Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (12 page)

‘Oh, Mum.' Gio groaned. ‘Much more of this, and I'll be forced to put on a Derek Bailey CD.'

‘Who's Derek Bailey?' Fran asked, puzzled.

‘A jazz guitarist from the 1950s and 1960s. He used to do a lot of improvisation work,' Gio explained.

‘It's not actually music,' Angela said, grimacing. ‘It's the stuff Gio plays when he wants to clear the room.'

‘Don't be such a philistine. Of course it's music. Nonna, you tell her,' Gio said.

Isabella put both hands up in a gesture of surrender, laughing. ‘I'm staying out of this one.'

‘It's music—but not in the traditional sense,' he said to Fran. ‘It works on rhythm and texture rather than a melodic basis. What's known as tonal harmonics.'

‘What's that in English? Or even Italian?' Fran asked.

In answer, Gio fetched an acoustic guitar from his spare room and demonstrated.

‘See?' he said.

‘Um…I'm with your mother,' Fran said. ‘That's not music.'

‘Why can't you play nice things?' Angela asked. ‘Like the pretty bits you used to play. Like the stuff you were playing at the party.'

‘And I still think you should've gone to college,' Isabella added. ‘Studied music.'

Gio put his guitar away again with a scowl. ‘Well, I didn't. And it's too late now.'

‘Don't be silly. Of course it's not too late. There are plenty of mature students around—and you're not even thirty yet. You probably wouldn't be the oldest one there. You sort him out, Francesca,' Isabella said.

‘I think,' Fran said gently, ‘Gio's man enough to sort himself out.'

‘Exactly. Thank you for the support, honey.' He slid his arm round her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

Oh, lord. His closeness made her remember Saturday night. The way he'd held her and kissed her then. The way the whole room had dissolved around them. The way he'd kissed her, pressed against the front door of her flat.

‘Prego,'
she said, and hoped her voice didn't sound as wobbly to everyone else as it did to her.

 

Given that Gio was always in the office so early, Fran guessed that he'd go to bed reasonably early, too—so even though she wasn't tired, she feigned a yawn and said goodnight, a good hour before she'd normally go to bed.

It was weird, going to sleep in Gio's bed. Even though the sheets were clean, his scent was everywhere; and being wrapped in his duvet felt a bit like being wrapped in his arms.

Right now she could really do with a cuddle. She had no idea when her flat would be habitable again, or how much of her stuff would have to be replaced, or even if the flat would still have the same feel about it when all the repairs had been made.

‘Pull yourself together. Stop being so wet. There are plenty of
people in far worse situations,' she told herself fiercely. Yet still the tears slid silently down her face. She scrubbed them away and buried her face in the pillow, until at last she fell asleep.

Until a strange noise woke her.

A noise that sounded like the door opening.

For a moment, she was disorientated: then she remembered she was in Gio's bedroom. In Gio's bed. He was asleep on the sofa bed in the living room. She must have dreamed all that nonsense about the door opening. It was probably a floorboard creaking as the building settled overnight or something; and didn't people always misinterpret the noises in a strange house?

She turned over to go back to sleep.

And then she felt the mattress dip beside her.

F
RAN'S
first reaction was to shriek and switch on the light.

Gio also gave out the most almighty yell—and then sat bolt upright and stared at her in shock. ‘Fran? What—why—how—oh,
Dio
.' He groaned and covered his face with his hands. ‘I'm so sorry. When I offered you a bed for the night, I didn't mean you had to share it with me. This wasn't meant to happen. I…Look, I'm really sorry for disturbing you.' He started to slide out of the bed—and then stopped.

‘Um, Fran, can you turn the light off?'

‘What?'

‘Turn the light off,' he repeated. ‘Unless you want an eyeful. Because I'm not wearing…' He dragged in a breath and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Oh, hell. This isn't what you think it is, I swear it.'

She shook her head. ‘Right now, I don't have a clue what's going on.'

He swallowed hard. ‘I sleepwalk. I haven't done it for years—I used to do it when I was a kid, but I thought I'd grown out of it.'

‘You
sleepwalk
?' So he'd walked into her room and climbed into bed with her without realising what he was doing?

He nodded. ‘Mum took me to a few doctors when I was little. They did all kinds of tests, but it seemed there wasn't any rhyme or reason to it. Nobody knows why it happens. I just…sleepwalk.'

‘And when I screamed I woke you up.' She bit her lip.
‘Isn't it supposed to be dangerous to wake someone if they're sleepwalking?'

