‘If you had told me I was your first I would have been more careful.’
‘You’ve got to be joking. You never believe a word I say—though you pretend to when it suits you.’
‘Maybe. But I’m curious, Beth. Why did you hang on to your virginity for so long? No, don’t bother answering. I know...’ he said without pause. ‘You told me Tony was just teasing when he said he wanted you to be his fiancée, but I think it was you that was doing the teasing. That is how you operate. You get pleasure from leading young men on and denying them what they want until they’re crazy about you and will do anything you say. First Timothy Bewick and now Tony. There have probably been many more,’ he declared cynically.
He could not have said anything more likely to enrage Beth and, putting Binkie down, she moved towards him, her anger so livid her cheeks were scarlet with it. She registered the arrogant stance of his big body, his hands tucked easily into the pockets of his trousers. He appeared every inch the sophisticated lawyer, with his confident summing-up of the situation, and it was not surprising the jury in her case had believed every word he said.
Even half dressed he exuded an aura of power, conviction and a sheer masculine magnetism that was almost impossible to ignore. It was inherent in his every move, every gesture, but this time Beth was immune to his lethal appeal. She fought down the urge to rant and rave at him and instead stopped a few inches in front of him, deliberately raising her gaze to his hard face, her green eyes contemptuous.
‘No. But if that is what you want to think to salve your conscience, be my guest. We both know that at my trial, when you painted me as some femme fatale who slept with young men to control them, the real liar was you.’ She dropped each word slowly and precisely into the tense silence. ‘You try living with that, as I have for the last eight years. You might actually discover a conscience, though I doubt it. Your sort never does.’ Disgust was evident in her tone. ‘As for Tony—you saw for yourself we are just good friends. But then I doubt a man like you has any friends.’
Dante shrugged and, taking his hand from the pocket of his pants, ran one long finger down her burning cheek to tilt her chin up and study her flushed and furious face.
‘You are overwrought, and in a way I don’t blame you. I am much older, more experienced than the boys you usually play with, and you got more than you bargained for. But you were with me all the way, so don’t try to pretend otherwise. You are only fooling yourself. I have never known a more eager lover. And I did not lie in court. As a lawyer I simply implied—there is a difference.’
Beth shook her head, unable to deny what he said, and stepped away from him. ‘Yes, you are right, of course. The difference in my case was freedom or a three-year sentence,’ she said caustically. ‘Now, if that is all, for about the tenth time of asking, will you get out of here? I never want to see you again.’
‘The feeling is mutual. You can rest assured I will never be back.’
‘At last a mutually acceptable solution. We have a deal. We will stay far away from each other—a continent would be good,’ she sniped, and walked into the kitchen, battling to contain the pain and anger he had revived in her.
She hated him, and she must never forget it again. She had heard it said that love and hate were different sides of the same coin, but she could not let herself think that way—could not let herself think of the pleasure his body had given her. It was just sex, she told herself again, and her overreaction was probably because she had waited so long to experience it.
* * *
Dante resisted the urge to follow Beth. Finding his shoes, he put them on and returned to the living room to retrieve his jacket. He had done what he’d set out to do. Beth was moving out, Tony would be free of her influence and that was what Dante had wanted... So why did he feel like the lowest of the low? Probably because Beth had hit a nerve with her crack about his performance in court. She had done him no favours with her crack about his performance in bed, either....
Oddly, he felt guilty on both counts...and it was not an emotion he was familiar with. But then he was not a man prone to emotions of any sort. It would pass.
Dante got in his car and drove away without a backward glance. Beth was a stunning woman, but not for him. She was not wife material, and she was far too dangerous to his peace of mind to be his mistress.
Although in a way he could not help admiring her. She had managed to change her life very successfully and perfectly legally, he thought as he skilfully manoeuvred the car through the rush-hour traffic. Jane—or Beth—or whatever her real name was had grown into one beautiful, intelligent, feisty woman whom he suspected could hold her own with either man or woman. She had certainly given as good as she’d got from him.
He was still smarting from her once was enough comment—not that he believed her. Beth was the most naturally sensual woman he had ever met, and had reacted to his lightest touch and caress. She had instinctively known how to return the pleasure too. She had been fire and light in his arms, eager to take everything he could give her, and he could still feel the sting of her nails on his back. He couldn’t remember ever having lost control with a lover the way he had with Beth, and the scent and feel of her luscious body beneath him had blown his mind. His body stirred again now at the thought of her.
Suddenly another thought hit him like a thunderbolt. He had forgotten protection. How could he have been so careless?
And in the next second Dante Cannavaro did the unthinkable—for him—and compounded his carelessness by rear-ending the pickup truck in front of him, having not noticed the traffic had stopped for a red light.
He reversed out from under the flatbed of the truck—to the further detriment of his Ferrari—and pulled up to exchange details with the driver of the pickup. Dante loved his cars, and he had never so much as dented one in his life until he’d met Beth Lazenby. Maybe she was a witch and had put a hex on him, he thought, stifling a groan as he surveyed the battered bonnet of his new Ferrari.
