A Shadow of Guilt(39)
Valentina had a sudden morbid fear of Gio coming through the door. The sting of rejection came back vividly. She knew if she was in close proximity to him she might not be able to disguise her far too disturbing emotions. Or the fact that she wanted him with a hunger that was shameful.
Gio’s voice came back hard and implacable as the wood of the door. ‘Either you let me in, Valentina, or I use the master key to let myself in.’
Valentina crossed her arms and hissed out, ‘That’s a blatant infringement of my employee rights. If you do any such thing I’ll quit right now and sue you for harassment!’
The eloquent answer to that was the unmistakable sound of a key going into her lock and turning. The door opened to reveal a dark and dishevelled-looking Gio with bow tie hanging completely askew now, his jacket hanging off one finger. And Valentina felt the inevitable surge of electricity between them like a doom-laden klaxon going off.
He was in and the door was shut firmly behind him again before she’d recovered from the shock. Gio’s dark eyes were running over her and he said throatily, ‘We hadn’t finished our discussion about your wardrobe.’
Those words returned Valentina to reality with a bump. She moved away, tightening her arms across her chest. ‘I am not discussing this with you now. So if you don’t mind …?’
Gio casually threw his jacket onto a nearby chair and leant back easily against the door, and looked at her. ‘I don’t mind at all—you can do what you like once we’ve finished our conversation.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
VALENTINA LOOKED FROM the strewn jacket to him and then turned and paced away, glad she’d at least taken off her shoes because her legs felt wobbly enough at the moment. She turned back, feeling seriously jittery now and threatened to have her private space invaded like this, especially when she thought of the frothy lace excuses for underwear in the boxes in the other room. ‘I told you, Gio—I’m not one of your mistresses so please don’t feel like you have to kit me out in a similar manner.’
Gio flushed and Valentina took a step back.
His voice rang with indignation. ‘I’ve never had a mistress in my life—lots of one-night stands that I’m not proud of, but no mistress. I’ve never wanted to spend that much time with a woman.’
It was Valentina’s turn to flush. She felt confused and didn’t like the warm glow his words left in her gut. ‘So … why did you …?’ She trailed off and then tacked on, ‘Look, if you felt that I was letting you down with my own clothes you could have just said something and I’d have gone shopping myself.’
Gio straightened up from the door and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. ‘Dio. I didn’t feel as if you were letting me down. Damn it, Valentina, you could have been dressed in a sack and still outshone every woman there. You’d mentioned that you hadn’t had time to shop….’
The glow of warmth in Valentina’s gut spread and she panicked when she recalled her earlier vulnerability, the temptation to put on one of the dresses, wanting to look beautiful for Gio. That suddenly galvanised her into movement and Valentina stalked into the bedroom and gathered all the dresses up, along with the shoes, underwear and jewellery, in her arms.
Uncaring of the fact that she was leaving a trail behind her, she was only intent on getting rid of Gio and this reminder of how fragile she was around him. She came back and dumped it on a chair near him, the red dress slithering to a silken mound on the floor.
Valentina was breathing far more heavily than that little trip had warranted. She crossed her arms again and looked at Gio, who caught her gaze with a suspiciously impassive expression.
‘Look, I appreciate it, really. But I can buy my own clothes and I’ll go shopping tomorrow.’
A little scared by Gio’s lack of reaction Valentina blurted out, ‘It’s not as if you went to the trouble of getting them yourself….’ She flushed when she thought of the exquisite underwear and had a sudden fantasy that Gio had looked at it and imagined her in it. That spurred her back into the bedroom and she returned holding out the typewritten note. She held it up like evidence at a trial. ‘Look! Your assistant wrote this—you probably weren’t even aware of what you were signing.’
Gio’s arms were crossed now and he growled softly, ‘Yes, I was, because I wrote that note. No one else. Just like I had the boutique send over a selection of dresses and I chose the ones I thought would suit you best.’