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Poppy flushed at the dressing down. ‘It’s a Sunday,’ she explained, forcing herself not to tuck thick strands of her untidy brown hair behind her ear. ‘And I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in.’ Which wasn’t really much of an explanation when he stood before her in a snowy-white dress shirt, red tie and dark trousers that did little to hide his powerful thighs.
‘Yes, it is a Sunday. So why are you here?’
‘I have a week left and I wanted to finish up a presentation for Mr Adams. He said it would be fine if I came in.’
One dark eyebrow rose. ‘Taking dedication a bit far, isn’t it?’
‘Not if you want to get ahead,’ she said simply. ‘And I’d love to work here when I graduate. Being flexible and committed are just two of the things interns can do to stand out.’
Sure that he was about to toss her out of his office, maybe via one of those plate glass windows, she was surprised when instead he asked, ‘What are the others?’
‘Be punctual, treat the position like a job and dress for success.’ She ticked off each item on her fingers.
His gaze fell to her ancient skinny jeans and Poppy tried not to cringe. When she had first started at SJC five weeks ago she had imagined one day meeting this man, who was reported to be some sort of corporate god, but in her imaginings it hadn’t quite gone like this.
‘Broke that one, I see,’ he said sardonically.
Poppy felt heat creep into her cheeks and realised that her heart was beating at double its normal rate. Probably ‘finding your boss attractive’ wasn’t on that special intern’s list either, and she tried to crank up the wheels of her sluggish brain to think of a way to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation.
When the phone rang on his desk it broke the taught silence between them and also threw Poppy a welcome lifeline.
‘Let me get that,’ she said in her most businesslike manner.
Before he could respond, she had made it to his desk and snatched up the phone. She smiled widely at him as she chirped, ‘Mr Castiglione’s office,’ in her most professional voice.
Her smile dimmed as she strained to listen to the teary sound of a woman on the other end of the line. She had a heavily accented voice and, coupled with her distress, Poppy could just make out, ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ and, ‘Is Sebastiano in?’
‘Yes, he is here,’ Poppy said, all too aware that the man they were discussing had not taken his eyes off her. ‘Yes, of course. Just a moment.’ Not knowing which button on the handset was the mute, she held out the phone. ‘It’s for you,’ she half-whispered.
Once more his eyebrow climbed his forehead. ‘What a surprise.’
Feeling as if she had mucked up again, she stepped back from his radiating warmth as he moved closer and took the phone.
‘Yes?’ he barked into it.
Seeing his scowl instantly deepen, Poppy decided to take the initiative and make him a coffee. She had noticed the red light glowing on the coffee machine in his outer office and, since there was no cup on his desk, it stood to reason that he’d intended to make one but hadn’t had the time.
Well, she would fix that and earn herself some Brownie points in the process. Maybe some of the ones she had lost handing him a call that, now that she thought about, was most likely from his current girlfriend. Or ex, given that the woman was crying. His short-term conquests were the stuff of legend around the office. As was the expensive break-up-and-move-on jewellery he supposedly got Paula to buy for them at the end.
Eager to get home and check on Simon, and give Maryann a hug and a cup of tea, she hurried to the coffee machine, surprised to find her boss still on the call when she set the cup down beside him. He passed a weary hand through his hair and she was inordinately pleased with herself for thinking of the coffee when he suddenly reached out and manacled her wrist with his large hand, preventing her from leaving.
Poppy instantly stilled, staring down at his darkly tanned fingers that were now idly stroking the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. Her breath hitched as darts of wicked pleasure shot up her arm. Her eyes shot to his and she could tell by the way his brilliant green eyes narrowed that he had registered her heated reaction.
Lust turned her knees to water. Lust and disbelief because, not only was this man her current boss, but he was listening to a woman—who she was now pretty certain was his girlfriend—sobbing on the end of the phone while caressing her!
Louse!
Annoyed that she had felt such pleasure given the circumstances, Poppy jerked her hand back, knocking over the coffee mug she had only moments ago set so carefully in front of him. Before either of them could react, the contents of the mug went flying over the desk, dark liquid splattering all over the front of her boss’s pristine white shirt.
