“Anna. Welcome to my home.”

“Vido.” Her husky whisper ricocheted through some alarmingly sensitive parts of him. Crazily, he thought that seducing her promised to be one hell of a way to begin his vendetta.

“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. The idea of having her working here ignited him.

“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. A vow to fulfill. A delicious sense of triumph rolled through him.

There are times in a man’s life…

when only seduction will settle old scores!

Pick up our exciting series of revenge-titled romances—they’re recommended and red-hot!

Available only from

Harlequin Presents®

A Passionate Revenge
Sara Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘NOW tell me. Why the secrecy?’ Vido’s PA demanded. ‘Why was I forbidden to mention your name during the purchase of this house? And why did you want it so badly that you paid over the odds?’

More than a little petulant, Camilla Lycett-Brown swung her long legs into his car and tried to make sense of the extraordinary tension that ran through Vido’s entire body.

Injustice! he wanted to snarl, with a bitterness that startled him. But he realised how powerfully his Italian blood burned in his veins, despite having an English father—whoever he was—and living in England for the first eighteen years of his life.

At that age he’d fled to Italy with his mother and ever since, the scouring injustice had clawed and chewed and nagged at him. Slowly and viciously it had taken over his life till he knew he had to take steps to seek a solution of his own—or lose his sanity.

‘My late mother worked here,’ he said abruptly. ‘As a cook.’

The memories of that time flooded back, tearing at him cruelly. The insults. The humiliation and betrayal.

His jaw tight, he took one last look at the historic Elizabethan building in the small village of Shottery. He had owned Stanford House for the past two weeks but this had been his first visit since it had been purchased from the bankrupt George Willoughby.

For you, Mama, he said in silent offering. One of his goals achieved. Two more to come and then he could rest easy.

‘And?’ Camilla was astute enough to know there was more to it than he was saying.

Wondering how much to tell her, he drove away, towards the elaborate wrought-iron gates. But when they hummed smoothly shut behind the car, he found his hands shaking so much that he had to switch off the ignition.

Turning his head, he glowered back at the house. The early-April sunshine illuminated the stately façade with a welcoming warmth. This belonged to him now! A sudden explosion of excitement made it hard for him to breathe. Such a building, such a lifestyle, had once seemed utterly beyond his reach.

Acquiring Stanford meant more to him than turning around the family business in Italy and putting it into profit. More, too, than his formidable reputation in Milan as the only conceivable man to call in whenever a company teetered on the brink of extinction.

Because this little triumph was deeply personal.

‘Mother was sacked. Unfairly.’

His voice was quiet, his eyes hard and unforgiving. The specialist had confided that his beloved mother’s ME had initially been triggered by the stress of Willoughby’s impossible demands. It saddened Vido that she had died before she could enjoy the luxuries he could provide. He mourned her deeply and would fulfil his vow to her, whatever it took.

‘That started off a chain of events that soured her life and mine.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘We went through hell. I was still at school but I took night-shift work in a factory owned by the same man who lived in Stanford House.’ He hesitated. What the hell. It might help to confide in her. ‘Then he threw me out of the factory for theft—even though he knew his daughter had framed me. They caused me to be vilified as a thief!’

He spat out the word, still incapable of containing his horror at the sickening shame he’d felt. The proud lines of his face were riven with a grim anger and Camilla cringed back in her seat, suddenly afraid of this unknown, dark side to Vido’s nature.

‘I intend,’ he continued grimly, ‘to make them apologise for what they did. I promised my mother I would clear our name. I need closure on Willoughby and his shrew of a daughter. That’s all you need to know.’

‘This…isn’t like you,’ Camilla ventured uncertainly.

‘You don’t know the humiliation they put me through. It was like a physical pain to be treated like a leper. The people I’d worked with spat at me.’ He took a moment to get himself together. This was screwing him up, big time. ‘The daughter was clever. She made sure that the stolen money came from a fund that the workers had saved for a works outing.’

‘So how did the daughter frame you?’ Camilla asked, round-eyed.

‘She planted the cash in my locker.’

‘Why would she do that?’ His PA’s cut-glass accent was more pronounced than ever.

There was a tightening of his jaw. ‘Spite. We’d had a row. She accused me of sleeping around while I was dating her. And of planning to marry her for her inheritance.’ His eyes gleamed and his mouth was savage.

‘I imagine you weren’t.’

He gave her a filthy look. ‘I was so shocked I could hardly speak. Now do you understand how passionate I feel about this?’

