At Dante's Service

‘I don’t deny it.’ Dante gave a shrug which drew Rebekah’s eyes to the formidable width of his shoulders. She had been unaware of his presence until he had spoken and she hoped he had not heard her swiftly indrawn breath when she had turned her head and discovered him standing beside her. Being this close to him she was conscious of his height and the raw sexual magnetism he exuded. His jacket was undone, and beneath his white silk shirt she glimpsed the shadow of dark hairs and the faint delineation of his abdominal muscles.

For a shocking, heart-stopping moment she pictured him naked, imagined skimming her hands over his bare skin. Was his body as darkly tanned as his face? The way his trousers were drawn tight over his hips emphasised his powerful thigh muscles. A quiver of awareness shot through her and she could feel heat rise to her face. Terrified that he would realise the effect he had on her, she tried to edge away from him, but to her shock he placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

‘I know a good thing when I see it,’ he drawled, slanting an amused smile at her. ‘I recognized the minute I sampled her food that Rebekah is a talented chef, and I was determined to persuade her to work for me.’

Rebekah stiffened. Dante’s words confirmed what she had already guessed, she thought heavily. To him she was simply a cog in the wheel of his busy life. When they had first met he had been impressed by her cooking—while she had fallen in lust with him. It wasn’t love, of course. She wouldn’t be that stupid. But her inconvenient attraction to him was all the more surprising because after the way Gareth had treated her she had vowed to steer clear of men and allow her bruised heart to recover from the battering it had received.

Maybe after two years of being single her body was coming out of its self-imposed hibernation, she mused. And perhaps she had hit on Dante because, like the pop star she’d had a crush on when she was thirteen, he was way out of her league and therefore she could safely fancy him without the risk that he would ever notice her. Why would he, when he was used to dating beautiful women like Alicia Benson? she thought wryly as she watched the stunning blonde walk across the lawn towards them, accompanied by Susanna Portman, who was carrying a baby.

‘Here he is—the star of the show!’ James declared as he lifted his seven-month-old son from his wife’s arms. ‘You’re too young to appreciate it, Alexander, but Dante and Rebekah have made your christening day very special.’

At the sound of his father’s voice Alexander gave a wide grin, revealing his pink gums and two tiny front teeth.

Rebekah felt a sudden, intense pain in her chest and drew a sharp breath.

‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ James said proudly. ‘Would you like to hold him?’ he asked, noticing how she was transfixed by the baby. ‘Let me take that tray from you so that you can give Alexander a cuddle.’

Alexander was indeed adorable, with chubby arms and legs and wispy golden curls covering his head. Rebekah knew his skin would be as soft as satin, and the scent of him, a unique perfume of milk and baby powder, was so evocative that the pain inside her became an ache of longing—and loss.

She gripped the tray in her hands so tightly that her knuckles whitened as she fought to suppress the agonising emotions surging through her. An awkward silence had fallen over the group and, realising that James was waiting for her to reply, she somehow forced a smile.

‘Alexander looks very happy with his daddy, so I won’t disturb him,’ she mumbled. She looked over at the marquee and added in a brisker tone, ‘The waiters are clearing the tables. I’d better go and help them. Please excuse me.’

What had that been about? Dante wondered with a frown as he watched Rebekah practically run across the lawn. His hand had been resting on her shoulder and he had felt the fierce tension that had gripped her when James had invited her to hold his son. At first he had assumed she was one of those women who could not bear the idea of getting baby dribble on her clothes—he’d noticed Alicia had kept her distance from Alexander, no doubt terrified he might leak from one end or the other and ruin her designer dress, he thought derisively.

He was surprised by Rebekah’s reaction, though. She did not strike him as someone who cared about getting messy. He had watched her in the kitchen a few times and seen how she clearly enjoyed touching food, mixing ingredients with her hands and kneading dough when she made bread. In fact he had found her earthiness curiously sensual and had found himself imagining those firm fingers kneading and stroking his flesh.

Dio, where had that thought come from? He dismissed the image from his mind with an impatient shake of his head. Far harder to dismiss was the devastated expression he had just glimpsed in Rebekah’s eyes. He was tempted to follow her and ask what was wrong. But it was unlikely she would confide in him, Dante acknowledged. She had worked for him for two months but, although she was unfailingly polite, her reserved nature meant that he had not really got to know her and usually he did not spare her much thought other than that he was pleased with the way she did her job.

Today’s christening party that he had hosted for the Portmans was a prime example of Rebekah’s admirable work ethic. He knew she had spent all the previous day preparing the food, and she’d been hard at work when he had walked into the kitchen at seven this morning. Since then she had been rushing about making sure that the party ran smoothly. He had tried to catch her eye earlier, hoping to express his thanks, but she had simply given him a cool look and turned away from him, leaving him feeling strangely irritated.

But there were other reasons for his dark mood, he accepted. The christening had stirred up memories he thought he had buried, and watching James with his baby son had evoked a dull ache in his gut. He remembered how proud he had felt at Ben’s christening. At the time he’d believed he had everything a man could want—a beautiful wife and child, a successful career and an expensive home. He still had two out of the four, Dante reminded himself grimly.

