‘You can’t help yourself. You want me,’ Dante said in a deep, thickened voice.

‘No, I hate you,’ Beth said hoarsely.

His face was like carved granite, his eyes hard. 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 to 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 she could not drag it from beneath his all-consuming mouth. While the steel band of his arm holding her pressed her 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.

Her voice seemed to have deserted her, and her heart was thudding so hard she thought it might burst. Her passionate hatred of him was overtaken by a passionate desire.

About the Author

JACQUELINE BAIRD began writing as a hobby, when her family objected to the smell of her oil painting, and immediately became hooked on the romantic genre. She loves travelling, and worked her way around the world from Europe to the Americas and Australia, returning to marry her teenage sweetheart. She lives in Ponteland, Northumbria, the county of her birth, and has two teenage sons. She enjoys playing badminton, and spends most weekends with husband, Jim, sailing their Gp. 14 around Derwent Reservoir.

Recent titles by the same author:

 RETURN OF THE MORALIS WIFE

 PICTURE OF INNOCENCE

 THE SABBIDES SECRET BABY

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Cost of her Innocence

Jacqueline Baird

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PROLOGUE

‘I REPEAT, MISS MASON, do you understand the charge brought against you by this court?’

Jane, in a voice choked with fear, finally answered.

‘Yes.’

She still could not quite believe she was standing in the dock, accused of being in possession of a Class A drug with intent to sell. She was in her second year of a Business Studies course and worked five evenings a week in a fast food café to help pay her way through college. This whole thing was like a nightmare and she hoped she would wake up at any second….

But it was no nightmare. This was reality, she finally accepted as the curt tone of the judge’s voice demanded, ‘How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?’

She gripped the handrail of the dock to steady her trembling body and, lifting her head, cried, ‘Not guilty!’

Why would no one believe her? She glanced desperately across at Miss Sims, the lawyer the court had appointed to defend her, but her attention was on the notes in her hand, not Jane.

Dante Cannavaro lounged in his chair while the preliminaries were adhered to. The case was not one he would normally consider, but Henry Bewick, the head of the law firm where Dante had worked as an intern at the beginning of his career, had asked him to assist as a personal favour to him.

At twenty-nine, Dante was now an international lawyer, specialising in commercial litigation. He had not acted in a criminal trial in years, but he had read the case, and as far as he could see it was cut and dried.

A car had sideswiped Miss Mason’s. When the police officer attending the accident had asked to see her driving licence the girl had fumbled around in her tote bag and a suspicious-looking package had fallen out, which had proved to be full of drugs. The only passenger in her car had been a rather drunk Timothy Bewick—son of Henry. The girl had denied all knowledge of the drugs. Her defence was that someone else—she’d implied Henry Bewick’s son—must have put the drugs in her bag.

Dante had met Timothy Bewick, and it was obvious the boy was besotted by the girl and reluctant to give evidence against her. Dante, having seen a photograph of Miss Mason, could understood why. A tall, black-haired beauty, in a skimpy top and shorts that displayed her generously curved body and long legs to perfection, Miss Mason was enough to tempt any man. A testosterone raging teenager stood no chance. Dante had agreed to take the case.

He raised his head as she adamantly declared herself not guilty. Liar, he thought, studying her with his dark assessing eyes. Today she had played down her looks, wearing her hair scraped back into a tight knot at the back of her head, no make-up and a black suit—probably at her lawyer’s suggestion.

But in fact Miss Sims had done her client no favours. From Dante’s point of view Miss Mason had played right into his hands. The severe tailoring of her suit fitted her firm breasts, narrow waist and round hips perfectly, and made her appear older than her nineteen years—which would help his case when he called Timothy Bewick to the stand. When the jury compared the two it would be obvious who was telling the truth—the young, lovestruck boy.

He stood up and smiled cynically, deliberately holding her gaze. He saw her big eyes widen pleadingly and thought he witnessed a gleam of sensual awareness in their depths. He noted the flick of her tongue across her lush lips and wasn’t fooled for a moment—though surprisingly he felt a sudden tug of lust. God, she was good. No wonder young Bewick was crazy about her! Dante remembered all too well how that felt! Yes, he had definitely made the right decision … It would give him great pleasure to take the delectable Miss Mason apart in the dock and he proceeded to do so.

Jane looked at the tall, black-haired man who stood up to face her. He smiled at her and her breath caught in her throat. Her tummy churned and her heart leapt with hope. At last a friendly face! From his perfectly chiselled features to his long, lean, solidly built body he radiated confidence, concern and pure masculine power. This man would recognise she was telling the truth. She knew it instinctively….

How wrong she had been, Jane realised bitterly as the prison gates clanged shut behind her. Numb with fear, she looked up at the forbidding building that would be her home for the next three years—or, if she was lucky, half that time with good behavior, according to Miss Sims, her worse-than-useless lawyer….

‘I hate to leave you here, Helen,’ Jane said, looking at the older woman with tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t know how I would have survived without you these past eighteen months.’ She hugged the friend who had literally saved her life.

‘Thank you for that,’ Helen said, kissing her cheek and stepping back with a smile on her face. But her expression grew serious. ‘Now, no more tears, Jane. Today you are a free woman. Stick to the arrangements we have made and you will be fine.’

‘Are you sure I can’t visit, Helen? I will miss seeing you terribly.’

‘Yes, I am sure. My daughter lost her life at eighteen, and a lousy lawyer and so-called friends almost ruined yours. Remember what I told you: the world isn’t fair, so never dwell on the injustice of the past—that will only consume you with bitterness. Think only of your future. Now, go—and never look back. Clive Hampton, my lawyer, will be waiting for you and you can trust him. Listen to him, and be careful, confident and proud of the successful woman I know you will become….’ She gave her a hug. ‘Good luck.’

CHAPTER ONE

‘GOODNIGHT, MARY,’ Beth Lazenby called to the receptionist as she walked out of the offices of Steel and White, the accountancy firm in the centre of London where she was a junior partner. She paused for a moment on the pavement and took a deep breath, glad to be out in the fresh air—or not-so-fresh air she thought ruefully. She enjoyed her work, but just lately, and especially when she spent time at the cottage, she questioned whether she really wanted to spend the rest of her life in the city.

Beth watched the people hurrying past her, their day’s work finished. It was rush hour, and when she saw the length of the queue at her usual bus stop she decided to walk to the next one. The exercise would do her good, and apart from Binkie she had nothing to hurry home for. Her friend Helen had died three years ago from cancer—four months after she had been released from prison on parole.

