At Dante's Service

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, firmly removing Alicia’s hand from his arm. ‘I’m in court tomorrow to represent a client and I need to read through the case notes tonight.’

  She frowned petulantly but, perhaps sensing that his patience was running low, she did not argue. ‘Can you at least drive me home? I hate travelling by taxi.’

  Dante was willing to do anything to get rid of her. ‘Of course,’ he agreed politely. ‘Are you ready to leave now?’

  ‘I’ll just collect my wrap,’ she told him.

  Half an hour later, James and Susanna Portman and their guests had all departed but Dante was still waiting to give Alicia a lift. With escalating impatience, he strode into the kitchen and found Rebekah still at work. Pages of recipe notes were spread over the worktop and a tempting aroma that he hoped was his dinner drifted from the oven.

  She glanced at him as he entered the room and his sharp eyes noted that she still looked pale, although her face was not as bloodless as it had been when she had reacted so strangely in the garden.

  ‘Are you all right now?’

  She gave him a surprised look, but he noted that she had stiffened defensively at his question.

  ‘Yes, of course. Why shouldn’t I be all right?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘I got the impression when we were admiring James’s little boy that you were upset by something. You turned as white as a ghost when he asked if you wanted to hold the baby.’

  ‘Oh—I had a migraine,’ Rebekah said after a long pause. ‘It came on suddenly and I had to rush away and take some painkillers.’

  Dante’s eyes narrowed on the twin spots of colour that had flared on her cheeks. She was possibly the worst liar he had ever met, he mused. But she clearly was not going to tell him what had bothered her and he had no option but to drop the subject. He did not even understand why he was curious about a member of his staff.

  For some reason he felt more irritable than ever. A glance at his watch revealed that it was nearly seven o’clock. He had a couple of hours’ work to do tonight and he wished now that he had not agreed to drive Alicia back to her home on the other side of London.

  ‘Have you seen Miss Benson?’ he asked tersely.

  ‘I certainly have. She’s in the front sitting room, in floods of tears—poor woman.’

  Dante did not miss the tart edge to Rebekah’s tone. He frowned. ‘Do you know why she’s upset?’

  ‘Obviously you upset her.’ Rebekah compressed her lips. ‘She told me that the two of you had had an argument. She was crying, so I suggested she should try and calm down. I think you should go and talk to her.’

  Dante felt his temper begin to simmer. What the hell was Alicia playing at? He strode across the kitchen. ‘I’ll talk to her,’ he muttered, ‘but I doubt she’s going to like what I have to say.’

  ‘I’ve prepared dinner for you and Miss Benson.’

  He halted in the doorway and swung back to Rebekah, his eyes glinting dangerously.

  ‘Why on earth did you do that? Did I ask you to?’

  ‘Well, no. But I thought, with Miss Benson being so upset, that you might invite her to stay.’ There was an infinitesimal pause, and then Rebekah said sharply, ‘You know, you really should treat your girlfriends with a little more consideration.’

  With an effort, Dante controlled his anger. He was infuriated by the behaviour of his clingy ex, but even more annoyed that Rebekah seemed to think she had the right to interfere in his private life.

  ‘Can I remind you that you are my cook, not the voice of my moral conscience,’ he said coldly.

  He had expected her to apologise but, although she flushed, she lifted her chin and glared at him with what could only be described as a challenging expression. The first time he had met her he had been struck by her beautiful violet-coloured eyes. At this moment they had darkened to a shade that was almost indigo.

  ‘I didn’t realise you had a moral conscience. And there’s no need for you to remind me of my role. But I’d like to point out that it was not part of my job description to have to deal with your girlfriends when they phone the house because you won’t answer their calls to your mobile. Nor is it my job to console them when they sob their hearts out because they thought they meant something to you and they can’t understand why you’ve dumped them.’

  Dante frowned at the unmistakable criticism in her voice. ‘That happens often, does it?’ he demanded.

  Rebekah hesitated, aware from the rigid line of Dante’s jaw that she had angered him. ‘Not often,’ she admitted. ‘But it has happened once before, with that red-haired actress who stayed for the weekend just after I started working for you. And now there’s Miss Benson.’

