Dial R for Revenge…

Forgiveness is a foreign concept to wealthy investment trader Jonas Deveson. Someone has been stealing from him. He’s got a good idea who it is and she’s going to pay.…

Seeing the harsh lines that bitterness has carved into Jonas’s handsome features, Ravenna Ruggiero knows he’ll never see the shades of gray in her actions.

Jonas blackmails Ravenna into working as his housekeeper to pay off her debt, but living under the same roof leads to unexpected yet forbidden temptation, and Jonas is no longer sure who is being punished!

Jonas would make her pay for what she’d done.

He’d make sure Ravenna learned the value of the money she’d taken, and when he’d finished with her she’d understand the value of hard work too. She’d repay her debt in full. There’d be no easy escape if she tried batting those long eyelashes at him.

The realisation stilled his impetuous need to taste her. Yet he couldn’t draw back. He was trapped by a hunger sharper and more potent than he’d known in years.

That infuriated him even more than the missing money. He burned with it. The fire in his belly was white-hot, with a virulent mix of lust and self-disgust at his weakness.

AT HIS SERVICE

From glass slippers to silk sheets

From washing his sheets to slipping between them, from ironing his shirts to ripping them off … When the job description said ‘full benefits package’, this wasn’t quite what she had in mind!

But when you work for a man who’s used to getting everything he wants, how do you stop yourself becoming his latest acquisition?

In May you read

MAID FOR MONTERO by Kim Lawrence

This month read:

AN ENTICING DEBT TO PAY by Annie West

Look out for more At His Service stories coming soon!

An Enticing Debt to Pay

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANNIE WEST has devoted her life to an intensive study of tall, dark, charismatic heroes who cause the best kind of trouble in the lives of their heroines. As a sideline she’s also researched dream-worthy locations for romance—from bustling, vibrant cities to desert encampments and fairytale castles. It’s hard work but she loves a challenge. Annie lives with her family at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. She loves to hear from readers and you can contact her at www.annie-west.com or at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Recent titles by the same author:

IMPRISONED BY A VOW

CAPTIVE IN THE SPOTLIGHT

DEFYING HER DESERT DUTY

UNDONE BY HIS TOUCH

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

For dearest Claire whose hard work, exuberance and sheer talent are an inspiration.

With love.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

‘I’M AFRAID THE latest audit has thrown up an...irregularity.’

Jonas looked across his wide, polished desk and frowned as his Head of Finance shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

What sort of irregularity could make Charles Barker palpably nervous? He was the best. Jonas made it a policy only to employ the best. He didn’t have patience for underperformers. Barker ran his part of Jonas’ business enterprise like a well-oiled machine.

‘A significant irregularity?’

Barker shook his head. ‘Not in overall financial terms.’

Since the company’s total assets figured in the billions, Jonas supposed he should be relieved, but watching Barker loosen his tie, Jonas felt a prickle of foreboding.

‘Spit it out, Charles.’

The other man smiled, but it turned into a grimace as he passed his laptop across the desk.

‘There. The top two lines.’

Jonas noted the first entry—a transfer of several thousand pounds. Below it another, much larger entry. No details were provided for either.

‘What am I looking at?’

‘Withdrawals against your original investment account.’

Jonas’ frown became a scowl. He used that account now only to transfer personal funds between investments.

‘Someone accessed my account?’ But the answer was obvious. Jonas hadn’t made these withdrawals. He managed day-to-day expenses elsewhere and, though large by normal standards, the withdrawals weren’t significant enough to match his usual personal investments.

‘We’ve traced them.’ Of course, Barker would make it his business to have an answer before he fronted Jonas with the problem.

‘And?’ Curiosity rose.

‘You’ll remember the account was originally set up as part of a family enterprise.’

How could Jonas forget? His father had given him chapter and verse on how to run a business, pretending he, as head of the family, was the senior partner in the enterprise. But they’d both known it was Jonas’ talent for spotting a sound investment, and his ruthless hunger for success, that had turned the floundering investment company around. Piers had simply been along for the ride, revelling in the novelty of success. Until father and son had parted ways.

‘I remember.’ Memory was a sour tang on his tongue.

Barker shifted again. ‘The withdrawals were made using an old cheque book—one that had supposedly been destroyed.’ Jonas looked up, catching a faint flush on the other man’s cheeks. ‘The records show they were accounted for but this one of your father’s...’

‘It’s okay, I get the picture.’ Jonas let his gaze drift across the unrivalled view of the City of London.

His father. Jonas hadn’t called him that since childhood when he’d discovered what sort of man Piers Deveson was. Despite his bluster about honour and the family name, Piers had been no model of virtue. It shouldn’t surprise Jonas to learn the old man had found a way to access his son’s assets illegally. The wonder was he hadn’t used it earlier.