Dismissing the sad memory, Beth looped her bag over one shoulder and walked on. A tall, striking woman, with red hair that gleamed like fire in the evening sun, her slenderly curved body moved sinuously beneath the grey linen dress she wore as she strolled along. But Beth was oblivious to the appreciative glances of every passing male. Men did not figure large in her life. She had a successful career and was proud of what she had achieved. She was content.

Suddenly she saw a man a head taller than most of the crowd walking towards her and she almost stumbled. Her heart started to race and she swiftly averted her gaze from the black-haired man she hated with a vengeance. A man whose dark satanic image was engraved on her mind for all time—the lawyer Cannavaro, the devil himself as far as she was concerned, and he was a mere ten feet away.

She heard Helen’s voice in her head. Be careful, confident and proud of the successful woman I know you will become.

Beth tilted her chin at a determined angle and carried on walking. At least Helen had lived long enough to see her success, and she would not let her down now. Cannavaro would never recognise her. The naive Jane Mason was gone for ever, and Beth Lazenby was nobody’s fool. But the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she passed him, and out of the corner of her eye she caught the look he gave her. Did he hesitate? She didn’t know and didn’t care. She simply kept on walking. But her sense of well-being faded as memories of the past flooded her mind. Her full lips tightened bitterly as she wondered how many more innocent victims the vile Cannavaro had sent to prison in the past eight years.

She recalled the naive teenager she had been, standing in the dock, frightened out of her wits. Cannavaro had smiled at her, and the deep, sympathetic tone of his voice when he’d told her not to be nervous or afraid had given her hope. He’d said he and everyone else present only wanted to discover the real truth of the case…. Stupidly, she had believed him. He had been her knight in shining armour, her saviour. But then Timothy Bewick and his friend James Hudson had both lied on the stand, and by the time she’d realised her mistake it was too late—she’d been found guilty. Her last view of Cannavaro as she’d been led from the court had been of him and her lawyer talking and laughing together as if she didn’t exist.

Dante Cannavaro was feeling good. He had just won a deal for his client—a multinational company—for substantially more money than they had expected. Dismissing his waiting driver, he’d decided to walk to his apartment, where the customised Ferrari he had ordered was due to be delivered in an hour. A satisfied smile curved his lips.

Striding along the pavement he found his dark eyes caught by the flaming red hair of a beautiful woman walking towards him and he lingered, the car suddenly forgotten. She was tall—about five-nine, he guessed—and wearing a conservative grey dress that ended an inch or so above her knees. The dress would have looked bland on most females, but on her it looked stunning, and his captivated gaze roamed over her slender but shapely body and long legs in primitive male appreciation.

He paused, his head automatically turning as she passed him. The gentle sway of her hips was enough to give a weaker man a coronary. In Dante’s case it was not a hardening of the arteries in the heart that troubled him, but the hardening of a different part, much lower down. It wasn’t surprising he had such a reaction to her, he thought. She was beautiful and sexy and he had been celibate for a month, he reasoned. Before reminding himself that he was engaged to Ellen.

As an international lawyer, Dante had offices in London, New York and Rome. He kept an apartment in all three cities, but considered his real home to be the estate in Tuscany where he’d been born, which had been in his family for generations.

Dante’s Uncle Aldo—his father’s younger brother and head of Cannavaro Associates in Rome—had died last March, and it had been pointed out to him at the funeral that he was now the last remaining male Cannavaro. It was time he stopped indulging his preference for international law, concentrated on the long-established family firm and settled down and had a son or two—before the Cannavaro name died out completely.

Dante had assumed he would marry and have children some day, but now, at the age of thirty-seven, he had suddenly been made to face his duty. He wanted children, hopefully a male heir, while he was still fit enough to be an active father. And so he had chosen Ellen, because he had known and respected her in a professional capacity for a couple of years and she ticked all the boxes. She was intelligent, attractive, and she liked children—plus, as a lawyer, she understood the demands of his work. And the sex between them was fine. It was a perfect partnership, and once Dante made a decision he never changed his mind. Other women were off the agenda for good.

But the redhead was a stunner, and it was in the male psyche to look … he consoled himself.

An hour later Beth smiled as she walked down the Edwardian-style terraced street. Unlocking the door of her one-bedroom ground-floor apartment, she entered the hall and kicked off her shoes, slipping her feet into a pair of slippers. She grinned as the only male in her life strolled over and rubbed against her ankle.

‘Hi, Binkie.’ She bent down and picked up the ginger cat and nuzzled his neck. She walked down the hall, past her bedroom, the living room and the bathroom, to the rear of the building, and entered the largest room—the kitchen-diner.

She put Binkie down, switched on the kettle and opened the cupboard, taking out a can of cat food.

‘You must be starving,’ she said, filling his bowl with the tuna flavour he loved before placing it on the floor. In seconds his head was in it. With a wry smile at the foolishness of talking to her cat, she made a cup of coffee and, taking a sip, crossed to the back door that was set in the side wall of the kitchen. Opening it, she stepped out onto the patio.

The garden was Beth’s pride and joy, and the flowers she had planted in a few tubs on the patio were a blaze of colour. Strolling past them, she admired her handiwork with a sense of satisfaction, and then walked on to the lawn that was framed by a four-feet-high brick wall, with a gate opening into the garden of the two-bedroom apartment above her.

On the other side of her garden a high trellis had been fixed to the wall, and was completely covered by scented jasmine intertwined with clematis. She took another sip of coffee and looked around her with pleasure, dismissing the sighting of Cannavaro from her mind. He wasn’t worth a second thought. She walked back to the patio and sat down on one of the wooden chairs that circled the matching table to drink her coffee and admire her handiwork in peace.

But just as she began to relax Beth’s neighbour, Tony, appeared, leaning on the gate. Tony was sturdily built, with short fair hair and a round, cheeky face and had just turned twenty-three. Beth felt a lot more than four years older than him and his flatmate, Mike. The boys worked at the same City bank, and were a pair of fun-loving young men without a care in the world.

‘Hi, Beth. I’ve been waiting for you to get home. Mind if I join you?’

Not waiting for an answer, Tony strolled through the gate.

‘What is it this time? Sugar, milk or are you begging a meal?’ she asked dryly, watching as he straddled a chair and propped his elbows on the back.

‘For once, none of the above.’ He grinned. ‘But I wouldn’t mind sex, if you’re offering,’ he declared with a mock-salacious grin.

Beth couldn’t help it. She laughed and shook her head. ‘Not in a million years, Tony Hetherington.’

‘I thought not. But you can’t blame a guy for trying,’ he said, his blue eyes sparkling with humour. ‘But, to get down to business, are you at home this weekend or are you going to the cottage again?’