Sebastiano let out an explosive round of Italian curse words that made Poppy blush even though she didn’t understand a single one of them.
She stared open-mouthed as he hung up his call, holding his sopping wet shirt away from his chest.
‘What the hell was that?’ he ground out, fury splitting the air between them.
‘I... You...’ Glancing around wildly, Poppy grabbed a wad of tissues from a side cabinet and started dabbing at his chest. When he held his hand up for her to stop, she noticed that drops had splashed down onto his crotch and, without thinking, she dabbed at the offending liquid only to have that hand manacle her wrist again. This time without the light stroking.
‘There’s a shirt hanging in the closet behind you. Get it.’
Glancing up into his irritated gaze, Poppy felt a fresh wave of heat fill her cheeks. The air seemed to thicken and crackle between them like heat shimmering off concrete on a hot day. ‘Yes, sorry. I...’
‘Any time today would be good,’ he growled.
‘Right,’ she stammered.
Even more annoyed with herself, she reached into his closet and ripped the clear plastic from a fresh shirt, not at all ready to turn around and find her boss shirtless and wiping his ripped, tanned abdomen with another wad of tissues.
Good God, the man had sheets of muscles layered on top of more muscles, and all of that bronzed, fit perfection was covered in a pelt of healthy dark hair that arrowed down...
‘I—You—’ She pointed to the vicinity of his torso. ‘You have a red mark on your chest. Do you want me to get some salve for it?’
‘No, I do not want you to do anything else,’ he bit out.
‘Okay.’ Poppy thrust the shirt at him, turning her burning face away, hoping he couldn’t hear her thundering heartbeat. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered, her throat tight with embarrassment. ‘I don’t know what happened. I’m not usually so clumsy—really I’m not—but when you... I just... I’m really sorry.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ he bit out tersely.
Hearing the rustle of fabric, Poppy turned back to find him shoving the ends of his shirt into his trousers and swallowed hard. She wished she didn’t know what lay beneath that shirt because she couldn’t get the image of his toned torso out of her head. She watched, mute, as he straightened his cuffs and wound his red tie around his neck.
‘At least the coffee missed your tie,’ she offered.
His cutting glance told her more than words how little he thought of her comment. ‘Is that supposed to make up for you dousing me with coffee?’
‘I didn’t douse you,’ she said with a touch of asperity. ‘You were rubbing my wrist while breaking up with your girlfriend.’
‘And that made you spill coffee all over me?’
‘I didn’t do it deliberately,’ she said, secretly thinking that actually he deserved it. ‘Maybe you should be thankful it wasn’t hot.’
His implacable gaze held hers. ‘It was hot.’
Poppy bit her lip and watched with interest as he tussled with his tie. Cursing, he yanked it off and started over. Her lips twitched as her annoyance dissipated. There was something completely disarming about a man of his size and capability wrangling with an innocent strip of fabric. ‘Do you want me to help you with that?’
Once more he flicked her with his green gaze. ‘I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?’
She held her hands up in front of her. ‘Look—no coffee.’
Not even the trace of a smile crossed his sinful lips and she thought it such a shame that a man who was so good-looking should have no sense of humour.
Wondering if now might be the best moment for her to cut her losses she paused when he indicated to the computer open on his desk.
‘Can you use a Mac?’
Hesitating only briefly she marshalled her usually sunny nature and smiled at him. ‘Yes.’
‘I need a report printed off before my grandfather arrives for a meeting. Think you can handle it?’
Poppy moistened her dry lips. ‘Of course.’ She sat down in his chair and set her fingers on the keyboard. ‘What’s the name of the file?’
He leaned forward and she got a delicious whiff of sandalwood cologne. ‘If I knew that, intern, I’d already have it done, wouldn’t I?’
‘Oh, well, yes...’ When she realised how close he was behind her Poppy’s voice trailed off, her lips drying up again faster than a trickle of water in the Mojave Desert.
‘It’ll be something to do with Castiglione Europa, or CE for short,’ he growled.
Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach Poppy scanned the folders on the screen and didn’t see anything related to either of those. Then her eyes fell on an interesting one.