  ‘No, there isn’t,’ he said grimly. ‘Alicia is a drama queen, which is one reason why I finished with her weeks ago.’ His jaw tightened. ‘You and I will continue this discussion once I’ve dealt with her.’

  He slammed the kitchen door so hard that the sound ricocheted off the walls. There had been an ominous nuance in Dante’s tone, Rebekah thought, biting her lip. The furious look he had given her had warned her she had overstepped the boundary of their employer/employee relationship and she could expect trouble when he returned.

  She was regretting her outburst. As he would no doubt point out, his private life was none of her business and she had no right to comment on his playboy lifestyle. Maybe he would decide that he no longer wanted her to work for him. Her heart plummeted at the thought. ‘Idiot,’ she muttered to herself. This was the best job she’d ever had. Why hadn’t she kept her opinions to herself?

  The reason was complicated, she thought bleakly. She had been feeling low all day since her mother had phoned with the news that Gareth and Claire’s baby had been born. ‘A little girl,’ her mum had said in a brisk voice tinged with an underlying note of sympathy that had made Rebekah ache to be home with the people she loved. ‘I thought it best if I told you, as you were bound to find out.’

  So Gareth was now a father. Presumably he had wanted this baby, she thought bitterly. Following the conversation with her mother, she had been swamped by memories of the past. Seeing the Portmans’ baby today had been so painful. She had coped by keeping busy with the party preparations and helping the waiters serve the food, but when James had suggested she might like to hold adorable little Alexander she’d had to hurry away before her tenuous hold on her composure shattered.

  She had still been in a highly emotional state when Alicia Benson had walked into the kitchen and burst into tears as she confided that Dante had led her to believe their relationship was serious. Of course she had been sympathetic to Alicia, Rebekah assured herself. She knew what it felt like to have your dreams dashed and your heart broken.

  She began to stack the dishwasher with the pots and pans she had used to prepare Thai-style coconut chicken, her movements automatic while her mind dwelled, as it so often did, on Dante. His cavalier attitude to relationships made her infatuation with him even less comprehensible, she thought ruefully. She assumed that one day she would come to terms with everything that had happened with Gareth and want another relationship, but it would take her a long time to trust a man enough that she would risk her emotional well-being and she certainly would not consider becoming involved with a womaniser like Dante.

  The sound of footsteps striding down the hall made her stiffen and she lifted her chin with a touch of defiance as the kitchen door swung open and he walked in. She had been perfectly within her rights to remind him that her duties did not include coping with the fallout from his fast-changing love life, she assured herself. It was important to establish boundaries, and if he did not like them then maybe it would be better if she handed him her resignation.

  She shot him a lightning glance and saw that he had removed his tie and undone the top few shirt buttons to reveal his tanned throat. The musky scent of his aftershave teased her senses and, to her disgust, her heart-rate quickened.

  ‘Miss Benson ha
s gone and won’t be back,’ he informed her curtly.

  Not now he had made it clear to Alicia that the tears she was able to turn on when it suited her left him completely unmoved, Dante thought. He had done nothing to feel guilty about. There had never been any question that he would want more than a casual fling with her. Far more troubling was Rebekah’s attitude. He had no wish to lose an excellent cook but he would not tolerate her interference in his private life.

  He ran a hand through his hair and stared exasperatedly at her. ‘What the hell was all that about?’

  The sensible thing to do would be to apologise for poking her nose into matters that did not concern her, but the gremlin inside Rebekah had other ideas. The phone call from her mother had triggered memories of the day Gareth had called off the wedding. She still remembered the gut-wrenching shock she’d felt when he had admitted that he had been secretly sleeping with Claire for months. Was it too much to ask for men to be honest and truthful with women? she thought bitterly.

  ‘I won’t apologise for feeling sorry for your girlfriend,’ she said stiffly. ‘I realise you don’t give a damn about the feelings of the women you have affairs with. But I think it was despicable of you to lead Miss Benson on and make out that you wanted a serious relationship with her.’