‘No, I’ll be here for the next two weeks and then I’m taking three weeks’ holiday to go down and do some much-needed decorating—and with luck get in some surfing. I’m hoping you’ll keep a check on this place, as usual. You do still have the spare key?’

‘Yes, of course. Consider it done. But to get back to my problem … As you know, Monday was my birthday and I had dinner with my parents—boring! So on Saturday I plan to have a party for all my friends, and you are invited! We’re a bit short on women, so please say you’ll come.’

‘Why am I not flattered by the invite?’ Beth queried mockingly. ‘Making up the numbers is bad enough, but I also remember your last party, at Christmas, when I served most of the food and drink and then ended up chasing the guests out when you and Mike passed out! Not to mention cleaning up afterwards….’

Tony chuckled. ‘That was unfortunate. But it was a great party—and it will be different this time, I promise. For a start, it’s going to be a barbecue. The guests are invited for four in the afternoon until late, and we’ll be outside, so no cleaning up.’

‘Ah! I see. So what you really mean is can you use my garden as it is twice the length of yours?’

‘Well, there is that, yes—but more importantly Mike is making a list of the food he thinks we need. Personally, I think a few dozen sausages and burgers and a bit of salad would do, but you know what he’s like—he thinks he’s a great cook. He’s talking marinated chicken, special kebabs, fish and stuffed heaven knows what! As for the salads—you name it and he is going make it. You have to help me, Beth,’ he declared, looking at her with pleading puppy-dog eyes.

‘You are such an actor,’ she said dryly. ‘But your boyish charm does not wash with me.’

‘I know, but it was worth a go.’ He grinned. ‘But, honestly, I really do need your help. We had a barbecue last month, when you were away for the weekend, and it was a bit of a disaster,’ he confessed sheepishly. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind, but unfortunately Mike nearly poisoned half the guests with his stuffed pork loins. We will never hear the end of it from our pals at the bank.’

‘Oh, my God, he didn’t?’ Beth exclaimed with a laugh.

‘Oh, yes, he did,’ Tony said wryly, getting to his feet. ‘Which, when I think about it, is probably why we are short on females this time. What right minded girl is going to risk getting food poisoning again?’

‘All right, all right. I’ll come and help,’ Beth agreed when she could stop laughing. ‘On condition the barbecue is set up in your garden. I don’t want any of my plants burnt—which is quite likely to happen with you two in charge. The guests can use my garden to drink, eat … whatever. But my apartment is strictly out of bounds. Understood?’

‘Yes, you gorgeous woman, you. We can keep the beer bins on your patio.’ He grinned and walked back though the open gate. ‘And thanks!’ he called back, before disappearing into his own apartment.

At seven on Saturday evening the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, and a relaxed smile curved Beth’s lips as she looked around the garden, which was crowded with casually dressed people. Some were eating, drinking or standing chatting, whilst others were already dancing to the music. A few more guests were upstairs in the boys’ apartment, where the hard liquor was being served. Beer and white wine was stacked in big bins full of ice outside Beth’s kitchen window. She had taken the precaution of locking her back door, and had the key in the pocket of her jeans.

‘Alone, Beth?’ A slightly inebriated Tony slid an arm around her waist. ‘That will never do. Thanks to you talking Mike out of his flights of fancy over the food, the barbecue is going great and the party is really taking off. Have a drink.’

Smiling, she shook her head. ‘You know I never drink.’

‘Well, I’m going to get another—catch you later.’ Tony’s arm fell from her waist and he half turned, then stopped. ‘I don’t believe it!’ he exclaimed, grabbing her waist again. ‘My big brother is here! I left a message at his London office, inviting him, but I never expected him to come. He’s a lawyer—the intense, intellectual type—and he speaks about six languages and travels all over the world with his work. In fact he’s a workaholic. I haven’t seen him since last year, but Mum told me he finally got engaged a couple of months ago. I guess the woman with him must be his fiancée.’

‘I didn’t know you had a brother,’ Beth said with a curious glance past Tony. Then she froze.

There in front of her she saw a hard, handsome face with heavy-lidded eyes that seemed to look straight at her, before the man turned to smile down at the woman by his side. Fear gripped Beth for a moment at the sight of the couple Mike had just led into the garden, and he was now indicating where she stood with Tony.

Cannavaro. It could not be! She stared in disbelief at the tall, broad-shouldered man walking towards them and felt a shiver run down her spine.

Beth noted that the thick black hair was longer now, and brushed the white collar of his shirt. Belted chinos clung to his lean hips and followed the long length of his legs. She stiffened as an icy coldness washed over her. There was no mistake—it was him….

She had only ever seen Cannavaro in a dark suit—the man in black who had haunted her dreams, her nightmares, for years. But he was just as intimidating in casual clothes, if not more so. His relaxed appearance would fool anyone into thinking he was one of the good guys. Not the smooth-talking devious devil Beth knew him to be.

Beth had not set eyes on him since her court appearance eight years ago. She had followed Helen’s plan and with the help and guidance of Clive Hampton had settled in London, where it was easy to go unnoticed among the teeming millions of people. Or so she had thought until now.

The odds against bumping into Cannavaro even once in London must be huge, but twice in a week they’d be astronomical … Or just sheer bad luck. And she was going to have to deal with the situation coolly and confidently. Running away would simply draw attention to herself.

But surely Cannavaro could not be Tony’s brother? For starters he was a lot taller, and he looked nothing like him. Tony was fresh-faced, young, fun, and he laughed his way through life. Cannavaro had black hair, olive-toned skin and, though handsome, his face held a hard ruthlessness, an arrogance that she recognised all too well. Secondly, and more importantly, they had different surnames.

‘You don’t look anything like each other,’ she probed cautiously.

‘Same mother. Different fathers. I take after my dad. Mum’s Italian, and she was a widow with a thirteen-year-old son when Dad met her in Italy. They married almost immediately and he brought her back to England to live. Dante went to school and university in Italy and England, so we only saw each other on the holidays—half of which we used to spend at Mum’s old home in Italy. Mum and Dad still go there, but I haven’t been for years. Being stuck in the middle of the countryside is not my idea of fun, but Dante loves the place. Actually, it belongs to him now, as he inherited his father’s estate and oodles of money along with half of the family law firm.’

It was that simple. They actually were brothers! Beth was horrified, and her whole body tensed. She was appalled at the thought of being in the hateful man’s presence for even a minute, let alone all evening.

