Mistress, Mother...Wife?

‘That’s it… just Anna?’

‘Anna Bailey.’

A cold sweat broke out across her skin, where previously his disturbing glance had kindled the kind of heat that made dry tinder burst into flames. Was he going to report her or something? She hadn’t meant to insult him. Her only desire had been to help if she could. Was he an important enough customer for a complaint from him to help her lose her job? She prayed not.

The comfortable family-run hotel in a quiet corner of Covent Garden had become her home for the past three years, and she loved everything about it—including her work. She didn’t even mind if she sometimes had to work long hours. Her employers were so kind—generous to a fault, in fact—and her recent pay-rise had helped make life a whole lot more comfortable than when she’d worked at jobs she’d hated and for too little money. Lord knew she didn’t want to go back to struggling again.

‘Look, Mr, er…’

‘I told you to call me Dan.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why? ‘ he snapped, his expression irritated.

‘Because it wouldn’t be professional. I’m an employee here and you’re a guest.’

‘Yet you offered me a shoulder to cry on. Is that on offer to all your guests, Anna?’

She flushed. ‘Of course not. I just wanted to—’

‘So the only thing that prevents you calling me by my first name is that you’re a stickler for the rules and you work here, while I’m a paying customer?’

‘I’d better go.’

‘No—stay. Is there any other reason you can’t be more informal? Like the fact that you’ve got a husband or boyfriend waiting for you at home, perhaps?’

Anna stared helplessly.

‘No.’ She cleared her throat, then glanced round to see if anyone was observing them.

Brian—her young, dark-haired colleague—was wiping down the half-moon-shaped bar and chatting to a customer at the same time, whilst a smartly dressed middle-aged couple sat tenderly holding hands as they lingered over their after-theatre drinks. They’d regaled Anna earlier with tales of the play they’d been to, and their infectious enjoyment was contagious. Twenty-five years married and they were still like young lovers around each other.

Sighing, she turned back to find him broodingly examining her. The sudden jolt of her heartbeat mimicked another heavy brick splashing into a pond as his glance interestedly and deliberately appraised her figure. His gaze lingered boldly on the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts, trailing sensuous fire in its wake. There was nothing provocative about the purple silk blouse with its pretty Chinese collar and the straight grey skirt that denoted her uniform, but when he studied her like that—as if he were imagining her naked and willing in his bed—Anna felt as if there was nowhere to hide.

A trembling excitement soared through her blood at his near-insolent examination. An excitement that was like a gargantuan powerful wave dangerously poised to sweep her into uncharted waters she’d never dared visit before.

‘In that case…I’ve had a change of heart,’ Dante drawled, smiling. ‘Maybe sharing my troubles with a sweet girl like you is just what I need tonight, Anna. What time do you finish?’

‘Around midnight, by the time Brian and I have cashed up.’ How was it possible for her voice to sound so level when inside a roaring furnace was all but consuming her?

‘And how do you normally get home? Do you get a cab?’

‘I live in, actually.’

Just like a popped balloon, her last defence deflated and it was no longer possible for her to pretend that the handsome, hard-jawed stranger hadn’t affected her deeply. The truth was that he held a dangerous fascination for her. She was hypnotised by the simmering aura of sensuality implicit in his rough velvet voice and in the twin lakes of his troubled haunting eyes. As a result, her bones seemed to be held together by running water instead of strong connective tissue. Unable to think straight, Anna knew her returning glance was nervous as she gathered the round wooden tray up close to her chest as though it were a shield.

‘Have you made up your mind about the drink? Only I’ve got to get back to the bar to work.’

‘Another drink can wait.’

Unbuttoning his coat for the first time that evening, Dante handed her his empty glass with another long, slow, meaningful glance. His lean fingers brushed hers. Did she imagine that they lingered there against her skin much longer than necessary? His touch was like being grazed by lightning—deliberate or not.

‘I’m staying here too tonight, Anna. And I think that we should have a drink together when your shift ends… don’t you?’

A definite refusal was on the tip of her tongue, but inside the dogged belief clung that perhaps she really could help him by being a good listener. Her lips pursed tight to prevent it. But when she turned away it was as if some kind of aftershock from their encounter had seized her, because her limbs were shaking almost violently as she crossed the room to rejoin Brian.

There was no understanding such alternating and violent sweeps of emotion, thought Dante. He had just flown into London from his mother’s funeral—the funeral of the one person in the world he had truly loved, who had always been there for him no matter what, who had been like a beacon of light he turned to when he ached to remember that beauty, grace and selfless kindness existed in the world.

Now that she was gone he was heartbroken…truly heartbroken. But another woman also occupied his thoughts right now. His body had somehow acquired a compelling desire to know the touch of a red-haired young witch with sherry-brown eyes that glinted beguilingly like firelight—a girl he had only just met whom he had all but mocked disparagingly when she’d shyly offered him a listening ear. Was it so rare that he met up with a genuinely nice girl that he had to punish her when he did?

His mother would turn in her newly dug grave! Bitterness and despair rising in his gorge, Dante ripped off his wristwatch to discard it onto the nearby polished side-table. His coat followed suit, but he let it fall carelessly onto the bed instead. Several hundred dollars’ worth of the finest cashmere—but what did it signify? His wealth had neither made him a better man nor a more generous one.

