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Ravenna couldn’t allow it. Especially since her mother had stolen to save her.
Hot guilt flooded her. How desperate Mamma must have been, how worried, to have stolen this man’s money! She must have known he’d destroy her if he found out.
Which was why Ravenna had to act.
She stepped forward, her index finger prodding Jonas’ hard chest. It felt frighteningly immovable. But she had to puncture his certainty. Attack seemed her best chance.
‘Don’t pretend to know my mother.’ Furtively she sucked in air, her breathing awry as her pulse catapulted. ‘You weren’t even living at home when we moved to Deveson Hall.’
‘You’re telling me you masterminded this theft?’ His tone was sceptical. ‘I think not.’
‘You—’ her finger poked again ‘—aren’t in a position to know anything about me.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ Warm fingers closed around her hand so that suddenly she was no longer the aggressor but his captive. Tendrils of sensation curled up her arm and made her shiver. ‘I know quite a bit about you. I know you hated school, especially maths and science. You wanted to run away but felt you had to stick it out for your mother’s sake.’
Ravenna’s eyes widened. ‘You remember that?’ Her voice faded to a whisper. She’d assumed he’d long forgotten her teary confession the day he’d found her wallowing in teenage self-pity.
‘You hated being made to play basketball just because you were tall. As I recall you wanted to be tiny, blonde and one of five children, all rejoicing in the name of Smith.’
It was true. Living up to her mother’s expectations of academic and social success had been impossible, especially for an undistinguished scholar like Ravenna, surrounded by unsupportive peers who treated her as a perennial outsider. For years she’d longed, not to be ‘special’ but to blend in.
‘And you didn’t like the way one of the gardeners had begun to stare at you.’
Ridiculously heat flushed her skin. That summer she’d been a misfit, neither child nor adult. She hadn’t known what she wanted.
But she hadn’t minded when Jonas Deveson looked at her or, for one precious, fleeting moment, stroked wayward curls off her face.
Ravenna blinked. She wasn’t fifteen now.
‘You remember far more of that day than I do.’ Another lie. Two in one day had to be a record for her. Maybe if she kept it up she could even sound convincing.
Did she imagine a slight softening in those grey eyes?
No. Easier to believe she’d scored her dream job as a pastry chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant than that this steely man had a compassionate side.
‘You haven’t changed that much.’ His deep voice stirred something unsettling deep inside.
‘No? You didn’t even recognise me.’ She pulled back but he didn’t loosen his grip. He held her trapped.
For a moment fear spidered through her, till she reminded herself he had too much pride to force himself on an unwilling woman. His hold wasn’t sexual, it was all about power. The charged awareness was all on her side, not his.
She had no intention of analysing that. She had enough to worry about.
‘You’ve changed a lot.’ Her tone made it clear it wasn’t a compliment. At twenty-one he’d been devastatingly handsome but unexpectedly kind and patient. She’d liked him, even more than liked him in her naïve way.
Now he was all harsh edges, irascible and judgemental. What was there to like?
‘We’re not here to discuss me.’ His eyes searched hers. Stoically she kept her head up and face blank. Better to brazen out her claim than show a hint of doubt.
Yet inside she was wobbly as jelly. The past days had taken their toll as she saw how grief had ravaged her mother, making her seem frail. Ravenna had sent her away from the apartment so ripe with memories of Piers. She’d offered to pack up the flat and deal with the landlord, but even those simple tasks were a test of Ravenna’s endurance. Now this...
‘We’re here to discuss my money.’ Jonas’ fingers firmed around her. ‘The money stolen from my account.’
Ravenna swallowed hard at his unrelenting tone.
Just what was the penalty for theft and forgery?
* * *
Jonas felt her hand twitch in his.
A sign of guilt or proof she lied about being the one who’d ripped him off?
Her soft eyes were huge in her finely sculpted face, giving her an air of fragility despite her punk-short hair and belligerently angled chin.
Jonas wasn’t sentimental enough to let looks mar his decision-making. Yet, absurdly, he found himself hesitating.
He didn’t want to believe Ravenna guilty.