She listened with a sinking heart as Tony continued speaking. ‘With a fourteen-year age difference between us I’ve always been a bit in awe of him. Dante has it all—tall, good-looking, fit and incredibly wealthy. He doesn’t need to work so hard or even at all. I keep telling him, but he just ignores me. He’s far too cerebral for my mind, but he is a great guy when you get to know him, and all the women adore him. I’ll introduce you.’

‘No,’ Beth said abruptly. ‘You and your brother must have a lot to catch up on, and I need to feed Binkie.’

She tried to excuse herself but Tony’s hand tightened on her waist when she tried to move.

‘The cat can wait. Do me a favour, Beth, and play along with me. With a stunner like you on my arm, for once I will get one over on my big brother. He has played the field discreetly for years with a string of beautiful women. To be honest I’m surprised he’s decided to get married…. His fiancée looks lovely, but she’s not as nice as you.’

Beth didn’t get a chance to refuse….

‘Good to see you, Tony,’ a deep, dark voice drawled, and Beth froze in Tony’s hold at the hauntingly familiar sound of the man’s voice.

‘And you, Dante. I’m surprised you could make it.’ Tony grinned and shook his brother’s hand. ‘And this must be the fiancée Mum told me about.’ Tony smiled at the woman at his brother’s side.

Dante Cannavaro smoothly made the introductions. ‘Ellen, this is my younger brother, Tony.’

‘Lovely to meet the woman who can tame Dante,’ Tony declared with a grin and, dropping his arm from Beth’s waist, he introduced her to the other woman.

Beth shook hands with Ellen and almost felt sorry for her as they exchanged the conventional greetings. She looked to be in her early thirties, her hair perfectly styled, her face perfectly made-up, and her casual trousers and top both designer label. She smiled, but there was condescension in the smile as her blue eyes took in Beth’s department-store apparel. Some of Beth’s sympathy for the woman faded.

‘Congratulations on your engagement. I wish you both a very long and happy marriage,’ Beth lied through her teeth. Personally, she hoped Cannavaro’s life was hell. ‘Have you chosen your dress yet?’ she asked enthusiastically. She was not in the least interested, but it delayed the moment when she would have to face the man she despised, and gave her time to control her wildly beating heart and the shock of seeing him again.

Cannavaro was the man responsible for sending Beth to prison, and she had nearly died the first week she had been there. A group of women had thought that because she was in prison on a drugs charge she had the contacts to supply them with drugs. When she had told them she was innocent and that she had no knowledge of drugs she had been dragged into the showers and stripped. Her hair had been cut off and she’d been told her throat would be next … Luckily Helen, a middle-aged woman and her cellmate of three days, had walked in and saved her.

It had been Helen who had convinced her to change her name to Beth Lazenby when she was released, and had made it possible for her to do so. Ironically, the women who had cut off her hair had helped too. Beth was naturally a redhead, but as a child she had been teased unmercifully from her first day at school, and as she had grown taller and bigger than most of her class the bullying had gotten worse.

Finally, when she had been fourteen and they had just moved from Bedford to Bristol for her father’s work, her mother had suggested that Beth dye her hair dark before she attended a new school and made new friends. Beth had quickly agreed and the bullying had stopped. Her life had been content for a number of years—until she had turned eighteen and had been in her first year at college.

Her parents, on their first holiday without her, had tragically died when the cruise liner they were on had sunk off the coast of Italy. This had been heartbreaking for Jane as the parents she had lost had been her adoptive parents, who had taken her in when she had been just a baby. Jane had no idea who her biological parents were, and had suddenly found herself all alone in the world.

So the day Jane Mason had walked out of jail after serving eighteen months of her sentence she’d been almost unrecognisable. Her hair had returned to its natural red colour and she’d been almost two stone lighter in weight. With Clive’s help she had legally changed her name by deed poll to Beth Lazenby.

Helen’s plan for Jane to change her name had made perfect sense; it was hard enough for an innocent young woman to make her way in the world without the totally unjustified tag of a prison sentence on her CV.

Beth owed it to the memory of her friend to show no weakness now.

CHAPTER TWO

DANTE CANNAVARO WAS not in a good mood. When he had called at Ellen’s apartment earlier, contemplating their reunion after a month apart, he had casually mentioned his brother’s barbecue and suggested they call in. Ellen had yet to meet Tony, and Dante was considering asking him to be his best man at their wedding. Ellen had hated both ideas. Barbecues were ‘not her style,’ and she was adamant that one of Dante’s lawyer friends or a business associate would be much more appropriate as best man.

Finally she had agreed to attend—but only if they went immediately, so that they would still have time to have dinner at their favourite restaurant. This was news to Dante, who hadn’t even known they had a favourite restaurant!

Ellen had carried on in the same vein for the hour it had taken to get here, and Dante had switched off and let her chatter. But when he had glanced across to where Mike had indicated his brother and seen the woman with him he’d immediately switched on again.

Now Dante studied the tall, striking redhead at Tony’s side. There was something about her that niggled at him. He had caught the name Beth, but he could not remember having met anyone called Beth before. Yet there was definitely something familiar about her. Then, as the sun’s rays caught her hair, turning it to flame, it came to him—she was the stunning woman he had noticed in the street a few days ago.

Dante barely heard the conversation that continued. His dark gaze roamed over her instead. He noticed the swell of her breasts beneath the lemon silk shirt she wore tucked into white jeans that moulded her slim hips and long legs, before his gaze slid back to trace the creamy skin over the high cheekbones of her face, framed by the red hair that was styled to fall sleekly to her shoulders. Finally his look rested on her big green eyes. He was intrigued as to who she was, and what she was to Tony.

‘Beth—my brother Dante.’

Tony made the introduction and Beth had no excuse but to finally look at Cannavaro.

Dante offered his hand. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Beth.’ Her eyes were cold, he noted, and the fingers that briefly touched his and swiftly withdrew were smooth and cool. But the heated sensation he felt at her merest touch surprised him—and her, it would seem. He recognised the flash of awareness in her green eyes though she fought to disguise it. Her lashes flickered down and her full lips tightened. He sensed her antagonism. She had not wanted to shake his hand. Only social niceties had demanded the slight contact.

Dante wasn’t a conceited man, but her reaction wasn’t the one he usually got from females. This woman had never met him but she was determined not to like him, and he had to wonder why.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Beth said, but she refused to use his name. Her fingers stung from the brief contact with his and she took a step back, shocked that he could affect her so intensely. His powerful physical presence provoked an instant reaction—a stomach-churning anger that she was barely able to control.

