New Year at the Boss's Bidding

His guilt and anguish about the accident would soon become evident and that was something he went to great lengths to conceal—even from himself. He hadn’t spent one night with a woman since he’d banished Carlotta from his life the day after the accident. So why was the idea of being with Tilly becoming so appealing?

He looked up at the large clock on the kitchen wall. Just four more hours until his family arrived. He resented that they’d come all the way from Italy, forcing him to host the evening, challenging him to be the man he’d been before the accident. If it had been anyone else other than his parents suggesting they spend New Year’s Eve celebrating, he’d have said no.

At least once they were here he would be safe from the temptation of this bright and bubbly blonde, the first woman who had tempted him since the accident.

‘When do you expect your staff to arrive?’ He hoped it was soon, because right now he wanted to kiss her, just as he’d wanted to in the dining room. He still couldn’t comprehend that within less than an hour of her arrival he’d been forced to hold back the need to feel her lips beneath his.

That sort of loss of control was not him. He was calm and precise in all he did, paying attention to every small detail. He knew well enough exactly what one moment of recklessness could do. To want to kiss this woman was irresponsible in every sense of the word, but he liked to get what he wanted—and right now that was Natalie Rogers.

She glanced at the clock, then back at him. ‘They should be here just after lunch.’

‘Va bene,’ he replied, as he moved towards the table and closer to Tilly, unexplainably drawn to her. She looked warily at him, reinforcing the boundaries she’d already subtly laid down. So why did he want to challenge and test them?

All he needed to do was avoid the kitchen until her staff arrived. If he locked himself away in the small lounge he’d chosen as his study he could finish the reports he’d brought with him and avoid giving in to the primal call this woman was making to him. It was something he’d never known before and adrenalin flowed through him, making him feel alive and powerful. Exactly the way he’d always felt sitting astride his bike at the beginning of a race, when the desire to win had been all that had mattered.

Not that he’d ever race again. Those days were over—finished by an accident which lingered in his mind by day and haunted his dreams by night. Instead he’d increased production at his bike factory in Milan and set up a scholarship school, touring Europe in the hope of teaching young riders to race safely.

His heart thumped and in his head unbidden memories lurked, threatening to overwhelm him. He leant on the back of a chair, waiting for the pain in his legs to pass, a constant reminder of the months he’d spent in hospital after the crash. He gritted his teeth against his anger.

For the last year he’d been free of moments like this—at least during the day. He knew exactly why it was happening again. Because it was Christmas. The time of year he thought of a family missing that one special person—the rider he’d brought down by his reckless riding. His friend, damn it.

A warm hand touched his arm. The feel of it through his shirt and cashmere sweater brought him back from the edge of the guilt-filled hole he’d been looking into, which had been threatening to drag him back into its hellish depths.

‘Are you okay?’ Tilly’s soft voice, full of concern, hauled him back the rest of the way. He lifted his head and looked directly into her eyes, which were as blue as the sea on a summer day.

‘Sì,’ he growled and pushed back from the chair, severing the contact of her touch. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. He didn’t need her soft touch and concern. If she knew the truth, knew all the damning facts about the accident, she wouldn’t be so quick to offer her compassion.

He sensed her draw back. Saw her step away, anxiously catching her bottom lip with her teeth, but still the anger and guilt he’d carried since the accident raged inside him. Tilly was doing exactly what Carlotta had done the first day she’d visited him in hospital—backing away in disgust. Carlotta had despised him because of what had happened. The unwritten message in her face had fuelled his guilt and anger.

‘Are you sure?’ Tilly’s voice, hesitant and gentle, cracked the bubble of agony he was in, but anger at the vulnerability she’d exposed remained, tormenting and weakening him.

‘Of course I’m sure.’ The harsh words snapped from him ungraciously. He needed to get the hell out of here, before her concern tipped him over the edge and he submitted to the urge to confide in her about the guilt he’d carried alone for the last three years.