Page 14 of Don't Bite The Boss
‘Says the man who has just returned from four days in Paris playing with his dolly.’
I bite back my jealousy and try to act civilised. After all, I’d interrupted his love play when I’d phoned him with my idea about the archaeologists in Utah, and he had agreed immediately. In fact, everything I’ve asked for or suggested he has agreed with. He really is a wonderful boss, too wonderful.
‘No real mystery why I’m pissed. He’s been gone, I’m jealous, even though that is ridiculous. Fuck, I need to get a grip.’
“The siteisplay to me,” I smile, turning to him and meeting his eyes. Out here, in the stiff offshore breeze, his scent is diluted by the sea, and it’s not so difficult to resist him, well his blood that is, his body I don’t think I could resist if it was dipped in shit.
“You’re actually enjoying the excavation?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I laugh, “I spend a great deal of my time with my hands in the dirt, planting things, digging. Only now I’m digging for buried treasure.”
“If it’s treasure you were after you should have sailed with me sooner,” he jokes, “I’ve dived on some of the greatest wrecks on Earth.”
“Really?” I’m surprised and delighted to discover he does actually have an appreciation for history. I was beginning to wonder.
“Why so taken-aback,” he smirks, “why do you think I want to restore an ancient villa? Resale value?”
I laugh. There is no way anyone could recoup the expense he had put, and would still put in, to that site.
“I figured you just thought it befitting someone of your standing,” I shrug, turning from him to look at the bright lights of Naples before us.
“Believe it or not,” he says quietly, “I am not my brother. Just because I have money, doesn’t mean I think I’m any better than anyone else. I resisted my inheritance and the family business for a long time, Pru, sailed the seven seas on a shoestring. Don’t think that the man you see before you is who I have always been.”
“I’ve offended you,” I turn back to him, frowning, “I’m sorry.”
He bursts out laughing.
“Now you’re sorry? After what? Trying to bite me four, no, five times already? Need I remind you I’ve got two broken fingers from our last altercation at the palazzo? Yet you are sorry because you might have hurt my feelings?”
“Well,” I shrug, “when you put it that way, Mr Bear.”
I join in with his laughter at my use of the nickname I’d given him.
In a conversation a few weeks ago he’d asked why it was that I was so surprised to see him in my office that day, the first day in the States when I’d mistook him for his brother and tried to eat him.
When I’d explained, he was completely and utterly dumbstruck that my secretary had changed his name, and found it hilarious that he was, to all intents and purposes, Mr Bear.
It had amused him so much that he’d adopted it in casual conversation with me and with Fleur, who said she thought my secretary sounded like a lovely girl.
It figures that she might think that, given my secretary is as thick as mud – they would be far better suited as sisters than the supermodel and I.
We turn now, from the view, as the dinner bell rings, signalling his meeting with the town councillors he is wining and dining tonight, is about to start.
As we walk, I recall the latest sucking attempt he had referred to. I had cornered him in the library and come at him at speed. I hadn’t anticipated solid silver handcuffs or the kindness he had shown afterwards, lathering salve on my burnt wrists as he berated me for my continuing attacks upon his person before he called a doctor to strap his broken fingers. In fact, I’d underestimated him, I think. More and more it seems to me that he is far better at self-defence than he lets on, it’s almost as if he isn’t showing his real hand. I’m beginning to wonder if he has had specialist training, even though he tells me his only real advantage is the weapons.
I’m also starting to think he sees my attacks as a challenge.
“Remember,” he reminds me as he takes my arm, oblivious to the fact my skin is seared by his touch, my flesh goose-bumping at his proximity, “you are here to give an update on the villa work, not eat anyone.”
“I got it the first hundred times you said it,” I mutter, “and I still say Nick could have given this talk.”
“I’m happier with a pretty young woman delivering it to these men,” he says quietly, “and sometimes I think it’s better I know where you are every night.”
‘He thinks I’m pretty?’
“Pfft,” I sniff, “anyone would think you don’t trust me.”
“I don’t,” he growls, “any more than I trust these men. And yes, before you think you got away with it, I am pissed you ate my captain. You haven’t heard the last about that.”