‘I’m considering following you, Dante.’ Tony reached his arm around Beth again, holding her close. ‘And talking Beth into marrying me. What do you think?’ he asked outrageously.

Beth’s startled gaze flew to Tony. What on earth was he playing at?

‘Beth is a lovely girl, I’m sure,’ Dante offered with a cynical smile.

He had met a lot of women in his time, and could see the beautiful Beth was probably older than Tony—maybe not so much in years, but, by the guarded look about her, certainly in experience. She could be more interested in Tony’s money than she was in the man. His brother worked in the merchant bank his father, Harry, owned and stood to inherit a fortune. The fact that he chose to share an apartment with Mike in suburbia, rather than a luxury apartment he could easily afford in the city centre, didn’t mean Beth did not know exactly who Tony was—an extremely good catch for any woman.

Beth’s blood ran cold as Dante’s hard dark eyes met hers. Now she recognised the cynicism in his smile immediately—but years ago she had not, and it had been her downfall. Her anger and resentment grew at the memory as he continued speaking.

‘But you have only just turned twenty-three, Tony. Isn’t that a bit young to be contemplating matrimony?’ Dante queried. He had seen the anger in Beth’s eyes and his conviction that she was only after Tony’s money deepened. This woman was smart enough to know that as the older brother he was a possible threat to her plan. ‘Marriage is an expensive business—especially for a young man just starting his career. I’m sure Beth would agree.’

His mocking tone did nothing to quell the bitterness bubbling inside Beth. No wonder Tony wanted to get one over on the arrogant swine. Rashly, she decided to help him. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Money isn’t everything.’ She shot Cannavaro a defiant glance before looking adoringly up at Tony. ‘Is it, darling?’

‘You’ve got that spot-on,’ Tony offered, his eyes dancing with amusement as he planted a brief kiss on her lips. ‘Isn’t she incredible, bro?’ he prompted.

‘Yes,’ Dante agreed curtly, surprised by the swift flare of irritation he felt at seeing them kiss. His dark gaze flicked to Beth and he caught the gleam in her green eyes. It wasn’t passion for Tony, he recognised, but a direct challenge aimed at him.

There was nothing Dante liked better than a challenge, and there was something about the striking redhead that had aroused his suspicions the minute he had met her. Now he was in danger of arousing another part of him, and worryingly it had nothing to do with his fiancée. He hadn’t reacted to a woman so swiftly in a long time. He enjoyed sex, but was never blinded by it, and he chose his partners carefully—as he had Ellen. He was always in total control, as he was in all aspects of his life. Yet every instinct he possessed was telling him his surprising reaction to Beth was not just sexual attraction. It was as though he knew her—but how?

He needed time to think, and changed the subject. ‘What about a drink, Tony? This is supposed to be a party. I’ll have a soft drink as I’m driving.’ And, concentrating on his fiancée, he added, ‘A vodka and tonic all right for you, Ellen?’

‘I’ll get them, Tony,’ Beth offered, her heart pounding in panic as she realised that playing along with Tony’s game to irritate his brother had been the height of stupidity. She had let her anger overcome her caution and drawn attention to herself—a big mistake. ‘You stay with your guests. You must have a lot to talk about with a family wedding coming up.’

Tony kissed her cheek and let her go. ‘Thanks, you’re a gem. And bring me a beer as well, hmm?’

Beth agreed, and with a huge sense of relief walked across to get a can of beer, then sprinted up the stairs of the boys’ apartment and into the kitchen.

She recognised a couple of their friends from the bank, and responding to their chatter helped her to regain her shattered nerves as she mixed the drinks and placed them on a tray. Caution and confidence, she reminded herself. But even so she was in no hurry to go back down to the party.

Just then Mike appeared. ‘I need more food! These people eat like horses,’ he declared, and she saw a lifeline.

‘You’re looking stressed, Mike.’ And, handing him the tray, she suggested, ‘Why don’t you add a drink for yourself and take these down to Tony, relax and enjoy the party? I’ll take care of the barbecue—no problem.’

‘You are an angel.’ He grinned and agreed.

Beth doubted Cannavaro and Ellen would deign to eat from the barbecue. Fine dining was more their thing, and she could hopefully avoid them for the rest of the evening.

Tony had watched Beth depart with an appreciative eye, then turned to catch Dante doing the same. ‘So, when are you getting married, bro?’ he asked mischievously. ‘At your age you don’t want to hang around.’

Before Dante could reply Ellen laughed and launched into a long explanation as to how difficult it was to get the right church at the right time and find the right venue for the reception. He saw Tony’s eyes glaze over with drink or boredom—more likely the latter—and he knew the feeling.

Dante had presumed that once they were engaged all he’d have to do was pay up and turn up on the wedding day. The endless lists and arrangements Ellen expected him to be interested in and discuss had come as an unpleasant shock to him.

Eventually Ellen ended with a date in September.

‘That’s fine,’ Tony said. ‘Don’t forget to send me an invite. I’ll bring Beth. Hopefully it will encourage her down the same path.’

‘Is that wise? The guests will be family and close friends, and though Beth seems nice how long have you known her?’ Dante demanded. Somehow the thought of the emerald-eyed beauty as a guest at his wedding was not one he wanted to contemplate.

‘Ever since we moved in, eighteen months ago. She’s a great girl and a fabulous cook. Her cakes are to die for. I don’t know what we’d do without her. Isn’t that right?’ Tony asked as Mike appeared with the drinks.

‘Yes, she is a diamond—especially to you, mate. And as we’re standing in her garden, and she prepared most of the food and has offered to take over the barbecue so I can enjoy myself, I’d say she is indispensable. And she certainly improves the view….’

Dante had wondered why Tony insisted on living out here, and now he knew. Tony was infatuated by the woman. With a few judicious questions Dante soon found out a lot more about Beth Lazenby. She was twenty-seven, and an accountant for a prestigious firm in the centre of London. She owned a cottage by the sea, and lived in the ground-floor apartment—too close to Tony for Dante’s comfort. He wasn’t sure why, but his gut feeling was telling him there was a lot more to Beth than met the eye.

He glanced across to the barbecue and saw her standing there, handing out plates of food to a group of men gathered around her, none of whom could take their eyes off her. Maybe that was the problem. She was tall, and so stunningly attractive few men would think to look past her surface beauty. She was an unlikely accountant. With her height and looks she could have been a model—she was slender enough. But maybe her high, firm breasts were a little too much for a fashion model, he mused.

‘Dante, darling.’

Ellen’s voice stopped his musing.

‘I feel like dancing.’ Grasping his arm, she smiled up at him.

‘Not my kind of dancing, but I’ll give it a go.’

