by Sara Wood
Sternly she made herself remember the humiliation that had torn at her like a ravening tiger. When she’d realised that she was just a potential source of income to him, it had felt as if he’d crushed her vulnerable heart in his fist.
In the tense silence, she studied him warily, waiting for him to speak. His hair was a paler gold than before and beautifully cut. He looked more Italian than ever, perhaps because of the stylish linen suit and air of prosperity. His clothes seemed to murmur ‘expensive’ and ‘classy’ in hushed and reverential tones.
And yes, he was still the same as in her restless dreams. As beautiful as a young Roman god, the same golden male with that extraordinary combination of fair hair and dark, soulful eyes with their curtains of black lashes. But now there was a new air of menace about him that made her tremble.
Nervously she remembered his fury when they’d parted. It would be wise to heed her grandfather’s warning about Vido’s twisted, criminal mind. Her heart began to thump in time with her deep pulses.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked coolly.
‘Travelling to London,’ he drawled.
Relief washed in waves through to her very bones. This was a chance meeting, then. For one awful moment, she’d been afraid that he’d returned to Shottery in order to plague her life!
Following the arrogant jerk of his honey-haired head, she saw a stunning blonde in a wickedly gleaming silver car, its lines almost as voluptuous as those of the woman inside it. The blonde gave a rather mocking smile, which unsettled her, and by force of habit she immediately retreated into her shell of cold reserve.
‘I suggest you keep going. Your friend is waiting,’ she said in pointed dismissal.
Half turning, she tried to block out the rush of emotions beginning to fill her head. She cursed the fact that he could arouse her passions as if he’d never deceived her, had never latched on to her as his route to idle riches. She burned with anger. He’d believed that she was so ugly she’d be glad of his attentions. But she’d sussed him out.
His mother had lost her job at Stanford House because of insolence. Vido had gone off the rails, staying out all night with women—according to the girls at school—and coming home in the early hours too exhausted to bother with school work. He’d been certain to win a university place but his grades had suffered because of his preoccupation with sex.
And then he’d set his sights on an easy path to riches—a pathetically grateful, love-starved idiot who’d inherit a fortune one day. What a fool she’d been.
‘Camilla will wait as long as necessary,’ he growled.
Arrogant chauvinist! She glared at him and wished she hadn’t. The scouring desire in his eyes was unsettling. The sensual curve of his mouth, his totally sexual stance and the way the tip of his tongue touched his lips, all were deeply disturbing to her senses.
It infuriated her that she knew all his faults but her body was disregarding them. Without consulting her it had ignited with a shameful desire.
Appalled at herself, she tightened every inch and willed herself to remember the pain he’d caused her, and how because of him she’d lost even the little self-esteem she’d possessed. His betrayal had turned her into a nun, a hermit, and a crushed cabbage of a woman who’d slunk about living only half a life.
‘I pity your friend. You haven’t changed your attitude to women, have you?’ she observed, sweeping scornful eyes up his too-perfect body. Lean and honed, she noted, then pulled herself together. A velvet-tongued, slippery Casanova, she amended. ‘Women are still playthings to you,’ she added in disgust.
Anger heated his blood and made it boil. She still came out with wild accusations, totally without foundation. He’d make her crawl. His mouth curved at that pleasurable thought.
‘One patient and understanding woman in a car doesn’t make me a chauvinist,’ he clipped.
‘I’m really not interested,’ she said icily.
‘You will be,’ he muttered. ‘Dunque. You live here now?’ he drawled.
Anna flung him a look that made no effort to hide the fact that she despised every hair on his sun-bleached head. She didn’t know how he had the nerve to stand there, so sublimely sure of himself, when he’d cheated and lied and was nothing better than a common criminal.
Unsettled by the potentially explosive passion and rage that hurtled through her, she buttoned her mouth and crouched down again to tug viciously at a weed, only to discover that she’d pulled out one of her favourite aquilegias. She stared at it in dismay.
