Dante rose to his feet, seething with anger and frustration. If he had said he loved her they would be in that bed now, but he refused to be manipulated by any woman. He had spent a week waiting on her when he should have been working—something he had never done for any other woman. In fact he didn’t know what the hell he was waiting for, wasting his time. He glanced furiously around. Beth could stay in this place she loved so much. He didn’t need her in his life, compromising his work. She could have her damned divorce.
‘No. You can have a divorce—and a word of advice. I know your cellmate died in your arms in this room. It’s time you got the place decorated instead of hanging on to your less-than-salubrious past like a safety blanket, or you will never move on in life.’
And with that parting shot he stormed out.
Beth watched him go. His last
unemotional parting comment had cut deep but proved what she’d known all along. How could she still love him? She was glad he was gone. It was what she wanted, she told herself. So why did she feel like crying? She glanced around the room, seeing it through Dante’s eyes. The décor was faded. She ran her hand along the bureau, remembering the first time she had made love with Dante in this room—because for her it had always been love. Dante was right. It was time she moved on instead of clinging to the past. Just not with him....
* * *
December, and Dante was back in London, seated next to Martin Thomas, an acquaintance from his university days, at the Law Society’s annual dinner. He was regretting that he had come, but he regretted a lot lately. Especially walking out on Beth. Why hadn’t he just told her he loved her? If the last two months without her had taught him anything it was that he couldn’t live without her—and if that wasn’t love he didn’t know what was.
‘You know old Bewick, don’t you, Dante?’ Martin asked. Not waiting for a response, he continued, ‘You have to feel sorry for him. He doted on that son of his—Timothy. It must have come as one hell of a shock to him to hear he was arrested for drug smuggling.’
‘What? His son? Are you sure?’ Dante asked, frowning.
‘No doubt about it. Baby Face Bewick is one of the biggest suppliers of drugs in the country. The drug squad had his operation under surveillance for a year, and now they’ve arrested him and his sidekick, Hudson, and recovered drugs worth over two million. The two of them were refused bail and are in jail awaiting trial. I’m prosecuting the case and it is watertight—plus Hudson is singing like a canary. Bewick started dealing drugs while at public school, apparently. Hudson helped him and they continued at university. Actually they were nearly caught in the first term, but they fitted up some teenage girl—Jane someone—and got away with it. Hudson probably wishes he hadn’t now. Juvenile detention would have been much easier than where he is going.’
Dante had heard enough. Abruptly he got to his feet and walked out.
The next morning he called a friend at Scotland Yard and confirmed that Jane Mason was the girl who had been set up and given three years in jail. She was probably in line for some hefty compensation....
* * *
Twelve days to Christmas, and after a day shopping with Janet and Annie Beth waved them off and unpacked her purchases—gifts, decorations, food, stuff for the apartment that was now finished. Beth was feeling good.
Later that night, after spending ages looping a new string of one hundred Christmas lights around the tree, she decided the baubles could wait till tomorrow. Beth took a shower, then curled up on the sofa wearing an oversized T-shirt and a white fleece robe. Binkie curled against her leg, purring like a train. A log fire burned in the open grate, and she reached to stroke Binkie’s back just as the doorbell rang—and rang again. She glanced at the mantel clock—eight-thirty.
Who could it be? she wondered. Probably church carol singers, she thought as she walked down the hall and opened the door. She pulled her robe tighter around her as a blast of cold air hit her and looked up with a welcoming smile—before her mouth fell open. Not carol singers. Dante... Her heart lurched in her breast.
Dante saw Beth in the doorway, covered in a long white robe and smiling, her green eyes sparkling bright and clear. The hall light behind her picked up the sheen of her red hair and formed a halo around her head. She looked like an angel, and the guilt and despair he felt almost overwhelmed him.
‘What are you doing here?’ Beth asked when she had recovered her breath.
‘I need to see you. It’s important, Beth. Please invite me in. This won’t take long.’
She didn’t want to invite him in, but it was freezing cold. ‘All right.’ She stood back and waved him inside, closing the door behind him, then turned to see him watching her.
In the light she was shocked by how gaunt he looked. His high cheekbones were sharper, his mouth a grim line, his eyes were deeper in their sockets, and she saw pain in the dark depths. But for her he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen—and she had thought she was getting over him....
‘Come and sit down.’ She walked into the room where the fire burnt brightly. ‘Let me take your coat.’ He was wearing a heavy black overcoat, and after slipping it off he handed it to her. ‘Would you like a hot drink?’ His cream sweater hung loosely on his tall frame, the denim jeans were not such a close fit, and she wondered what had happened to him. He looked ill.
He straightened his shoulders. ‘No, thank you.’ Binkie leapt off the sofa and padded over to rub against Dante’s leg. ‘Hi, Binkie,’ he said, and the glimmer of a smile twisted his stern mouth.
Traitorous cat, Beth thought. But in the week when Dante had stayed with her he had made friends with Binkie.
She folded his coat and laid it over the back of an armchair. Now she was over the shock of seeing him the disturbingly familiar scent of his aftershave, his hair, his skin was reaching her, reminding her of intimate moments she had fought hard to forget. Her breasts swelled. A quiver of sensation flowed through her body.
Beth tensed and walked past him to curl up on the sofa again. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked. She had never heard from him since he had walked out, and had been expecting divorce papers. ‘To deliver the divorce papers personally?’ she queried. She could think of no other reason.
‘No. Timothy Bewick.’
Beth sat up straight at that, and looked Dante squarely in the eyes. ‘This is my home, and I will not have that name mentioned in it,’ she said firmly. ‘I’d like you to leave.’
‘I will. But first I want to apologise—though I know no apology can begin to excuse what I did to you. That is why I am here.’ He looked uncomfortable and uncertain, and Beth was intrigued. ‘If you will just hear me out, Beth, and then you will probably throw me out—which is no more than I deserve.’
‘What are you apologising for?’ Beth was totally mystified.