Ellen was the lovely, intelligent woman whom he had chosen to be his wife, Dante reminded himself, and it was time he stopped worrying about the redhead and concentrated on his fiancée. Ellen had not wanted to attend this barbecue, but she was making an effort for his sake. Dancing with her was the least he could do….

Julian, the last man standing by the barbecue, was talking about stockbroking, laughing as he described his latest gamble on the markets. Beth listened politely, her mind only partially on what he said. She seemed unable to stop her eyes from straying towards the people dancing on the patio, and the tallest man in particular. For a big man he was a smooth mover—though he wasn’t so much dancing as allowing his fiancée to flit adoringly around him. More fool her, Beth thought. In her experience most men were a waste of time. All she wanted to do was call it a night, get into her apartment and check on Binkie. But there was no way she was going to walk through the crowd of gyrating bodies.

Luckily the music stopped and Mike came strolling over, his face flushed and smiling, obviously having enjoyed himself. ‘Sorry, Beth. I didn’t mean to leave you so long, but with it still being so light I didn’t realise the time. Tony has just gone to change the music. You go and enjoy yourself, and I’ll pack up here.’

For Beth it already felt like the longest night of her life, and she leapt at the chance to escape. People were moving to replenish their drinks, and her route was almost clear to her back door.

She was nearly there when the music started again—this time slow and moody—and suddenly her way was blocked as Cannavaro stepped in front of her, crowding her. She wanted to step back, but her pride would not let her.

‘May I have this dance? Tony is partnering Ellen, and it will give us a chance to get to know each other. We might all be family one day.’

Beth tensed and looked up at him—which was an unusual event in itself for her. She noticed that his eyes were not black. They were the colour of molasses—dark and golden. She found herself thinking that once she fell into them she would be stuck for ever. Disturbed by the fanciful thought, she caught the gleam of mockery in those same eyes and wanted to refuse his request outright. But she did not dare. He had not recognised her, she was sure, but she had aroused his suspicion by being less than courteous when they had been introduced. She did not want to compound her mistake by showing her dislike again.

She took a deep breath. ‘That’s not likely to happen. Tony was just teasing,’ she managed to say evenly. ‘But, yes, if you insist, I will dance with you.’

‘Oh, I insist, Beth.’ He drawled her name softly and his arm slid around her waist.

He looked at her, his other hand taking hers, and she was not prepared for the tingling sensation that crept over her skin and made her shiver as he held her close to his long body.

A reaction to the cooling night air, she told herself, but somehow her body, with a will of its own, was moving with him, automatically following his movements.

‘You are a very lovely lady, Beth. What man wouldn’t insist?’ he added in that deep, barely accented silken voice she remembered so well and so bitterly.

She forgot her good intentions. ‘Are you trying to flirt with me, Mr Cannavaro?’ she demanded. ‘And you an engaged man,’ she prompted, giving him a derisory smile while trying to control her inexplicably racing pulse.

A quizzical expression flickered across his face for a moment, and his incredible eyes seemed to bore into hers as his hand stroked up her spine to hold her closer still. To her shame she felt a fullness in her breasts when they came in contact with his broad chest.

‘No, Beth. I was stating the truth. But if I was flirting with you I would not have to try very hard,’ Dante opined, fully appreciating the feminine sway of her shapely body against his own, testing his control to the limit. ‘I felt you tremble when I took you in my arms, and sensed it in the softening of your body against mine. There is an instant sexual attraction between us—unfortunate, but true. Under the circumstances it is obviously not to be acted upon. But I also sense something more. You seem afraid of me—even actively to dislike me—and I have to wonder why. Are you sure we have not met before?’

God, he analysed everything, and talked like a lawyer even as they moved to the music. His muscular thighs brushed against hers, raising her temperature, and it took all her nerve to hold his dark gaze.

‘I shivered because it is getting cooler now,’ she lied. ‘And, no, we have never met before. I didn’t even know Tony had a brother. He never mentioned you until you turned up here in the garden.’

Dante stilled and let Beth take a step back, putting space between them. His heavy-lidded eyes were shrewd and penetrating, and swept over her flushed defiant face before moving lower.

‘Interesting if true!’ He raised a sardonic eyebrow, noting the thrust of her nipples against her shirt.

The lovely Beth was definitely lying about one part of that statement. He had met enough females in his time, and was experienced enough to recognise when a lustful attraction was mutual. But was she lying about not knowing Tony had a brother until tonight? She had not said half-brother, and if she was telling the truth surely she would naturally assume his name was Hetherington, the same as Tony’s? And yet she had called him Mr Cannavaro—even though his name had not been mentioned when the introductions had been made. He doubted Tony, who was not into formality of any kind, would have called him anything but Dante or bro in the couple of minutes before they had been introduced. So how could she know his surname unless she had met him before, or at least heard of him?

The mystery of Beth Lazenby deepened. His legal instincts told him she was hiding something—but what? And in that moment Dante decided to make it his business to discover everything about her. Not for himself, but to protect his brother, of course.

A wave of heat swept through Beth at his intense scrutiny and it took every scrap of willpower she possessed to control her traitorous body. But at least she was saved from having to respond as Tony and Ellen appeared.

‘One fiancée returned to you, bro, worn out from dancing with me—or it could be the vodka I gave her. She wants to go home.’ Tony grinned, swaying on his feet, and Beth grabbed his arm to steady him. He had definitely had too much to drink.

‘Thanks a bunch, Tony,’ Dante said dryly, his expression grim as he wrapped his arm around a slightly glassy-eyed Ellen. And with a goodnight and a curt nod to Beth, much to her relief he left.

Beth took the key from her back pocket and, ignoring Tony’s drunken request to dance, slipped into her apartment and locked the door behind her. She fell back against it, breathing deeply, fighting to regain her composure.

Binkie appeared and she picked him up in her arms and carried him through into the living room. Her knees weak, with a sigh she sank down onto the sofa, cuddling the cat on her lap, her mind in turmoil as the significance of Cannavaro being Tony’s brother sank in.

Everyone had bad days, she reminded herself, but today hers had gone from good straight to diabolical. She glanced around the cosy room that was her sanctuary, her gaze resting on the two photographs in identical silver frames on the mantelpiece. One was of the parents she had adored, and the other of Helen, her dearest friend. All three were dead now, and moisture glazed her eyes.

Clive Hampton, Helen’s lawyer, whom Beth now considered a friend and mentor, was the closest thing she had to family. He had been instrumental in getting her a job in the offices of a local accountancy firm, where she had got the opportunity to train in-house as an accountant. After taking the requisite exams over two years she had eventually become qualified.