‘Oh, yes. Was she beautiful?’ Camilla asked a little shakily.

With a jerk of rogue emotion in his chest he recalled the sixteen-year-old Anna; long-legged and lissom with a sexuality that had given him dreams at night. And of her nose that had been so large and deformed that she’d been called a witch from nursery school onwards.

He shrugged. ‘I loved her. God knows why. She’d seemed sweet and innocent and made me laugh. But underneath she was a heartless little bitch.’

The more he thought of Anna’s malice, the angrier he became. But she’d get her comeuppance too. He didn’t know where she was, but he’d find her. And make her life a living nightmare till he had what he wanted.

His eyes gleamed like pan-warmed chocolate beneath the arrowed arches of his fair brows. It was ironic that Willoughby had lost both his fortune and Stanford House. Whilst he, the illegitimate son of the old man’s cook, was no longer dirt poor and starving, but rich beyond his wildest childhood dreams—and still two years short of thirty.

He gave a sardonic laugh, his head tipping back and catching the sun that glinted on his flowing hair, turning it to a rich pale gold. His teeth shone pearly in an olive skin that had been deepened to a dark honey shade from ten years of Italian sunshine.

A little curl of desire rippled through Camilla’s shapely body because Vido was breathtakingly beautiful. Her elegant hand turned his chin. Her lips were on his before he could draw away and he suffered the kiss in silence, even making a half-hearted attempt at deepening the embrace.

So his appetite for women was still subnormal. He fumed in frustration. Anna’s fault. She’d all but castrated him where love was concerned. His wounded heart had hardened and no woman had melted even a little corner in all his years in Italy.

He wanted to love Camilla and had tried his very best to do so. She was a brilliant hostess, witty and clever and an asset to his business. He longed for a wife and children. But these—and peace of mind—were unattainable unless he felt he had dealt with his demons in his own, inimitable way.

‘Let’s go,’ he said huskily and felt guilty when Camilla looked pleased, perhaps assuming his choking emotion was due to a different passion.

Dark eyes stone-cold with ruthless intent, he started up the car and swung out into Cottage Lane, heading for his office in London.

Anna knelt on the garden path, her capable fingers busily tweaking out weeds from the colourful herbaceous borders of the typically English cottage garden.

Sitting back to review the results of her labours, she couldn’t help but be struck by the contrast with the magnificent gardens of Stanford House, where she’d once lived. This little patch in the front garden was all she had now. Ten feet by six. A far cry from the acres where she’d once roamed, a lonely, unloved—and unlovely—girl.

Almost unthinkingly, her muddy fingers went to her nose. Now it was a normal size and fitted her face properly. She smiled with gentle pleasure.

But being ugly had left her a lasting legacy. She was even more careful not to reveal her feelings to anyone. The episode with Vido had cured her of that.

Anna frowned and tackled a stubborn dock root with grim determination, pushing back the pain that had leapt to squeeze her heart like a vice. Why open old wounds? Sure she’d loved him, madly, wildly, deeply, although she hadn’t dared say so in case he’d laughed at her temerity. After all, he’d been the most popular boy in school and she’d been—what had those girls said?—a hideous little bat.

OK, he’d kissed her several times, and she’d hardly been able to believe her luck. But her grandfather and the girls at school had told her why he was dating her. He was ambitious as hell and she was an heiress. Why else would an Adonis suck up to someone as hideous as her?

She bit her lip, suffering once again the hard nails of painful truth. Her world had come crashing about her ears that day when she’d been forced to accept that Vido was just a callous fortune-hunter. She’d been a means to an end. Nothing more.

Anna frowned. He was yesterday’s news. Soon she’d be married and she’d be able to forget her hurt and the lack of self-esteem that still haunted her.

Thankfully, her fiancé, Peter, liked her silences and her quiet reserve. He hated emotional, demonstrative women. And she was lucky to have found someone who appreciated her qualities. A matter-of-fact and rather cool man, who was very attentive but didn’t arouse horrible, uncontrollable longings that scared her with their raw intensity.

A screech of brakes came from the lane and then the sound of a reversing car, but she paid no attention. When Stanford House had been sold, precipitating her grandfather’s stroke, she’d taken over the nearby cottage that in better times had belonged to their gardener.

It was situated only two hundred yards from the beautiful old farmhouse where Shakespeare’s wife, Anne Hathaway, had been born. Passing tourists often stopped to admire and photograph her tiny black and white timbered cottage with its picturesque thatched roof, too.