‘You do live here?’ he persisted in a horribly pleased murmur.
He wasn’t going to go away. Biting back an ‘obviously!’ in answer to his question, she replied in purposely stilted tones, ‘I do.’
And thought suddenly of her fiancé. Of her wedding day, when she would say those very words. Peter’s gentle face swam before her eyes mistily, only to be replaced by Vido’s compelling features. The muscles of her stomach clenched as a shaft of fear sliced through her. Peter was unthreatening. Loved to please her. But…did she love him? Enough to live with him forever?
‘Why?’ Vido barked. Seeing that she didn’t understand, he elaborated slowly. ‘Why are you living here?’
Oh, he’d love this, she thought. ‘We’ve sold the house.’
‘Money trouble,’ he purred with evident satisfaction.
Brute. Her mouth tightened. Why was he hanging around? To crow? To leer? She controlled a shiver of apprehension.
‘Rather small, after the Big House, isn’t it?’ came Vido’s warm, honeyed silk of a voice. ‘If I remember, there’s just one living room and one bedroom. I’ve been inside. I knew your gardener, you see.’ His eyes became cynical. ‘He was servant class, like me.’
She wouldn’t be riled by his sarcasm. Contemplating a haughty retreat into the cottage, she decided that he’d see that as a victory. So she stuck it out, wishing her shorts weren’t so threadbare—and short—and that her T-shirt and face weren’t streaked with dirt. All that put her at a distinct disadvantage.
‘It’s fine.’ For a midget, she thought.
‘Really? Where does your grandfather sleep?’ Vido drawled, horribly persistent. ‘On the sofa?’
Fixing him with Arctic eyes, she replied with deliberate bluntness.
‘He’s in hospital. He’s had a stroke. Selling the house devastated him. Satisfied?’ she flung.
But she was surprised to see the arrogance of his expression switch to something like dismay. It was several seconds before he commented curtly, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Like hell you are!’ she scathed.
A frown drew his black brows hard together. He seemed to be thinking rapidly. ‘How is he?’
‘He can’t speak properly and he’s partially paralysed.’ Not wanting any sympathy from him, she fought to control her shaky voice. ‘He’s tough, though.’
He nodded. ‘I think the word is hard. So you’ll be the one on the sofa,’ he taunted.
She felt irritated. Of course. Where else was there? And she dreaded the moment when she and her grandfather lived together in the tiny cottage. Since his souvenir factory had closed, he wasn’t the easiest person to be with.
Tension made her voice scratchy when she stared back at him over her shoulder.
‘I’m sure you’re not interested in my sleeping arrangements. Rescue that blonde from boredom and get out of my hair.’
His mouth twitched slightly at the corners, but he stayed his ground.
‘Interesting how fate can change people’s lives so dramatically. I am rich and you are poor.’
Suddenly hearing his husky murmur in her ear, she almost lost her balance. He’d come to crouch down beside her, his hot, hungry body alarmingly close to hers. Quickly she jumped up and moved away to the end of the border.
‘Fate? In your case, I imagine it was some dodgy deals that bought you that flashy car and designer clothes,’ she retorted, stabbing the trowel into the soil and wishing it were Vido’s evil hear
t.
‘Careful, Anna,’ he said softly. ‘You’re straying close to slander. I made my money by my own talent and hard work.’
‘Good looks? Charm? Beautifully purred lies?’ she scorned. ‘Or,’ she added, spitting tacks, ‘a more direct route like conning some stupid rich female into funding you?’
‘You are one hell of a vindictive woman!’ he bit.
‘Does the truth hurt, Vido?’ she slammed back.
She shot a glance at the woman in the car, who was yawning with obvious boredom. That was one high-maintenance female. The car must have cost a fortune. Thoughtfully she studied Vido, ignoring his blistering scowl and tight jaw.
His clothes were expensive and he gave off an air of a man who spent a lot of money on being immaculately groomed and turned out. She wondered if the woman was the source of his income. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been prepared to sell himself for money. She felt sick at the thought.
