PunishingPhoebe

Punishing Phoebe

Kit Tunstall

Phoebe has been working for Luca only a
short time, but their attraction is sizzling.
Then Luca’s powerful
father Salvatore discovers his son’s interest in Phoebe—and thinks her beneath
him. Salvatore offers Phoebe money to disappear from Luca’s life, and desperation
drives her to accept.

After discovering what his father has done,
Luca pays him back and goes after Phoebe. Hurt and revenge drive him to demand
repayment—in his bed. He refuses to listen to her reasons and her own pride
doesn’t help the situation. Luca tries to convince himself the only thing he’s interested
in now is her body.

Phoebe fervently wishes it was just amazing
sex, instead of Love. Luca determinedly tries not to fall for a woman he can’t
trust. Fate has other plans for them both.

Chapter One

Phoebe reentered her office at Androtti’s
clutching a bag of Chinese takeout from a nearby restaurant. A drizzling of
rain had left her golden hair a mass of waves, and she ran a hand through it in
an attempt to restore some semblance of order after setting lunch on her desk.
She took time to remove her raincoat, stow her purse in the bottom drawer of
her desk and check the voicemail for messages before picking up the bag and
moving to Luca’s office. A soft tap elicited an “Enter” in his deep, lightly
accented baritone, and she opened the door.

Luca looked up, his eyes gleaming darkly
behind the gold frames of his reading glasses. The amber glow from the lamp on
his desk brought out rich blue highlights in his thick, black hair, making it
difficult for Phoebe to focus on the task he had set for her. She stood
stupidly in the doorway, unable to tear her eyes from her boss. A lock of hair
flipped onto his forehead made her fingers itch to push it back, before
proceeding down his face, to lightly caress the slight lines at his eyes. She
would then move downward, across the strong bridge of his nose, to savor the
firm texture of his full lips, before touching the slight cleft in his chin.
Once her hands had explored the strong column of his throat, she would splay
them across his chest as she sank onto his lap, her lips moist and ready to
taste his….

Luca clearing his throat brought her back
to reality. With a shake of her head, Phoebe did her best to hide her
embarrassment at slipping into the fantasy. She lifted the bag higher. “Fried
rice and spicy beef, as requested.”

He removed his glasses, setting them atop
the file in one movement, even as he beckoned her forward with his other hand.
Phoebe’s feet propelled her toward him, the heels of her shoes sinking into the
frosted-gray carpet that was so plush it was probably more comfortable to sleep
on than her own bed.

Upon reaching his desk, she put down the
bag, opened it, and began removing the boxes. Each one was marked, so it was a
simple matter to separate his order from hers. Silence filled the room while
she completed the task, and Phoebe tried to pretend she wasn’t aware of Luca’s
eyes sweeping over her as she worked. It was a difficult charade to maintain,
since she could almost feel his sensual gaze touching her, caressing her
intimately.

He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
She was convinced they were both aware of the smoldering sexual tension that
arced between them whenever they shared the same space. Phoebe knew enough
about men to read the awareness in his eyes, to pick up on his subtle signals.
She wasn’t naïve enough to think Luca lacked any experience with female
companions, so she couldn’t delude herself into thinking he didn’t know she was
equally attracted to him. The three months she had worked for him had only
increased her attraction and, judging from recent behavior, his too.

Phoebe’s hands trembled slightly when she
picked up the two boxes containing her order, along with a plastic fork,
preparing to return to her desk. She held her breath, tensing as Luca slid away
from his desk to gain his feet. Her heart hammered in her ears when he walked
toward her. She held breath escaped in a harsh exhalation when he brushed
against her arm in the process of pointing to the cozy arrangement of a sofa,
two chairs and a coffee table in the corner of his office.

“Stay, have lunch with me.”

Was she imagining the hint of smokiness in
his tone? Phoebe tried to appear nonchalant when she asked, “Shall I fetch the
recorder?” The only times he had asked her to join him before had entailed
working lunches, where he dictated memos into the recorder, or they discussed various
strategies for dealing with a particular situation.

Luca shook his head, scooped up his
containers, and walked toward the sofa. His broad shoulders and lean waist,
emphasized by the expertly tailored suit, drew her eyes, and it was all 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 her they had been on a
first-name basis since her second week of employment. Was he exasperated by the
way she had reacted to his father’s unexpected entrance?