Wistfully she mused that it would be nice if her grandfather could appreciate the cottage’s charm. But it was unlikely. He had railed against his bankruptcy and hated what he called ‘coming down in the world’.

It wasn’t surprising that he’d had a stroke. Her heart went out to him. He’d changed from being a gruff and domineering man and now looked helpless and frightened. She decided to pick him some flowers. Hopefully there would be better news about him when she next visited.

Tensely Vido glowered at the woman’s slender back and the mass of gleaming black hair. Even after ten years, Anna’s spectacular body was unmistakable. So were his conflicting emotions.

He felt shaken by his reaction at seeing Anna. A devastating mix of need and loathing had hurtled unchecked through his body, filling him with fury that he could actually lust after such a mean-spirited woman. He shouldn’t feel like this. Not after all this time.

‘Ogling the local peasantry isn’t your style,’ murmured Camilla in amusement.

He took in a long breath to steady the cascading waterfall of feelings that had knocked him off balance. Hell. Why should his guts melt at the sight of the woman? Had Anna’s blistering scorn turned him into a masochist? Or a pervert? Was he really aroused by a woman who despised him? He scowled. He just wanted to be normal. To fall in love. Have kids.

‘I think that’s Anna,’ he said, managing to find a clipped tone.

‘Oh. Well, if you’re going to give her a tongue-lashing, make it quick.’

Camilla looked at him fondly and touched his arm. It took all his will-power not to push her hand away and he was appalled by his irrational response to her affectionate gesture.

‘I just want a word or two,’ he pushed out.

With difficulty he conquered the evil little voice in his head that told him he wanted a devil of a lot more than that. Seeing Anna had kick-started his dormant libido into life. And how! Every bone he possessed ached to have Anna sighing beneath him. For that fabulous body to be arching with pleasure.

His eyes blazed with an intense anger as he sought to crush the sexual hunger that had hit him like a hammer blow. Common sense told him that his emotional wires had become crossed. It was said that you never forgot your first love and, hell, was that true with him.

This was the spiteful little cat who’d called him promiscuous and asked coldly if he intended to infect every female in the county with some sexual disease. She’d hurled insults at him till he’d reeled. And had deliberately made him into a criminal in everyone’s eyes. Maledizione!

With his malevolent gaze on her, his body fired with lust and loathing, he made himself saunter slowly to the picket fence. Oblivious of him, she continued to weed the handkerchief-sized front garden.

After a moment she straightened, still with her back to him. His stomach cramped. Her figure was even more womanly than before. Long, slender legs, tanned to a soft gold, the skin gleaming and flawless. Curvy hips. Tiny rear squashed temptingly in a pair of too-tight shorts that defined each buttock. Neat waist…

All too vividly he remembered being teased by his amused friends who’d suggested he put a bag over her head so he could enjoy the rest of her admittedly great body.

But because of her reserve, she had never let him anywhere near those proud, high breasts. The sublime length of those smooth legs had never wrapped around him seductively, as they had in his wild dreams.

Impatiently he struggled to master his destructive passions. His priority was to deal with the cloud that was hanging over the Pascali name. She was living yards from where he meant to set up his business. That could mean trouble. If word got around that his character was suspect, it would seriously affect his business. She could do a great deal of harm with her wicked little tongue.

The liquid sound of birdsong filled the air. He could feel the atmosphere thickening as his simmering hatred continued to pour out in her direction.

After a moment his aggression imprinted itself on her. He wasn’t surprised. His loathing could have pulverised a tank.

Stiffening, she turned around warily. Her response was all that he could have wanted.

‘Vido!’ she gasped in horror.

Stunned at seeing him, she shrank back, thrown almost off balance by the sheer physical threat that emanated from his angry body. And something else even more devastating. He was projecting a raw and primitive sexuality that slammed into her gut and left her weak and breathless.

But it meant nothing. He’d always been testosterone on legs. A highly sexed male who treated women as objects for his pleasure. Her fear turned to scorn and the fine bones of her face grew taut with contempt.

Shock went through him too in violent waves, though for a different reason entirely. Expert plastic surgery had transformed her face and now she looked heart-stoppingly beautiful. All he wanted to do was to gaze at her as if he were still a lovesick fool, until the dizziness in his head subsided.

Her skin glowed with a healthy tan, her huge grey eyes sparkled. A blast of heat shot through him. A delicious feeling and one he’d forgotten.

