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Paul always had had a thing for redheads—some had even been natural—but he had married a blonde and despite this woman’s attempts to wreck that marriage he still was.
Cesare continued to study the face of the woman who had almost cost his friend his marriage and felt desire as indiscriminate as it was strong twist in his belly.
He could recognise his response, see it for what it was: a primal male reaction to a beautiful woman. Paul hadn’t, but then his friend always had been a hopeless romantic, frequently making the classic mistake of confusing sex with love.
The night in question Paul had followed him out of the restaurant, catching him up as he was about to get in his car. ‘It isn’t what you think.’
Cesare had not responded to his friend’s breathless opening statement. It was not his place to give the approval Paul clearly sought, though why a grown man would need it mystified Cesare.
‘You won’t say anything to Clare? All right, sorry, sorry, I know you wouldn’t.’
Slamming the door of his car, Cesare had turned back to his friend... How could an intelligent man be so stupid? ‘Someone will tell her, though—you must see that. You were hardly being discreet.’
‘I know, I know, but it’s Rosie’s birthday and I wanted to take her somewhere nice. She’s incredible and so beautiful...’
It appeared not to have occurred to Paul that it would suit his mistress if his wife found out and Paul was pushed to make a choice. She must be very confident, Cesare realised.
Backed up against his car, Cesare had adopted a folded-arm stance. It cut down on the temptation to grab his friend by the throat and demand to know what the hell he thought he was playing at, while Paul had given in to the need to unburden himself.
The less Cesare had said, the more Paul had confided in way too much detail. Reading between the lines a picture did emerge and it was a pattern Cesare recognised only too well.
The woman didn’t just know what she was doing in the bedroom—again too much detail—she knew how to manipulate a man by recognising his weaknesses. She had flattered Paul, appealed to his vanity and managed to cleverly awaken his protective instincts.
Cesare was sure that this was a technique she would refine over the years, perhaps becoming as skilled as his own mother, who he had watched work her way across Europe leaving a trail of broken-hearted men in her wake.
‘What would you do if you were me?’
The appeal had irritated Cesare, who could not by any stretch of the imagination imagine himself in a similar situation. For starters he had no plans to marry—ever—but he could see that marriage suited some men and Paul was one of them.
‘I am not you. I thought you and Clare were happy.’
‘We are.’
‘And you love her?’
‘I love them both, of course I do, but Rosie is so...She needs me. If I finished with her it would kill her. She loves me!’
Cesare, who had no taste for drama, had taken this statement with a pinch of salt. His indifference to the feelings or threats of a woman who had embarked on an affair with a married man remained, but, recalling that he had only just resisted the impulse to tell his friend to grow a pair, Cesare felt a stab of guilt.
It was easy to be contemptuous when you hadn’t been close enough to feel the sensuality this woman projected. Her mouth was nothing short of sinful. The full pink curves promising passion to those lucky enough to taste them. As his sympathy for his friend grew so did his distaste for this woman who used her sensuality as a weapon.
‘I will not keep you long, Miss Henderson. Would you like to take a seat?’
As no was not an option Anna did so, very aware of the critical, unfriendly eyes that followed her every move.
‘Miss Henderson travelled up last night on the sleeper train. She must be tired,’ the fatherly local councillor remarked before retaking his seat.
‘You are seeing us at our best. The winter is a long one.’
The inference being presumably that she’d burst into tears at the sight of a snowflake. This from someone who looked as if he’d seen a hell of a lot more sun than she had. And an incomer to boot!
‘Have you lived here long, Mr Urquart?’
Anna was aware of amused glances passing between the other members of the panel. What had she said that was so funny?
‘All my life.’
It was the woman on the panel who explained the joke. ‘The Urquarts of Killaran have historically been generous benefactors to the community and Cesare makes time in his crowded schedule to act as a school governor.’
