by Annie West
He looked down and her golden brown eyes widened as if in shock.
‘I’m not going away,’ he murmured, suppressing an inexplicable desire to lift his hand and see if her pale face was as soft as it appeared. The realisation threw him, making his voice emerge harshly. ‘My business won’t wait.’
Again she swallowed. He followed the movement of her slim throat with a fascination that surprised him. The scent of her skin filled his nostrils: feminine warmth and the tang of cinnamon.
Abruptly she stepped back, her chest rising and falling quickly, drawing his attention till he snapped his eyes back to her face.
‘In that case you can talk with me.’ She turned and led the way into the salon, her steps a clipped, staccato beat on the honey-coloured wood floor.
Jonas dragged his gaze from the sway of her hips in dark trousers and followed, furious to find himself distracted from his purpose even for a moment.
She settled herself on an overstuffed chair near a window framed by cloth of gold curtains. Hoping to put him at a disadvantage with her back to the light? It was such an obvious ploy. Instead of taking a seat Jonas prowled the room, knowing that with each passing moment her unease increased. Whoever she was, she was in cahoots with Silvia Ruggiero. Jonas wouldn’t trust her an inch.
‘Why should I share my business with a stranger?’ He peered at an over-decorated ormolu clock.
Was there nothing in this place that wasn’t overdone? It reeked of a nouveau riche fixation with show and quantity rather than quality. His cursory survey had revealed the best pieces in the room to be fakes. But that had been his father—all show and no substance. Especially when it came to things like love or loyalty.
‘I’m not a stranger.’ Her tone was curt. ‘Perhaps if you stopped your crude inventory you’d realise that.’
To Jonas’ surprise unfamiliar heat rose under his skin. True, his behaviour was crass, calculated to unnerve rather than reassure. But he felt no need to ingratiate himself with his father’s mistress or her crony.
He took his time swinging around to meet her eyes.
‘Then perhaps you’ll do me the courtesy of answering my question. Who are you?’
‘I thought that would be obvious. I’m Ravenna. Silvia’s daughter.’
* * *
Ravenna watched shock freeze Jonas’ features.
You’d think after all these years she’d be used to it, but still it struck her a blow.
She’d been a gawky child, all long limbs and feet and a nose it had taken years to grow into. With her dark, Italian looks, exotic name and husky voice she’d been the odd one out in her English country schools. When people saw her with her petite, ravishingly beautiful mother, the kindest comments had been about her being ‘different’ or ‘striking’. The unkindest, at the boarding school her mother had scrimped to send her to—well, she’d put that behind her years ago.
But she’d thought Jonas would remember her, even if she’d worn braces and plaits last time they’d met.
True it had taken her a few moments to recognise him. To reconcile the grim, abrasive intruder in the exquisitely tailored clothes with the young man who’d treated her so kindly the day he’d found her curled in misery behind the stables. He’d been softer then, more understanding. To her dazed teenage eyes he’d shone like a demigod, powerful, reassuring and sexy in the unattainable way of movie stars.
Who’d have thought someone with such charm could turn into a louse?
Only the sex appeal was unchanged.
She looked again into those narrowed pewter-grey eyes that surveyed her so closely.
No, that had changed too. The softness of youth had been pared from Jonas Deveson’s features, leaving them austerely sculpted and attractively spare, the product of generations of aristocratic breeding. He wasn’t a chinless wonder of pampered privilege but the sort of hard-edged, born-to-authority man you could imagine defending Deveson Hall astride a warhorse, armed with sword and mace.
From his superbly arrogant nose to his strong chin, from his thick, dark hair to his wide shoulders and deep chest, Jonas was the sort to make females lose their heads.
How could she find him attractive when he oozed disapproval? When his barely veiled aggression had kept her on tenterhooks from the moment he stalked in the door?
But logic had little to do with the frisson of awareness skimming Ravenna’s skin and swirling in her abdomen.
Steadily she returned his searching look. No matter how handsome he was, or how used to command, she wasn’t about to fall in with his assumption of authority.
‘What’s your business with my mother?’ Ravenna sat back, crossing one leg over the other and placing her hands on the arms of the chair as if totally relaxed.
He flicked a look from her legs to her face and she felt a prick of satisfaction that she’d surprised him. Did he expect her to bow and scrape in his presence? The thought shored up her anger.
‘When will she be back?’ No mistaking the banked fury in those flashing eyes. For all his outward show of calm his patience was on a short leash.
‘If you can’t answer politely, you might as well leave.’ Ravenna shot to her feet. She had enough on her plate without dealing with Piers’ privileged son. Just confronting him sapped her already low stamina. The last thing she needed was for him to guess how weak she felt. He’d just railroad her into doing his bidding—he had that look about him.
She was halfway to the door when his words stopped her.
‘My business with your mother is private.’
Slowly she turned, cataloguing the harsh light in his eyes and the straight set of his mouth. Whatever his business it spelled trouble and Mamma wasn’t in any state to deal with him. She was floundering, trying to adjust to the loss of the man she’d loved so ardently. Ravenna had to protect her.
