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Anna sighed and gave a happy laugh. ‘Oh, that’s marvelous. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.’
‘We can’t wait to see you at Christmas. Rosie sends a big kiss.’ Scott blew a noisy kiss down the line.
‘I can’t wait to see you either.’ Anna put her mouth to the receiver and blew her own kiss.
Her happy smile lasted until she turned and found herself face to face with a grim-faced Cesare, who was looking very different than he had the previous evening dressed in a stylish designer suit and tie. Not that it was his tailoring that made her stomach contract violently at the unexpected sight of him; it was the aura of masculinity he exuded. It was the primitive instincts that lay just beneath the civilised surface that made her traitorous heart thud harder. It was the memory of that kiss.
She moistened her dry lips and told herself not to look at his mouth.
Naturally she immediately couldn’t look any place else. Her memory kicked into panic mode, recalling how it had felt to be on the receiving end of those primitive instincts!
Dear God, what was wrong with her? She’d never had a real conversation with this man. Not one that didn’t involve him being nasty and abusive, at any rate, so why did she feel this weird sense of connection?
It was ironic. He’d spent the night in a bed with her and he’d left it feeling more sexually frustrated than he ever had in his entire life. And while he had been lying there suffering, she had presumably been dreaming of this Scott.
For a split second he struggled to control the fresh flare of helpless rage and disgust. The latter was aimed at himself as much as her. He had known what she was so why had the conversation come as such a shocking bolt from the blue? Of course there was a man in the background; the woman hadn’t learnt to kiss like that in a convent!
‘Good morning.’
His expression didn’t change, he simply raised a brow and managed to make her uncomfortably aware of how wrecked she must look with her carelessly scraped-back hair, baggy sweatshirt and joggers.
Presumably it was a version of this look that had people struggling to win his approval. Lucky she wasn’t one of them; she didn’t need or want his approval. So she’d discovered the previous night that he had a soft spot for his niece? One chink in his armour didn’t make him any the less a pain, an arrogant man with an inflated opinion of himself who happened to be able to kiss like... Before she could stop it she was reliving the kiss, remembering how he had tasted.
Her entire body tensed to combat the waves of heat engulfing her. Anna dragged her gaze from his face.
‘Sorry.’ She bit her lip, irritated by her urge to apologise. What would she be apologising for? Just because he was looking at her as though he thought she had the family silver in her pockets it didn’t make her a criminal.
‘I was just coming to look for Jas. How is she this morning? You should have woken me.’
‘Jas is in the stables feeding the foal. She seems fine. Next time, Miss Henderson, don’t wait—inform me the moment she becomes ill.’
His tone made it clear she was not talking to the man who sang the lullaby. She straightened her slender shoulders and lifted her chin, told herself it was totally irrational to let the coldness in his voice hurt.
But it did.
The initial knot of hurt in her chest was giving way to anger as he continued to study her as though she were a bug under a microscope.
She lifted a hand to her hair, knowing she looked as crumpled and dishevelled as he looked sleek and elegant.
‘I did come straight away,’ she protested. As he was obviously in a vile mood she didn’t expect a thank you, but neither did she expect the icy rebuke that came her way. ‘She was fine when I put her to bed.’
‘It was not your place to say it was fine. It is not fine.’
‘I’m s-sorry...’
Was that damned stammer meant to make him feel like some sort of ogre? Was it even real?
‘In future run all things to do with Jas’s medical treatment past me. Is that clear, Miss Henderson?’
Her chin went up. ‘As crystal, Mr Urquart,’ she returned, her voice as crisp as the Highland morning and her eyes as sparkling cold as the sea. ‘And don’t worry, next time I feel the urge to make a decision I will repress it if you will repress the urge to manhandle me.’
On anyone else she might have suspected the lines of colour along his cheekbones signified embarrassment. His magnificent shrug and expression of amused disdain made it clear she’d made the right call.