His personal assessment was brutally frank. All the businesses and property he had accumulated through mergers and acquisitions had demonstrated to him was how driven and ruthless he’d become. Yes, driven and ruthless—because of an underlying fear of losing it all. An impoverished childhood and a father who had deserted him had seen to that. He’d been so poor in the small mountain village in Italy where he’d grown up that his mother had been forced to earn their bread by dancing and singing for men in seedy bars in the nearby town, and Dante had long ago set his hungry intention for any career he might settle upon to make him wildly and disgustingly rich so that he might rescue them both.

His wealth would act as an insulating buffer between him and the rest of the world, he’d told himself. Then no one would have the chance to hurt him or his mother again, and neither would she have to humiliate herself by parading her beauty in front of men for money. Dante had carried that insulation with him into his marriage and into any other romantic relationship he’d briefly flirted with, forever seeking to protect his emotions. He’d become cold…not to mention a little heartless.

‘No wonder they call you the ice man of the business world,’ his American ex-wife, Marisa, had taunted him.

‘You’re so dedicated to the title that you even bring it home with you!’

At first his mother had been fiercely proud of his rocketing success. He’d bought her the house of her dreams in Lake Como, and made sure she always had plenty of money to buy whatever she wanted. But lately whenever he’d visited her she’d started to profess concern. With one failed marriage and a string of unhappy relationships behind him, it had only seemed to Renata that her son had lost all sense of priority.

It should be the people in his life who were important, she’d told him—not his business or the grand houses he bought—and if he continued in this soulless way then she would sell the richly decorated house on its exclusive plot by the lake and purchase a hut in the hills instead! After all, she’d been raised as a shepherd’s daughter, and she wasn’t ashamed to go back to where she’d begun even if he was. Someone had to show him what values were.

Dante grimaced at the hurtful memory of her distressed face and quavering voice when she’d said this to him in the hospital.

To diffuse his despair he deliberately brought his mind back to the titian-haired Anna Bailey. His reaction was purely male and instinctive, and his body tightened instantly. It was as though someone had stoked a fire beneath his blood and set it ceaselessly simmering. Reaching for his discarded watch, he impatiently scanned the time, all but boring a hole in the door with his naked, hungry glance as he waited for her to arrive—not once allowing himself to think that she wouldn’t…

As if needing to enquire about something, her brooding new friend had leaned across the bar on his way out and whispered softly to Anna, ‘Let’s have that drink together in my room. I’m staying in the suite on the top floor. It would mean a lot to me… especially tonight. Please don’t disappoint me.’

His lips had been a hair’s breadth away from her ear and his warm breath had all but set her alight. The seductive sensation had been the mesmerising equivalent of an intoxicating cocktail she was powerless to refuse. She knew it would make her dizzy and light-headed, but it still held a potent allure she couldn’t ignore.

Anna had watched Dan’s tall broad-shouldered physique as he left the bar with her heart thumping. Now, in the privacy of her room, she blew out a trembling breath, dropping down onto the padded stool in front of the dressing table because she hardly trusted her legs to keep her upright.

The enigmatic stranger was staying in the only suite in the building. It was the most luxurious and gorgeous accommodation she had ever seen. With its beautiful Turkish kelims hanging on the walls, artisan-created bespoke furniture and under-floor heating, no expense had been spared in its creation and it cost a small fortune to stay there for even one night.

Biting her lip, Anna peered into the dressing table mirror to gauge if her expression was as terrified as she felt. Was she really contemplating visiting a male guest in his room? Talking to that lovely couple who’d been to the theatre earlier, she had felt such a pang of envy at their closeness. It wasn’t very often she succumbed to feelings of loneliness, but somehow tonight she had. What had he meant when he’d whispered, It would mean a lot to me…especially tonight? Was he feeling lonely too? Had the funeral she guessed he’d attended been for someone really close to him? His wife perhaps?

A heavy sigh, part compassion, part longing, left her. If anyone saw her go to his room then she really could lose her job. Was the loneliness that had infiltrated her blood tonight making her a little desperate? Not to mention reckless? Sighing again, Anna went into the bathroom to splash her face with cold water.

Back in the main room, she glanced unseeingly at the television that sat there. Somehow a late-night movie or talk show didn’t hold any draw for her. Neither did curling up in bed alone with her thoughts appeal. She’d sensed an inexplicable overwhelming connection to the man who had whispered in her ear downstairs and it was somehow impossible to ignore it. Tomorrow he might be gone, she reasoned feverishly.

She would be wondering what might have been—and the feeling would gnaw away at her if she didn’t act.

With fingers that shook, she freed her hair from the neatly coiled bun she’d got so adept at fashioning for work, then pulled a careless brush through the river of auburn silk that flowed down her back. Pinching her cheeks to make them pinker, she quickly changed into a dark green top and light blue jeans. He only wants to talk, she reassured herself as she walked out into the corridor. But her pulse beat with fright because he might have been looking for something more…something that in her heart of hearts she secretly longed for.

Flicking an anxious glance towards the small elevator that would soundlessly deliver her to the topmost floor, Anna sucked in a breath as she walked towards it.