A Passionate Revenge

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.