Far easier to believe her rapacious mother had organised this swindle. After years keeping his emotions bottled up he’d almost enjoyed the roaring surge of fury against his father’s mistress that had borne him across the channel in a red-misted haze.
But what bothered him most was the recognition he didn’t want it to be Ravenna because he remembered her devastating innocence and honesty years ago. He didn’t want to reconcile that memory with the knowledge she’d become a thief.
Jonas’ lips twisted. Who’d have thought he still had illusions he didn’t want to shatter? He’d been too long in the cut-throat business world to believe in the innate honesty of mankind. Experience had taught him man—and womankind were out for all they could get.
Why should this revelation be so unwelcome?
‘You say you wrote the cheques?’
Again that jerk of tension through her. Her pulse tripped against his palm and he resisted the absurd impulse to caress her there.
She nodded, the movement brief but emphatic.
‘How did you get access to the cheque book?’ Piers would have been canny enough to keep it close at hand, not lying around. ‘Were you living here with them?’
‘No, I—’ She paused and her gaze shifted away. Instinct told him she hid something. ‘But I visited. Often. My mother and I have always been close.’
That at least had the ring of truth. He remembered her misery in her teens, not simply because she hated school and the vicious little witches who made her life hell there, but because she didn’t want to disappoint her mother by leaving. She cared what her mother thought.
Enough to learn her mother’s ways in seeking easy money from a man? Had she modelled herself on Silvia?
The notion left a sour tang of disappointment on his tongue.
‘You’re hurting me!’
Jonas eased his grip, but didn’t let her go. He was determined to sort this out. Until then he’d keep her close.
‘Why did you need the money?’
Her eyebrows arched and she tilted her head as if to inspect him. As if he weren’t already close enough to see the rays of gold in the depths of her eyes.
‘You’re kidding, right?’ Her tone of insouciant boredom echoed the attitude of entitlement he’d heard so often among wealthy, privileged young things who’d never worked a day in their lives. Except something in her tone was ever so slightly off-key.
Suspicion snaked through him.
He pulled her closer, till her body mirrored his. He felt the tension hum through her. Good! He wanted her unsettled.
‘A girl needs to live, doesn’t she?’ This time there was an edge of desperation in her tone. ‘I’ve had...expenses.’
‘What sort of expenses? Even shopping at the top Parisian fashion houses wouldn’t have swallowed up all that money.’
Her gaze slid from his. ‘This and that.’
A cold, hard weight formed in the pit of Jonas’ belly. He was surprised to feel nausea well.
‘Drugs?’
She shook her head once, then shrugged. ‘Debts.’
‘Gambling?’
‘Why the inquisition? I’ve admitted I took your money. That’s all that matters.’ Her gaze meshed with his and a jagged flash of heat resonated through Jonas. It stunned him.
How could a mere look do that? It wasn’t even a sultry invitation but a surly, combative stare that annoyed the hell out of him.
Yet aftershocks still tumbled through his clenching belly and he found himself leaning closer, inhaling her warm cinnamon and hot woman scent.
This couldn’t be happening.
He refused to feel anything for the woman who’d stolen from him. Especially since she was Silvia Ruggiero’s daughter. The thought of that family connection was like a cold douche.
Deliberately he chose his next words to banish any illusion of closeness. ‘Why steal from me when Piers would have indulged a pretty young thing like you? I’m sure he’d have been amendable to private persuasion.’
‘You’re sick. You know that? Piers was with my mother. He had no interest in me.’ She drew herself up as if horrified. Either she was a brilliant actor or she drew the line at men old enough to be her father.
‘In my experience he wasn’t discriminating.’
Ravenna yanked her hand to free it from his grasp but Jonas wasn’t playing. He wrapped his other arm hard around her narrow back, drawing her up against him.
Just to keep her still, he assured himself.
It worked. With a stifled gasp she froze. Only the quick rise and fall of her breasts against his arm where he still held her hand revealed animation.
‘Speaking from personal experience, are you, Jonas?’ Her voice was all sneer. ‘What are you doing now? Copping a feel?’
His jaw ached with the effort to bite back a retort.
