed louse who had picked her up. But this wasn’t the same thing, was it? She had her wits about her this time. And this man was granting her three wishes, not trying to take something from her.

‘Poppy?’

She bit her bottom lip, and, when her eye finally lifted to his, his were softer. ‘I can see this is not as easy for you as I thought it would be—but my grandfather needs to retire. If him believing I am in love with you achieves that, then I’m willing to bend the truth a little.’

Poppy’s eyebrows rose. ‘A little?’

He smiled. ‘A lot.’

Something in his tone told her that the deception wasn’t as easy for him as he made out. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was just the fact that she could already see the expression on Simon’s face when he received his new trainers—not to mention Maryann’s delight when she learned she would be moving into a ground-floor flat beside a park—but Poppy found herself oddly compelled to agree. ‘Okay.’ She released a long, drawn-out breath. ‘I’ll do it.’

He gave her a faintly mocking smile. ‘That face is not going to convince anyone you think I’m the love of your life.’

‘That’s because I feel sick,’ she said.

As sick as she used to feel whenever the social worker would turn up and tell her that she and Simon were moving on to yet another family. She had that same dreadful sense that her life was headed over a cliff and she had no idea if the landing would be soft or hard, experience warning her to prepare for the worst.

Sebastiano shook his head. ‘I’m not sure you’re actually real.’

Poppy grimaced. ‘Well, that makes two of us, because I’m not sure you are either. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get my head around a presentation for Mr Adams. Oh, and feel free to change your mind about all this. I won’t be sorry.’

‘I won’t change my mind.’

* * *

Long after the building had emptied for the day, Sebastiano sat in his office, staring across at Big Ben but not really seeing it. He couldn’t quite believe he had just coerced a woman into posing as his fake lover, or how difficult it had been to get her to agree.

Honestly, he’d expected the whole process to take no more than five minutes. Offer her a large sum of money and count the seconds until she said yes. When Poppy had baulked he had initially believed she’d been holding out for more money. No surprise there. What had been a surprise was how hard he’d had to work to convince her, and how heated his blood had become in the process. He knew it was just ego, but still the whole time she had been resisting him that voice in his head had said, Take her! and Now! with predictable consistency.




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