‘Are you getting married?’ she queried, peeking up at him.
‘No.’ He scowled. ‘Why would you ask that?’
‘No reason. Except Paula’s got a file called “Operation Marriage” but that’s probably got to do with the bet and not what you’re looking for.’
‘The what?’
Poppy told herself to shut up but knew by his thunderous expression that she was going to have to explain herself. ‘The bet,’ she said in an upbeat manner. ‘Even I’ve heard that your grandfather is encouraging you to settle down—and, well... some of the legal department have dubbed it “Operation Marriage”.’
His gaze turned flinty. ‘I see the office grapevine is alive and well, then. Why have I not heard it?’
‘Well, because the gossip is about you—obviously. But don’t worry. Nobody thinks you’ll do it.’
‘Good to know my staff know me well at least.’
Poppy shrugged, relieved that he didn’t seem annoyed by her revelation. ‘I take it by your reaction you can’t imagine anything worse than marriage?’
‘Death.’
Poppy’s smile grew at his grim tone. ‘Right. But I think it’s kind of sweet, actually. Your grandfather wanting you to find love.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’ He leaned over her. ‘Click on the folder. Now open that file.’ He pointed at the screen and Poppy had to force herself to focus on his instructions and not his steely arm brushing the outside of hers. ‘There. Send that report to print.’ He straightened away from the chair and cursed again.
Poppy glanced up to find him yanking his tie open again.
‘I do know how to tie a tie,’ she murmured.
His gaze told her he’d rather set his hair on fire than have her help him again.
‘Fine.’ His hands dropped to his sides and the two ends of the tie dangled down his lean body like twin arrows signalling paradise. ‘I’m all yours.’
Sure that her face must look as hot as it felt Poppy reminded herself of the last man she had found attractive, and how that had ended for her and her brother.
Fortified by that particularly humiliating memory, she gripped the tie and reached up, doing her best to ignore the dark stubble that lined his hard jaw. He was tall, well over six feet, and she had to rise onto her toes to position the knot in the centre of his throat. This close, she could feel his heat, and smell his potently male scent. It made her want to lean in and nuzzle against him, to breath it in more deeply.
Not that she would. She wasn’t a fool.
She noticed his tanned throat working as her fingers grazed his skin and she steadfastly refused to look at his face. ‘What kind of knot do you want?’ she asked, her voice husky and unlike the way it usually sounded.
‘What kind of knots can you do?’ His seemed deeper too, rougher.
‘All of them.’
‘All of them?’
Braving a quick glance upwards, she found that his eyes were heavy lidded as they met hers.
‘Just how many are there?’ he asked.
‘Eighteen that I know of.’
‘Eighteen.’ His eyes glittered down into hers. ‘Can you name them?’
‘Yes. Do you want me to?’
‘No.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘You’ve obviously done this before. Lucky guy.’
‘Mannequin.’ She adjusted the length of the tie and created a loop. ‘I dressed in-store mannequins part-time during high school.’
His lips twisted into a small smirk. ‘Lucky in-store mannequins.’
Poppy’s hand flattened against his chest as the tie slipped. She could feel his heart beating heavy and strong beneath his breastbone... Was that a shudder that just went through his big body?
All of a sudden she felt surrounded by his warmth, his deliciously male smell, and she had to swallow hard before speaking. ‘So, which one do you want?’ she asked thickly.
‘Just do a Windsor knot.’ The words seemed to rumble out of his chest.
‘That’s the one most men prefer,’ she said.
‘Are you calling me common, Miss Connolly?’
‘No.’ Poppy tugged a length of the tie through another loop, her heart beating twice as fast as usual. ‘It’s just that it’s the largest, and most men who wear neckties like to have a large knot.’
‘Most women probably like them to have a large knot as well.’ His voice was deep, his chest rising and falling evenly beneath her suddenly clumsy fingers. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
Deciding not to take this conversation any further for fear that he might actually be flirting with her, and it was the last thing she wanted, she concentrated on finishing the knot. ‘I wouldn’t know, Mr Castiglione. I don’t date men who wear ties.’ In fact she didn’t date period.
‘No?’
‘No.’