  Dante uttered an oath, instinctively reverting to his first language to express his anger. ‘I did not lead her on. I made it clear from the start, as I always do, that I wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship. I don’t know what rubbish Alicia spouted to you, but if she told you I had promised to make a commitment to her then she was lying.’

  Rebekah did not know why she was so certain Dante was speaking the truth but he had spoken so forcefully and she felt instinctively that he was not a liar. She tore her eyes from him and became very busy tidying up her recipe notes that were strewn over the worktop. ‘I see. Well, it’s nothing to do with me. I shouldn’t have said anything,’ she mumbled.

  ‘You’re right—you shouldn’t. I pay you to cook for me, not give me a sermon on morality.’ Dante was furious, but he was also intrigued as he watched the rosy-pink flush spread across Rebekah’s cheeks. ‘Why do you care who I sleep with, anyway?’

  ‘I don’t. I have absolutely no interest in your bedtime activities.’

  ‘No?’ Dante’s eyes narrowed speculatively on her face. He could feel the vibes of tension emanating from her and his curiosity was aroused. He knew very little about her, he realised. She had told him a few basic facts, such as that she had grown up on her family’s farm in North Wales and had trained as a chef at a hotel in a town with an unpronounceable name. But he knew nothing about her personal life. He’d seen no evidence that she had a boyfriend, yet why would a young and attractive woman choose to be single?

  ‘Maybe you’re jealous,’ he suggested idly. He was still annoyed with her, and had made the comment with the deliberate intention of riling her. But her reaction surprised him.

  ‘Of course I’m not jealous,’ she snapped. ‘What a ridiculous idea. I want more from a relationship than to be a rich man’s plaything.’

  ‘I don’t get any complaints from my playthings,’ Dante drawled. He knew he was being unfair to tease her, but he could not deny a certain satisfaction as he watched the rosy flush on her face deepen to scarlet. He wondered if she was a prude. She certainly dressed like a woman determined to quash any hint of her sensuality.

  Occasionally he had found himself imagining unbuttoning her, literally, and removing her shapeless chef’s jacket.

  With a derisive shake of his head, he dismissed his inappropriate thoughts. He leaned his hip against the kitchen table and crossed his arms over his chest while he debated how he was going to deal with the situation that had arisen between them. He did not want to terminate her employment, but she would have to understand that he had every right to live his life the way he chose.

  ‘I don’t want to know about your love life.’ Rebekah shoved her recipes back into their folder, praying Dante would not notice that her hands were trembling. She sensed he was still angry and she felt sick inside as she waited for him to dismiss her from her job.

  ‘Then in future don’t pass judgement on how I choose to live my life,’ he growled.

  Dante stared at her stiff shoulders and felt a sudden urge to pull the pins from her hair and release it from its tight knot on top of her head. He sighed, his temper cooling as quickly as it had flared.

  ‘I’m going to forget what happened tonight on the understanding that you won’t interfere in my personal affairs again. You said you had prepared a meal for two?’

  Relief swept through Rebekah when she realised that Dante did not seem about to sack her. ‘Yes, but I can freeze the spare portion.’

  ‘I have a better idea. You can join me for dinner.’ The steely glint in his eyes warned her against arguing with him. ‘This is a good opportunity for us to get to know one another. I’ve been involved in a difficult divorce case in recent weeks and haven’t taken the time to check if you’ve settled in. Now is your chance to tell me if you have any problems.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHAT would Dante’s response be, Rebekah wondered, if she revealed that the only problem she had was when he strolled into the breakfast room at weekends, wearing nothing more than a black robe? On weekdays he was always dressed in one of his superbly tailored suits, and quickly gulped down coffee and toast as he skimmed through case notes. But on weekends he enjoyed a cooked breakfast and spent a leisurely hour reading the newspapers.

  The first morning that she had been faced with his half-naked body, his hair damp from the shower and his jaw covered in dark stubble that added to his sex appeal, her heart had slammed against her ribs. Even now, the memory of his long tanned legs, and the mass of crisp dark chest hairs revealed when the front of his robe gaped slightly, evoked a molten sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  She dared not look at him and quickly turned away to open the oven. ‘If you go through to the dining room, I’ll bring the food in.’

