by Sara Wood
He noticed her breasts rise and fall quickly as if the memory bothered her too.
‘I—I didn’t know you’d bought the house. I had no idea you were behind the consortium or I’d never have come,’ she muttered defensively, her mouth shaping into such a soft pout that it pushed his physical tension to new heights.
He had never wanted anyone so badly. Every time he looked at her he felt a raw, primitive urge that seemed hell bent on consuming him.
‘Are you saying it makes a difference to your application because I’m the boss here?’ he asked softly.
‘You know it does,’ she said jerkily, wrapping her arms defensively around herself. ‘I’d never work for a guy like you, not in a million years.’ Disappointment touched the corners of her mouth. ‘I might have had a chance with someone else interviewing me,’ she muttered resentfully.
He felt the urge to employ her, to keep her close. An ache skewered his loins. Be rational, he cautioned himself. The way he felt about her, this hunger and the loathing that accompanied it, was no basis on which to introduce her to his easygoing and hard-working staff. They didn’t deserve to be pitched into the middle of a potentially explosive situation.
Or to be saddled with a class-conscious colleague who felt superior to almost everyone. She’d never accept the cleaner or the gardener as her equal.
This conversation, then, was just for his amusement. Before he went for the kill, got her into his bed then extracted an admission of her guilt and an abject apology from her. After which, he’d wipe her from his life once and for all.
‘You’re suggesting I’d be biased against you?’ he queried, idly marvelling at the flawlessness of her pale-gold skin. Was she like that all over? Pulses thundered in his ears. He’d find out soon.
‘Of course you would be.’
He brought his mind back, annoyed by its wandering. She uncrossed her legs, the movement suggesting that she was preparing to leave. But he wanted to keep her there as long as possible. To enjoy the new experience of his revitalised libido in the hope that it might remain hot and eager when she went and he could behave in future like any red-blooded male.
‘I can assure you,’ he drawled with absolute truth, ‘that landing this job depends on how you’d fit in and whether your cooking skills are suitable.’
She blinked in astonishment. ‘But…’ She licked her lips and his hypnotised gaze focused on their pink softness as he imagined the taste of her. When her lips parted to allow him a glimpse of her small, perfect teeth, he almost groaned aloud. And cursed her. Admittedly he was enjoying the novelty of his arousal. But not if he couldn’t keep a clear head. ‘You’re mad. We…couldn’t work together!’ she declared breathily.
‘Together? Hardly that. It wouldn’t be an intimate association,’ he murmured, blotting out some highly salacious thoughts. Her in the kitchen. Him, creeping up and… Hell. He squeezed his thighs together tightly and got back on course. ‘You’d be cooking. I’d be eating,’ he added drily.
Why the devil, he wondered, was he playing around like this? He ought to be throwing her application right back at her and consoling her with a different offer entirely.
And yet…some stubborn part of him—the male, testosterone-filled part that had been sadly neglected for years—couldn’t resist the idea of having her working as his chef. His mind raced on. Santo cielo! Was he mad? No. Just starved of fantastic sex. But he could have that, he felt sure. He didn’t have to employ her as well.
Pulling himself together—again!—he fumbled around in his befuddled mind for a neutral question. In a neutral tone, if he could manage it.
‘I’m curious to know why you applied.’
Her eyes filled with scorn. ‘Vido, is there any point in either of us wasting our time on this farce?’
‘Could be,’ he conceded, going totally against common sense. ‘Do you want the job?’
‘I did.’
Yes. Definite disappointment. He felt a kick of excitement. ‘Am I to understand that you definitely wouldn’t work here because of me?’
Her eyes widened as if he’d said something unbelievably stupid. Which he probably had. She took a deep breath, her eyes scalding.
‘Are you joking?’ she scathed. And then, almost to herself, ‘I really liked the sound of this job. It was everything I’ve ever wanted.’
‘But.’
