by Kim Lawrence
After tonight this was more important than ever. The only way she was going to keep him at a safe distance and avoid any further kissing incidents was by thinking of him as a cold, arrogant automaton.
Didn’t do you much good tonight, Anna.
‘Sing to me, Uncle Cesare, the song you used to sing to Mummy when she was sad.’
And just when she thought it could not get more surreal Cesare began to sing. He had a good voice, a rich baritone. She didn’t understand the Italian words but the tune was soft and soothing.
Anna’s eyes drifted closed and when she opened them she was alone in the bed. The clock beside the bed read nine-thirty. She shot from the bed in one horrified leap.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS NOT his habit to spend the entire night with a woman. He preferred to sleep alone, so watching a woman while she slept was not something Cesare had ever done before.
Last night there had not been a lot else for him to do. He couldn’t slip away without the risk of waking Jas, who had crawled into his arms before she fell asleep. He couldn’t move, sleep still eluded him, so that left watching the woman sleeping feet away.
It was an alternative to counting sheep.
In repose the lines of wariness disappeared from her face. With her curls of rich auburn she made him think of a sleeping angel. Her face had the look of a carved statue, her skin as fine as alabaster and sprinkled with a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her delicate nostrils flared in time with each soft exhalation. Occasionally she would twitch, her blue-veined eyelids fluttering, her breath quickening. What did she dream about when her head thrashed against the pillow?
Was he her nightmare?
Even asleep, her moulded lips were a sensual miracle, a torment, a temptation, an invitation?
It was a long night. By the time Jasmine stirred he could have drawn Anna Henderson’s face from memory down to each individual freckle. The idea of sketching her out of his head was appealing but he lacked the talent. His talents lay elsewhere and so did hers. On the brink of reliving that kiss, he pulled back. Some thoughts were not decent with a child in the room. Holding a finger to his lips, he gave Jasmine a conspiratorial wink and nodded towards the sleeping woman.
Jasmine, a bright kid, caught on immediately and entered into the spirit of the game. Totally recovered, she ate an enormous breakfast and then begged to be allowed to go out to the stables to visit the new foal.
He had delivered her to the care of the same groom who had taught him to ride as a child and returned to the house. Entering the hallway, he turned his head in the direction of light footsteps.
‘Sorry to disappoint, darling, but it’s only me.’
Hard to pretend even to himself that his heart rate hadn’t kicked up an expectant beat in the face of Louise’s knowing look.
‘I was going to ask did you sleep well, but I can see you’ve had a rough night.’
Cesare, who had no intention of rewarding this fishing expedition, focused on the bags he had not noticed until now stacked by the front door.
‘Ah, yes, well, under the circumstances I hope you won’t be too heartbroken but I was invited to the party at Crachan. I expect you were too?’
He nodded.
‘Well, I knocked them back in favour of your company but given the... Well, I contacted Michael and told him I have an unexpected space in my social diary. You know what they say—one door closes and another opens.’ She pressed a kiss to his lips and came up smiling.
Cesare, who appreciated the lack of drama, walked her out to the waiting taxi.
* * *
Anna’s search had reached the kitchen when her mobile rang. She saw the caller ID and lifted it, heart banging, to her ear.
‘Scott?’
‘Mother and baby are fine. Annie weighed in at a whopping nine pounds and Rosie sends her love and kisses.’
Anna sighed and gave a happy laugh. ‘Oh, that’s marvelous. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.’
‘We can’t wait to see you at Christmas. Rosie sends a big kiss.’ Scott blew a noisy kiss down the line.
‘I can’t wait to see you either.’ Anna put her mouth to the receiver and blew her own kiss.
Her happy smile lasted until she turned and found herself face to face with a grim-faced Cesare, who was looking very different than he had the previous evening dressed in a stylish designer suit and tie. Not that it was his tailoring that made her stomach contract violently at the unexpected sight of him; it was the aura of masculinity he exuded. It was the primitive instincts that lay just beneath the civilised surface that made her traitorous heart thud harder. It was the memory of that kiss.
She moistened her dry lips and told herself not to look at his mouth.
Naturally she immediately couldn’t look any place else. Her memory kicked into panic mode, recalling how it had felt to be on the receiving end of those primitive instincts!
Dear God, what was wrong with her? She’d never had a real conversation with this man. Not one that didn’t involve him being nasty and abusive, at any rate, so why did she feel this weird sense of connection?
It was ironic. He’d spent the night in a bed with her and he’d left it feeling more sexually frustrated than he ever had in his entire life. And while he had been lying there suffering, she had presumably been dreaming of this Scott.
For a split second he struggled to control the fresh flare of helpless rage and disgust. The latter was aimed at himself as much as her. He had known what she was so why had the conversation come as such a shocking bolt from the blue? Of course there was a man in the background; the woman hadn’t learnt to kiss like that in a convent!
‘Good morning.’
His expression didn’t change, he simply raised a brow and managed to make her uncomfortably aware of how wrecked she must look with her carelessly scraped-back hair, baggy sweatshirt and joggers.