She spoke to Clive frequently on the telephone, and often visited him at his home in Richmond. She was meeting him tomorrow for Sunday lunch, and had almost forgotten in the trauma of the evening. He was over sixty now, and thinking of retiring soon, and though she talked to him about most things, telling him how she felt about Cannavaro was not one of them. It was much too personal. She had never even told Helen how badly the man had affected her in court, only that he was clever and that her lawyer, Miss Sims, had been useless against him. No, this latest development she had to take care of herself.

Her time in prison had taught her how to build a protective shell around her emotions and present a blank face in front of warders and prisoners alike. Living in a confined environment and sharing communal showers had come as a shock, but she had quickly realised that women came in all shapes and sizes and soon thought nothing of stripping off in front of anyone. She told herself she was no better or worse than anyone else, but all her life she had always felt the odd one out and that hadn’t changed. And with her new identity she was even more wary of making friends.

Tony and Mike were the only friends she had in London, though she had quite a few in Faith Cove.

Wearily she let her head fall back on the sofa and closed her eyes. She had never felt as alone as she did now. Not since that fatal day eight years ago when she had stood in the dock, trembling with fear. And the same hateful arrogant man was responsible…. In her head she wished she had the nerve to tell Dante Cannavaro exactly what she thought of him, but in reality she knew she could not.

He was a dangerously clever man: she trembled if he so much as touched her and he already thought they had met before. She was not going to take the chance of him remembering where … Not that it would matter if he did, but she did not need the aggravation in her life. What she needed to do was make sure she never met him again, and if that meant moving she would. Tony had said he hadn’t seen his brother since last year, so with luck she’d have some time to decide.

Binkie stirred and stretched on her lap. Sighing, Beth got to her feet. ‘Come on, Binkie. I can see you want feeding, and then I am going to bed.’

But once she was in bed disturbing thoughts of Dante Cannavaro filled her mind. The first time she had seen him across the courtroom she had felt an instant connection with him. Her stomach had churned and her heart had leapt and naively she had thought he was her savior. But he had betrayed her. Again tonight he’d ignited those same sensations in her, but she told herself that this time it was anger and hatred for the man.

Yet, as she tossed and turned, hot and restless beneath the coverlet, remembering the strength of his arms holding her as they danced, the heat of his long body moving her to the music, she had the growing suspicion that he could be right. Never in her life had she responded to any man the way she did to Cannavaro. She had met plenty of men in the last few years, and quite a lot had asked her for a date, but she could count on one hand the rare occasions she had accepted.

For all the harm Cannavaro had done to her, could her intense awareness of him, the rush of sensations he aroused in her, be purely sexual, as he said, and not just hatred as she believed? She saw in her mind’s eye his broodingly handsome face, the compelling dark eyes, and a shiver quivered through her body. How could she know for sure?

The first boy she had kissed had been the slimy liar Timothy Bewick, and when Cannavaro had questioned her at the trial he had implied their kiss had been a lot more. She hadn’t recognised the femme fatale he had made her out to be, but the jury had believed him.

By the time Beth had got out of prison she’d been determined to allow no man to get close to her. Her friend Helen had still been in prison, serving a twenty-year sentence for killing her bully of an ex-husband. Helen had spent years living with his violent rages, and it had only been when she had seen his anger directed at their daughter, Vicky, that Helen had found the courage to divorce him. Five years later Vicky had died while staying at her father’s holiday villa in Spain. According to her father, Vicky had slipped and cracked her head open. The Spanish authorities had believed him. But Helen had known he’d finally gone too far and she’d snapped, deliberately running him down with her Land Rover outside his London home.

Helen had told Beth her story, and told her to look around at the rest of the women they’d shared the prison with. Most of the women had been there because of a man. A man who’d told them what to do, whether they were thieves, prostitutes, drug mules or anything else. And they’d done it because they’d been deluded enough to believe the man loved them. In Helen’s case she had let grief and hatred of her ex take over, and in destroying his life had destroyed her own too. Helen had warned her never to let any man take over her life.

Helen’s words of wisdom still held true, and they strengthened Beth’s resolve to put as much distance between herself and Dante Cannavaro as she possibly could.

In a moment of insight Beth realised that her cottage in the village of Faith Cove was the only place she felt truly herself.

When Beth finally fell into a restless sleep the nightmare she had not suffered from for a long time returned with a vengeance—only the ending wasn’t the same. She was in the dock, with a big handsome man in black tormenting her, twisting every word she said. Then he was smiling, his deep voice and dark eyes drawing her in. And then the nightmare turned into an erotic dream of strong arms holding her, firm, sensuous lips kissing her, hands caressing her, thrilling her.

She cried out and woke up, hot and moist between her thighs and with her heart pounding like a drum.

The next day Beth drove to Richmond for Sunday lunch with Clive, and discussed with him what she had been thinking of doing since the last time she had stayed at the cottage. With Clive’s full approval Beth made the decision to leave London.

She was going to move to Faith Cove and refurbish the cottage Helen had gifted to her in her will. Ironically, Helen’s brute of a husband, never thinking his wife would have the nerve to divorce him, had put the cottage in Helen’s name to avoid tax when he had bought the house fifteen years earlier. When she had divorced him there had been nothing he could do about her keeping it.

Now Beth had plans for the cottage. Although ‘cottage’ was actually a misnomer, as the place was really a large house with six bedrooms, often rented out to families. First she would convert the roof space of the multi-car garage at the rear of the property into a three-roomed apartment. That way she could carry on renting out the house as a holiday let while living permanently either in the apartment or the house when it was vacant. Beth was sure she could make a comfortable living out of it, and she could continue as an accountant for private clients. Maybe she could even convert part of the garage into a surfers’ shop later, which would give her even more independence and ensure she could stay away from the man who haunted her dreams.

Dante Cannavaro, with a face like thunder, walked into his office on Monday morning, sat down at his desk and contacted the security firm he used when a delicate investigation was needed for a client.

Minutes later he lounged back in his black leather chair, his mind not on work but fixated on a tall redhead. He had put the wheels in motion to find out exactly who Beth Lazenby was, and if there was anything suspicious about her he would deal with her appropriately.

Miss Lazenby had already messed up his weekend and a hell of a lot more—including his plans for the future. He had taken Ellen back to her apartment on Saturday night, but had not joined her in bed because she had obviously drunk too much. Ellen had taken offence, blaming Dante for taking her to Tony’s party in the first place, and not taking her out to dinner. She had accused Dante of being arrogant and uncaring and of eyeing up another woman in her presence—namely Beth. She had claimed that he did not love her and had used a lot of words he had never thought she knew. The argument had culminated in Ellen calling the wedding off and throwing her ring at him as he had exited her apartment.