And then her hand covered her nose as it always had whenever anyone had looked at her. His heart jerked. The gesture made him feel profoundly protective of her again, all the old sympathies crowding in on him in a swell of compassion. Grimly he reminded himself that they were wasted on her.

Once he’d believed that she’d been a poor little rich girl with no one to love her. With her parents dead and her grandfather showing her no affection, he’d felt anger on her behalf. But not for long.

His lip curled. It had been her unlovable temperament that had left her bereft of friends. She’d inherited her grandfather’s cold and unfeeling nature; his hatred of his fellow man—and woman. He scowled. Whatever physical alterations Anna had made on the outside, she wouldn’t have changed her malicious inner nature.

‘Anna,’ he said, his voice harsh with dislike. ‘What a surprise.’

She gulped visibly and couldn’t find anything witty or pithy to say. ‘Yes.’

Vido folded his arms, adopting a dominant pose. Anna found it hard not to be intimidated. Harder still to ignore the fizz of excitement that had ripped through her in response to the simmering darkness of his hot, assessing eyes. But she couldn’t prevent the worrying throb of pulses in a place she’d believed to be immune to stimulation.

It was the memories, of course. Good and bad. But why was she only recalling the good moments they’d shared? Holding hands, the laughter and companionship that had transformed her lonely life, the precious, stolen kisses…

Sternly she made herself remember the humiliation that had torn at her like a ravening tiger. When she’d realised that she was just a potential source of income to him, it had felt as if he’d crushed her vulnerable heart in his fist.

In the tense silence, she studied him warily, waiting for him to speak. His hair was a paler gold than before and beautifully cut. He looked more Italian than ever, perhaps because of the stylish linen suit and air of prosperity. His clothes seemed to murmur ‘expensive’ and ‘classy’ in hushed and reverential tones.

And yes, he was still the same as in her restless dreams. As beautiful as a young Roman god, the same golden male with that extraordinary combination of fair hair and dark, soulful eyes with their curtains of black lashes. But now there was a new air of menace about him that made her tremble.

Nervously she remembered his fury when they’d parted. It would be wise to heed her grandfather’s warning about Vido’s twisted, criminal mind. Her heart began to thump in time with her deep pulses.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked coolly.

‘Travelling to London,’ he drawled.

Relief washed in waves through to her very bones. This was a chance meeting, then. For one awful moment, she’d been afraid that he’d returned to Shottery in order to plague her life!

Following the arrogant jerk of his honey-haired head, she saw a stunning blonde in a wickedly gleaming silver car, its lines almost as voluptuous as those of the woman inside it. The blonde gave a rather mocking smile, which unsettled her, and by force of habit she immediately retreated into her shell of cold reserve.

‘I suggest you keep going. Your friend is waiting,’ she said in pointed dismissal.

Half turning, she tried to block out the rush of emotions beginning to fill her head. She cursed the fact that he could arouse her passions as if he’d never 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. That was one high-maintenance female. The car must have cost a fortune. Thoughtfully she studied Vido, ignoring his blistering scowl and tight jaw.

His clothes were expensive and he gave off an air of a man who spent a lot of money on being immaculately groomed and turned out. She wondered if the woman was the source of his income. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been prepared to sell himself for money. She felt sick at the thought.

‘Get out of here,’ she muttered in loathing.

‘When I’m good and ready. I want to know… How does it feel to be poor, Anna?’ he enquired.

‘You should know,’ she clipped, deadheading an early rose and wishing she could eliminate him with the same ease.

She hated feeling like this. All churned up and tense. Any minute now and she’d really lose her cool. That would really make him smirk in triumph, she thought grimly.

‘Poverty is unnerving, isn’t it?’

The soft and menacing passion in his voice made her twist around to see his face. His eyes had darkened ominously and yet despite his anger there was still that blatantly sexual aura about him. A delicious shudder made her nerve endings vibrate.

‘Yes,’ she admitted in a husky whisper. Why was he here? Why torment her like this? He was enjoying her reduced circumstances. The man was sick.

‘I remember the sleepless nights,’ he muttered as if on a white-hot tide of anger. ‘I’d lie awake worrying about where the next penny was coming from. I’d have a sense of panic when the bills came in. And I knew that however hard I worked, I was in a trap I’d never escape.’

She shut her eyes briefly, his words reverberating in her head, and it occurred to her that he had painted her circumstances exactly. Being overwhelmed by the day-today struggle to make ends meet, she was beginning to understand—though still to condemn—his means of escaping poverty.

