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‘Perhaps, Mr Deveson, we could meet later today to conclude our discussion?’ She had a snowball’s chance in hell of fobbing him off but she had to try. The idea of him watching them trail around the apartment, sizing up her mamma’s possessions, made her skin crawl.
‘I think not, Ravenna.’ He deliberately dropped his voice to a pseudo caress on her name. To her consternation and shame she felt her skin tingle and her nipples harden.
It was as if she were programmed to respond sexually even to the cadence of his voice!
‘I’m afraid Monsieur Giscard and I will be busy for some time—’
‘Don’t let me disturb you.’ His open wave of the arm, as if graciously giving them permission to continue, made her grit her teeth. ‘I’m happy to wait.’
As if to emphasise his point he sank onto a gilded chair and nonchalantly crossed his legs, his hands palm down on the arms in a pose that screamed authority. His tall frame in that delicate chair should have looked ridiculous. Instead he looked...regal.
For a second Ravenna toyed with the idea of calling for the police to eject him as an unwanted intruder. Until she realised the police were the last people she wanted. Her mother’s crime loomed over her like a leaden storm cloud.
Fear sank talons deep into her vitals. This impossible situation could only get worse, given this man’s implacable thirst for vengeance. Her body stiffened, adrenalin surging and heart pounding in an unstoppable fight-or-flight response. Chaotic thoughts of disappearing out of the front door and not coming back raced through her brain.
But she couldn’t do it.
Ravenna was hardworking, dutiful, responsible. It was the way she was made, reinforced no doubt by watching her mother slave so long and hard to support them both.
Besides, if she disappeared, Jonas would go after Mamma.
Drawing a slow breath, she squared her shoulders. If there was one thing the last months had taught her it was that she had the power to endure more than she’d ever thought possible. She’d pay the debt somehow, save her mother from his destructive fury, then get on with her life.
‘As you wish. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.’ She shot him a dazzling smile and had the momentary pleasure of seeing him disconcerted. Then she turned to Monsieur Giscard, gesturing for him to precede her from the room. ‘I thought we might start in the study.’
* * *
Why Piers had needed a study was beyond Jonas. The old man hadn’t worked for years, merely living off what was left of his investments.
Jonas had been at the helm of what had begun as a Deveson family investment company. He’d cut the old man from his life and manoeuvred him from the business when he’d left and destroyed Jonas’ mother, never once expressing regret.
Shifting in the uncomfortable chair, he cast a scathing look around the room. It didn’t improve with familiarity. The few good pieces were overwhelmed by the clutter of showy ornamentation.
Piers had been a magpie, attracted by the bright and shiny, displaying his wealth in the most obvious way. That went especially for women.
Jonas raked his hand through his hair. Had Ravenna Ruggiero’s dismay been genuine when he’d suggested she should have used her feminine wiles to get money from Piers?
More important—what on earth had possessed him to touch her?
He was appalled by his reaction to her, but fascinated. He couldn’t remember being fascinated by anything other than an exciting investment opportunity in years.
Jonas shot to his feet, unwilling to sit on the sidelines.
He found them in a large room dominated by a massive desk. They were examining ornate snuffboxes.
‘This is a passably good piece. You might manage a hundred euros for it.’
The antique dealer, Giscard, had his back to the door so Jonas couldn’t see what he held. But Ravenna’s disappointment at the words was clear. Her shoulders slumped and her whole body sagged.
‘Really? I’d thought perhaps this at least might be worth more.’ Her voice had an edge of desperation.
Giscard turned and Jonas watched him hesitate, his brisk manner softening as he took in her barely concealed distress.
‘Well, perhaps a little more. I tend to err on the side of caution, Mademoiselle Ruggiero.’ He turned back to the item in his hands. ‘After a closer look I think it possible we could do better. If you like I can undertake the sale personally. I have some contacts who might be interested.’
‘Really?’ Ravenna’s eyes shone hopefully and she leaned towards him. ‘That would be wonderful, Monsieur Giscard.’ Her voice was soft with hope and Jonas felt his skin contract as if she’d brushed her fingertips over him.
He clenched his jaw, furious yet intrigued at the power of that throaty voice.
‘It is the least I can do in the sad circumstances.’ The dealer moved closer as if drawn by her tremulous smile. ‘Perhaps, in the circumstances, you should call me Etienne.’
Jonas’ grip tightened on the doorjamb as the pair continued their conversation, oblivious to his presence.
Distaste was a pungent note on his tongue as he watched the older man respond to Ravenna’s artful show of vulnerability. That was what it was, he realised, his lips thinning in a grim smile.
The woman who’d made such a point of confronting him with her crime was no innocent. She was brazen and unrepentant.
From the moment she’d revealed her identity, flouncing about the astronomically expensive apartment as if it were hers, he’d wondered why she’d dressed as she had. The dark trouser suit was tailored but it hung on her, making her look like a child dressing up, especially with the gamine haircut accentuating her exquisitely pared features and huge eyes.
