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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.
Ever since, her dreams had been tortured by recollections. Not just her dreams, but those idle moments when she allowed her mind to wander, even whilst at work, had suddenly been populated by Marco. Of their own volition, her eyes flicked to the empty chair at the other end of the table.
Marco’s attendance at these meetings was requested, yet never expected. Perhaps there’d been a time, at some point in the Santoro family history, when they’d complained to him about that, pushed him to show up, to be punctual and interested, but if so, that conversation pre-dated Portia’s tenure.
Still, she couldn’t lie to herself. Where she knew she should have been relieved he wasn’t here, that she didn’t have to keep a mask of not-caring in place when Marco was in the room, she was also disappointed, because on some level, she’d been looking forward to seeing him again. Had wanted to see him, and had wanted for him to see him see her.
Her cheeks flamed as she remembered dressing that morning, choosing her outfit with care, aware that there was a chance Marco might appear at the meeting after all. She’d opted for a green silk blouse because she loved the way it felt against her skin and a black fishtail skirt that hugged her hips and fell to the knees. As her hands had slid the zip into place, she’d imagined him loosening it again, and had almost had to take a cold shower to cleanse the thoughts from her mind.
It had been a hard two weeks.
She felt as though sex—sex with Marco, specifically—was all she could think of.
Which was novel and frustrating for Portia in a variety of ways.
“What’s the hold-up then?” Salvatore, the youngest Santoro brother, asked.
“The lawyers are still doing due diligence,” Francesco, a cousin, responded, flicking his pen against the edge of the table. His brown hair had a slight wave to it.
“How long will that take?” Francesco’s older brother Rocco queried from across the table, reaching for his coffee.
“Hard to say,” Francesco shrugged his broad shoulders, the bespoke suit shifting with him.
“I need a timeline,” Dante responded.
“I’ve told them,” Francesco said with a nod. “I’ll get back to you.”
Dante thanked him; Portia made a note in her tablet to follow this up with Francesco’s team later in the day. That was her job. She made sure nothing dropped off Dante’s radar that should have been there. She cleaned up the loose ends, got the information he was likely to require so that it was at his fingertips the moment he needed it.
“There’s also—,”