He debated going back to tell Beth about his mistake in forgetting to use protection, then, coming to his senses, thought better of it. Given the type of woman he knew Beth to be, he was pretty sure that if his mistake resulted in a pregnancy she would contact him with dollar signs in her eyes.
CHAPTER FIVE
BETH OPENED HER EYES to see the early-morning rays of the sun flooding the bedroom and stretched lazily. She looked across at the large windows that folded back to open almost the whole room to the balcony and the sea beyond and sighed contentedly. She loved this house, she thought, a soft smile curling her lips as she glanced around the master bedroom.
The cream-and-blue flower-sprigged wallpaper with matching curtains and bedlinen were a little faded now, as the master suite with bathroom and dressing room had been refurbished to Helen’s taste when she had been released from prison. Beth never wanted to change it as the room reminded her of her friend and gave her a feeling of serenity. It was her safe haven from the rest of the world.
A builder and decorator had completed the refurbishment of the rest of the house last week. The other three bedrooms on this floor had en-suite bathrooms now, plus the two bedrooms on the top floor. The house had never looked better, and the rental potential had increased significantly. Beth was quite happy with what she had achieved.
Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up and walked into the dressing room, collecting briefs and an exotically printed slip dress, and then entered the bathroom.
Yesterday she had received notice that her plans to convert the roof space of the garage into a two-bedroomed apartment had been passed. The builder was due to start in three weeks’ time.
With a sense of satisfaction she stepped into the shower and turned on the water. She had slept without dreaming of Dante Cannavaro or thinking of him the minute she woke up for a couple of weeks now, and her plan to exorcise him from her mind by having sex with him seemed to be working.
She had definitely made the right
decision. She loved her new life—the freedom to work when she wanted to or walk out of the door and breathe the fresh sea air or take a swim and go surfing if the mood struck her. She had even acquired a slight tan, and for the first time in ages no longer felt she had to be careful or fearful of the past coming back to haunt her. She was her own woman, mistress of her own destiny, and Cannavaro had been shoved back into the box he had occupied for the last few years and was not worth thinking about.
She slipped on her briefs and dress and ran a brush through the tangled mass of her hair. Down here she never bothered with a hairdryer or the electric straightening tongs that had been a part of her daily routine in London in order to present a sleek, professional image. Much as she had liked her old job, Beth had not really enjoyed living in London. But she had fulfilled Helen’s wish and become a success. Now she was out of the rat race and hoping to be equally as successful in her new venture.
She had certainly made a good start, she thought happily. She already had a few bookings for next year, by which time the garage apartment would certainly be ready. She would have to work two days a week in the house when it was rented out, but that was no problem—and much preferable to working all week in an office.
An hour later, having fed Binkie and with a cup of tea and two slices of French toast in her tummy, Beth was ready to face the day. Janet was coming over at two with her daughter, and they were driving into town to shop before returning to the house for dinner.
Janet’s father had been employed on a part-time basis here for years, as gardener and caretaker, and Beth had met Janet the first time she’d visited. Now she considered her a friend. Janet had married young and had a four-year-old daughter called Annie. Tragically, her soldier husband had been killed in Afghanistan last year, and after his death Janet was back living with her parents. Sometimes Janet and Annie stayed with Beth for a night or two, and it suited them both.
Carrying her second cup of tea and her sunglasses, Beth opened the front door onto the long terrace that ran the length of the cottage, with steps down to the garden path and the road, with the beach and sea beyond. She sat down on one of the eight captain’s chairs and looked out over the bay. The sea was as calm as a millpond.
Blinded by the glare of the sun on the water for a moment, she blinked and put on her sunglasses—then blinked again as the roar of a car split the silence.
A big black Bentley...
She watched as the luxury car stopped in front of her gate and with a sinking heart recognised the driver as he opened the door and got out. Her heart sank further at the sight of Dante Cannavaro, standing surveying the bay.
His black hair gleamed like polished jet in the sunlight. Aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but nothing could detract from the golden chiselled perfection of his features. His great body was clad in a black polo shirt open at the neck, and hip-hugging black jeans that clung to his muscular thighs and long legs like a second skin. He was strikingly attractive. Simply looking at the man was enough to make most women go weak at the knees.
Beth was glad she was sitting down, because her plan to rid him from her mind—which only earlier she had thought was working—had obviously not worked after all. Why, oh, why, she wondered despairingly, after twenty-seven years of hardly being aware of the sexual side of her nature, had she only got to see Dante Cannavaro for her pulse to race and her temperature to soar?
Filled with self-loathing at her reaction, she lifted her cup and took a drink of tea, trying to ignore him. She did not know what had brought him here and she was not going to ask. He certainly wasn’t a typical day-tripper. As a super-rich, sophisticated international lawyer, a luxury resort somewhere exotic was surely more his style.
* * *
Looking around, Dante was surprised by the beauty of the cove—and more so by the house. He had pictured some quaint old cottage as he had driven over the headland and down the cliff road to the harbour. He had called at the local pub to ask directions to the cottage of Miss Lazenby, and had been treated to a glowing tribute to Beth by the landlord. He had also been informed that the cottage was the best holiday rental for miles around, and a great little earner for Beth, and then told how to find the place. Dante had driven to almost the opposite end of the bay, as per instructions, and had been surprised.