‘Darling, how much longer do you think it will be before the guests leave?’ Alicia’s bored voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Surely the party can’t go on for much longer.’

Dante stiffened when his ex-mistress placed a possessive hand on his arm. Her unexpected presence today was another reason for his bad mood. He had been unaware that she was an old school friend of Susanna Portman until she had turned up at the church for the christening service.

He had ended his affair with Alicia several weeks ago, but she seemed determined to hang on to him—literally—he thought impatiently when she tightened her grip to prevent him from moving away from her.

‘You are here as James and Susanna’s guest, so I assume you read the invitation, which states that the event finishes at six p.m.’

The blonde seemed undeterred by his curt tone. ‘I thought you might like to come back to my place this evening. We could have a few drinks and relax …’ She ran her long scarlet-painted nails down the front of Dante’s shirt and for some inexplicable reason a memory flashed into his mind of Rebekah’s short, neat, unpolished fingernails. He doubted Alicia had ever kneaded dough or made pastry with her perfectly manicured hands, he thought sardonically, and at this moment he was concerned by the fact that his chef had seemed upset about something.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, firmly removing Alicia’s hand from his arm. ‘I’m in court tomorrow to represent a client and I need to read through the case notes tonight.’

She frowned petulantly but, perhaps sensing that his patience was running low, she did not argue. ‘Can you at least drive me home? I hate travelling by taxi.’

Dante was willing to do anything to get rid of her. ‘Of course,’ he agreed politely. ‘Are you ready to leave now?’

‘I’ll just collect my wrap,’ she told him.

Half an hour later, James and Susanna Portman and their guests had all departed but Dante was still waiting to give Alicia a lift. With escalating impatience, he strode into the kitchen and found Rebekah still at work. Pages of recipe notes were spread over the worktop and a tempting aroma that he hoped was his dinner drifted from the oven.

She glanced at him as he entered the room and his sharp eyes noted that she still looked pale, although her face was not as bloodless as it had been when she had reacted so strangely in the garden.

‘Are you all right now?’

She gave him a surprised look, but he noted that she had stiffened defensively at his question.

‘Yes, of course. Why shouldn’t I be all right?’

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘I got the impression when we were admiring James’s little boy that you were upset by something. You turned as white as a ghost when he asked if you wanted to hold the baby.’

‘Oh—I had a migraine,’ Rebekah said after a long pause. ‘It came on suddenly and I had to rush away and take some painkillers.’

Dante’s eyes narrowed on the twin spots of colour that had flared on her cheeks. She was possibly the worst liar he had ever met, he mused. But she clearly was not going to tell him what had bothered her and he had no option but to drop the subject. He did not even understand why he was curious about a member of his staff.

For some reason he felt more irritable than ever. A glance at his watch revealed that it was nearly seven o’clock. He had a couple of hours’ work to do tonight and he wished now that he had not agreed to drive Alicia back to her home on the other side of London.

‘Have you seen Miss Benson?’ he asked tersely.

‘I certainly have. She’s in the front sitting room, in floods of tears—poor woman.’

Dante did not miss the tart edge to Rebekah’s tone. He frowned. ‘Do you know why she’s upset?’

‘Obviously you upset her.’ Rebekah compressed her lips. ‘She told me that the two of you had had an argument. She was crying, so I suggested she should try and calm down. I think you should go and talk to her.’

Dante felt his temper begin to simmer. What the hell was Alicia playing at? He strode across the kitchen. ‘I’ll talk to her,’ he muttered, ‘but I doubt she’s going to like what I have to say.’

‘I’ve prepared dinner for you and Miss Benson.’

He halted in the doorway and swung back to Rebekah, his eyes glinting dangerously.

‘Why on earth did you do that? Did I ask you to?’

‘Well, no. But I thought, with Miss Benson being so upset, that you might invite her to stay.’ There was an infinitesimal pause, and then Rebekah said sharply, ‘You know, you really should treat your girlfriends with a little more consideration.’

With an effort, Dante controlled his anger. He was infuriated by the behaviour of his clingy ex, but even more annoyed that Rebekah seemed to think she had the right to interfere in his private life.

‘Can I remind you that you are my cook, not the voice of my moral conscience,’ he said coldly.

He had expected her to apologise but, although she flushed, she lifted her chin and glared at him with what could only be described as a challenging expression. The first time he had met her he had been struck by her beautiful violet-coloured eyes. At this moment they had darkened to a shade that was almost indigo.

‘I didn’t realise you had a moral conscience. And there’s no need for you to remind me of my role. But I’d like to point out that it was not part of my job description to have to deal with your girlfriends when they phone the house because you won’t answer their calls to your mobile. Nor is it my job to console them when they sob their hearts out because they thought they meant something to you and they can’t understand why you’ve dumped them.’

Dante frowned at the unmistakable criticism in her voice. ‘That happens often, does it?’ he demanded.

Rebekah hesitated, aware from the rigid line of Dante’s jaw that she had angered him. ‘Not often,’ she admitted. ‘But it has happened once before, with that red-haired actress who stayed for the weekend just after I started working for you. And now there’s Miss Benson.’