Page 78 of Seduced by Her Billionaire Fake Fiancé

She expelled a long breath. Of relief?

“Thank you.” She put a hand on his arm, surprising him. “I—needed that.” And she smiled again, the worry gone from her eyes.

She was fascinating.

But Marco had never spent much time thinking about the women he slept with, and he was sure Portia would be no different. Once she’d left, he’d go back to bed, fall asleep, and tonight, he’d see where the world took him.

He lifted her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “My pleasure,” his grin was slow, sensual. She reached for the documents then the envelope in which she’d brought them, only to realise they’d decorated it in a way that was definitely not-safe-for-work.

“I don’t suppose you have another one of those somewhere here?”

He laughed softly. “No.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll carry them like this.” She stood where she was, looking at him, waiting for something? Marco studied her face, the flicker of light in her eyes, the expression in her features, and wondered what she was thinking, but before he could do something quite so out of character as ask, she turned and began to walk confidently away from him, towards the entrance foyer.

She paused at a Degas, stared at it with her lips parted. “Is this real?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head a little, looked back at him with yet another expression he didn’t understand but somehow knew he didn’t like, then forced a smile. “Goodbye, Marco.”

“Ciao, cara.”

He watched her go, then took himself back to bed, to sleep, and dream of his brother’s sexy, uptight, but definitely not too prim to enjoy good sex, assistant.

Portia’s heartwas racing faster than if she’d run a marathon. She all but threw herself into the backseat of the cab, giving the directions to her office with a voice that was almost unrecognizable, contracts clasped in her hands, staring straight ahead.

Holy heck.

What had just happened?

What had she justlethappen?

Her whole body felt alive and different, stirred to a fever pitch in a way she didn’t dislike at all, and shards of memories of the way he’d touched her, kissed her, possessed her, kept spearing through her, memories vivid, his touch still searing her skin.

It had been an exorcism, she thought with satisfaction, as the cab paused at an intersection, waiting to turn left. Six months ago, Jack had pulled the bottom out from under her world. It had been devastating. Not just to realise that he’d been lying to her, that their wedding wouldn’t happen, that all the dreams she’d carefully put in place of her future, family, the things she most wanted, would never come to pass. But to realise that she hadn’t been enough for Jack. That the life they’d built together hadn’t meant enough to keep him faithful. That he’d strayed, possibly more than once. Logically, she knew it wasn’t about her, that there was some deficiency in Jack that had made him cheat, but her heart and soul had been bruised and it was easier to believe that she’d been missing something important.

But not with Marco.

Portia lifted her fingertips to her lips, remembering the way his kiss had seemed to burn her from the start, the way her body had instantly responded, as though he’d opened a door she couldn’t help but run through. No wonder he liked sex so much. If it was like that for him every time, it was no wonder he wanted more, more, more.

Like Portia did, she realized, as the cab began to move again. She frowned, staring down at the documents, the complications of her unusually impetuous actions slamming into her now.

There was nothing wrong with having a one-night stand. Or a one-morning-stand, as the case may be. She was a free agent, not to mention, she was twenty-six years old. No problems there. But wasn’t there an expression about not fouling your own nest? She’d slept with her boss’s brother, a man who, from time to time, came into the office. Who she would most definitely have to see again, for as long as she was working for Santoro Enterprises.

And while a one-night stand was fine, she didn’t want to get her head around expecting—or needing—anything more from Marco. He wasn’t the kind of guy you built a fantasy around. He was a one-time thing, meaning she had to draw a line in the sand under what had just happened and go back to things being completely normal. To pretending he didn’t really exist to her, except as an occasional thorn in her side.

The taxi pulled to a stop at the bottom of the impressive Santoro building with its stunning views across the Thames and Portia paid the fare, slipped out, documents clasped firmly in hand. As she moved, her eyes dropped to his signature and her heart lurched.

It hadn’t been a mistake, but it had definitely not been wise either.

Luckily, Portia had six months’ practice of concealing her inner-most thoughts, and as she strode through the glass revolving doors and moved towards the executive, private security counter to be checked in, no one in the foyer would have been able to guess the turmoil Portia was in, nor the pleasure she’d just enjoyed.

Three

THEY REALLY HAD BEEN unreasonably blessed with natural good looks, Portia thought as she looked around the sunlight-infused boardroom, eyes glancing from one Santoro to the next, admiring their strong, symmetrical features, thickly rimmed eyes, enigmatic smiles, swarthy complexions. Her boss sat at the head of the table—as CEO, that was almost always the case, but mainly it was because he’d called the meeting.

“I want to act quickly,” he said, elbows braced on either side of the documents in front of him. Portia couldn’t look at those. Not without seeing Marco’s signature and remembering the way he’d made love with her two weeks earlier. Not that she needed the documents to remind her.

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