Presumably it was a version of this look that had people struggling to win his approval. Lucky she wasn’t one of them; she didn’t need or want his approval. So she’d discovered the previous night that he had a soft spot for his niece? One chink in his armour didn’t make him any the less a pain, an arrogant man with an inflated opinion of himself who happened to be able to kiss like... Before she could stop it she was reliving the kiss, remembering how he had tasted.
Her entire body tensed to combat the waves of heat engulfing her. Anna dragged her gaze from his face.
‘Sorry.’ She bit her lip, irritated by her urge to apologise. What would she be apologising for? Just because he was looking at her as though he thought she had the family silver in her pockets it didn’t make her a criminal.
‘I was just coming to look for Jas. How is she this morning? You should have woken me.’
‘Jas is in the stables feeding the foal. She seems fine. Next time, Miss Henderson, don’t wait—inform me the moment she becomes ill.’
His tone made it clear she was not talking to the man who sang the lullaby. She straightened her slender shoulders and lifted her chin, told herself it was totally irrational to let the coldness in his voice hurt.
But it did.
The initial knot of hurt in her chest was giving way to anger as he continued to study her as though she were a bug under a microscope.
She lifted a hand to her hair, knowing she looked as crumpled and dishevelled as he looked sleek and elegant.
‘I did come straight away,’ she protested. As he was obviously in a vile mood she didn’t expect a thank you, but neither did she expect the icy rebuke that came her way. ‘She was fine when I put her to bed.’
‘It was not your place to say it was fine. It is not fine.’
‘I’m s-sorry...’
Was that damned stammer meant to make him feel like some sort of ogre
? Was it even real?
‘In future run all things to do with Jas’s medical treatment past me. Is that clear, Miss Henderson?’
Her chin went up. ‘As crystal, Mr Urquart,’ she returned, her voice as crisp as the Highland morning and her eyes as sparkling cold as the sea. ‘And don’t worry, next time I feel the urge to make a decision I will repress it if you will repress the urge to manhandle me.’
On anyone else she might have suspected the lines of colour along his cheekbones signified embarrassment. His magnificent shrug and expression of amused disdain made it clear she’d made the right call.
‘No problem, so long as you don’t come knocking on my door half dressed at three in the morning.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Believe me, knocking on your door is the last thing I will be doing. I wouldn’t want to have to bring a suit of sexual harassment against you the next time. How is your girlfriend this morning?’
‘Louise was called away and I am flying to Rome so I will see you when I return. And, Miss Henderson, if you want to play the sexual harassment card it’s a good idea not to stick your tongue down a man’s throat. You could as easily be accused of sending mixed bloody messages!’
* * *
There was no sign of the fog that had grounded his plane and made the journey back on the motorway, not just boring, but long as he drove through the gated entrance to Killaron. But then the micro climate in the area meant they frequently had different weather patterns from places even a few miles away.
That was half a day he would never get back, and nobody had actually expected him to attend the Rome meeting in person. He knew his sudden last-minute change of decision had created some speculation, resulting in the social media sites being rife with stories of the team’s number one driver leaving for a rival team.
Cesare recognised the car as he drove through the gates. He swore and pulled up with a swirl of gravel beside it.
Paul was here? Did that mean he knew that Anna was here? Had she contacted him and he...? Perhaps they had always been in regular contact. Did that mean that the affair had never ended? He felt something twist in his guts in reaction to the possibility.
It was equally possible, though not probable, that this was simply a twist of fate. Was Clare with Paul? Had the mistress already bumped into the wife?
Was he too late to avert a crisis? Short of locking Anna in one of the turrets until he got rid of his unwanted guests, how could he?
Why was he making it his business?
Paul was old enough to look after himself and Anna was not even his employee. He was the one who had not wanted her here, the one who had warned she was trouble, and she was. She was also incredibly sexy. Sexy enough to make a man want to... The muscles in his brown throat contracted as he swallowed. Even if the affair was long over, Paul could take one look at Anna and feel his blood heat to boiling point. One look at Anna was enough to make a man forget he was a married man. What man wouldn’t?
Did Paul know about this Scott fellow?
He felt rage rip through him. Why did these men allow her to make fools of them?
* * *
Anna sat on the tree stump at the edge of the loch and watched Jas play tug of war with the excited puppy whose feet left the ground as he clung on stubbornly to his end of the branch they fought over.
The child’s laughter rang out, making Anna smile, but the sadness stayed in her eyes as she turned her face into the wind, tasting the salt on her lips and breathing in the scent of heather from the hills. She was failing to achieve the sense of serenity this magnificent wild scenery normally gave her.
She would have let it happen.
The knowledge filled her with shame. The memory had a more physical effect, playing havoc with her quivering stomach. She had to focus on the positive. Nothing bad had happened—yet.
This was her own fault. She had let down her defences, something, since that awful night when she had discovered what so-called love could do to a person, she had vowed never to allow.
She would never allow anyone to do to her what that man had done to Rosie.
And now she had.