‘So Piers—’

‘No!’ Barker sat straighter as Jonas turned back to him. ‘I’m sorry, but we’ve reason to believe it wasn’t your father. Here.’ He passed some photocopied pages across.

Jonas scanned them. Two cheques with his father’s familiar flourishing signature.

Except they weren’t Piers Deveson’s signature. They were close enough to fool a stranger but he was familiar enough with that scrawl to spot the differences.

‘Look at the dates.’

Jonas did and to his surprise felt a punch to the gut that winded him.

Bad enough to think the old man had pilfered funds. But this was—

Jonas shook his head, his lungs cramping as unexpected emotion filled him.

‘The second one is dated a day after your father died.’

Silently Jonas nodded, his heart slowing to a ponderous beat. He knew the date, and not just because it was recent.

For years his father had been a thorn in his side, a blot on the family—living in gaudy luxury with his scheming mistress. They’d flaunted themselves among the rich and notorious, uncaring of any hurt they’d caused. When Piers died Jonas had felt nothing—neither regret nor an easing of the tension that had gripped him since Piers’ defection had taken its ultimate toll. He’d expected to feel something. For weeks there’d been nothing, just an emptiness where emotion should have been. Yet now—

‘Not my father then.’ His voice was calm, belying the raw emotions churning in his gut. Beneath the desk his hands clenched.

‘No. We’ve traced the perpetrator. And she’s not too clever, given the obvious anomaly with the date.’ Barker spoke quickly, obviously eager to get this over. ‘It was a Ms Ruggiero. Living at this address in Paris.’

Barker handed over another paper. It bore the address of the exclusive apartment Piers Deveson had shared for the last six years with his mistress, Silvia Ruggiero.

Jonas paused before reaching out to take the paper. His fingers tingled as if it burned him.

‘So.’ Jonas sat back. ‘My father’s whore thinks she can continue to milk his family even after his death.’ His voice was devoid of emotion, but he felt it deep inside like the burn of ice on bruised flesh.

How could the woman think she’d get away with this after all she’d done to the Devesons? Surely she wasn’t stupid enough to expect mercy?

His pulse thudded as he thought of the woman who’d destroyed so much.

He remembered Silvia Ruggiero as clearly as if he’d seen her yesterday, her voluptuous figure, flashing eyes and froth of dark hair. Sex on legs, one of his friends had said the first time he’d seen Silvia, who was then the Devesons’ housekeeper. And he’d been right. Not even a drab uniform had doused the woman’s vibrant sexuality.

That had been mere weeks before Jonas’ father had turned his back on family and responsibility, let alone respectability, by running off with his housekeeper to set her up in a luxury Paris apartment.

Four months later Jonas’ mother was found dead. An accidental overdose, the coroner had said. But Jonas knew the truth. After years spurned by the man she’d loved, his public repudiation had finally been too much. His mother had taken her own life.

Jonas breathed deep, pulling oxygen into cramped lungs. Now the woman responsible for his mother’s death had struck again. She had the nerve to think she could continue to steal from him!

The paper in his hand crackled as his fist tightened slowly, inexorably. Fury surged, tensing every sinew. His jaw ached as he clenched his teeth against a rising tide of useless invective.

Jonas never wasted energy on words when actions were so much more effective.

For six years he’d spurned the idea of revenge. He’d risen above that temptation, burying himself in work and refusing any contact with Piers or his gold-digging mistress.

But now this—the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The blood raced hot and sharp in his veins as for the first time Jonas allowed himself to contemplate fully the pleasures of retribution.

‘Leave this to me, Charles.’ Jonas smiled slowly, his facial muscles pulling tight. ‘There’s no need to report the fraud. I’ll sort it out personally.’

* * *

Ravenna surveyed the apartment in despair. Most of the furnishings she knew now were fake, from the gilded Louis Quinze chairs to the china masquerading as period Limoges and Sèvres.

Mamma had always been adept at making ends meet, even through the toughest times.

A reluctant smile tugged Ravenna’s lips. Life in a swanky apartment in the Place des Vosges, one of Paris’s premier addresses, hardly counted as tough, not like the early days of Ravenna’s childhood when food had been scarce and the winters cold without enough blankets or warm clothes. But those early experiences had stood her mother in good stead. When the money began to run out she’d methodically turned to replacing the priceless antiques with copies.

Silvia Ruggiero had always made do, even if her version of ‘making do’ lately had been on a preposterously luxurious scale. But it was what Piers had wanted and in Silvia’s eyes that was all that mattered.

