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She glared at him and he stopped a few paces away from her. Had he felt the heat of her anger? She certainly hoped so. He deserved every bit of it and so much more.
‘I have nothing to say to you, Mr Roselli.’ She stood firm, looked him in the eye and tried not to be affected by the way his met and held hers, shamelessly, without any trace of guilt. ‘Now, please leave.’
She walked across the lawn, past him and towards her cottage, sure that he would go, that her cold dismissal would be enough. As she neared him the breeze carried his scent. Pure, unadulterated male. Her head became light, her breath hard to catch. In disgust at the way he distracted her thoughts, she marched off.
‘No.’ That one word, deep and accented, froze her to the spot as if a winter frost had descended, coating everything in white crystals.
A tremor of fear slipped down her spine. Not just fear of the man standing so close to her, but fear of all he represented. Slowly she turned her face to look directly at him. ‘We have nothing to say. I made that clear in my response to your letter after Sebastian’s death.’
Sebastian’s death.
It was hard to say those words aloud. Hard to admit her brother was gone, that she’d never see him again. But, worse, the man responsible had the nerve to ignore her early grief-laden requests and then invade the cottage, her one place of sanctuary.
‘You may not, but I do.’ He stepped closer to her, too close. She held his gaze, noticing the bronze sparks in his eyes and the firm set of his mouth. This was a man who did exactly what he wanted, without regard for anyone else. Even without knowing his reputation she’d be left in no doubt of that as he all but towered over her.
‘I don’t want to hear what you’ve got to say.’ She didn’t even want to talk to him. He had as good as killed her brother. She didn’t want to look at him, to acknowledge him, but something, some undeniable primal instinct, made her and she fought hard to keep the heady mix of anger and grief under control. An emotional meltdown was not something she wanted to display, especially in front of the man she’d steadfastly refused to meet.
‘I’m going to say it anyway.’ His voice lowered, resembling a growl, and she wondered which of them was fighting the hardest to hold onto their composure.
She lifted a brow in haughty question at him and watched his lips press firmly together as he clenched his jaw. Good, she was getting to him. With that satisfaction racing through her, she walked away, desperate for the safety of her cottage. She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say.
‘I am here because Sebastian asked me to come.’ His words, staccato and deeply accented, made another step impossible.
‘How dare you?’ She whirled round to face him, all thought of restraint abandoned. ‘You are here because of your guilt.’
‘My guilt?’ He stepped towards her, quickly closing that final bit of space between them, his eyes glittering and hard.
Her heart thumped frantically in her chest and her knees weakened, but she couldn’t let him know that. ‘It’s your fault. You are the one responsible for Sebastian’s death.’
Her words hung accusingly between them, and the sun slipped behind a cloud as if sensing trouble. She watched his handsome face turn to stone and even thought she saw the veil of guilt shadow it, but it was brief, swiftly followed by cold anger, making his eyes sharper than flint.
He was so close, so tall, and she wished she was wearing the heels she used to favour before her life had been shaken up into total turmoil. She kept her gaze focused on him, determined to match his aggressive stance.
‘If, as you say, it was my fault I would not have waited a year to come here.’ His voice was cool and level, his eyes, changing to gleaming bronze, fixed her accusingly to the spot.
He took one final step towards her, so close now he could have kissed her. That thought shocked her and she resisted the need to step back away from him, as far as she could. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was the guilty one. He was the one who’d intruded on her life.
‘It was your car that crashed, Mr Roselli.’ She forced each word out, his proximity making it almost impossible.
‘Your brother and I designed that car. We built it together.’ His voice, deep and accented, hinted at pain. Or was she just imagining it, reflecting her grief onto him?
‘But it was Sebastian who test drove it.’ She fought the memories he was dragging up. Demons she’d thought she’d finally shut the door on.
He didn’t say anything and she held her ground, looking up into his eyes as they searched her face. Her heart pounded wildly and deep down she knew it wasn’t just the memories of Sebastian. It was as much to do with this man. Instinctively she knew his potent maleness had disturbed the slumbering woman hidden within her—and she hated him for that.