‘No, that's a myth—they used to think that sleepwalkers acted out whatever they were dreaming, so if someone was dreaming about being Marie Antoinette or something and you touched them on the neck, their head would fall off. Quite how you were supposed to know exactly what they were dreaming about, I have no idea.' He smiled ruefully. ‘According to researchers, most sleepwalkers do it in the first three hours of sleep, when your sleep's deep and dreamless. So it's not actually dangerous to wake a sleepwalker—it just throws them a bit and they might get a bit stroppy with you, so doctors recommend you just quietly guide them back to bed. If someone wakes me, I'm usually a bit disoriented and don't have a clue where I am. I certainly wasn't expecting to wake up in here.' He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I really had no idea this was going to happen, or I would've warned you. I'm so sorry I scared you.'

‘You used to sleepwalk a lot?'

He nodded. ‘Especially around exam times.'

‘So it was stress that caused it?'

He shrugged. ‘It might have been a factor, yes.'

And having an unexpected guest was definitely stressful. He'd given her his room, changed his routine for her. Which was enough, perhaps, to have made him sleepwalk tonight. Given that this was his bed, it was natural for him to return to it. ‘So what exactly happens when you sleepwalk? Do you know when you're doing it?'

‘No, though my eyes are open. Apparently, I used to just walk around the house and turn all the lights on and then off again, and then take myself back to bed,' Gio said. ‘Mum said they could set their watch by me. It'd be about quarter to ten when I was younger, and nearer midnight when I was in my mid-teens.'

‘So that was it? You didn't used to make yourself a midnight snack or straighten pictures or anything?'

He actually blushed and looked away. ‘I haven't done anything dramatic like that girl who was in the papers for climbing a crane in her sleep—or the guy who mowed his lawn in the middle of the night.'

There was a reason for the high colour in his face, she was sure. ‘But?' she prompted.

‘I tend to take all my clothes off first.'

‘You're telling me you sleepwalk in the
nude
?' Now her initial shock of being woken had worn off, Fran could see the funny side of the situation. No wonder Gio had asked her to turn off the light. Beneath the duvet, he wasn't just bare-chested—he was stark naked.

‘I was hoping for a little sympathy here.' He sounded pained. ‘My sisters used to have friends over for sleepovers and they'd stay up to watch me. They knew I'd worry about sleepwalking in front of their friends, and that's exactly what used to happen.' He sighed. ‘I even tried putting a lock on my door. Bolting it, too. But it didn't work—somehow I'd unlock it in my sleep and go and switch on all the lights in the house, then switch them all off again and wander back to bed.'

‘Naked.' She couldn't repress a smile. ‘So all these teenage girls would be getting quite a show.'

‘It's not funny, Fran. Jude used to joke that she could've trebled her pocket money by making her friends pay to sleep over at our place. With me as the entertainment. And as for facing them over the breakfast table, the next morning…' He groaned. ‘No way could I face a bunch of giggling teenage girls. So I used to set my alarm, go to work early with Dad and have an Italian breakfast of pastries and a latte at the café.'

She tried really, really hard to look sympathetic. But she couldn't stop the gurgle of laughter escaping. ‘I'm sorry, Gio. I'm not laughing at you. It's just the thought of all these girls lining up in the playground, begging Jude to let them come and stay at your house.'

‘Thanks a lot,' he said dryly. ‘That really makes me feel good. Not. I thought you said you'd never laugh at me?'

When he'd told her about his first car. Impulsively, she slid her arms round him and hugged him, just as she'd hugged him that day.

But then his arms wrapped round her and the atmosphere changed.

Became charged.

‘Francesca Marsden.' His voice sounded husky. Sexy as hell. ‘You do realise I'm completely naked.'

‘Mmm.' She couldn't quite get her mouth to move round a proper word.

‘And you've just put your arms round me.'

‘Uh-h-h.' Someone had glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

‘And you're in bed with me,' he said softly. ‘In
my
bed. Wearing nothing but a very skimpy nightdress.'

The v-necked top was held up by spaghetti straps. But all he had to do was push them down and the soft jersey material would fall to her waist.

She suddenly couldn't breathe.

He grazed his cheek against hers. ‘This isn't supposed to be happening.' His breath was warm against her ear, and then he was nuzzling her neck. Tiny, teasing brushes of his lips against her skin. Everywhere he touched became supersensitive; and she wanted more. So much more. She wanted him to touch her everywhere. Kiss her everywhere. Make her forget the misery of seeing the wreck of her flat.

His mouth moved down across her shoulder, nudging the strap downwards; she tipped her head back and closed her eyes as his mouth found the sensitive spot in the curve of her inner elbow.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this good: but one thing she did know, she didn't want Gio to stop.

He pushed the edge of her nightdress down to bare one breast, and Fran found herself arching towards him. Wanting the touch of his hands, his mouth.

As if he could read her mind, he traced a path of kisses from her collarbone downwards; and when he drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked, she gasped, pushing her fingers into his hair to urge him on.

His tongue flicked against the hard peak, teasing her and inciting her.

And, lord, she wanted more. Wanted him to touch her much
more intimately. Wanted to feel his body inside hers. ‘Gio,' she breathed. ‘Please.'