Her eyes lowered and he found his gaze focusing on her lush mouth. Very kissable. A lying, deceitful mouth that tasted of honey.
‘Yes,’ she croaked. ‘And it’s a pretty enormous “but”, isn’t it?’
His mind was suddenly racing with possibilities. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t put pressure on the ailing Willoughby to admit that he’d confessed Anna had slipped the money into the locker. But perhaps he had found the ideal way to put the screws on her. He felt a load lift from his shoulders. Yes. That was it.
Two things were bugging him. The terrible need he felt for her, and the fact that she could easily spread malicious gossip about his good character. His reputation had been built on honesty and trust. It was essential he should be whiter than white. Anna must be silenced. And what better way than to have her both in his employ and in his bed?
He’d take her on. Seduce her too. His heart pumped faster. Then he’d trap her into an admission while she was in the throes of passion. And get the confession he needed.
CHAPTER THREE
VIDO let his mind spin through the obvious—if crazy—conclusion. There would be side benefits, he reasoned. If she spent time with him here, she’d also discover the kind of man he really was. She’d come to question her mistaken judgement of him.
After working here for a while, she’d know without a shadow of doubt that truth and honour were part and parcel of his nature and she’d be ready to listen to his side of the story.
Why that was important to him, he didn’t know. Only that it was.
She’d have to apologise for her insults and her vindictive behaviour on her knees…
He almost let out a groan, picturing the moment, wondering what stage their relationship would have reached by then. Would she, by then, be begging for his favours as well—or begging for them to continue?
He couldn’t deny that seducing her would give him pleasure. Every rampant, demanding hormone in his body was telling him that. Her capitulation would be even sweeter accompanied by fulsome apologies.
And then he’d be free of her. Free to settle down with a warm and affectionate woman like Camilla, someone who’d love him and give him healthy children without hang-ups. His PA was out of the picture now, since she’d fallen heavily for the gardener, but…
‘I think we’ve come to a full stop, don’t you?’ she said suddenly.
He gave a quick frown, realising that he’d been silent for too long. ‘No. More of a comma.’ At her raised eyebrow, he scratched around for a reason and alighted on one in relief. ‘If I don’t interview you properly, you would be entitled to complain and sue for discrimination. That would be a disaster. My companies have a reputation for fairness second to none.’
He paused, fighting the urge to tell her that staff agencies told him his company was so popular and sought-after that applicants would sell their grandmothers into slavery to work for him. She’d never believe that.
‘Really?’ she said coolly.
As expected, she didn’t give credence to a word he’d said.
His eyes narrowed, the line of his mouth tightening in anger at her contempt for him. On her knees, he vowed, his eyes glinting. She would learn that it was possible to be poor and honest and he’d never had designs on her inheritance.
He reckoned that his staff could cope with her snobbery for, say…six months max. They’d show her how people from all walks of life could contribute. How well they could get on. She needed that lesson. His mind turned to steel.
‘Ask around,’ he growled, offended by her tone. ‘I’m known to be just and generous to my employees and I don’t wan
t that reputation questioned. So let’s continue as if we’ve never met before. First,’ he said, sweeping on before she could claim that was an impossible task, ‘I’ll tell you a little about the company and myself. Then you can explain why you initially wanted to work here. After that, we’ll go through the usual rigmarole. I’m legally bound to do this. Understood?’
Her eyes were a soft, cloudy grey that did their best to disconcert him with their look of naked apprehension. Wary and suspicious, she appeared to consider her options. He pretended to be indifferent even though he could hear his heart thudding hard and fast with anticipation.
He needed her consent. It was imperative that she entered his web and became tangled in it. How long he kept her after that was a matter of conjecture.
She knew that this was her chance to leave with her dignity unimpaired. But for some time she had been shaking too much to risk getting to her feet. The power of him, the almost hypnotic quality of his black, fevered eyes, had kept her glued to the chair.
She dared not move. So she shrugged as if she didn’t care either way what she did and handed over her CV.