There’d been nothing childlike about her when he’d caressed her. She’d been all needy woman. Yet with her navy jacket hanging loose around her neck, she exuded an air of fragility that intrigued him.
Now he knew why. That vulnerability, enhanced by the sedate cut of clothes that hinted at mourning, was a deliberate act to aid her dealings with the antique dealer.
Look at Giscard! He ate her up with his eyes, like a dog slavering after a bone.
She’d prepared carefully for the interview to play on the Frenchman’s sympathies.
And Jonas had doubted she was capable of thieving!
She was as conniving and dangerous as her mother.
More so. He remembered Silvia as having a blatant sensuality that made her stand out like a Mediterranean sex goddess with her flashing eyes, swinging hips and earthy laugh. But her daughter... He narrowed his eyes as he watched the woman so easily manipulating the Frenchman. She had an arresting face, the sort of eyes that a less pragmatic man could lose himself in, and a body that, though slim, made him want to haul her close and discover its secrets.
But there was more. An aura of banked passion and quick intelligence that melded into something that drew him at the most primitive, male level.
He wanted her.
The realisation hit him a solid blow to the belly.
He didn’t like or admire her. She was the sort of woman he’d learnt to despise.
And still he wanted her.
He dragged in a deep breath, ignoring the anticipation fizzing his blood at the thought of bedding Ravenna Ruggiero.
It wasn’t going to happen. His standards were higher than that.
Instead he would make her pay for what she’d done. He’d make sure she learned the value of the money she’d taken, and when he’d finished with her she’d understand the value of hard work too. She’d repay her debt in full. There’d be no easy escape if she tried batting those long eyelashes at him.
There’d be no police, no trial. He’d looked forward to branding his father’s mistress publicly as a thief. But for reasons he didn’t want to investigate, that didn’t seem appropriate now Ravenna had revealed herself as the culprit.
Yes, he could throw her to the mercy of the courts. But having seen her, touched her, he wanted a much more personal recompense.
She’d stolen his money but the insult carved deeper than the loss of mere money, which, after all, was easily replaced.
Jonas told himself his decision had nothing to do with the heat haze of desire still drenching his skin as he watched her flirt with another man.
Or the feeling she’d somehow bested him in their first confrontation even though he held all the winning cards in this contest.
For there was a contest. Of wills. Of strength and, above all, of pride.
Somehow she’d breached the fortress he’d long ago built around his emotions. He was disappointed to discover she’d gone the way of her mother, intent on easy money rather than working for it like any decent woman. He’d expected better of her. It was as if she’d betrayed his memory of her.
His lips twisted as he reviewed his decision to give her a chance to avoid a criminal record. It was almost altruistic of him. Facing the consequences of her crime in the form of hard work might be the making of her.
Jonas’ eyes narrowed as she batted those lush lashes at the besotted Frenchman. Something cold and sharp solidified in his belly.
No matter what the outcome, he looked forward to collecting on his debt.
* * *
‘Now these,’ purred Monsieur Giscard, ‘are in a different class altogether.’ He stood in front of a cabinet displaying a collection of old glassware.
‘Really?’ Ravenna stepped closer, her hopes rising. So far they’d come across little that could be sold to pay off Mamma’s debts, let alone set her up with a nest egg for the future. ‘You think they may be valuable?’
She had little expectation of finding anything to cover the money her mother had taken from Jonas Deveson’s account but scraping together enough to pay Mamma’s immediate bills would be an enormous relief.
‘I need to examine them properly, but this appears to be a fine collection of early glassware.’ He paused, excitement lighting his face. ‘Really, a very fine collection...’ His voice trailed as he bent to view a goblet with a long, thick stem of twisted glass.
Ravenna held her breath as he opened the cabinet and reached for the goblet.
‘I’m afraid those pieces aren’t for sale.’ The deep voice came from just behind her and she jumped. She hadn’t heard Jonas Deveson approach.
‘Do you have to sneak up like that?’ As soon as the words snapped out she regretted them, seeing his raised brows and knowing smirk. Maybe it was petty given the enormity of what lay between them, but she’d rather not reveal how thoroughly he unsettled her.
He didn’t answer, instead turning to Monsieur Giscard, who held the glass cradled reverentially in his hands.
‘C’est magnifique!’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Before Ravenna could stop him Jonas reached out and took it from the Frenchman, holding it up to the light for a moment, before putting it back in the cabinet and shutting the door. ‘But it’s not for sale.’
‘Now look here—!’
He cut her off as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘It seems this inventory of yours is flawed.’ He took the clipboard from her and glanced down at it. Before Ravenna had the presence of mind to snatch it back he’d taken a gold pen from a pocket and begun slashing lines through her list.
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