  Minutes later, she pushed the serving trolley into the dining room and halted when she saw Dante’s angry expression.

  He stared at the table, set with candles and roses that she had picked from the garden. ‘If I ever want you to play cupid, I’ll let you know,’ he said sarcastically. ‘What were you thinking of?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Did Alicia put you up to it, and ask you to arrange for her to have a romantic dinner with me?’

  ‘No, I just thought …’ Rebekah’s voice tailed away. It was impossible to explain that she had hoped Dante’s relationship with Alicia Benson was serious. If he was in a committed relationship then she would have to accept that her own attraction to him was pointless, she had reasoned. And instead of wasting time fantasising about him, she would get over her ridiculous infatuation.

  She tore her eyes from Dante’s handsome face, hating herself for the ache of longing she could not suppress. ‘I’ll take the flowers away,’ she muttered as she set his dinner in front of him.

  ‘You may as well leave them. Sit down and eat your food before it gets cold,’ he said tersely when she leaned across the table to pick up the vase of roses. ‘Do you need to wear your apron while we’re eating?’

  ‘Sorry!’ Rebekah’s voice was as curt as his as she reached behind her to unfasten the apron. She tugged it off and dropped it onto the chair beside her.

  She sat down and stared at her plate of Thai chicken. While it had been cooking it had smelled so tempting that she had decided to forget her diet for one night and have some. But she hadn’t expected Dante to ask her to eat with him—well, he had ordered, not asked, she thought, feeling infuriated by his arrogance. Sometimes she wondered why she was so attracted to him, but a quick glance at his handsome profile caused her heart to slam against her ribs. Every nerve-ending in her body seemed to be finely attuned to him and she felt so tense that the idea of swallowing food seemed impossible.

  Dante leaned back in his chair and stu
died Rebekah. Today had been full of surprises, he mused. There had been that strange incident at the christening party when she had practically recoiled from James Portman’s baby, and then her puzzling behaviour regarding his ex-mistress. And now, for the first time since he had known her, she was not dressed in her chef’s jacket but had changed into a plain white T-shirt that moulded her breasts. Her curvaceous figure was a pleasant surprise.

  To his shock, he felt his body stir as a hot flood of desire swept through him. It was a predictable male reaction to the feminine form, he told himself. Perhaps it was the Italian blood in him that made him find a woman with full breasts and shapely hips more attractive than the current fashion to be stick-thin and bony.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Would you like red or white wine?’

  ‘Oh, I won’t have any, thanks.’ Rebekah grimaced. ‘I’m really hopeless with alcohol. Half a glass of wine is all it takes to make me drunk.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Dante found himself picturing his chef after she’d had a couple of glasses of wine—all bright eyes, flushed cheeks and discarded inhibitions. He poured himself a glass of Chianti. ‘Getting drunk doesn’t sound a bad idea after having to deal with Alicia’s unacceptable behaviour,’ he said grimly.

  ‘Don’t you ever worry that you’ll end up alone and lonely? Surely even playboys grow bored of sleeping around?’ Rebekah’s common sense warned her not to antagonise him, but she felt rebellious tonight, angry with the male species in general and Dante in particular—although if she was honest she was angrier with herself for her stupid crush on him.

  ‘It hasn’t happened to me yet,’ Dante drawled, annoyed that she had the audacity to question his lifestyle. He was not going to admit that lately he had been feeling jaded. There was no thrill in the chase when you knew at the beginning of the evening that you were guaranteed to bed your date by the end of it, he thought sardonically.

  ‘What do you suggest as an alternative to casual sex?’ he demanded, posing the question partly to himself. Marriage wasn’t for him—he had tried it once and had no intention of ever repeating the experience. But surely there had to be something more than meaningless affairs with women who did not interest him outside the bedroom? ‘I grew out of believing in happy ever after at about the same time that I stopped wearing short trousers,’ he said abruptly.