The ‘cottage’ was a large white-rendered double-fronted house, with a wide terrace that ran the width of the building. Another balcony ran the length of the first floor, and in the roof was a third, complete with a flagpole and a telescope fixed to the glass guardrail. All the windows were virtually walls of glass that opened onto the respective terraces. It was in a magnificent position, looking straight out to sea, and set in about an acre of garden with a stone wall surrounding it. The road that ran between the house and the beach came to a dead end a few hundred yards farther on at the foot of the cliffs in a small car park.
Turning, Dante shook his head in amazement. Somehow he could not see the elegant redhead, the professional big-city accountant, settling down in a place that looked as if time had forgotten it. But then he had trouble seeing Beth as anything but naked beneath him, and knowing the mistake he had made was driving him crazy.
As for Faith Cove—if it had more than a thousand residents he’d be surprised.
Carved in the stone column of the house’s entrance gate was ‘The Sail Loft’ and, appropriately, a sailing dinghy was parked on the hard standing to one side of the house. A rack for surfboards with two in evidence stood beside it. On the other side was a long drive that led to a large garage at the rear of the property. The doors were open and her very distinctive Volkswagen was visible.
He was impressed. The land alone, situated as it was with spectacular views of the bay, had to be worth a good deal of money, Dante realised, never mind the house.
He tensed as he caught sight of Beth, sitting on the terrace, and surprisingly felt a moment of doubt. Ironically, he had arranged his schedule to have the month of September free to get married. Instead he had spent the first few days catching up on estate business and then supposedly relaxing. His housekeeper, Sophie, had made relaxing difficult, though. She was another woman who had already ‘bought the hat’ for the wedding that never was, and she’d spent most of her time giving him dire warnings that if he didn’t marry soon he would be lucky to see his children grow up. It was hard to argue with a woman who had changed his nappy as a child, and finally he had given up and gone to Rome where he’d accepted a new case. He’d had a couple of dinner dates with an old flame, determined to get on with his life, but it hadn’t helped....
Far from forgetting Beth Lazenby, as he’d intended, he had found she’d occupied his thoughts for the last eight weeks to the point of distracting him from his work—not something that had ever happened to him before. Women had their place in his life—usually his bed. But never in his head...
He had reread the investigator’s report on Beth and realised that Jane Mason had lost her parents only twelve months before her trial. He was surprised that her lawyer, Miss Sims, had not brought that fact up in court. Any good defence lawyer would have used the death of her parents as part of a character profile—troubled young lady who had lost her parents recently....
But then Miss Sims had not been a good lawyer. She had barely challenged anything he had said, and had stopped him on the way out to congratulate him, he recalled. Suddenly Dante found himself making excuses for Beth. Had he been too harsh with her? Alone in the world, she might easily have gone off the rails with grief... Not that it mattered. The evidence had been solid and the jury had found her guilty, he reminded himself. But he was a man always supremely confident in his decisions and he never second-guessed himself. The fact that Beth was making him do just that shocked him rigid. It had to stop.
Finally, yesterday morning, after a frustrating weekend, he had rationalised that there was nothing to be gained by waiting with the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. He needed to make sure Beth was definitely n
ot pregnant before he got involved with another woman. His legal team could take care of work. His presence wasn’t essential until a client meeting on Wednesday.
His decision made, he’d taken a flight to London. He’d called Tony, pretty sure he would know where Beth was, but had got no reply. Then he’d called at her old apartment on the off-chance that she had lied about everything and was still living there. Only to be faced by a young man who said he had no idea where the last tenant had gone.
Finally he’d caught up with Tony late afternoon and discovered Beth had been gone for weeks and had set up in business for herself. But as her loyal friend Tony had refused to give Dante her phone number or her address at Beth’s specific request.
After checking the investigator’s report again he had found the address of her cottage and set off at the crack of dawn to drive here, confront her, and dismiss doubt and the woman from his life once and for all and get back to normal.
At least that was what he’d told himself. But now, as he looked at her exquisite profile and the contrast of her red hair against the ever-so-slightly sun-kissed skin of her bare shoulders, a basic, more earthy desire began to heat his blood.
* * *
Beth heard the click of the gate and glanced down to see Dante stalk up the path and leap up the steps to come and stand towering over her. He became a big black shadow against the sun and memories of the past came rushing back. Involuntarily she shivered. Whether it was because of the old dreams or the sex or both, she wasn’t sure. All she was sure of was that his physical presence disturbed her far too much for her peace of mind.
‘Good morning, Beth. Lovely place you have here—though a little hard to find. I’ve been driving since six and could join you in a cup of coffee,’ he declared, glancing at the cup in her hand as he sank down onto another captain’s chair.
‘It’s not coffee, it’s tea. And if you go back the way you came there is a small café next to the shop on the harbour. Try there,’ Beth suggested bluntly. Dante Cannavaro had said he would leave her alone. He had some nerve, turning up here.
The Cost of Her Innocence Page 7