Vido pretended to study it even though the words swam around like tadpoles.
‘I have nothing to lose, have I?’ The smoky eyes, fringed with impossibly black lashes, met his in icy challenge. ‘Go on. I’m intrigued. Tell me about yourself. Explain how you made your money with your own talent.’
From her scathing tone, she made it sound as if he’d opened up a string of brothels funded by a weekly drug run from Colombia.
Leaning back in his chair, he suppressed his rising temper. It would give him great pleasure to see her humbled.
‘I’ll stick to describing my current achievements,’ he said coldly. ‘You don’t need to know how I got to my present position.’
‘Ashamed of what you did?’ she wondered aloud.
Bitch. His jaw tightened. The need for justice burned deeper with every insult she flung at him.
‘No. It’s too long a story. But you’ll hear it one day, you can be sure of that,’ he replied through his teeth. ‘For the moment you’ll have to be satisfied with information on a need-to-know basis. I’ve built my reputation as a troubleshooter,’ he continued, launching grim-faced into his spiel. ‘When businesses get into difficulties, I turn around their falling sales, solve battles between the staff, and put the businesses back into profit. My job is to say the unsayable, transform teams, and sort out rivalries and power struggles so that a business can function as it should.’
Suddenly she seemed very attentive. Almost fascinated. He continued, trying not to over-egg the pudding. Just the facts, he told himself. For now.
‘I have a company in Milan—Il Conciliatore, which means troubleshooter. Two years ago I started up a sister company based in London, which is in the process of moving here—’
‘Why?’ she shot with icy directness.
Seeing the suspicion in her eyes, he gave a mocking smile. ‘I had to go somewhere,’ he replied. ‘It’s the heart of England, a good place to be for my business. Besides, I knew how beautiful it was around the Stratford area. And I have always regarded this village as home.’ He let that sink in. ‘I particularly wanted a good quality of life for my employees and their families. Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not a soft touch—’
‘I wouldn’t dream of thinking you were,’ she said with feeling.
He narrowed his eyes. With every sarcastic utterance she made, her hatred fuelled his need to win this particular battle. He’d crush her. Mentally, emotionally, physically.
‘It’s wise business practice,’ he said tightly. ‘People work better when they’re happy. I get more out of them and sick leave is cut to a minimum.’
‘So we’ve established you like to work your employees hard, while they fondly imagine you’re benevolent,’ she said with an unlikely sweetness. ‘But why Stanford House?’
Persistent little madam. ‘I needed a large country house for my purpose,’ he answered, omitting to mention that there had been several others, which would have been just as suitable.
‘And acquiring it gave you a nice little revenge,’ she said, her lip curling. Her direct gaze challenged him to deny that.
So he didn’t. ‘Of course. It was quite a moment,’ he conceded, provoked further by the glitter of steel in her intense grey eyes. ‘You can’t blame me. Many years ago, I stood here in this very room, pleading on my mother’s behalf and explaining that she’d complained to your grandfather because he’d made her work five days’ overtime for no extra pay. It wasn’t right that he’d sacked her just for that. However, I swallowed my pride and begged him to reinstate her because she desperately needed the money. He sat where I’m sitting now and laughed at me. Called me…’ he took a breath to ease his starved lungs ‘…a snivelling little bastard son of a whore.’
Anna gave a little gasp. Remembering that moment, he could feel the skin tautening over his cheekbones. His nostrils flared and whitened.
‘I was dragged away by two heavies and thrown out. By the back door, of course. Not the front,’ he added softly. But his anger spat sparks from every carefully enunciated word.
‘I’m sorry about that. Grandpa was very…Victorian where his staff were concerned.’ Anna had the grace to look uncomfortable before she rallied. ‘But don’t forget, he’s in hospital because of the house sale,’ she said in retaliation.