Unlike his father he’d never been a sucker for a pretty face and a show of cleavage. Sure, he appreciated a sexy woman. But he was discriminating, private in his affairs and loyal to whomever he was with. His intellect and his sense of honour took precedence over cheap thrills.
When he married there’d be no shady liaisons on the side, no whispered rumours and knowing looks to embarrass his family. None of the pain to which Piers had subjected them.
Jonas stared down at the firebrand who’d managed to tap into emotions he’d kept safely stowed for years. In one short interlude she’d cut through years of hard-won self-control so he teetered on the brink of spontaneous, uncharacteristic, dangerous action. He almost growled his fury and frustration aloud.
He wanted to lean down and silence her sassy mouth, force those lush lips apart and relieve some of his frustrated temper in steamy passion and a vibrant, accommodating woman.
She’d be receptive, despite that accusatory look. That was what made the idea so tempting. Ravenna might hate him for making her face what she’d done. But it wasn’t merely anger she felt for him—not by a long chalk.
‘Oh, I choose my women very carefully, Ravenna.’ His voice was a low, guttural burr. ‘And I never take anything from a woman that’s not offered freely.’
Dark satisfaction flared as he assessed her reaction with a knowing eye.
He read her rapid breathing and the flush that began at her cleavage and highlighted her cheeks. The way her tongue furtively slicked her lower lip. The indefinable scent of feminine arousal.
‘Really?’ Her breathless challenge didn’t convince. ‘Well, keep that in mind. I’m not offering you anything.’
Jonas was torn between wanting to kiss her senseless and wanting to put her over his knee. He leaned in a fraction and heard her soft exhale of breath. A sigh...of surrender or triumph?
Suddenly it hit him anew that he was in danger of succumbing to the allure of a Ruggiero female. Of an unprincipled thief who threw her crime in his teeth.
Who enticed with her soft body and tell-tale physical signals.
‘Is that so?’ he murmured, knowing he had her measure.
She’d use any tactic to thwart his retribution. Did she aim to play him for an easy mark, as her mother had targeted Piers?
The realisation stilled his impetuous need to taste her. Yet he couldn’t draw back. He was trapped by a hunger sharper and more potent than he’d known in years.
That infuriated him even more than the missing money. He burned with it, the fire in his belly white hot with a virulent mix of lust and self-disgust at his weakness.
Keeping one arm around her back, he released her hand and let his fingers drift. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, her eyes daring him to do his worst. Because she thought herself immune or because she assumed he wouldn’t rise to her challenge?
His fingers brushed her soft, high breast and moulded automatically to that sweet ripeness. The hard nub of her nipple pressed into his palm and arousal seared his groin. A spasm of something like electricity jerked through his body.
For a breath-stealing moment she stood rigid as if about to lambast him for groping. Her eyes widened in shock, then dropped in heavy-lidded invitation. Her lips parted on a silent sigh. A moment later she shifted, melting against him.
‘Tell me to stop and I will.’
He prayed she wouldn’t.
She opened her mouth but no sound emerged.
The weight of her in his palm, the press of her body, the heady sense of promise thickening the air between them, sapped his resolution.
He was ready to take her up on her unspoken invitation. His body was rock hard with a hunger that was all the stronger for being unexpected. Why not take a little something for himself after she’d taken so much from him? Clearly she expected it, wanted it, if the tremors in her pliant body were any indication.
But that smacked of history repeating itself. The little thief would think he kept his brain between his legs, as his father had when he’d run off with her mother, leaving his responsibilities behind.
Jonas couldn’t let Ravenna enjoy the illusion of triumph. He had too much pride.
He was nobody’s gullible mark.
As she’d learn to her cost.
Gently he squeezed her breast, just enough to elicit a delicate shudder in her fine-boned body and a throaty sigh of delight.
The hairs on his arms prickled and his blood rushed south at the sound of her pleasure. But he refused to respond to the urges of his suddenly intemperate body.
‘You like that, do you, Ravenna?’
Slitted now, her eyes had a glazed look that told its own story. She swallowed convulsively, drawing his attention to the slim length of her pale throat. The collar of her dark jacket sat loose, giving her an air of fragility at odds with the pulse of vibrant life he felt as she arched against him.
