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