‘Well, it looks as if you managed to get out.’ She pushed back the black satin strands of hair that had fallen to half-conceal her face. She wanted him to see the depths of her contempt. ‘But then,’ she said steadily, ‘you weren’t too proud to take the money my grandfather offered for you to leave the village and me before the police caught up with you. He saved your mother from shame—and he gave you a start in life. You should be grateful to him.’

‘Che Dio mi aiuti!’ A terrifying fury swept his expressive features and made her shrink back in alarm. ‘Grateful?!’

The rawness of his hostility filled the air with its crackling venom. Anna felt profoundly shaken that he should hate her so much. It was clear that he didn’t appreciate being reminded of his crime, she thought grimly. It didn’t fit with his inflated opinion of himself.

Vido’s fists clenched so hard that his nails dug sharp crescents into his palms. She didn’t know. Willoughby had only told her half the story. He hadn’t explained that despite being threatened with the police, he’d refused the money and told the old man to go to hell in a dustcart.

It was then that Willoughby had told him that it had been Anna who had taken the money from the factory workers’ holiday fund and planted it in his locker to teach him a lesson. The old man had reminded him that it had been easy for her since she had worked every Saturday as a junior cashier in the souvenir factory.

That would have been that. Except that he’d discovered his mother weeping inconsolably. Her sister in Italy had offered them a home. For his mother’s sake he had swallowed his pride and accepted Willoughby’s offer of money so they could fly out and start a new life.

Going back to the old man, cap in hand, was one of the lowest moments in his entire life and he wanted to wipe it from his memory.

For a split-second he contemplated telling her all this, but he decided not to bother. She’d find out in time. Then he checked himself, frowning as he remembered Willoughby’s stroke.

Dannazione! He’d wanted Anna to hear what Willoughby had said from the old man’s own lips. Now what chance did he have?

He scowled in frustration. One way or another, he’d find a means to make her confess that she’d planted the money. Then he’d explain why he’d accepted Willoughby’s bribe. Perhaps he could approach her a different way. Use the highly charged sexual attraction that still, inexplicably, lay between them.

Anna watched the changing emotions on his face warily. At first she thought he was going to bluster that he was innocent, but then he checked himself and said something else that threw her off balance completely.

‘Allow me to compliment you on your new nose.’

She blanched and her fingers flew to it for reassurance that he wasn’t mocking her. It was an automatic reaction. She still found it hard to remember she looked relatively normal now.

‘It makes you look very beautiful.’ Despite the slivers of dark anger in his eyes, his tone throbbed with a carnality that swept over her like a suffocating blanket.

And her body responded with longing even while her head told her that he was playing some nasty little power game. She shuddered, fear crawling all over her.

‘So I’ve been told,’ she said flatly.

His eyebrow lifted. The downward sweep of his dark lashes alerted her to the fact that he was checking her left hand for signs of a ring. But she didn’t wear it when cooking or gardening. And she wasn’t going to prolong this conversation any longer.

The coldness of her silvered eyes ought to have given him frostbite. But his mouth had softened and the sensuality of his thoughtful expression slid effortlessly into her hungry body. Helpless to resist, she almost wished she still loved him. At least that would have given her an excuse for the raw, ungovernable feelings that were taking her over.

She had never ached like this. Never wanted to leap on any man—let alone Vido—and beg for sexual release. The violence of her need, and the accompanying hatred, shocked her. Mentally she was kissing the contours of his face; those raw cheekbones, the pure line of his beautiful jaw.

Had she inherited her mother’s uncontrollable passions that had shocked her grandfather? She’d heard so many stories of her mother’s inappropriate behaviour—though to Anna, her mother had sounded like fun.

The impromptu parties. Dancing on the lawn at midnight. Running barefoot in the snow. Kissing her father enthusiastically at every opportunity. A woman of passionate feelings that were never curbed. Was it possible to inherit such feelings?

All she knew was that her desire for Vido was running away with her, making her want to kick the traces and fling off the restraints she’d imposed on herself all these years.

The need to be physically caressed by a man—and this one in particular—was frightening her. She screwed her fingers into tight fists. Years of containment ensured that she fought through the too-enticing haze of desire that slithered into every corner of her body. And for her own self-preservation, she turned herself to stone.

‘Don’t keep London waiting,’ she said coolly.

There was that mocking twitch of his mouth again. She felt a weird surge of excitement. It was as if he felt challenged by her and was contemplating a battle between them, to assert his will over hers.

