Free Untouched Until Marriage by Chantelle Shaw Page A

Power-dressing and scarlet lipstick were clearly de rigueur for the female staff at CC, and when Raul ushered her into the boardroom she was conscious that her unconventional clothes drew glances of shocked disapproval from the eight male executives seated around the table.
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    Four hours later Libby had to concede that running a global company which boasted an annual revenue of several billion pounds and employed twenty thousand staff worldwide was nothing like selling souvenirs to tourists from a market stall in Ibiza.
    Her head ached from trying to understand the discussions that had taken place—even though, out of deference to her, everyone had spoken in English rather than Italian. Now, finally, the meeting was over, and she closed her eyes wearily—but snapped them open again at the sound of Raul’s terse voice.
    â€˜I realise you find the proceedings boring, but I’d appreciate it if you could at least remain conscious during a meeting.’
    She flushed at his sarcasm. ‘I wasn’t bored, and I certainly didn’t fall asleep, but I admit I didn’t understand most of what was discussed.’
    â€˜Then for pity’s sake sign over control of Gino’s shares to me and allow me to get on with running CC,’ Raul bit out savagely, his eyes darkening with fury when she shook her head. Jaw tense, he tore his gaze from Libby and resisted the urge to brush a stray flame-coloured curl off her face.
    â€˜Tonight’s function starts at eight, which means you have plenty of time to find something suitable to wear,’ he told her as he ushered her out of the boardroom and into the lift. ‘Many of the top designer boutiques are in Via Condotti and Piazza di Spagna,’ he added as the lift doors opened at the ground floor. ‘I’ll take you to your appointment with the personal stylist, but I’m due at another meeting so I will have to leave you with her.’
    â€˜Whoa!’ Libby exclaimed as she raced across the marble foyer, trying to keep up with Raul’s long stride. ‘I don’t need a personal stylist.’
    He turned his head and ran his eyes slowly over her, from her unruly red curls, huge purple hoop earrings and psychedelic top, down to her minuscule skirt and shudderingly awful pink rubber flip-flops. And to his intense frustration realised that he still wanted her more than he had wanted any other woman. ‘You most certainly do,’ he assured her grimly. ‘You are a representative of Carducci Cosmetics now, and I will not allow you to attend a prestigious dinner looking like someone who scrubs floors for a living.’
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    Two hours later, Raul strode into the five-star hotel where the dinner was to be held, and made his way to the bar where he had told Libby to meet him.
    He might have known she would be late, he thought irritably as he glanced around the room and failed to spot anyone wearing a garishly coloured outfit. Presumably the queen of clashing colours would appear at any moment. He had explained to her that when she had finished shopping Tito, his driver, would take her back to his penthouse apartment so that she could change for the dinner, before the chauffer drove her to the hotel. So where was she? he wondered impatiently, when a glance at his watch revealed that it was ten minutes past the time he had arranged to meet her.
    He moved his gaze slowly along the line of people sitting on stools by the bar, and his attention was caught by a shimmer of amethyst silk. The woman had her back to him, but as he lifted his eyes from the silver stiletto heels visible below her long skirt, up to her to her slender waist, and then higher to her milky-pale shoulders revealed by her strapless dress, he felt a jolt of stunned recognition. Her flame-coloured hair had been cleverly tamed and smoothed into loose, silky curls that rippled down her back, but he was not mistaken: it was Libby.
    Hot, primitive desire kicked in