throbbed painfully under his ribs. Did the man wish they were more than colleagues? he wondered. A disturbing image of him getting cosy with Anna and Tia almost stole his breath.
‘And is Mr Cathcart good at leading and inspiring his staff, would you say?’ he asked, gravel-voiced.
‘Definitely.’ A flicker of apprehension crossed Anna’s face. ‘You interviewed him earlier. Surely you formed an impression of him? ‘
‘I did,’ Dante answered abruptly. ‘And that, of course, will remain confidential. Now, what other responsibilities does your role entail?’
Even though he would have preferred to quiz Anna further about her impression of her colleague, he knew it shouldn’t be in the arena of a professional conversation concerning her job. Corralling the urge to ask her outright if she had more personal feelings towards Jason, he listened intently as she described other aspects of her role as assistant manager, determinedly making himself focus on the interview at hand and not get sidetracked by emotion.
THE ring on the doorbell just after she’d checked to see if Tia was asleep made Anna’s heart skip a beat. She knew it was Dante. He had vowed he’d return later, after going back to his apartment. They’d agreed he would drop by after she’d put Tia to bed so that they could talk in private.
Glancing at the two slim-stemmed wine glasses she’d left on the coffee table, she nervously smoothed down the multicoloured jersey tunic dress that she’d hastily donned over black leggings and cinched with a vivid green belt, praying she didn’t look as flustered as she felt.
‘Hi.’
She hadn’t known how starved she was for the sight of his sculpted, strikingly good-looking face until she was confronted by it at the door. Her pulse went wild. In turn, Dante’s disturbing gaze ran up and down her figure with equally hard-to-hide intensity, and every flicker of his glance was like lighted touchpaper to already simmering embers.
‘Come in,’ she invited, her voice hoarse, practically pressing herself into the wall to let him pass.
‘Nice perfume,’ he remarked, low-voiced, as he entered, his eyes reflecting electric blue sparks tonight, rather than the dramatic hue of stormy seas. ‘Sexy.’
‘Thanks,’ Anna murmured, her mind going unhelpfully blank at the compliment.
‘I’ve brought some very good Italian wine.’ He placed a dark slim bottle into her hands. ‘It’s a Barolo. It comes from a region known as Piedmont, where they’re famed for making the best wines.’
‘That’s kind. I’ve got some dry white chilling in the fridge, but if you prefer red then that’s fine with me. We can have either.’ Shrugging self-consciously, she shut the door behind them, adding, ‘I don’t mind.’
Wishing she didn’t feel as if she’d been shaken hard, then stood on her head, Anna led the way into the living room.
‘When we first met, I didn’t know you were Italian,’ she remarked lightly.
‘Only on my mother’s side.’
‘What about your father?’
‘He was British.’
‘That explains why you used the surname Masterson, then. You don’t have much of an Italian accent, either.’
‘I stopped residing in Italy a long time ago.’
‘Why? Did your parents move to the UK?’
His fascinating eyes darkened almost warningly. ‘No. They didn’t. They parted company when I was very young…younger than Tia, in fact.’
‘And you didn’t want to stay in Italy? ‘
‘Enough questions for now, I think.’
There was a definite tightening to Dante’s perfectly symmetrical jaw, and Anna clamped her teeth down on her lip, embarrassed at the flow of curiosity that had unstoppably rushed out. But frustration niggled her—because how were she and her daughter supposed to get to know him if he was so reluctant to reveal himself?
‘Why don’t you sit down? ‘ she suggested, awkward now.
Dropping down onto the couch, his expression relieved, Dante undid the single button on his tailored black jacket to reveal a midnight-blue cashmere sweater. The golden lights in his hair glinted fiercely beneath the soft glow of one of the nearby lamps, the odd silver strand here or there making him look mouthwateringly distinguished. As if she wasn’t already provocatively aware of his charismatic presence, the exotically eastern tones of his aftershave sensuously made a beeline into Anna’s solar plexus and caused a near meltdown.
‘Open the Barolo,’ he said casually, gesturing towards the bottle in her hands. ‘It’s a cold, rainy night outside and it will warm us up.’
His barely perceptible smile pierced her heart. Why did it seem so hard for him to relax? What was it about his past that still racked him with shadows? she mused.
‘Okay…I will.’
Briefly disappearing into the kitchen to locate the corkscrew, Anna was grateful for a few moments to herself. It was clear that the inflammatory attraction that had flared out of control that night five years ago had not dimmed one iota. At least not for her. To be frank, the realisation filled her with trepidation. How could she be clear-headed and wise and do the right thing for her and Tia if all Dante had to do was walk into a room to have her temperature shooting off the scale?
In the living room once more, she gladly gave the task of pouring the wine to him. Right then her hands weren’t anywhere near steady enough to do it without the possibility of spilling some. As she crossed the room to the single plump armchair, Anna felt Dante’s glance track her progress.
Before raising his glass to his lips, he asked, ‘Is the baby asleep?’
Charmed and taken aback that he should refer to Tia as ‘the baby’ with such affection in his voice, she knew her smile was unreserved. ‘Yes, she is.’
‘I’d like to look in on her before I go tonight.’
‘Of course.’
‘There’s so much about her I want to know. What food she likes, her favourite colour, the book she likes the most.’
His gaze seemed to take him away to distant shores for a moment, and Anna caught her breath as a merciless stab of guilt assailed her.
But before she could comment he continued, ‘We should have a toast. To Tia and her happy future.’
‘Tia and her happy future,’ she concurred a little huskily, her mouth drying, because she knew that the future was one of the most pertinent things they had to discuss tonight. What would it entail? Not just for her precious child, but for Anna herself now that Dante had reappeared?
Sipping at her wine, she allowed the alcohol to swim warmly into her blood for a moment, hoping it might relax her. ‘This is nice…it reminds me of violets somehow.’
‘You have a good nose. Barolo does have a bouquet of violets. You could have a new career in wine-tasting.’
‘Will I need a new career? ‘
‘Your interview wasn’t that bad.’
‘How comforting,’ she quipped, unable to hide the surge of annoyance that surfaced. ‘I’ve had no complaints about how I carry out my job so far.’
‘There’s no need to be defensive. You’ve nothing to fear from me, Anna. I certainly don’t have any plans to fire you from your job.’
To her alarm, Dante set his wine glass down on the coffee table and got to his feet.