‘What exactly are you suggesting? If you think about it,’ he clipped, ‘it was his bad management which made the disposal of the house necessary. In fact, I realised that the factory was in trouble ten years ago. Staff relations were at an all-time low even then. My role in the purchase of the house had nothing to do with his stroke. I came along at the right moment and paid a good price, relieving his debt considerably. Your grandfather’s illness was not of my making. Was it?’ he demanded, flinging the words at her like pistol shots.
‘No.’ Contrite, she looked down at her hands, which were twisting restlessly on her lap. ‘I apologise if I implied it was. And he shouldn’t have been so rude to you. I didn’t know about that.’
‘Apology accepted,’ he bit, not relaxing for one moment.
Sullen and rebellious, her eyes flashed up to his. ‘So why do you need a house like this instead of a large office block?’
‘It’s the way I work,’ he replied shortly. ‘I intend to continue the methods that produced so many successes in Milan. We assess the state of our clients’ companies on site. Then I intend to bring the management here—and anyone else concerned—for a long weekend. Whilst off duty and enjoying various relaxing leisure activities, the managers will reveal a good deal about themselves. It’s an essential part of understanding how they interact and react to one another.’
‘Your staff are involved in this?’
With a frown drawing her dark brows together, she leant forward, clearly intrigued. Fascination had parted her lips and her eyes sparkled with interest. Her skin seemed to glow.
Damn her. Hopelessly diverted, he stared at her CV and made a totally unnecessary mark beside some of the bullet points. He needed to stay sharp and focused if he was to steer her towards accepting his offer.
‘Anyone with an opinion will be welcome to air it. We all eat breakfast and lunch together and chat things over. Me, our guests, my PA, secretary, gardener, handyman, fellow troubleshooters and…the chef.’ She’d be dynamite amongst that lot, he thought. He wrestled with his conscience. And lost. He had to have her here. To bow her to his will. ‘We work as one unit. Everyone pulls together. That’s why I spend so long on choosing my employees.’
Her eyebrow shot up, a touch of wry humour lifting her mouth. ‘That lets me out.’
Temper caught him. ‘Because you think you’re far too well-bred to consort with my handyman and gardener?’
‘No. Because you’re doing the choosing and I’d be bottom of your list after slugs and snails,’ she countered. ‘Well, thanks for your valuable time. I’m off.’
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‘You’ll stay right where you are!’ he ordered, the authority in his voice pinning her to the seat. ‘I am obliged to give you a fair crack of the whip and you’re not going till this interview is finished. Your turn.’ Seeing he’d stopped her in her tracks, he allowed himself a small smile. ‘Sell yourself to me,’ he murmured.
It was a definite challenge and he looked at her with a hint of mocking arrogance in his expression.
That small smirk decided it for her. With her legs no longer pretending to be wobbling jellies, she’d been on the point of walking out. Instead, she’d dazzle him with her brilliance and make him wish he could employ her.
With no chance of that happening, she might as well use this interview as a practice run for others. With a little shrug, she settled herself more comfortably in her chair and tried to remember the opening words that Peter had written for her to say.
‘I’m a qualified chef, as you can see from my CV,’ she began. ‘When I left my catering course as the top student in the college, I had an offer to work as a sous chef in a well-known London restaurant. This was highly unusual, but the college principal personally recommended me and once I’d worked a trial day at the restaurant, the chef asked me to stay on. My cooking and kitchen organisation skills, I was told, are outstanding—’
‘Which restaurant?’
‘La Scala,’ she said with some pride. ‘You have the chef’s reference there.’
Vido looked impressed, as well he might. All the celebrities flocked there and the chef was a famous personality in his own right. She was disappointed, though, that he didn’t bother to read the glowing reference.
‘You were there for three years. Then, I see, you were head chef in Georgio’s, in Stratford. Something of a comedown. And…currently,’ he purred, after hastily checking her CV, ‘you’re cooking pizzas.’ His eyes were mocking. ‘Presumably you weren’t up to those jobs after all.’