Dante had returned home in a foul mood, and had then spent a restless night with the image of a flame-haired woman plaguing his mind and his body. He’d had to remind himself that he had gotten over the urge to bed every desirable woman he met years ago. Yet he was still convinced that he knew Beth…. But how and from where he had no idea—and that was his problem.

Dante was as frustrated as hell, thanks to the redheaded witch, and he was damn sure he was not going to let her mess up Tony’s life. He glanced at his watch. He had a flight booked to New York at noon, and he expected to be there for a few weeks at least. He called his driver to pick him up and got to his feet, a ruthless gleam in his dark eyes.

When he returned to England, whatever the outcome of his enquiries, he would take great pleasure in dealing with Beth Lazenby personally. There was no way she was marrying Tony! Just the thought of being faced with Beth as his brother’s wife at every family gathering for the rest of his life was enough to make him shudder.

About to get in the car, he stopped and took his cell phone from his pocket and called Tony, realising his younger brother was impulsive enough to marry the woman without a second thought. Proof or not, it was his brotherly duty to warn Tony of his suspicions for his own good

‘Dante—to what do I owe this honor?’ Tony answered. ‘You rarely call me—and never during working hours.’

‘I want to let you know Ellen and I have split up. The wedding is cancelled and I am going to America for a while.’

‘Sorry, but I can’t say I’m surprised. In fact I told Beth I was amazed you’d got engaged in the first place. Why settle for one when you can take your pick, bro?’

Dante heard his chuckle and grimaced. ‘Yes, well, I’ve learned my lesson. But knowing how impulsive you can be, I thought I should warn you in case you make the same mistake.’

‘Warn me? That sounds ominous.’

‘Not ominous, just cautious … I’ve met Beth’s type before—a beautiful woman who probably knows your father owns a bank and is as interested in money as she is in you.’ Dante heard Tony laugh out loud and gritted his teeth. His brother never took anything seriously.

‘Ah, Dante, you really are too serious to be believed. As for Beth—I really couldn’t care less if she knows Dad owns a bank or not. You’ve met her. She is absolutely gorgeous! Do you honestly think I, or any other red-blooded male who was lucky enough to have Beth in his bed, would give a damn about the money? You must really be getting old, Dante, but don’t worry—I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do…. Ciao.’ And, still laughing, he clicked off.

Dante slipped his phone back into his pocket, feeling a complete idiot. Tony’s parting shot did worry him, and as he got into the car, his lips twisting wryly, he acknowledged that his brother’s assessment of the male of the species where Beth Lazenby was concerned was probably correct.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS A blazing-hot day, and Beth’s carefully straightened hair was already beginning to wave in the heat as she searched the kitchen one more time.

‘Got you!’ she cried triumphantly and, cradling Binkie in her arms, she carried him into the hall and closed the kitchen door with her hip. Finally she was ready to go. Her luggage was loaded into the boot of her car, and had been for hours, but Binkie was not. It was a five-hour drive to Devon, and she had planned on leaving at one. It was now three, but with luck she would easily make it before dark.

She eyed the cat carrier standing open in the hall. Binkie hated travelling, which was why she had spent ages trying to coax him out from under the kitchen units, after having chased him around the garden and the apartment. Now all she had to do was put him in the carrier and they could go.

Beth had given in her notice at work on Monday and, with the three weeks’ holiday she had yet to take, did not need to return to the office. She had spoken to Tony last night, but had not mentioned she was leaving permanently. She intended to do that when she came back to clear her apartment. Tony had promised to keep an eye on the place, and had also told her his brother’s engagement was off. Dante had gone to work in America for a while, conveniently escaping the flak from their mother over the cancelled wedding. She had already bought a hat!

Tony’s news had been music to Beth’s ears, and she’d realised she had probably worried unnecessarily. But she was pleased that Dante’s appearance in her life again had focused her mind and forced her to make a decision. Now, sun, sea and a new chapter in her life beckoned, Beth thought happily, bending down to lower Binkie into the carrier—which was easier said than done. He had leapt out of it twice already.

‘Stop wriggling, you useless ball of fur,’ she told him, and was just about to draw one hand free to shut the carrier when there was a ring at the front door—peremptory and sharp.

Ignoring it, Beth leant over, using her body to block Binkie’s escape, and swiftly closed the lid.

‘All right, all right—I’m coming!’ she yelled as the bell rang again and kept on ringing.

She got to her feet and, leaving the carrier on the floor, walked to the door. Probably some salesman, she thought. But whoever it was she would get rid of them quickly. She opened the door.

The social smile froze on her lips and she simply stared at the man standing before her. A dark, unsmiling figure in a charcoal pinstriped suit, jacket unfastened, the white shirt beneath open at the neck and startlingly brilliant against his tanned throat. Her stomach clenched and she stiffened, straightening her shoulders. It was the man she hated with a passion but had dreamed of far too often in the past two weeks for her peace of mind. Cannavano …

Dante had received the report on Beth Lazenby a week ago in New York, and what he had read had confirmed his suspicions about her. He had arrived back in London this morning, and after a shower and a change had leapt in his car and driven here. Now he was on her doorstep. His features hardened as slowly he took in every detail of the way she looked: her hair was dishevelled, her face clear of make-up—and as for what she was wearing …

If he’d had the slightest doubt of the investigator’s findings that Jane Mason and Beth Lazenby were one and the same, it vanished as he noted the snug fit of denim shorts that showed off her long legs and the skimpy white top that revealed a tantalising cleavage and stopped six inches short of the toned flesh of a slender waist and abdomen. She was slimmer than before, but still had curves in all the right places, and she was more striking than ever.

He felt a surge of lust and saw again in his mind’s eye the image of that girl in the picture, wearing almost the same outfit as this woman wore now, but with one dramatic difference. The girl in the picture had had long black hair—as had the girl who’d stood in the dock and been found guilty of being a drug dealer.

He had been right to be suspicious of the redheaded beauty who had captivated his brother. She had latched on to a younger boy when she was a teenager, and been prepared to use his infatuation for her to ruin him and save her own neck when she had been caught in her reckless drug dealing. It would seem that she had ensnared his younger brother in much the same way. She obviously had not changed—only in the colour of her hair, which couldn’t be real. The thing that surprised him was that he had not recognised who she was sooner.

‘Hello, Beth. Or should I say Jane?’ he queried sardonically.

‘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.

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