In his dreams! Reserved though she might be, she wasn’t a pushover. He’d get no satisfaction from taunting her.

Hopefully he’d get bored and go soon then she could run indoors and beat the life into some bread dough to release her pent-up anger. And, she thought in despair, to ease the desolation of her untouched body.

‘We’ll meet again,’ he said, his eyes dark with lustful promise.

She struggled to catch her breath. ‘Not if I see you first,’ she said with quiet fervour. ‘This has not been a pleasure.’

‘It has for me,’ he murmured and the air fizzled between them setting her pulses leaping erratically. ‘And it will be even more enjoyable next time. That’s a promise.’

The threat alarmed her. Confused by his low, husky tone, she swivelled around so she didn’t have to look at his dark and broodingly handsome face any more.

As she buried her head in a clump of blowsy daffodils, she listened hard, her breath held until her lungs were bursting. First she heard his footsteps, light and easy as he strode away. Then the thud of the car door slamming, followed by Vido’s murmur and a tinkling female laugh.

Anna let out her breath in a rush of venomous loathing and gritted her teeth. He’d be gone in a moment and that would be that. An engine thrummed throatily, the sound increased in volume and then died away.

Suddenly the air seemed to clear of tension. Her scrunched-up muscles stopped screaming at her as she relaxed them. Unsteadily, she got to her feet and stumbled indoors, feeling as if she’d been caught in a washing machine on high spin. Her hands were shaking. Legs, too.

Ridiculous! He had such a terrible effect on her and for no reason at all. He had been in the wrong. She was the one who’d been his intended victim.

Wincing, she remembered how, after he’d fled to Italy, it had seemed that everyone at school had ganged up on her. She’d been bullied so unmercifully that eventually she had left school and her grandfather had grudgingly paid for private coaching.

It had been awful. Even more isolated than ever, she’d only been able to forget her unhappiness when she was cooking. And once her nose job had been successfully completed, she’d enrolled in a catering college, where she’d shone for the first time in her life.

Anna grimly scrubbed her hands and reached into the cupboard for a mug, desperate for a coffee. Preferably laced with an entire bottle of brandy, she thought ruefully.

The very core of her body ached and throbbed. It was a physical feeling entirely new to her and she hated it—hated her defencelessness against Vido’s potent masculinity. It meant she was as capable of being desperate for loveless sex as Vido. And what did that make her?

Shuddering, she boiled the kettle and made her drink.

‘Wretched man!’ she muttered venomously, spooning in far too much sugar in her distraction. ‘Just don’t cross my path again. My life’s enough of a hell as it is.’ Too furious to think straight, she took a sip of coffee and gasped as the scalding liquid burnt her mouth. ‘Damn you, Vido!’ she seethed, slamming the mug down so hard that coffee splashed over her hand. She swore. And had to choke back unexpected tears.

Pain, she told herself grimly. Not misery or longing. Just anger and pain. She didn’t do self-pity any more.

CHAPTER TWO

‘VIDO? They’re ready for you.’

Sorting a stack of papers, he nodded curtly at Camilla, who’d popped her head around his study door. ‘I’ll take a quick look at them.’

‘Do that. You’ll be fascinated,’ she drawled, looking amused.

Seeing that his PA wasn’t going to elaborate, he rose and headed for the office, thinking that it was good to be settled here at last.

For the past two months since he’d bought the house for Solutions Inc, the British branch of Il Conciliatore, he’d been busy in London closing down his office there and juggling his clients. At the same time, he’d been handling the renovations at his new base in Shottery by e-mail and telephone.

Most of the necessary repairs and maintenance had been completed in record time, with the exception of the kitchen—something beyond his control.

All the while he’d chafed at the delay in moving his business—mainly because he looked forward to pinning Anna down, preferably beneath him. And then under his heel. However, the matter of his good name and Anna must wait; a moment to enjoy anticipating and to relish slowly when it came.

Fired up with his usual dynamic energy, he pushed open the door to the office, which had been converted from a small anteroom. He looked around in pleasure and inhaled the scent of lilac, which filled the elegant vase on the window sill.

His priority was to appoint a decent chef now that his staff had moved in. With luck he’d find one by the end of the day. The applicants had been whittled down to a shortlist by his secretary and were comfortably settled in the drawing room with magazines and refreshments, waiting for him to interview them.

Briskly he marched to the console, which controlled the security cameras. With a flick of his finger he activated the screen. Twenty or so people sat in various attitudes of tension.