He stopped. ‘Tell me to stop. Tell me to leave,' he said.

She opened her eyes again, but she couldn't speak.

Didn't want to speak.

‘Tell me to stop, Fran. Because my self-control's starting to snap,' he warned.

She remembered the way he'd kissed her at the party. The way he'd sang to her. The way she'd wanted to be in his arms, wanted to make love with him.

And in answer she slid her hand out of his hair, hooked a finger into the other strap of her nightdress and slid it down over her shoulder so her nightdress fell to her waist.

He dragged in a breath. ‘Fran, we're about to hit the point of no return. So if you want me to stop, you have to say so right now.'

She swallowed hard. ‘No.'

He took her hand and pressed the tip of his tongue against the pulse that beat madly in her wrist. ‘Fran, this really isn't sensible.'

She knew that. ‘Right now, I don't care.' And, from the look on his face, neither did he.

‘It's been driving me crazy, since I kissed you on your sofa. I've been having all sorts of fantasies about you and my desk. And then I saw you in that dress on Saturday. Kissed you against your front door.' His breath hitched. ‘I wanted to carry you to bed and unwrap you. It was so hard to walk away from you that night.'

‘So why did you walk away?' Not to mention staying well away from her for the last couple of days?

‘Because until I find what I'm looking for, I can't make any promises.'

She was under no illusion that
she
was what he'd been looking for. Because if that were the case he would've realised by now, wouldn't he?

‘And I don't want to lie to you,' he said, his voice hoarse.

She rested her palm flat against his chest, over his heart. The beat was strong and slightly fast. ‘You're not lying to me. And this is as true as it gets.'

‘I don't do this sort of thing.' He took her hand and pressed a kiss into it. ‘I don't think you do, either.'

‘No. But since Saturday night I've had this picture in my head. Of October skies, bare trees silvered with frost under an ice-bright moon, and the heat of your body against mine.'

He hummed a few bars of the tune he'd sung to her on Saturday. ‘Me, too,' he said softly. ‘So let's do it. Let's have our moondance.'

Fran wasn't sure which of them moved first. Or how. Or when her nightdress disappeared—or the duvet, for that matter. But at last they were skin to skin. The contact they'd both been craving.

‘You're beautiful,' she said, sliding the flat of her palm across his shoulder. Perfect muscles. Not a weak couch potato, but not a pumped-up gym freak either. Just perfect. His pecs were equally well sculpted. She loved the sprinkle of hair on his chest—just enough to be sexy—and the way it arrowed down over his abdomen. His washboard-flat abdomen. ‘I'm going to paint you on the top of a latte.'

‘What, and scandalise all our customers?' he teased.

In answer, she took his hand. Drew it to her mouth. Kissed the pad at the top of each finger. And then sucked the tip of his middle finger—hard.

His breath hissed. ‘Fran, you've just put the most X-rated picture in my head.'

She gave him a slow, sexy smile. ‘Which is exactly what you did to me when you taught me to make a latte.'

He frowned. ‘How?'

‘You used the word “spoon”.'

His mouth curved. ‘Oh, that. It's a technical term for putting froth on top of coffee. Also an item of cutlery that comes in different sizes.'

She folded her arms across her breasts. ‘You're telling me you don't know another definition?'

Gently, he unfolded her arms. Bent down to drop a kiss on each nipple. ‘Oh, I do. A rather nice one. Lying curled round your body. Something like…' He shifted on to his side, moving her
with him and wrapping one arm around her body to pull her back against him. ‘Like this.' He splayed his hand against her ribcage. ‘Almost.' He stroked the soft undercurve of her breast, then cupped her breast in his hand, rubbing his thumb over her erect nipple. ‘Mmm. That's better.' His mouth grazed the curve of her shoulder. ‘Is this what you had in mind?'

Her breath caught. ‘Oh-h-h. Yes.'

‘Interesting.' He nibbled her shoulder. ‘There I was, teaching you about making coffee, and you were thinking about having sex with me.'

‘I was
not
.'

‘You just admitted it.'

‘I was paying attention. I made notes. And might I remind you that I made you a perfect latte on your birthday? With a rosetta. Free-poured.'

‘So you did.' He nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear. ‘But you were still thinking about having sex with me.'

‘May I point out that I'm not the one who invaded your bed—stark naked?'

His hand slid downwards over her abdomen. ‘I can't help it if I sleepwalk. And sleepwalkers normally return to their own bed. Technically, this happens to be
my
bed.' He smoothed his hand along the curve of her hip. ‘And may I point out that you're just as naked as I am?'

Skin to skin. ‘So what do you have in mind?'

‘Lying here with you in my arms is good.' He gently bit her earlobe. ‘But I think I'd prefer it if you faced me.' He moved back slightly to give her room to turn round.