‘My mother’s not in Paris. You can deal with me.’
He shook his head and took a pace towards her. It ate up the space between them alarmingly, bringing him within touching distance.
Did she imagine she felt the heat of his body warm her?
‘Where is she?’ It wasn’t a request but a demand. ‘Tell me now.’
Ravenna curled her fingers into tight fists, her nails scoring her flesh. His high-handed attitude infuriated her.
‘I’m not your servant.’ By a miracle she kept her voice even. She knew the guilt Silvia had suffered for years because of this man’s refusal to reconcile with his father. ‘My mother might have worked for your family once but don’t think you can come here and throw your weight around. You have no power over me.’
Anger pulsed between them, so strong she felt it throb hard against her chest wall.
At least she thought it was anger. The air between them clogged with tension that stole her breath and furred the nape of her neck.
‘But I do have power over your mother.’ The words were silky soft, like an endearment. But it was suppressed violence she heard in that smooth baritone, a clear threat.
‘What do you mean?’ Alarm raised her voice an octave.
‘I mean your mother’s in serious trouble.’
Fear clawed at Ravenna’s throat and she swallowed hard, taking in the pitiless gleam in his silvery eyes.
Understanding hit. ‘You’re not here to help, are you?’
His bark of laughter confirmed the icy foreboding slithering along Ravenna’s spine.
‘Hardly!’ He paused, as if savouring the moment. ‘I’m here to see she goes to prison for her crimes.’
CHAPTER TWO
RAVENNA LOCKED HER knees as the room swirled sickeningly.
She reached out a groping hand to steady herself and grabbed fabric, fingers digging claw-like as she fought panic.
The last few months had been tougher t
han anything she could once have imagined. They’d tested her to the limits of endurance. But nothing had prepared her to confront such pure hatred as she saw in Jonas Deveson’s face. There was no softness in his expression, just adamantine determination. It scared her to the core.
Shock slammed into her and the knowledge, surer with every gasping breath, that he was serious. He intended to send her mother to prison.
A hand covered hers to the wrist, long fingers encompassing hers easily, sending darts of searing heat through her chilled flesh.
Stunned, Ravenna looked down to find she’d grabbed the only thing near—the lapel of Jonas Deveson’s tailored jacket. Now he held her hard and fast.
‘Are you all right?’ Concern turned his deep voice to mellow treacle. She felt it softening sinew and taut muscle, easing her shocked stasis enough that she finally managed to inhale. The spinning room settled.
She tugged her hand away. Worryingly, she felt cold without that skin-to-skin contact.
Ravenna spun on her foot and paced to the window. This time when she clutched fabric it was the heavy gold swag of curtain. It was rich and smooth under her tingling fingers, but not as reassuring as the fine wool warmed by Jonas Deveson’s body.
She shook her head, banishing the absurd thought.
‘Ravenna?’
Her head jerked up. She remembered him calling her by name years before, the only time they’d really talked. In her emotionally charged state then she’d imagined no one but he could ever make her name sound so appealing. For years her unusual name had been the source of countless jibes. She’d been labelled the scrawny raven and far, far worse at school. It was disturbing to discover that even now he turned her name into something special.
‘What?’
‘Are you okay?’ His voice came from closer and she stiffened her spine.
‘As okay as you can expect when you barge in here threatening my mother with gaol.’
For a moment longer Ravenna stared out of the window. The Place des Vosges, elegant and symmetrical with its manicured gardens, looked as unchanged as ever, as if nothing could disturb its self-conscious complacency.
But she’d learned the hard way that real life was never static, never safe.
Reluctantly she turned to find him looming over her, his eyes unreadable.
‘What is she supposed to have done?’
‘There’s no suppose about it. Do you think I’d come here—’ his voice was ripe with contempt as he swept the salon with a wide gesture ‘—if it wasn’t fact?’
Ravenna’s heart dropped. She couldn’t believe her mother had done anything terrible, but at the same time she knew only the most extreme circumstances would bring Jonas Deveson within a kilometre of Silvia Ruggiero. There was hatred in his eyes when he spoke of her.
‘You’re too angry to think straight.’ At her words his lowering dark brows shot up towards his hairline. Clearly this was a man unused to opposition.
She drew another, slower breath. ‘You’ve despised my mother for years and now you think you’ve found a way to make her pay for the sin of falling in love with your father.’
The sizzle of fire in his eyes told her she’d hit the nail on the head. Her hands slipped onto her hips as she let righteous indignation fortify her waning strength.
‘I think you’ve decided that, without Piers here to defend her, she’s easy prey.’ Her breath hitched. ‘But she’s not alone. You’d do well to remember that.’
‘What? She’s moved on already?’ His voice was contemptuous. ‘She’s found another protector to take his place? That must be some sort of record.’
Ravenna wasn’t aware of lunging towards him but suddenly she was so close she saw his pupils dilate as her open hand swung up hard and fast towards his cheek.
The movement came to a juddering halt that reverberated through her as he caught her wrist. He lifted it high so she stretched up on her toes, leaning towards him. Her breasts, belly and thighs tingled as if from an electric charge as the heat of his body, mere centimetres away, burned hers.
