A Passionate Revenge

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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