Shifting in the uncomfortable chair, he cast a scathing look around the room. It didn’t improve with familiarity. The few good pieces were overwhelmed by the clutter of showy ornamentation.
Piers had been a magpie, attracted by the bright and shiny, displaying his wealth in the most obvious way. That went especially for women.
Jonas raked his hand through his hair. Had Ravenna Ruggiero’s dismay been genuine when he’d suggested she should have used her feminine wiles to get money from Piers?
More important—what on earth had possessed him to touch her?
He was appalled by his reaction to her, but fascinated. He couldn’t remember being fascinated by anything other than an exciting investment opportunity in years.
Jonas shot to his feet, unwilling to sit on the sidelines.
He found them in a large room dominated by a massive desk. They were examining ornate snuffboxes.
‘This is a passably good piece. You might manage a hundred euros for it.’
The antique dealer, Giscard, had his back to the door so Jonas couldn’t see what he held. But Ravenna’s disappointment at the words was clear. Her shoulders slumped and her whole body sagged.
‘Really? I’d thought perhaps this at least might be worth more.’ Her voice had an edge of desperation.
Giscard turned and Jonas watched him hesitate, his brisk manner softening as he took in her barely concealed distress.
‘Well, perhaps a little more. I tend to err on the side of caution, Mademoiselle Ruggiero.’ He turned back to the item in his hands. ‘After a closer look I think it possible we could do better. If you like I can undertake the sale personally. I have some contacts who might be interested.’
‘Really?’ Ravenna’s eyes shone hopefully and she leaned towards him. ‘That would be wonderful, Monsieur Giscard.’ Her voice was soft with hope and Jonas felt his skin contract as if she’d brushed her fingertips over him.
He clenched his jaw, furious yet intrigued at the power of that throaty voice.
‘It is the least I can do in the sad circumstances.’ The dealer moved closer as if drawn by her tremulous smile. ‘Perhaps, in the circumstances, you should call me Etienne.’
Jonas’ grip tightened on the doorjamb as the pair continued their conversation, oblivious to his presence.
Distaste was a pungent note on his tongue as he watched the older man respond to Ravenna’s artful show of vulnerability. That was what it was, he realised, his lips thinning in a grim smile.
The woman who’d made such a point of confronting him with her crime was no innocent. She was brazen and unrepentant.
From the moment she’d revealed her identity, flouncing about the astronomically expensive apartment as if it were hers, he’d wondered why she’d dressed as she had. The dark trouser suit was tailored but it hung on her, making her look like a child dressing up, especially with the gamine haircut accentuating her exquisitely pared features and huge eyes.
There’d been nothing childlike about her when he’d caressed her. She’d been all needy woman. Yet with her navy jacket hanging loose around her neck, she exuded an air of fragility that intrigued him.
Now he knew why. That vulnerability, enhanced by the sedate cut of clothes that hinted at mourning, was a deliberate act to aid her dealings with the antique dealer.
Look at Giscard! He ate her up with his eyes, like a dog slavering after a bone.
She’d prepared carefully for the interview to play on the Frenchman’s sympathies.
And Jonas had doubted she was capable of thieving!
She was as conniving and dangerous as her mother.
More so. He remembered Silvia as having a blatant sensuality that made her stand out like a Mediterranean sex goddess with her flashing eyes, swinging hips and earthy laugh. But her daughter... He narrowed his eyes as he watched the woman so easily manipulating the Frenchman. She had an arresting face, the sort of eyes that a less pragmatic man could lose himself in, and a body that, though slim, made him want to haul her close and discover its secrets.
But there was more. An aura of banked passion and quick intelligence that melded into something that drew him at the most primitive, male level.
He wanted her.
The realisation hit him a solid blow to the belly.
He didn’t like or admire her. She was the sort of woman he’d learnt to despise.
And still he wanted her.
He dragged in a deep breath, ignoring the anticipation fizzing his blood at the thought of bedding Ravenna Ruggiero.
It wasn’t going to happen. His standards were higher than that.
Instead he would make her pay for what she’d done. He’d make sure she learned the value of the money she’d taken, and when he’d finished with her she’d understand the value of hard work too. She’d repay her debt in full. There’d be no easy escape if she tried batting those long eyelashes at him.
There’d be no police, no trial. He’d looked forward to branding his father’s mistress publicly as a thief. But for reasons he didn’t want to investigate, that didn’t seem appropriate now Ravenna had revealed herself as the culprit.
Yes, he could throw her to the mercy of the courts. But having seen her, touched her, he wanted a much more personal recompense.
She’d stolen his money but the insult carved deeper than the loss of mere money, which, after all, was easily replaced.
Jonas told himself his decision had nothing to do with the heat haze of desire still drenching his skin as he watched her flirt with another man.
Or the feeling she’d somehow bested him in their first confrontation even though he held all the winning cards in this contest.
For there was a contest. Of wills. Of strength and, above all, of pride.
Somehow she’d breached the fortress he’d long ago built around his emotions. He was disappointed to discover she’d gone the way of her mother, intent on easy money rather than working for it like any decent woman. He’d expected better of her. It was as if she’d betrayed his memory of her.
His lips twisted as he reviewed his decision to give her a chance to avoid a criminal record. It was almost altruistic of him. Facing the consequences of her crime in the form of hard work might be the making of her.
Jonas’ eyes narrowed as she batted those lush lashes at the besotted Frenchman. Something cold and sharp solidified in his belly.
No matter what the outcome, he looked forward to collecting on his debt.
* * *
‘Now these,’ purred Monsieur Giscard, ‘are in a different class altogether.’ He stood in front of a cabinet displaying a collection of old glassware.
‘Really?’ Ravenna stepped closer, her hopes rising. So far they’d come across little that could be sold to pay off Mamma’s debts, let alone set her up with a nest egg for the future. ‘You think they may be valuable?’
She had little expectation of finding anything to cover the money her mother had taken from Jonas Deveson’s account but scraping together enough to pay Mamma’s immediate bills would be an enormous relief.
‘I need to examine them properly, but this appears to be a fine collection of early glassware.’ He paused, excitement lighting his face. ‘Really, a very fine collection...’ His voice trailed as he bent to view a goblet with a long, thick stem of twisted glass.
Ravenna