‘Get out of here,’ she muttered in loathing.
‘When I’m good and ready. I want to know… How does it feel to be poor, Anna?’ he enquired.
‘You should know,’ she clipped, deadheading an early rose and wishing she could eliminate him with the same ease.
She hated feeling like this. All churned up and tense. Any minute now and she’d really lose her cool. That would really make him smirk in triumph, she thought grimly.
‘Poverty is unnerving, isn’t it?’
The soft and menacing passion in his voice made her twist around to see his face. His eyes had darkened ominously and yet despite his anger there was still that blatantly sexual aura about him. A delicious shudder made her nerve endings vibrate.
‘Yes,’ she admitted in a husky whisper. Why was he here? Why torment her like this? He was enjoying her reduced circumstances. The man was sick.
‘I remember the sleepless nights,’ he muttered as if on a white-hot tide of anger. ‘I’d lie awake worrying about where the next penny was coming from. I’d have a sense of panic when the bills came in. And I knew that however hard I worked, I was in a trap I’d never escape.’
She shut her eyes briefly, his words reverberating in her head, and it occurred to her that he had painted her circumstances exactly. Being overwhelmed by the day-today struggle to make ends meet, she was beginning to understand—though still to condemn—his means of escaping poverty.
‘Well, it looks as if you managed to get out.’ She pushed back the black satin strands of hair that had fallen to half-conceal her face. She wanted him to see the depths of her contempt. ‘But then,’ she said steadily, ‘you weren’t too proud to take the money my grandfather offered for you to leave the village and me before the police caught up with you. He saved your mother from shame—and he gave you a start in life. You should be grateful to him.’
‘Che Dio mi aiuti!’ A terrifying fury swept his expressive features and made her shrink back in alarm. ‘Grateful?!’
The rawness of his hostility filled the air with its crackling venom. Anna felt profoundly shaken that he should hate her so much. It was clear that he didn’t appreciate being reminded of his crime, she thought grimly. It didn’t fit with his inflated opinion of himself.
Vido’s fists clenched so hard that his nails dug sharp crescents into his palms. She didn’t know. Willoughby had only told her half the story. He hadn’t explained that despite being threatened with the police, he’d refused the money and told the old man to go to hell in a dustcart.
It was then that Willoughby had told him that it had been Anna who had taken the money from the factory workers’ holiday fund and planted it in his locker to teach him a lesson. The old man had reminded him that it had been easy for her since she had worked every Saturday as a junior cashier in the souvenir factory.
That would have been that. Except that he’d discovered his mother weeping inconsolably. Her sister in Italy had offered them a home. For his mother’s sake he had swallowed his pride and accepted Willoughby’s offer of money so they could fly out and start a new life.
Going back to the old man, cap in hand, was one of the lowest moments in his entire life and he wanted to wipe it from his memory.
For a split-second he contemplated telling her all this, but he decided not to bother. She’d find out in time. Then he checked himself, frowning as he remembered Willoughby’s stroke.
Dannazione! He’d wanted Anna to hear what Willoughby had said from the old man’s own lips. Now what chance did he have?
He scowled in frustration. One way or another, he’d find a means to make her confess that she’d planted the money. Then he’d explain why he’d accepted Willoughby’s bribe. Perhaps he could approach her a different way. Use the highly charged sexual attraction that still, inexplicably, lay between them.
Anna watched the changing emotions on his face warily. At first she thought he was going to bluster that he was innocent, but then he checked himself and said something else that threw her off balance completely.
‘Allow me to compliment you on your new nose.’
She blanched and her fingers flew to it for reassurance that he wasn’t mocking her. It was an automatic reaction. She still found it hard to remember she looked relatively normal now.
‘It makes you look very beautiful.’ Despite the slivers of dark anger in his eyes, his tone throbbed with a carnality that swept over her like a suffocating blanket.
And her body responded with longing even while her head told her that he was playing some nasty little power game. She shuddered, fear crawling all over her.