Phoebe forced herself to walk steadily
toward the door, holding her breath when she made it past Salvatore with little
more than a sideways glance and dip of her head. Freedom from his contemptuous
gaze was within sight when his voice froze her in place. “Just a moment, Miss
Sanders. I would like you to stay.” Unlike Luca, his father still bore a heavy
Italian accent, but each word was audible, though issued coldly.

Somehow she swallowed the lump in her
throat and managed a brittle smile when she turned to face Salvatore. Had she
been braver, she would have pointed out she didn’t answer to him, but all she
managed was a limp, “Of course, sir.”

It was as if he had read her unspoken
thoughts. “How long have you been in my employ?”

“Three months.”

Salvatore transferred his haughty gaze from
her to his son. “You have lowered your standards, Luca.”

Phoebe took a step back in reaction to the
denouncement, even as Luca moved toward his father, bridging the distance
between them until he stood less than a foot behind her.

“You have no knowledge of what I look for
in a personal assistant, nor of Phoebe’s qualifications, P
apà
, so leave the hiring of my assistants to
me,” he said in a neutral tone, though his words had been a reproof of sorts.
“Now, what brings you barging into my office?”

His father ignored the light reprimand and
attempted a turn of topic. “When I agreed to let you step in to my position, I
expected you to maintain the company as I would have done. A pretty face is no
excuse for a lapse in judgment.”

Phoebe gasped, but Luca countered in a calm
tone. “You hardly allowed me to take over willingly, P
apà
.” It was no secret Salvatore’s stroke had left him incapacitated
for months, forcing him to let his son finally have some real power in the
company or risk losing everything to their competitors. She knew from Luca—and
from the old man’s own behavior—that three years later, he was still bitter
about no longer being in charge.

When the old man burst into a string of
Italian, Luca’s cheeks flushed red, and a hint of annoyance appeared in his
expression. She held her breath, wondering if she would witness an explosion of
anger. Luca had always been even-tempered and basically good-humored with her,
but he had a reputation for being cold and calculating in business, with a hard
edge reserved only for those who were dishonest in their dealings with the
Androtti Corporation.

His voice was soft, with only a subtle
sibilance revealing the depths of his emotions. “Would you please leave us,
Phoebe?”

She might have remembered to nod as she
scurried from the office, carefully avoiding Salvatore’s eyes. Had the other
man tried to call her back, she would have ignored his summons this time,
having no desire to witness the argument between the two of them.

Out of habit, she closed the door behind
her and went to her desk. Phoebe sank into the chair, staring worriedly at the
mahogany barrier separating her from Luca and his father. In the three months
she had worked for Luca, twice before had she overheard him and his father
arguing, both times via the phone, and had been privy only to Luca’s side.
Since he usually conducted such conversations with Salvatore in short bursts of
angry Italian, she had no idea what they argued about.

Today was no different, except she could
hear Salvatore’s voice responding to his even tones. It carried over Luca’s,
leaving no doubt to the extent of his rage. His pitch escalated with every
exchange, until she could hear each syllable he spoke. If she were fluent in
Italian, she would have known everything he said.

Not that I need a translator
, she thought with a grimace. There was no mystery regarding the
reason behind their exchange. Her. Clearly, the old man didn’t approve of her,
but Luca was refusing to kowtow to his demands to get rid of her. At least
Phoebe hoped she was correctly interpreting the argument. Was it silly to have
so much faith in him, to believe so firmly he would defend her to his father?

The office door opening, followed by
Salvatore’s chair whirring through it, broke her musings. She looked up,
flinching at the derogatory glare the old man shot her way. Hands clutched in
her lap, she stared at him without speaking as he negotiated his way toward the
door that would lead him from their office suite to the main hall. She held her
breath as he neared the door, daring to hope she would escape any further
exchanges with him.

At the doorway, his glower deepened. “Do
not get too comfortable behind that desk, Miss Sanders.”

When he was gone, she breathed a sigh of
relief. It was difficult to take his parting words seriously when she knew Luca
must have refused to dismiss her. After her last disaster of a job, she
couldn’t stand the thought of being fired, forced to seek new employment with
an even larger gap in her work history.

That, and she didn’t want to leave so
abruptly, without finding out how things would turn out between herself and
Luca. Phoebe groaned at the small voice that insisted on pointing out such
thoughts. She schooled her expression into one of professional detachment when
Luca entered her office.