by Maisey Yates
The less Cesare had said, the more Paul had confided in way too much detail. Reading between the lines a picture did emerge and it was a pattern Cesare recognised only too well.
The woman didn’t just know what she was doing in the bedroom—again too much detail—she knew how to manipulate a man by recognising his weaknesses. She had flattered Paul, appealed to his vanity and managed to cleverly awaken his protective instincts.
Cesare was sure that this was a technique she would refine over the years, perhaps becoming as skilled as his own mother, who he had watched work her way across Europe leaving a trail of broken-hearted men in her wake.
‘What would you do if you were me?’
The appeal had irritated Cesare, who could not by any stretch of the imagination imagine himself in a similar situation. For starters he had no plans to marry—ever—but he could see that marriage suited some men and Paul was one of them.
‘I am not you. I thought you and Clare were happy.’
‘We are.’
‘And you love her?’
‘I love them both, of course I do, but Rosie is so...She needs me. If I finished with her it would kill her. She loves me!’
Cesare, who had no taste for drama, had taken this statement with a pinch of salt. His indifference to the feelings or threats of a woman who had embarked on an affair with a married man remained, but, recalling that he had only just resisted the impulse to tell his friend to grow a pair, Cesare felt a stab of guilt.
It was easy to be contemptuous when you hadn’t been close enough to feel the sensuality this woman projected. Her mouth was nothing short of sinful. The full pink curves promising passion to those lucky enough to taste them. As his sympathy for his friend grew so did his distaste for this woman who used her sensuality as a weapon.
‘I will not keep you long, Miss Henderson. Would you like to take a seat?’
As no was not an option Anna did so, very aware of the critical, unfriendly eyes that followed her every move.
‘Miss Henderson travelled up last night on the sleeper train. She must be tired,’ the fatherly local councillor remarked before retaking his seat.
‘You are seeing us at our best. The winter is a long one.’
The inference being presumably that she’d burst into tears at the sight of a snowflake. This from someone who looked as if he’d seen a hell of a lot more sun than she had. And an incomer to boot!
‘Have you lived here long, Mr Urquart?’
Anna was aware of amused glances passing between the other members of the panel. What had she said that was so funny?
‘All my life.’
It was the woman on the panel who explained the joke. ‘The Urquarts of Killaran have historically been generous benefactors to the community and Cesare makes time in his crowded schedule to act as a school governor.’
Anna watched under the shield of her lashes as he sketched a quick smile; he was hard not to watch. His voice too was memorable, deep and velvety with a hint of gravel but no sign of a Highland lilt despite all this Urquart of Killaran stuff. Did that make him a laird or something? It would explain his warm reception, though such a thing as a laird, especially one who looked more like her private image of a pirate, seemed wildly anachronistic to Anna.
What would he look like in a kilt? She managed to swallow the inappropriate giggle produced by the equally inappropriate thought and lowered her lashes.
Always assuming her instincts were right and she had the job, did that mean she’d be working closely with him?
The thought made her heart beat even faster. With luck he kept his involvement to cheque book.
She struggled not to flinch as his attention swivelled back to her. The recognition she had thought she’d glimpsed initially was gone, replaced by a flat look that she could not read. Even so, she felt her anxiety levels climb—as it turned out with good reason!
‘So tell me how long have you been teaching?’
‘Five, no four...’
His intense gaze brought a rush of colour to her cheeks, one of the curses of her red-haired complexion. She managed to retain a semblance of what she hoped came across as headmistress-style gravity as she tipped her head. ‘Five and a half years.’
Cesare Urquart, his elbows on the table, leaned forward across the table towards her. The undercurrent swirling behind his smooth smile made Anna feel a lot like Little Red Riding Hood. The man made your average wolf seem benevolent.
‘Let me give you a hypothetical situation, Miss Henderson.’
Anna smiled back and nodded. Bring it on.
ISBN: 9781460318300
HIS RING IS NOT ENOUGH
First North American Publication 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Maisey Yates
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