‘No problem, so long as you don’t come knocking on my door half dressed at three in the morning.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Believe me, knocking on your door is the last thing I will be doing. I wouldn’t want to have to bring a suit of sexual harassment against you the next time. How is your girlfriend this morning?’
‘Louise was called away and I am flying to Rome so I will see you when I return. And, Miss Henderson, if you want to play the sexual harassment card it’s a good idea not to stick your tongue down a man’s throat. You could as easily be accused of sending mixed bloody messages!’
* * *
There was no sign of the fog that had grounded his plane and made the journey back on the motorway, not just boring, but long as he drove through the gated entrance to Killaron. But then the micro climate in the area meant they frequently had different weather patterns from places even a few miles away.
That was half a day he would never get back, and nobody had actually expected him to attend the Rome meeting in person. He knew his sudden last-minute change of decision had created some speculation, resulting in the social media sites being rife with stories of the team’s number one driver leaving for a rival team.
Cesare recognised the car as he drove through the gates. He swore and pulled up with a swirl of gravel beside it.
Paul was here? Did that mean he knew that Anna was here? Had she contacted him and he...? Perhaps they had always been in regular contact. Did that mean that the affair had never ended? He felt something twist in his guts in reaction to the possibility.
It was equally possible, though not probable, that this was simply a twist of fate. Was Clare with Paul? Had the mistress already bumped into the wife?
Was he too late to avert a crisis? Short of locking Anna in one of the turrets until he got rid of his unwanted guests, how could he?
Why was he making it his business?
Paul was old enough to look after himself and Anna was not even his employee. He was the one who had not wanted her here, the one who had warned she was trouble, and she was. She was also incredibly sexy. Sexy enough to make a man want to... The muscles in his brown throat contracted as he swallowed. Even if the affair was long over, Paul could take one look at Anna and feel his blood heat to boiling point. One look at Anna was enough to make a man forget he was a married man. What man wouldn’t?
Did Paul know about this Scott fellow?
He felt rage rip through him. Why did these men allow her to make fools of them?
* * *
Anna sat on the tree stump at the edge of the loch and watched Jas play tug of war with the excited puppy whose feet left the ground as he clung on stubbornly to his end of the branch they fought over.
The child’s laughter rang out, making Anna smile, but the sadness stayed in her eyes as she turned her face into the wind, tasting the salt on her lips and breathing in the scent of heather from the hills. She was failing to achieve the sense of serenity this magnificent wild scenery normally gave her.
She would have let it happen.
The knowledge filled her with shame. The memory had a more physical effect, playing havoc with her quivering stomach. She had to focus on the positive. Nothing bad had happened—yet.
This was her own fault. She had let down her defences, something, since that awful night when she had discovered what so-called love could do to a person, she had vowed never to allow.
She would never allow anyone to do to her what that man had done to Rosie.
And now she had.
Not love, of course. She had made a mistake but not that mistake. She wasn’t about to confuse lust for love, though she was a bit more understanding of people who did. The fact was, while she couldn’t look at him without thinking about that kiss and going weak with longing, she didn’t even like Cesare. Her feelings for him were not solid, not real. She could wake up tomorrow, look at him and think, What did I ever see in him?
Beyond a perfect face and an incredible body that could launch a thousand fantasies...
Her lips tightened as she felt the hurt knot in her belly tighten. This morning he’d acted as if it had never happened, then he had all but accused her of asking for it!
Even when Mark had dumped her she hadn’t felt vulnerable. Let down certainly, and, yes, slightly foolish—well, it was kind of ironic. She had thought she had her life sorted.
She hadn’t been sitting around waiting for some white knight who would turn out to be a total sleaze. She had allowed a computer to find her a man who represented safe solidity, a man who, like her, thought a marriage based on mutual respect and common interest stood more chance of surviving than something based on a transient chemical reaction. And he had dumped her, if not at the altar then embarrassingly close to it, for, of all things, a six-feet-tall lingerie model—a real meeting of minds!