Ravenna tugged in a shaky breath. Her mother was far better off in Italy staying with a friend, instead of here, coping with the aftermath of Piers’ death. If only she’d told Ravenna straight away about his heart attack. Ravenna would have been here the same day. Even now she could barely believe her mother had kept that to herself, worrying instead about disturbing Ravenna with more trouble!

Mothers! Did they ever believe their children grew up?

Silvia had been barely recognisable when Ravenna had arrived in Paris from Switzerland. For the first time her gorgeous mother had looked older than her age, worn by grief. Ravenna was concerned for her. Piers might not have been Ravenna’s favourite but her mother had loved him.

No, Mamma was better off out of this. Packing up here was the least Ravenna could do, especially after Piers’ generosity when she most needed it. So what if it meant facing creditors and selling what little her mother had left?

She returned to her inventory, glad she’d organised for an expert to visit and separate any valuable items from the fakes. To Ravenna they all looked obscenely expensive and rather ostentatious. But since her home was a sparsely furnished bedsit in a nondescript London suburb, she was no judge.

* * *

Jonas pressed the security buzzer a second time, wondering if she was out and his spur of the moment trip to Paris had been an impetuous waste of time.

He didn’t do impetuous. He was methodical, measured and logical. But he also had a razor-sharp instinct for weakness, for the optimum time to strike. And surely now, mere weeks after Piers’ death, his father’s mistress would be feeling the pinch as creditors started to circle.

Static buzzed and a husky, feminine voice spoke in his ear. ‘Hello?’

Yes! His instinct had been right.

‘I’m here to see Madam Ruggiero.’

‘Monsieur Giscard? I was expecting you. Please come up.’

Jonas pushed open the security door into a marble foyer. He ignored the lift and strode up the couple of floors to what had been his father’s love nest. Suppressing a shiver of revulsion, he rapped on the door of the apartment.

It swung open almost immediately and he stepped past a slim young woman into a lavishly furnished foyer. Through an open door he glimpsed an overfull salon but no sign of the woman he’d come to see. He moved towards the inner room.

‘You’re not Monsieur Giscard.’ The accusation halted him.

He swung round to find eyes the colour of rich sherry fixed on him.

‘No. I’m not.’

For the first time he paused to survey the woman properly and something—surprise?—rushed through him.

Slim to the point of fragility, she nevertheless had curves in all the right places, even if they were obscured by ill-fitting dark clothes. But it was her face that arrested him. Wide lush mouth, strong nose, angled cheekbones that gave her a fey air, lavish dark lashes and rather straight brows framing eyes so luminous they seemed to glow. Each feature in her heart-shaped face was so definite that together they should have jarred. Instead they melded perfectly.

She was arresting. Not pretty but something much rarer. Jonas felt his pulse quicken as heat shot low in his body.

He stiffened. When was the last time the sight of a woman, even a uniquely beautiful one, had affected him?

‘And you are?’ She tilted her head, drawing his gaze from her ripe mouth to the ultra-short sable hair she wore like a chic, ruffled cap. Another few weeks and she’d have curls.

He frowned. Why notice that when he had more important matters on his mind?

‘Looking for Madam Ruggiero. Silvia Ruggiero.’ It surprised him how difficult it was to drag his gaze away and back to the apartment’s inner rooms.

‘You don’t have an appointment.’ There was something new in her voice. Something hard and flat.

‘No.’ His mouth curled in a smile of grim anticipation. ‘But she’ll see me.’

The young woman strode back into his line of sight, blocking his way to the salon. Jonas catalogued the lithe grace of her movements even as he told himself he didn’t have time for distractions.

She shook her head. ‘You’re the last person she’d see.’

‘You know who I am?’ His gaze sharpened as he took in her defiant stance—arms akimbo and feet planted wide, as if she could prevent him if he chose to push past! She was tall, her mouth on a level with his collarbone, and she stared up at him with complete assurance.

‘It took me a moment but of course I do.’ A flicker of expression crossed her features so swiftly Jonas couldn’t read it. But he watched her swallow and realised she wasn’t as confident as she appeared. Interesting.

‘And you are?’ Jonas was used to being recognised from press reports, but instinct told him he’d met this woman before. Something about her tugged at half-buried memory.

‘Forgettable, obviously.’ Her lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile that ridiculously drove a spike of heat through his belly.

Jonas blinked. She wasn’t smiling at him yet he reacted.

Annoyance flared. He drew himself up, watching her gaze skate across his shoulders and chest.

‘She’s not here.’ The words tumbled out in a breathless rush that belied her aggressively protective stance. ‘So you can’t see her.’

‘Then I’ll wait.’ Jonas stepped forward, only to come up against her slim frame, vibrating with tension. He’d expected her to give way. She surprised him with her determination to stand her ground. But he refused to retreat, no matter how distracting the sensation of her body against his. His business with Silvia Ruggiero was long overdue.

