A Passionate Revenge. Sara Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 heart.

      ‘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. СКАЧАТЬ