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‘My legal name is Beth Lazenby,’ Beth stated bluntly.
The air between them was crackling with tension.
‘Maybe now. But it wasn’t when you were in the dock at nineteen.’
‘You’ve finally recognised me. Bully for you,’ she snapped sarcastically, seeing no point in denying it. So he had remembered where he had seen her before? Her temper rose at the audacity of the man, confronting her on her own doorstep.
‘Not exactly. But the investigator I hired to check on you refreshed my memory.’
Beth’s temper very nearly exploded at that revelation, and only by a terrific effort of will did she control the anger simmering inside her—along with other emotions she refused to recognise. She reminded herself she was no longer a gullible teenager but a confident woman, and she flatly refused to let Cannavaro intimidate her again.
‘Shame you wasted your money. I’m going on holiday now, and have already spent ages chasing the cat—which has made me late. You need to leave.’ And she caught the door handle with the intention of slamming the door in his face.
‘Not so fast.’ He put his foot in the door. ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Well, tough. Because I have absolutely nothing to say to you.’ She turned, hanging on to her temper by a thread, and went to retrieve the cat in order to go.
But, remembering the time and pain Cannavaro had already cost her, she decided she had nothing left to lose, and spun back to find him towering over her.
She looked up at him, her green eyes spitting fury. ‘Except to say you have some nerve investigating me. Call yourself a lawyer? You are without doubt the most arrogant, devious, manipulative, lying bastard it has ever been my misfortune to meet. Got it? Now, go.’
His face was like carved granite and his eyes hard as he watched her mouth spew out the angry words. Suddenly he moved and a long arm shot around her. His large hand splayed across her back whilst the other grasped the back of her head and jerked her body towards him. He dipped his head, his mouth crashing down on hers, relentlessly prising her lips apart with the powerful thrust of his tongue. Shocked and furious, she tried to pull away, but his hands clamped her in position. Her head was so close to his she could not drag it from beneath his all-consuming mouth. The steel band of his arm was holding her pressed hard against his long body. She tried to struggle, but he was too strong—and shamefully, instead of feeling revulsion, she was floundering in the wave of heady sensation flowing through her body.
Frantically she tried to lift her hands and shove him away, but she was held so tightly against the hard wall of his chest that all she could do was claw at his broad shoulders as he wreaked sensual havoc with his penetrating kiss. Still she tried to resist, but he explored her mouth, hotly igniting a flame of arousal deep inside that scorched through her defences—and suddenly she wasn’t clawing, but clinging to him.
His fingers wound into her hair, pulling it back to tilt her head to one side, his mouth trailing the line of her neck to suck on the frantically leaping pulse there.
This could not be! She hated the man. She began to struggle so wildly that their bodies swayed and crashed against the wall, his long, hard length pinning her there. She was aware of his hot, male scent and the strength of his muscular and highly aroused body against her own in a shockingly intimate way she had never experienced before.
He lifted his head, her breath catching as she saw his face. He was staring at her with dark, mesmerising eyes as his hand moved from her head to the neckline of her top, his long fingers slipping beneath the fabric to graze a swelling nipple. Involuntarily her body arched, and she bit back the moan that rose in her throat.
Her voice seemed to have deserted her, and her heart was thudding so hard she thought it might burst. Her passionate hatred of him had been overtaken by passionate desire.
‘You can’t help yourself. You want me,’ he said in a deep, thickened voice.
‘No, I hate you,’ she said hoarsely.
He gave her one long look, his face suddenly wearing a cold remoteness that was frightening in itself. He straightened up and pulled her closer against him, his hand circling her throat to tip her head back. ‘Hate away. But think yourself lucky I only kissed you. If any man had said what you did to me he would be on the floor now. I will not tolerate anyone defaming my character—and certainly not a conniving ex-con like you. Understand?’
Shaken, and battling to control her overloaded senses, she heard his words and they were better than a cold shower. How typical of the arrogant devil. Beth shook her head in disgust.
‘Now we will have that talk.’ His hands dropped from her and he took a step back—and stumbled over the cat carrier. He swore, and Binkie shot out beneath his feet. Dante struggled to avoid the cat, lost the battle, and fell to the floor.
Beth laughed—if a bit hysterically. Perfect karma, she thought. The stunned look on his handsome face was priceless.
‘How the mighty are fallen,’ she quipped, and bent down to grab Binkie, ignoring the furious mountain of a man leaping to his feet. ‘There, there, Binkie,’ Beth said as she walked into the living room, cuddling the cat over her chest and shoulder to comfort him—and to disguise her tight nipples. ‘I know the nasty man kicked you, but he’s going now.’
Dante straightened up, not quite sure what had just happened. He’d been kissing her like a savage beast gone wild one minute, the next on the floor in a heap! He could still taste her on his tongue, and Beth—Jane—whoever she was—had for the first time in his life left him knocked out sensually and physically.
‘I did not kick the cat,’ Dante declared, following her into the room. His pride was seriously dented and he raked a distracted hand though his hair. What was it about this witch of a woman that turned him into a primitive, clumsy oaf? He had never tripped over his feet since he was a child. He looked at her, with a great lump of red fur the same colour as her hair clamped to her chest, her slender fingers stroking the cat’s head, then moving to scratch the animal under the chin.
She raised her eyes and looked at him. ‘You kicked over his carrier with him inside, which is the same thing—isn’t it, Binkie?’
Dante could not believe she had actually asked the damned cat. Maybe he had fallen into a different dimension. Maybe she really was a witch and the cat was her familiar, he thought, as two identical pairs of green eyes stared accusingly at him. The cat bared its teeth and he was sure he heard it hiss in agreement with his mistress.
He shook his head to clear his brain. The woman was driving him crazy. What hope would his impressionable young brother have with her? None—and his express purpose for being here was to get her out of Tony’s life.
‘I am not going anywhere—and neither are you until we talk,’ he commanded between clenched teeth. To emphasise the fact he shrugged off his jacket, crossed to one of the sofas flanking the fireplace and dropped it on the arm before he sat down.
