Page 2 of The Baby His Secretary Carries

“Valentina finished the, um...” She waved the portfolio, mind splintered, voice still jammed. “She said you wanted to sign it as soon as it was ready.”

She hoped Gio attributed her raging blush to the mortification of finding them all like this, rather than the anguish that she was dragging Alexandra’s painful past into what seemed to be the happily-ever-after she very much deserved. Would she tell Gio to fire her? No. She wouldn’t do that to her. Would she?

“Your executive assistant has an assistant?” the man behind the bar drawled as he poured from a silver shaker into martini glasses. “No wonder it was so difficult to get hold of you to extend this invitation.”

He must be Rafael Zamos, the yacht’s owner and Sasha’s husband. Molly couldn’t make that detail work in her head, but she pushed aside her utter astonishment, even though she was highly curious about him. He was very easy on the eyes, with dark hair and a tanned, powerful chest, but she made herself look away.

She glanced once at the ashen face that Alexandra was smothering with big sunglasses and a floppy hat, and pulled herself together. Betraynothing.

“I’m very sorry I’ve interrupted your...” Orgy? “Shall I leave this?”

She forced herself to meet the glint in Gio’s sunglasses again when she actually wanted to sprint to the bowels of the ship.

“No. Valentina is right. I want to keep that moving.” He turned and set his hands on the ledge, propelling himself upward, seemingly without effort. One foot touched the ledge and he was standing before the water had fully sluiced off him.

How dare he? Now he was nothing but swarthy skin, sculpted muscle and neatly trimmed body hair. He had the lean physique of a swimmer with broad shoulders and long limbs. His narrow hips wore a slash of black that barely contained whatever cockatiel he was smuggling. Not that she was looking!

“Sir.” The purser hurried forward with a towel.

Gio—he was always Gio in her head, even though she’d never called him anything but Mr. Casella—took the towel in a laconic reach of his arm and wrapped it around his hips. He rolled his wrist to invite Molly closer.

With her heart pounding, she picked her way past Sasha’s painted toenails and opened the leather portfolio.

She felt everyone’s gaze pinned on them as he read the top page, then swiped his fingertips on the towel before he lifted the second page.

Rafael began dishing out martinis, briefly distracting everyone’s attention.

“Thank you, my love,” Sasha said, then took a hefty gulp of hers. Her hand seemed unsteady. Did Rafael’s gaze linger on his wife an extra second, noticing that?

The yearning to talk to her old friend was so strong, it was like a scream trapped in Molly’s throat. Her hands felt sweaty and all her muscles were threatening to twitch violently, purely to discharge the tension trapped within her.

“Pen?”

Gio had finished reading. She stared at her own reflection in his sunglasses, wishing she could see his eyes, but also glad that she couldn’t. His mother’s Icelandic blood was crystal-clear in his blue eyes and they often felt as though they pierced into her soul. His eyes always mesmerized her, being such a contrast to the rest of him, which was a reflection of his father’s Italian heritage.

She shakily fished into the pocket of her culottes.

“Calm down,” Gio said in an undertone that only she could hear. “I’m not angry that you’re here.”

He had noticed how rattled she was. As much as she loved her job, however, getting fired right now was the least of her worries. She was terrified of exposing Sasha when she had promised so sincerely and solemnly that she would never, ever reveal her secret.

Gio took the pen she offered and grasped the edge of the portfolio. His cool fingertips grazed the overheated skin of her own hand.

What fresh hell was this?

She stayed very still while he applied the weight of his signature, holding her breath until she could bolt.

“You can get this to the mainland for me?” he asked Rafael as he returned the pen to her. “I’d like it in London by morning.”

“Of course.” Rafael nodded at the man in the white uniform, who continued to stand by, waiting to escort the riffraff back where she belonged.

“Again, I’m very sorry,” Molly said to the gathering, closing the folder and doing her best to hide behind it. “I’ll stay below from now on.”

“I was just surprised,” Sasha said in a defensive tone. She adjusted the fall of her bathing suit cover so it was level across the top of her thigh. “I like to know who is on board, including any staff our guests bring along.”

“You thought we had a stowaway?” Rafael was sipping his martini, once again watching his wife with a narrow-eyed, inscrutable expression.

“What exactly do you do for Gio?” Sasha asked without answering her husband.

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