A Dangerous Infatuation. Chantelle Shaw

hall. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a lot to do this morning …’

      ‘Mummy, I iced the cakes …’

      Emma turned her head and stifled a groan when Holly trotted out of the kitchen, her hands coated in sticky white icing. Thank heavens she’d had the foresight to cover her daughter’s clothes with an apron, she thought ruefully. She’d forgotten that she had left Holly stirring the icing while she dealt with the estate agent, and could not blame the little girl for becoming impatient.

      ‘I can see you have, sweetheart,’ she murmured, wondering if any icing had actually made it onto the cakes.

      Holly stared curiously at Rocco. ‘Are you a ‘state agent?’

      ‘You mean an estate agent,’ Emma corrected, but Holly’s attention was focused on the big man who dominated the narrow hall. Usually a shy child, she seemed unconcerned by the presence of a stranger in the cottage, and Emma understood why when she glanced back at Rocco and realised with a sinking heart that her little daughter had been charmed by his smile.

      ‘Hello, Holly.’ His deep voice was as soft as crushed velvet. No, I’m not an estate agent. I am your mummy’s friend.’

      Since when? Emma wanted to demand. But Holly appeared happy with the explanation.

      ‘What’s your name?’

      ‘Rocco.’

      To Emma’s surprise Holly gave Rocco a wide smile. ‘Me and Mummy made cupcakes. You can have one if you like.’

      The man could charm the birds from the trees—and obviously every female from the age of three to ninety-three, Emma thought irritably, adding the proviso bar this one. ‘I don’t think … Rocco …’ she stumbled slightly over his name ‘ … has time at the moment. He was just leaving,’ she added pointedly, flicking him a sharp glance.

      He returned it with a bland smile and an amused gleam in his eyes before turning his attention back to Holly. ‘I would love to try one of your cakes—if Mummy doesn’t mind?’

      ‘She doesn’t,’ Holly assured him innocently. ‘I’ll get you one.’

      ‘I think we’d better clean you up first,’ Emma told her daughter. Determined to take charge of the situation, she pushed open the sitting room door and gave Rocco a cool look that did not disguise her annoyance. ‘Perhaps you would like to wait in here?’

      ‘Thank you.’ As he stepped past her into the room he briefly brushed against her. The contact was fleeting, yet it sent an electrical current shooting through her body, making her skin tingle as if each of her nerve-endings was acutely sensitive. What would it feel like to be held against his broad chest? To have his arms curve around her and pull her close so that her thighs were pressed against his? Colour surged into Emma’s cheeks and she jerked back from him so violently that she hit her head on the door frame.

      ‘Easy,’ he murmured gently, as if he were calming a nervous colt. His amber eyes rested speculatively on her flushed face. ‘Coffee would be good with a cake—black, no sugar.’

      Lord, what she wouldn’t give to wipe that arrogant smile from his lips, Emma thought furiously as she stalked into the kitchen. She didn’t understand why she was so wound up. Normally she was a calm, even-tempered person, but Rocco D’Angelo got under her skin. She would make him one cup of coffee and then insist that he leave—and too bad if he preferred proper coffee beans, because she only had cheap instant granules.

      Holly finished washing her hands at the sink and climbed down from the chair she had been standing on to reach the taps. ‘Can I take Rocco a cake now?’ At Emma’s nod she chose one smothered in icing. ‘Rocco’s nice,’ she stated guilelessly.

      Startled, Emma hesitated, torn by the need to gently introduce the notion of ‘stranger danger’ and at the same time not wanting to alarm her daughter. ‘I’m sure he is, but you don’t really know him,’ she said carefully.

      ‘He’s got a nice smile.’

      Holly raced out of the kitchen clutching the cake, and for a second Emma felt like rushing after her and snatching the little girl into her arms. Don’t, she wanted to cry. Don’t be taken in by a charming smile or, when you’re older, give your trusting heart to a man who can glibly say the words I love you without meaning it. Smiles were easy and words were cheap—and Jack had had an abundance of both, she thought heavily.

      It wasn’t Rocco’s fault that he reminded her so much of her husband. Not in appearance—Rocco’s dark, devilish good-looks were a stark contrast to Jack’s blond hair and disarming grin. But, like Rocco, Jack had been supremely self-confident and aware of his effect on the opposite sex. ‘A babe-magnet’—that was how her brother had once scathingly described Jack, Emma recalled wryly. From all she knew about Rocco, he was no different. But how could she tell her three-year-old daughter that her mistrust of all men stemmed from the fact that Holly’s father had been a deceitful cheat who had broken her heart?