A Passionate Revenge. Sara Wood

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.