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His dark collar-length hair was thick and gleamed in the sunshine, his tanned face showed a light growth of stubble, which only enhanced his handsome features. But it was the intense blackness of his eyes as they pierced into her which made breathing almost impossible.
‘I am looking for Charlotte Warrington.’ His accent was heavy and incredibly sexy, as was the way he said her name, caressing it until it sounded like a melody. She fought hard against the urge to allow it to wrap itself around her. She had to. She was out of practice in dealing with such men.
Slowly pulling off her gardening gloves, she became acutely aware she was wearing her oldest jeans and T-shirt and that her hair was scraped back in something which almost resembled a ponytail. Could she get away with not admitting who she was? But the arrogance in those dark eyes as they watched her made her want to shock him.
He was undoubtedly her brother’s business partner, the man who had whisked him deeper into the world of performance cars, so far that he’d almost forgotten his family’s existence. Indignation surfaced rapidly.
‘What can I do for you, Mr...?’ The question of his name hung in the warm air around them, testing and challenging him. She stood tall as his astonished gaze travelled down her body, taking in her dishevelled appearance. Her skin tingled as those eyes all but caressed every part of her, making her breath catch as if he’d actually touched her.
‘You are Sebastian’s sister?’ Accusation and disbelief laced through every word, but it was lost on her as the grief she’d thought she’d finally begun to get over hit her once more as he said her brother’s name.
The urge to defend herself rose up, but she had no idea where it came from. ‘Yes,’ she said curtly, hearing the irritation in her own voice. ‘And you are?’
She asked the question although she knew the answer and it was not one she wanted to hear. She curled her fingers into her palms, knowing that the one man she’d never wanted to meet, the man she held responsible, first for taking Seb away from her, then for his death, stood impudently in her garden. Looking for her.
If that wasn’t bad enough, there had been a spark of attraction in that first second she’d seen him. Already she hated herself for it. How could she feel anything other than contempt for the man who’d deprived her of her brother?
‘Roselli,’ he said and stepped off the path and onto her newly cut lawn, confirming her worst suspicions. He smiled at her as he walked closer, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Alessandro Roselli.’
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.
