And she couldn’t do a damned thing about it. Jas was his niece. She could hardly restrict his access and the child clearly adored him. Having decided he had no redeeming features, she found it very annoying to have him turn out to be child friendly.
But she wouldn’t let him grind her down, it was obvious to Anna that where Cesare Urquart was concerned everything had to be his way or not at all. The man simply couldn’t tolerate not being the one calling the shots; he had to be in charge and flex his macho muscles. Well, not with me, she thought defiantly.
She knew he was looking for an excuse to get rid of her and she was equally determined not to give it. Pushing the thoughts of the absent castle owner out of her head, she glanced at her watch and discovered she had an entire hour to spare before she needed to collect Jas.
Remembering the book she had downloaded to read on the journey up, she entered the castle through the side entrance, then paused now she almost had her bearings. The place was a total maze but she knew that the most direct route to the apartment was through the front door and down an inner connecting corridor.
If there had been any chance of bumping into the man who had appointed himself her judge, jury and, if she gave him the chance, executioner, there was no way in the world she would have taken that route, but today she would be safe.
The connecting door lay at the end of a long stone-floored corridor. There were a dozen doors that opened off it on either side and the walls were lined with framed antique political prints. She resisted the temptation to study them, speeding up as she walked past the one open door, catching a glimpse of boo-lined walls and the glow of a log fire reflected in an enormous mirror.
She had gone a dozen steps when she stopped, unable to resist taking a second look. She backtracked. There was something about a book. Although she loved the convenience of the novel waiting on her tablet, it lacked the sheer tactile experience of holding a book.
As she poked her head around the door she let out a silent whistle and stepped inside. The room was not as big as the baronial hall, nor as impressive as the ballroom with the intricately moulded hand-painted ceiling and tapestry-lined walls, but this room had something, a lived-in warmth that drew her.
She inhaled deeply and sighed. ‘It probably makes me insane but I just love the smell of books!’
‘There are worse smells.’ Like the light fragrance she favoured, delicate but somehow he had smelt it as she hurried past the door; it was stronger now she was inside the room.
Anna’s head snapped sideways in time for her to see Cesare rise with lazy fluid grace from a high-backed chair facing the window. She watched as he straightened to his full impressive height. Long and lean, every inch of him hard. She swallowed and felt something kick hard in her stomach. The sensation spread, rippling out across her skin until her flesh was hot yet pebbled in goosebumps.
‘You’re not here.’
He raised a sardonic brow.
The colour that had drained from her face rushed back with a vengeance. ‘I mean, I thought you were away or I wouldn’t have...’
‘Got caught.’
‘I’m sorry if I intruded,’ she said stiffly, ‘but this is a lovely room.’
She bit down on her lip. If she started to babble nervously she might not be able to stop. Was it possible to talk yourself to death? That such a thing as death by metallic stare existed was a lot less uncertain!
‘I think so.’
Another nerve-shredding silence fell and still his silvered stare held her in a grip that made her feel like a butterfly on a pin. It was easy to visualise barbaric images around this man. It was even easier to think about his hard muscles and smooth skin.
She scrunched her eyes shut and blinked in an effort to banish the relentless reel of erotic images playing in her head. When she opened them he was no longer looking at her. She took a small sideways step as the downgraded tension level made her knees give.
‘This is where I work when I’m home.’ Not that he had been working. The tension humming in his veins had made concentration impossible.
Finally freed of the surgical-steel stare, Anna began to look around the room. Anywhere but at him. She saw no visible evidence of work but resisted the childish temptation to mention this; instead she took a deep breath. It might hurt but, like it or not, on this occasion she was in the wrong.
‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you,’ Then, aware that her stiff delivery sounded unconvincing, added, ‘Really.’
Her wary eyes trained on his face. There was a limit to how long you could stare over someone’s shoulder without causing comment. She saw a muscle clench in his cheek and wondered why she’d bothered to do the right thing when all her apology had done was make him look murderously angry. She might have assumed that was the norm for him if she hadn’t seen him with his niece. The Cesare she saw with Jas was hardly recognisable as this sneering, autocratic monster.