A Passionate Revenge. SARA WOOD

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СКАЧАТЬ Welcome to my home.’

      Despite the lascivious thoughts exploding in his head, he’d managed to rise, his tone deliberately mocking. As he extended his hand, Anna checked her loose-limbed stride. It seemed his assertion that he was now the master of Stanford House had thrown her completely off balance. He smiled faintly with satisfaction.

      ‘Vido.’

      Her husky whisper ricocheted through some alarmingly sensitive parts of him. More tantalisingly, she licked her lips and he realised that she must be dry-mouthed in shock. Swallowing, and as if driven by an involuntary action she couldn’t prevent, she hesitantly walked towards him then reached out to allow his hand to close around hers.

      He knew he’d hung on to her a shade too long. But that was because her grave grey eyes were fixed on his in hurt dismay and his mind had momentarily gone blank.

      His protective instincts were urging him to leap over the desk and soothe her agitation. Which only showed how stupid and unreliable one’s instincts could be. Anna was pure ice and acid lemon through and through to her cold little steely heart.

      Snatching her hand away and rubbing her palm as if he’d burnt it, she snapped without preamble, ‘When did you know I’d applied for this job?’

      She was stunning in her anger. Eyes blazing. A flush on those high cheekbones. Her ribcage high with those short inhalations of breath. Glorious. He gritted his teeth against the urge to catch her to him and fling her down on his desk. Later, he promised himself. And had to stop himself from gasping at the shaft of pleasure that gave him.

      ‘Not till this morning,’ he managed, sounding harsher than he’d intended.

      She bristled. ‘And yet knowing that, you kept me waiting all day.’

      He allowed himself a small smile. Fortunately she didn’t know how much that wait had cost him. Tension had mounted as each applicant came and went. And now his self-control was all over the place, scattering at the very nearness of her. Seducing her promised to be one hell of a way to begin his vendetta.

      ‘That’s right.’

      He was breathing too heavily. A drowsy lassitude was stealing over him and he silently cursed her for what she was doing to his body. A bad dose of old-fashioned lust. Fine—but he needed to stay in control.

      There was a sizzling flash as her eyes registered contempt.

      ‘Petty of you,’ she spat.

      ‘Or perhaps I wanted to see you last so that we could have a long chat.’ He waited for her comment but she merely glared. ‘What do you think of the renovations?’ he probed, seeking something banal to cool his ardour and reduce it to mere boiling point.

      She hesitated. ‘It pains me to say it but they’re wonderful,’ she said, her tone grudging. ‘You’ve returned the house to its former glory.’

      It was a gracious concession and one that surprised him. He acknowledged her compliment with a dip of his head.

      ‘It gave me a lot of pleasure to do so,’ he murmured.

      ‘I bet,’ she muttered.

      ‘Please sit down,’ he drawled, enjoying the elegance of her fluid movements as she sank rather suddenly into the high-backed Georgian chair, almost as if her legs would no longer support her.

      Studying her, he saw that her charcoal-grey suit was well tailored and decided that it must have been part of her wardrobe before the Willoughbys had discovered the reality of poverty. Her white shirt was impeccable and ironed to within an inch of its life but the cuffs were a little frayed.

      Seeing his gaze linger on her wrists, she blushed and drew her hands back into the sleeves of the jacket. A woman who blushed at the age of twenty-six! he marvelled. And felt distinctly unsettled by that.

      ‘I knew we’d meet again, but I didn’t expect it to be like this,’ he opened lazily.

      Her chin jerked up to reveal a defiant mouth. ‘I thought I’d seen the last of you.’ Her tone suggested that it had been her fervent hope, too. ‘I don’t even know why I’m still sitting here,’ she muttered.

      He admired her spirit—and again her honesty. She’d made no concession to the fact that she ought to be trying to please her prospective employer. The idea of having her working here ignited him. No. It was impossible. Forget it.

      ‘Curiosity and destiny perhaps. We have unfinished business,’ he drawled.

      ‘That’s where you’re wrong!’ she retorted. ‘The past is over and done with.’

      If only, he thought. But he had scores to settle. Questions that had to be answered. A vow to fulfil. A delicious sense of triumph rolled through him.

      ‘It might have been. Except that I have now moved close to where you live and so the past can’t be ignored. Every time I see you or pass your cottage, I will think of what happened between us,’ he purred.

      ‘Nothing happened!’ she protested. ‘I made sure of that.’

      That was her take on it. But his life, and his mother’s, had been turned upside down by the Willoughbys. His mouth thinned.

      ‘Oh, a great deal happened, Anna,’ he growled. ‘Believe me, it did.’

      As if remembering the early, golden days they’d spent together, she touched her mouth with a nervous finger and he found himself recalling the pressure of her warm, sensual lips and the melting of her body against his.

      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.

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