Except one. And that one in particular made him stop breathing for a moment.

‘See what I mean?’ Camilla smiled.

‘Anna!’ he muttered, his eyes as hard and as brilliant as jet.

Of course. It all came back to him. Her love of cooking, how his mother’s warmth and enthusiasm had encouraged the shy, silent girl.

‘The passion that’s hidden in that Anna!’ his mother had marvelled and he’d found himself secretly agreeing. He’d known then that the silent and reserved Anna concealed vast reserves of emotion that could match his own.

He recalled how the light had shone in her eyes when she’d released all her hidden aggression and anger on an unsuspecting heap of pasta dough. And he’d marvelled at her transparent joy as she baked and tasted, her face transformed by rapture.

It was then that he’d felt the first stirrings of desire. When her breasts were dusted with flour, her eyes sparkling with delight and her mouth soft and lush as her lips closed around a morsel of penne in salsa, the sauce leaving a tempting little smudge of scarlet on her upper lip.

Till she licked it off with sensual relish and left him a quivering mass of tormented hormones. The memory made him shift uncomfortably in the director’s chair.

A chef. It figured. But…his chef? The very idea excited him more than he cared to admit even to himself. Yet he dismissed it out of hand. He had to think of his staff. It would be the height of madness to employ her. They both carried too much baggage and she was a spiteful little hellcat.

Though it might be amusing to put her through the interview. He found himself hoping that it might be a prelude to…other activities.

Aware of his PA’s shrewd eyes on him, he took pity on his lungs and began to breathe properly again.

‘Keep her till last. Don’t let her see you. Get Steve to do the honours.’

With that, he swept out, hoping Camilla didn’t realise that he’d wanted to feast his eyes on Anna while she sat there unaware that she was being observed.

Throughout all the interviews, her image remained in his head. Her dark hair had been neatly smoothed into a chignon that shone like a sheet of black glass. The delicate beauty of her face had made her stand out from all the others—to say nothing of her calm composure.

She’d been quietly reading one of the cookery books he’d deliberately left on the table, her expression rapt. All the others were restlessly flicking through magazines—fashion or cars, depending on their sex.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that he wasn’t the only one eyeing her fabulous legs, which were smooth and straight, tucked primly to one side and looking even longer than ever with the addition of high-heeled shoes. Several of the male applicants had been mesmerised too.

Vido bade an abrupt farewell to a hopeful chef whose CV was almost as fanciful as a science fiction novel. Disappointingly, no one had lived up to his high expectations and only Anna remained to be seen. A wasted day, then.

His stomach clenched as he buzzed on the intercom. ‘Next one, Steve.’ The tightness in his chest intensified and he wondered wryly if his digestion would cope with the stress.

Thirty seconds max to pull himself together. His gaze drifted to the picture of his late mother on his desk. He deliberately made himself remember her shame and horror when she’d learned he’d been branded a thief. His mind went back to that terrible moment when he’d walked the length of the factory floor from Willoughby’s office, meeting a wall of hatred from the employees. Their curses had rained down on him. Then they’d spat in his face and flung paint at him for attempting to rob them of their hard-earned savings. It was then that he’d sworn to take his revenge on the Willoughbys one day and to redeem his honour.

To his relief, he found that his hunger for Anna had subsided. He was himself again; the tireless, driven businessman reputedly with a heart of gold beneath the grim exterior, who had forged a successful team in which even the most modestly paid employee had an equal input.

But there would be no chef to join that happy gang today. He let out an irritable sigh.

Not one of the applicants would have fitted into the tightly knit group. That meant further advertising—and in the meantime they’d have to exist on bought-in meals, when he was longing for home cooking. He scowled in frustration.

Anna waited, fidgeting now in the empty room. She had felt more and more nervous as a cheerful, casually dressed young man had collected her fellow applicants. One by one they had left, never to return, till she was the only one remaining.

She and a couple of others waiting to be interviewed had been given a sandwich lunch—from the local pub—and strawberries that were probably from the garden. During the long wait she’d read a marvellous cookery book from cover to cover and put it down with a sigh of regret, her head teeming with ideas.

All she could do now was to surreptitiously admire the redecorated, refurbished drawing room. In a palette of cool beiges and white, with occasional splashes of eau-de-Nil and turquoise, the room gave off an air of understated luxury and comfort, the fabrics oozing sensuality.

It was wonderful to be back in the house. Her heart had lifted with joy the moment she’d walked in the door to see that the interior had been transformed.