His eyebrows lowered, angling down straight and obstinate over eyes so intent they seemed to peer into her very soul.
His scent—clean male skin and a hint of citrus—invaded her nostrils. Abruptly she realised she’d ventured too far into dangerous territory when she found herself inhaling and holding her breath.
A shimmy of reaction jittered through her. A reaction she couldn’t name. It froze the air in her lungs.
Instinct warned he was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with her mother.
Ravenna tugged hard but he refused to release her hand.
Leaning up towards him like this, almost touching along the length of their bodies, Ravenna became fully aware of the raw, masculine power hidden beneath the designer suit. The clothes were those of an urbane businessman. The burning stare and aura of charged testosterone spoke instead of primitive male power, barely leashed.
She breathed deep, trying to douse rising panic, and registered an unfamiliar spicy musk note in the air. Her nerves stretched tighter.
Never had Ravenna felt so aware of the imbalance of physical power between male and female. Of the fact that, despite her height, she was no match for this man who held her so easily and so off balance.
‘Nobody slaps me.’ His lips barely moved, yet Ravenna felt his warm breath on her face with each terse word.
‘Nobody insults my mother like that.’
Even stretched taut against him, her mind grappling with a multitude of new sensations, she refused to back down. She stared into those glittering, merciless eyes and felt a thrill of fear, realising he was utterly unyielding.
‘Then we’re at an impasse, Ms Ruggiero.’
Did he tug her closer or did she sway towards him? Suddenly keeping her balance was almost impossible as she teetered on the balls of her feet.
‘In which case there’s no need for the macho act. You can let me go.’ She paused, deliberately going limp in his hold. ‘Unless you feel you have something to prove.’
Relief gushed through her as he released her.
Rather than let him see it, Ravenna bent her head as if examining her wrist for bruises. There wouldn’t be any. His touch hadn’t been brutal, but its implacability had scared her.
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ she said finally, looking up into his arresting, aristocratic face. ‘My mother loved your father.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’ Jonas shook his head, his lips curling in a sneer. ‘I’m not some callow kid who believes in fairy tales. She was on the make—out to snare a rich lover. It was obvious to everyone.’ He raised a silencing hand when she would have spoken. ‘She flaunted herself every chance she got.’
‘My mother never—’
‘He was years older, with a wife, a home, a family. He had an extraordinarily comfortable lifestyle, the respect of his peers and a social life he revelled in. You think a man of my father’s disposition would give all that up unless he’d been lured into it by a clever gold-digger?’
Ravenna hesitated, as ever torn by the knowledge of how many people had been hurt by Piers and her mother. But loyalty made her speak up.
‘You don’t believe in love, then?’
‘Love?’ He almost snorted the word. ‘Silvia pandered to his desires in the most obvious way. I’m sure he loved flaunting her just as he loved showing off his other possessions.’ His gaze raked the room, lingering on a Cézanne on the far wall that Ravenna knew for a fact was a copy of an original sold just last year. The derisive twist of Jonas’ lips told her he knew it too.
‘And as for her...’ Wide shoulders shrugged. ‘He was just a meal ticket. They had nothing in common except a love of luxury and an aversion to hard work. Why should she toil on as a housekeeper when she could be
kept in style for simply letting him—’
‘That’s enough!’ Bile blocked Ravenna’s throat and she swallowed hard, forcing it down. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of your poison.’
His brows rose. ‘You’re hardly a schoolkid any more, Ravenna.’ This time when he said her name there was no lingering warmth and no frisson of subtle reaction. ‘You can’t pretend.’
‘Leave it!’ She put up her hand for silence. ‘We’ll never agree, so leave it.’ She hefted in a deep, steadying breath. ‘Just cut to the chase and tell me why you’re here.’
* * *
Fury still sizzled in Jonas’ blood so he took his time slowing his breathing and finding his equilibrium. It wasn’t like him to lose his cool. He was known for his detachment, his calm clarity of vision even in the most potentially dangerous of commercial ventures.
And in his personal life...he’d learned his lesson early, watching his father lurch from one failed love affair to another. He’d seen the ecstatic highs of each new fixation, then the boredom and disappointment of each failure.
Jonas wasn’t like his father. He’d made it his business to be as different from the old man as humanly possible. He was rock steady, reliable, controlled.
Except right now his hands shook with the force of his feelings. He swept the gilded room with a contemptuous glance and assured himself it was inevitable his father’s flashy love nest would evoke a reaction.
‘Well? I’m waiting.’
At her husky voice he turned to survey her.
Ravenna Ruggiero. He’d never have recognised her as the tear-stained girl he remembered. Then she’d been lanky with the coltishness of youth, her features still settling and her hair in ribbons, as if to remind him she was still a child. Only her mouth and her stunning eyes had hinted at beauty. And the low register of her voice that even then had unsettled him with its promise of sensuality to come.
It had come all right.
Silvia Ruggiero had been a stunning woman in her prime. But her daughter, even dressed in sombre, loose clothes, outshone her as a flawless diamond did a showy synthetic gem.