Not love, of course. She had made a mistake but not that mistake. She wasn’t about to confuse lust for love, though she was a bit more understanding of people who did. The fact was, while she couldn’t look at him without thinking about that kiss and going weak with longing, she didn’t even like Cesare. Her feelings for him were not solid, not real. She could wake up tomorrow, look at him and think, What did I ever see in him?
Beyond a perfect face and an incredible body that could launch a thousand fantasies...
Her lips tightened as she felt the hurt knot in her belly tighten. This morning he’d acted as if it had never happened, then he had all but accused her of asking for it!
Even when Mark had dumped her she hadn’t felt vulnerable. Let down certainly, and, yes, slightly foolish—well, it was kind of ironic. She had thought she had her life sorted.
She hadn’t been sitting around waiting for some white knight who would turn out to be a total sleaze. She had allowed a computer to find her a man who represented safe solidity, a man who, like her, thought a marriage based on mutual respect and common interest stood more chance of surviving than something based on a transient chemical reaction. And he had dumped her, if not at the altar then embarrassingly close to it, for, of all things, a six-feet-tall lingerie model—a real meeting of minds!
If this was about sex, maybe she ought to get it over with...
She shook her head. Sleep with Cesare? The flaws in that plan hit her immediately, the main being that he wouldn’t be interested unless he’d just had a row with his girlfriend. She was under no illusions that a man like Cesare, with his well-known penchant for leggy blondes, would, under normal circumstances, give her a second glance. A lovers’ tiff was the only thing that explained the woman’s absence from his room.
* * *
Cesare was still swearing in two languages when the door opened before he reached it.
He clamped his lips closed. During his short but meteoric driving career he had been renowned for his ability to maintain his cool under any and all circumstances. Labelled enigmatic by the press and a machine by his envious rivals, at that moment he found himself struggling to contain his feelings, and if his housekeeper’s expression was any indication he was not doing a very good job.
He tilted his head in stiff acknowledgement of Mrs Mack, and, not trusting himself to speak without yelling, raised a sable eyebrow in enquiry.
‘Mr Dane is in the library.’
Cesare struggled not to read too much into her air of tight-lipped disapproval. His housekeeper disapproved of many things, not just discovering a married guest in a passionate clinch with an employee. Even so the image that tortured him remained in his head, making him break into a jog before he reached the library door, where he stopped and took a deep breath.
Paul turned out to be alone. The only thing he had been getting close and friendly with, if the levels in the bottle were any indication, was his whisky. Cesare had no problem sharing booze, but when it came to his... A frown tugged his brow into furrows. What was she other than not his?
Not his, but a total nightmare and she was not getting paid to sleep with his married friend, so his attitude was totally justified.
‘This is a surprise, Paul.’ Despite an effort to inject some warmth Cesare didn’t even manage tepid.
The other man didn’t appear to notice the lack of tepid.
Cesare took a deep breath and decided against small talk. Better to know straight off how bad this could get.
On the plus side, if there was a plus side, the sight of the family unit in the flesh might bring home to Anna that her actions had an impact on others.
Or it might drive her back into her marrie
d lover’s arms.
‘Is Clare with you? The children?’ If so he would have to be especially nice to Mrs Mack, who had threatened—not seriously—early retirement after the twin boys’ last stay.
Paul, in the act of topping his glass, raised it to Cesare and shook his head. ‘Clare has left me... Acshully,’ he slurred, ‘she has thrown me out.’
Cesare froze as the alarm bells in his head became deafening.
‘She found out about Rosanna?’
Had Paul confessed?
Cesare discarded this possibility. Paul was not the confessing kind. He was the kind to dump his problem on his friends and expect them to sort them for him. How many times over the past five years had they played this scene? Cesare experienced a flash of guilt at the thought and his irritation. He owed Paul.
And Paul knew it.
His friend was going to carry on dumping his problems. What did the psychologists call it—learnt behaviour?
Paul gave a hazy frown and blinked. ‘Are you all right ? You look...’ He gave a sudden light-bulb grin. ‘Rosanna. You mean Rosie, the delicious Rosie. So, so sweet...so...so hot. Just the best.’
Cesare’s lips thinned into a grimace of distaste. At his sides his hands clenched into fists as he ground his teeth audibly and fought his way through a red-mist moment.
‘No, she never found out about Rosie, but Rosie, she was different, the real thing. I wish...’ He gave an emotional sigh. ‘No, this was nothing. A one-night stand, that’s all.’ He dismissed it with a snap of his fingers before he took another gulp of thirty-year-old malt. ‘But Clare won’t see that. She won’t listen to reason at all,’ he whined.
He paused as if expecting a sympathetic murmur in response to the petulant complaint, but when it didn’t come he took another gulp of whisky.
‘I hoped you might make her see reason, Cesare. She likes you. You’ve got a way with women.’
‘That’s not “a way”, it’s called not cheating.’
Before Paul could respond the door opened, letting in the distant sounds of Jas’s laugher, dogs’ excited barking and Anna, who walked into the room in a mood for a fight. It didn’t take any intuitive skills to know this; every delicious inch of her screamed it.