He’d pull back soon. In a moment. When he’d allowed himself a single taste...
Cinnamon and feminine spice filled his nostrils as he dipped his head, nudging aside her collar and nipping gently at the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met. She shook in his hold, her hand grasping his between them as if for support.
‘No. Please I—’
Her words cut abruptly as Jonas laved the spot, drawing in the sweet taste of her warm skin.
Too late he realised his error, as he angled his head hungrily for a better taste, pressing kisses up her arching throat, past the throbbing pulse to the neat angle of her jaw.
She was addictive. Scent or taste or the feel of silky soft flesh, or perhaps all three, had Jonas ignoring the voice of reason and losing himself in the moment. In the luxury of caressing Ravenna.
He’d never come across a woman who tempted him so easily.
Her free hand cupped his neck, holding him close, and he pulled her tight against him, enjoying the slide of her body as she bowed back to give him free rein.
He stroked his tongue along the scented skin behind her ear and had to tighten his hold when she slumped against him as if her knees had given way.
She was so responsive, inciting a surge of arousal that swamped all else. Blood roared in his veins, primal instinct taking over. His focus blurred, his mind racing frantically with the practicalities of getting her horizontal as soon as possible.
He nipped lightly at her ear lobe and she turned her head restlessly as if seeking his lips.
Triumph hummed through him as he pressed a kiss to the corner of her lush mouth.
One quick taste then he’d find that preposterous gilded sofa and treat them both to sexual release so intense it would shatter them. Already he was hard as a rock. Carrying her across the room would be torture but he wasn’t letting her go till he’d had his fill. Till they were both limp and the urgent hunger gnawing at his vitals was appeased.
His ears rang with the force of his blood rushing. He ignored it and tilted his head to take her mouth.
Except her eyes were open now and that dreamy expression had faded. Stark horror flared instead in those dark gold depths.
Jonas frowned. She wanted him. He knew it. He felt it with every muscle and sinew as she pressed herself against him. Yet—
The ringing sounded again. This time he realised it came from somewhere outside his head—the front door.
‘Let me go.’ Her voice was so hoarse he read her lips rather than heard her. Jonas blinked, trying to make sense of the abrupt shift in mood.
She pushed against him with both hands. ‘I said, let me go!’ Her gaze slid from his as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. Because he’d made her forget her little game of temptation? Because she’d been the victim of unexpected lust this time instead of the temptress?
Something soured his belly. Memory. Disillusionment. The realisation that despite his vaunted immunity he’d fallen hard and fast for what she offered: hot sex with a gold-digging opportunist.
Just like his father before him.
He released her so quickly she wobbled and he reached out a hand to steady her.
‘Saved by the bell,’ he murmured and watched heat flush her cheeks. Not for the life of him would he let her see how she’d knocked him for six. That was his private shame.
She knocked his hand away, rubbing her palm over the place he’d held her as if to erase his touch. But he wasn’t fooled by her show of antipathy. She’d lost control too. It was that latter truth that cut him to the core, tapping the long-dammed reservoir of fury so it finally broke free.
He watched her spin away from him, her steps uneven as she headed for the foyer. With each step he cursed himself for his weakness. He’d seen what she was. She’d told him. Yet he hadn’t been able to resist her.
‘If that was you being unaffected,’ he drawled, ‘I look forward to seeing what you’re like when you put a little effort into sex.’ He drew a slow breath, watching her stumble to a halt. ‘I was willing to test the waters to see how far you’d go. And I wasn’t disappointed.’
Her shoulders hunched but she didn’t turn around.
For a moment something like sympathy hovered. Jonas had a ridiculous urge to cross the room and pull her close to comfort her.
He shook his head.
What was it about Ravenna Ruggiero that got under his skin despite what she’d done?
Was there a family weakness after all? Something in the Deveson genes that made them putty in the grasping hands of the Ruggiero women?
He gritted his teeth against a howl of fury and, worse, disappointment that now he’d never have her in his arms again. He couldn’t trust himself with her. How sick was that?
He buried the knowledge behind a wall of disdain.
‘Do let me know, if you decide you have something to offer me after all. I might even consider being a little less discriminating just for the novelty of it.’
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