Happy Mother’s Day!: Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother
both some coffee,’ Ginger said, beaming up at Gianluca.
‘I don’t remember asking for any,’ said Aisling mildly.
Ginger wriggled her pale-green cashmere-clad shoulders and the titian hair which had provided her nickname shimmied all the way down her back. ‘No, but Gianluca looked so … tired… that I offered to make him some.’
Ginger was gushing, thought Aisling furiously. She was actually gushing! And just when had she been given permission to start calling him by his Christian name? ‘Thank you,’ she said crisply, and as the door closed behind her secretary Aisling dared look him in the eyes for the first time.
In a way it was easy to see why Ginger had been so uncharacteristically simpering towards him. He was dressed in a pale grey suit, which accentuated the golden glow of his skin and the jet-black gleam of his hair. The shadow around his jaw was fainter than usual and his black eyes were brilliant and gleaming.
He seemed so alive—exuding an air of vitality which set him apart from the usual men she met. Was it any wonder that she had acted the way she had?
‘Your assistant is very cute, cara,’ murmured Gianluca, who had watched the little exchange between the two women with amusement.
‘She’s very good at her job,’ said Aisling defensively, and to her horror she felt a violent stab of something like envy.
He assumed an expression of shock. ‘Did I say she wasn’t?’ he protested. ‘Just because a woman is warm and giving towards a man, doesn’t mean that she’s in any way inadequate.’
Was that a dig at her? And was she going to react to it? No, she was not. Aisling picked up her fountain pen and twirled it around between her perfectly manicured fingers like a mini-baton.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said coolly, watching as he spread his elegant frame in the chair and made it look as substantial as a piece of dolls’ house furniture. ‘And then we can discuss what you have in mind.’
He allowed himself the idle fantasy of telling her that what he really had in mind was to rip that horrible skirt from her body and to press his tongue into the little dip in the centre of her belly and to lick her there until she gasped with pleasure.
She stared at him with polite question in her eyes and reluctantly he dragged his thoughts away from the silken softness of her thighs to the infinitely more mundane subject of his recent takeover.
‘You remember that I said I was thinking of expanding further in England?’
Aisling nodded.
‘Well, the opportunity to do just that presented itself to me recently.’ He paused. ‘I’m in the process of buying a hotel and it’s all been very hush-hush. I would prefer you to say nothing until the official announcement is made.’
‘Oh?’ Concentrate on what he’s saying to you, and not on the high, proud slash of his cheekbones. ‘Which hotel?’
‘It’s the Vinoly,’ he said, seeing her blue eyes widen.
Aisling blinked. ‘You mean theVinoly in central London?’
‘I wasn’t aware there was more than one.’
‘Good heavens!’ she said faintly, putting the pen down on the desk. ‘It’s one of the city’s most famous landmarks!’ She blinked again. ‘In fact—it’s practically an institution.’
‘But of course. That’s why I wanted it.’
Aisling gave a dry laugh. ‘Just like that?’
‘Why not? Acquisitions excite me.’
Something about the way he said it unsettled her. All successful businessmen were constantly seeking out the new. Like sharks, they were never still—the very best of them always looking out to make a killing, because you never stayed at the top by remaining stagnant.
Maybe that attitude had spilled over into his private life, too. Was that why he had never settled down with one woman—because he conducted his private life on a similar scale? Had she just been another, rather unexpected ‘acquisition'?
Angrily, she straightened the pen, so that it lay at a perfect right angle to the blotter. This was why people didn’t have affairs at work—because you started to think about everything in how it related to you, instead of how it related to the business!
‘Is something wrong, Aisling?’ he murmured.
‘Wrong? No. Why should anything be wrong?’
He shrugged, but, oh, he was enjoying this—watching Little Miss Prim try not to react to him and failing hopelessly. ‘You were glaring.’
‘Was I?’ She shrugged right back and met his eyes defiantly. ‘Probably because I often glare when I concentrate.’
‘I see.’
Was he laughing at her? wondered Aisling furiously.
There was a knock on the door and Ginger brought in a tray of coffee. Aisling noted that, not only had she made a whole potful of the stuff, but she must have nipped out to the deli next door for some of their fancy biscuits.
‘What a lot of trouble you have gone to, Ginger,’ murmured Gianluca.
Had he deliberately exaggerated his accent to make the first syllable of her name rhyme with ‘jean'? wondered Aisling. And did Ginger really have to bat her eyelashes at him like some amateur vamp as she breathed out her breathless response?
‘Oh, it’s no trouble, Gianluca!’
Aisling wondered how he would have reacted if he had been given a mugful of the rather mediocre instant coffee which was what they usually drank, but she didn’t say anything. She waited until the door had closed behind her before picking up the pot and forcing her mind back to his hotel. ‘The Vinoly,’ she mused. ‘Second biggest hotel in London after the Granchester, and an architectural gem. I guess congratulations must be in order.’
His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘You sound doubtful,’ he observed.
‘Well, it’s a bit of a departure for you. You usually deal in smaller, boutique hotels.’ She poured him a cup of coffee and pushed it across the desk in front of him. ‘Biscuit?’
He shook his head.
Aisling poured her own. ‘Won’t this affect the industry’s view of you? Isn’t it a slightly risky strategy?’
Gianluca stared at her with something approaching admiration—at her icy blue eyes which gave away precisely nothing. Had he been expecting her to be cowed by his insistence on this meeting? Perhaps for her to display irritation towards the secretary who was so obviously flirting with him? Or maybe to gush just a little, recognising that a man who could afford to buy the Vinoly must be a very rich man indeed—and he knew only too well how most women responded to wealth.
And hadn’t there been a tiny part of his mind which had wondered whether she might behave as other women in her position might have done? That, having known the pleasures of his body, she might lock the office door and slide off her panties and come over here and sit on his lap.
But no—the expression she presented to him was completely professional and the objections she voiced were exactly as they should be. And the cool expression on her face was starting to make him wonder whether he’d actually dreamt the whole seduction.
As a client he applauded it, while as a man, it irritated the hell out of him. There had been not one intimation—not a single hint—that they had shared a night of passion in his bed, and in truth he found that deeply insulting. Did she have no feelings?
His mouth hardened. Perhaps she imagined that by remaining so composed in his presence she would make him want her even more.
And she was right, damn her!
He