Here in this room, heavily draped curtains pooled on the thick carpet and framed the floor-to-ceiling windows. The elegant period furniture was of the highest quality, the satiny wood inviting her touch.

Flowers from the garden burst in exuberant displays from stylish vases, their perfumes wafting across the room with a heady fragrance. She loved it. The new owners had enviable taste—

‘Miss Willoughby?’

This was it. Heart fluttering in time with the butterflies in her stomach, she jumped up and followed the young man who took her to the panelled hall.

‘I’m Steve. General dogsbody,’ he said with a friendly grin.

‘Anna. Pizza cook in Stratford and ditto,’ she ventured with an answering smile.

‘Welcome to our paradise on earth,’ he said with genuine enthusiasm. ‘It’s a great place to be. And good luck.’

‘Thanks, I need it,’ she said gratefully, comforted a little by Steve’s glowing assessment of the company.

This was so important to her. A two-bedroomed apartment came with the job, which would allow her to live in comfort with her grandfather. And he’d been touchingly moist-eyed to think that he might walk in his beloved gardens again. She desperately wanted the job for his sake.

It was important to Peter, too. Her fiancé had spent ages coaching her in high-powered interview techniques. According to him, Solutions Inc was the troubleshooting company to be with. It had a fantastic reputation in business and employee relations and Peter was mad keen for her to work for them.

It would, he’d said, give him a better chance to get on their pay roll himself, an ambition he’d harboured ever since the company had hit the London scene. And for her, of course, it would be a high-profile job with money to match, one she’d dreamed of for years.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ said the young man sympathetically, pausing in the hall.

‘Help! Does it show that much?’ she asked in panic.

‘It’s the whites of your eyes that’s the give-away,’ he teased and she found a shaky grin. ‘Take deep breaths.’ Steve waited, seeming to be in no hurry. ‘Better?’

She nodded and said as they strolled on, ‘Marginally! I’m no longer frantic. Just Richter scale four on the earthquake gauge. My hands are shaking enough to demolish an entire building all on their own. I want this job very badly, you see.’

He laughed in delight. ‘Good for you! Hope you get it. Here we are.’

They stopped outside her grandfather’s old study, where Steve knocked, and pushed open the door for her. It was an odd feeling to be here again, in an entirely different capacity. Heiress to employee in one bound, she thought, her smile rueful now.

‘That’s it. Smile away. Mr Pascali likes us to be happy,’ Steve confided.

She blinked at the young man, wondering if she’d heard him properly. It felt as if she’d been dropped down an elevator shaft in a twenty-storey building.

‘Pascali?’ she whispered, white-faced, wondering if she’d ever get her stomach back to where it belonged.

‘Sure,’ he whispered back. ‘Half-Italian. Comes from Milan. But calm down. He’s great. Won’t bite, honest. He doesn’t smile a lot and he’s tough and drives himself hard but he’s fair. And so long as we don’t throw “sickies”, he’s great when we’re really ill. A star, through and through.’

That didn’t sound like Vido. A star? A matter of opinion, she thought tartly and would have turned tail and run, but by then the young man had pushed her inside and shut the door behind her.

Immediately her defences went up. Looking around the wonderfully light and airy study, its once half-empty wall shelves now filled with books, her wary gaze alighted on Vido where he sat behind a vast mahogany desk.

Without warning, her body moved into meltdown. He looked sensational. He was wearing a Wedgwood-blue waistcoat and co-ordinating shirt, its sleeves neatly rolled back to reveal muscular arms, and an expression that could only be described as that of a predatory panther, poised to strike after a long period of fasting.

She swallowed, confused, forgetting Peter’s instruction to march in and take charge, to pretend that she had a natural confidence and assurance. But they’d both known she wasn’t like that. And even less so, with Vido’s ruthlessly assessing gaze stripping her right down to the bone.

Her head swam as his liquid dark eyes turned her from professional chef in interview mode to all-woman. She didn’t have time to think. Her mind was too busy dealing with the gloriously sensual sensations that were bringing her alive.

Fight or flight. She must concentrate. There was but a second or two to choose. Of course it was inconceivable that she’d get the job, even if she wanted to work for a man she utterly despised. She’d be wasting her time if she stayed another moment.

The trouble was that if she left now it would be seen as the act of a coward, someone who was scared of him. Her mouth firmed in resolution. Hell would freeze over before she let him know how strongly he affected her. It was fight, then.

‘Anna. 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.

‘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 want 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.

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