His (Personal) Assistant

WHEN IN ROME (DO AS ROMANS DO)

At eight fifteen Tuesday morning, Annika was in Rome, where they took a car service to the Italian Ministry Headquarters. She slipped off her jacket, with the temperature change making it too hot as they rode in silence, and, as she was ignoring her boss as much as possible, didn't see his eyes tracing her curves through the lightweight cotton dress. It was modestly cut, but Shivaay could practically feel her body against his from memory as he looked at her.

"Bleeding fuck," he whispered, forcing himself to look away. If he saw her in a bathing suit, he might implode. The heat was ruining her attempts to have her mane tame around her shoulders, and he watched her graceful movements as she twisted it into a bun at the nape of her neck and secured it with that chopstick she always seemed to carry in case of hair emergencies. Shivaay grunted his annoyance. This was a bad idea, but he hadn't exactly been able to leave her behind. Not with the amount of work planned and duration of the trip.

"What?" she asked, looking up.

"It's hot in here," he lied.

"I know. Do you need more cooling of Air Conditioner?" He pictured in his mind's eye, her hard nipples straining at that damned dress and bit back a curse.

"No, we should be just about there." A few minutes later, they pulled to a stop. Capricci and his stunning aide welcomed them. The dark-skinned man kissed Annika on both cheeks, and the aide gave her a one-armed hug, then greeted him effusively.

"Come, there is much work to be done," Angelo Capricci said at last, and they went into a lift and down to a spacious office.

"Hai fatto un grosso errore mio amico," Capricci murmured to him as they sat and the women conferred privately. (You made a big mistake my friend)

"Care you don't make one of your own, Capricci," Shivaay returned. The Italian smiled.

Capricci: "And yet I'm sure you do not regret it."

S: "You will if you try."

Dark eyes rolled. "Helena, the profit projections." The blonde model arched a brow at Annika, but the next moment selected a file from the stack beside her and slid it over.

Annika found the entire first work week crammed full of dreadfully dull talking and arguing and revising, and was glad Helena was there, and that they'd gotten close. They passed notes back and forth as though they were at school again when their bosses weren't looking, sharing secret smiles and meaningful looks, and the blonde woman helped Annika get her bearings.

Annika had tried to book two rooms for the trip, but the Ministry Treasury Office didn't like that idea. She opted for a rather comfortable sectional in the sitting room of the lavish suite. The first Saturday morning, when they took breakfast in the formal dining room, there was a letter for Shivaay and her, inviting them to take a private Plane to Angelo's Sicilian villa. Annika noticed it was written in Helena's flowing hand and didn't mention it.

"I suppose we'll have to go," Shivaay mumbled, then tossed the letter aside. Annika noticed a post script from Angelo, something in Italian, and tried to commit the strange arrangement of letters to her memory.

They left for Sicily at ten. Annika wrote down the bizarre words as soon as she got back to her day planner, and tore the strip of paper off, then stuffed it into her bra. After the greetings and unpacking, they went out for lunch on a sunny veranda. Annika had worn a strapless dress in the hopes of getting a nice tan across her shoulders, but regretted it when Shivaay looked at her, eyes narrowing accusingly.

Angelo and the arrogant bossman talked business after lunch and Annika wandered across the space as if admiring the view, covertly beckoning to Helena.