‘So I’ve been told,’ she said flatly.
His eyebrow lifted. The downward sweep of his dark lashes alerted her to the fact that he was checking her left hand for signs of a ring. But she didn’t wear it when cooking or gardening. And she wasn’t going to prolong this conversation any longer.
The coldness of her silvered eyes ought to have given him frostbite. But his mouth had softened and the sensuality of his thoughtful expression slid effortlessly into her hungry body. Helpless to resist, she almost wished she still loved him. At least that would have given her an excuse for the raw, ungovernable feelings that were taking her over.
She had never ached like this. Never wanted to leap on any man—let alone Vido—and beg for sexual release. The violence of her need, and the accompanying hatred, shocked her. Mentally she was kissing the contours of his face; those raw cheekbones, the pure line of his beautiful jaw.
Had she inherited her mother’s uncontrollable passions that had shocked her grandfather? She’d heard so many stories of her mother’s inappropriate behaviour—though to Anna, her mother had sounded like fun.
The impromptu parties. Dancing on the lawn at midnight. Running barefoot in the snow. Kissing her father enthusiastically at every opportunity. A woman of passionate feelings that were never curbed. Was it possible to inherit such feelings?
All she knew was that her desire for Vido was running away with her, making her want to kick the traces and fling off the restraints she’d imposed on herself all these years.
The need to be physically caressed by a man—and this one in particular—was frightening her. She screwed her fingers into tight fists. Years of containment ensured that she fought through the too-enticing haze of desire that slithered into every corner of her body. And for her own self-preservation, she turned herself to stone.
‘Don’t keep London waiting,’ she said coolly.
There was that mocking twitch of his mouth again. She felt a weird surge of excitement. It was as if he felt challenged by her and was contemplating a battle between them, to assert his will over hers.
In his dreams! Reserved though she might be, she wasn’t a pushover. He’d get no satisfaction from taunting her.
Hopefully he’d get bored and go soon then she could run indoors and beat the life into some bread dough to release her pent-up anger. And, she thought in despair, to ease the desolation of her untouched body.
‘We’ll meet again,’ he
said, his eyes dark with lustful promise.
She struggled to catch her breath. ‘Not if I see you first,’ she said with quiet fervour. ‘This has not been a pleasure.’
‘It has for me,’ he murmured and the air fizzled between them setting her pulses leaping erratically. ‘And it will be even more enjoyable next time. That’s a promise.’
The threat alarmed her. Confused by his low, husky tone, she swivelled around so she didn’t have to look at his dark and broodingly handsome face any more.
As she buried her head in a clump of blowsy daffodils, she listened hard, her breath held until her lungs were bursting. First she heard his footsteps, light and easy as he strode away. Then the thud of the car door slamming, followed by Vido’s murmur and a tinkling female laugh.
Anna let out her breath in a rush of venomous loathing and gritted her teeth. He’d be gone in a moment and that would be that. An engine thrummed throatily, the sound increased in volume and then died away.
Suddenly the air seemed to clear of tension. Her scrunched-up muscles stopped screaming at her as she relaxed them. Unsteadily, she got to her feet and stumbled indoors, feeling as if she’d been caught in a washing machine on high spin. Her hands were shaking. Legs, too.
Ridiculous! He had such a terrible effect on her and for no reason at all. He had been in the wrong. She was the one who’d been his intended victim.
Wincing, she remembered how, after he’d fled to Italy, it had seemed that everyone at school had ganged up on her. She’d been bullied so unmercifully that eventually she had left school and her grandfather had grudgingly paid for private coaching.
It had been awful. Even more isolated than ever, she’d only been able to forget her unhappiness when she was cooking. And once her nose job had been successfully completed, she’d enrolled in a catering college, where she’d shone for the first time in her life.
Anna grimly scrubbed her hands and reached into the cupboard for a mug, desperate for a coffee. Preferably laced with an entire bottle of brandy, she thought ruefully.