He looked down and her golden brown eyes widened as if in shock.

‘I’m not going away,’ he murmured, suppressing an inexplicable desire to lift his hand and see if her pale face was as soft as it appeared. The realisation threw him, making his voice emerge harshly. ‘My business won’t wait.’

Again she swallowed. He followed the movement of her slim throat with a fascination that surprised him. The scent of her skin filled his nostrils: feminine warmth and the tang of cinnamon.

Abruptly she stepped back, her chest rising and falling quickly, drawing his attention till he snapped his eyes back to her face.

‘In that case you can talk with me.’ She turned and led the way into the salon, her steps a clipped, staccato beat on the honey-coloured wood floor.

Jonas dragged his gaze from the sway of her hips in dark trousers and followed, furious to find himself distracted from his purpose even for a moment.

She settled herself on an overstuffed chair near a window framed by cloth of gold curtains. Hoping to put him at a disadvantage with her back to the light? It was such an obvious ploy. Instead of taking a seat Jonas prowled the room, knowing that with each passing moment her unease increased. Whoever she was, she was in cahoots with Silvia Ruggiero. Jonas wouldn’t trust her an inch.

‘Why should I share my business with a stranger?’ He peered at an over-decorated ormolu clock.

Was there nothing in this place that wasn’t overdone? It reeked of a nouveau riche fixation with show and quantity rather than quality. His cursory survey had revealed the best pieces in the room to be fakes. But that had been his father—all show and no substance. Especially when it came to things like love or loyalty.

‘I’m not a stranger.’ Her tone was curt. ‘Perhaps if you stopped your crude inventory you’d realise that.’

To Jonas’ surprise unfamiliar heat rose under his skin. True, his behaviour was crass, calculated to unnerve rather than reassure. But he felt no need to ingratiate himself with his father’s mistress or her crony.

He took his time swinging around to meet her eyes.

‘Then perhaps you’ll do me the courtesy of answering my question. Who are you?’

‘I thought that would be obvious. I’m Ravenna. Silvia’s daughter.’

* * *

Ravenna watched shock freeze Jonas’ features.

You’d think after all these years she’d be used to it, but still it struck her a blow.

She’d been a gawky child, all long limbs and feet and a nose it had taken years to grow into. With her dark, Italian looks, exotic name and husky voice she’d been the odd one out in her English country schools. When people saw her with her petite, ravishingly beautiful mother, the kindest comments had been about her being ‘different’ or ‘striking’. The unkindest, at the boarding school her mother had scrimped to send her to—well, she’d put that behind her years ago.

But she’d thought Jonas would remember her, even if she’d worn braces and plaits last time they’d met.

True it had taken her a few moments to recognise him. To reconcile the grim, abrasive intruder in the exquisitely tailored clothes with the young man who’d treated her so kindly the day he’d found her curled in misery behind the stables. He’d been softer then, more understanding. To her dazed teenage eyes he’d shone like a demigod, powerful, reassuring and sexy in the unattainable way of movie stars.

Who’d have thought someone with such charm could turn into a louse?

Only the sex appeal was unchanged.

She looked again into those narrowed pewter-grey eyes that surveyed her so closely.

No, that had changed too. The softness of youth had been pared from Jonas Deveson’s features, leaving them austerely sculpted and attractively spare, the product of generations of aristocratic breeding. He wasn’t a chinless wonder of pampered privilege but the sort of hard-edged, born-to-authority man you could imagine defending Deveson Hall astride a warhorse, armed with sword and mace.

From his superbly arrogant nose to his strong chin, from his thick, dark hair to his wide shoulders and deep chest, Jonas was the sort to make females lose their heads.

How could she find him attractive when he oozed disapproval? When his barely veiled aggression had kept her on tenterhooks from the moment he stalked in the door?

But logic had little to do with the frisson of awareness skimming Ravenna’s skin and swirling in her abdomen.

Steadily she returned his searching look. No matter how handsome he was, or how used to command, she wasn’t about to fall in with his assumption of authority.

‘What’s your business with my mother?’ Ravenna sat back, crossing one leg over the other and placing her hands on the arms of the chair as if totally relaxed.

He flicked a look from her legs to her face and she felt a prick of satisfaction that she’d surprised him. Did he expect her to bow and scrape in his presence? The thought shored up her anger.

‘When will she be back?’ No mistaking the banked fury in those flashing eyes. For all his outward show of calm his patience was on a short leash.

‘If you can’t answer politely, you might as well leave.’ Ravenna shot to her feet. She had enough on her plate without dealing with Piers’ privileged son. Just confronting him sapped her already low stamina. The last thing she needed was for him to guess how weak she felt. He’d just railroad her into doing his bidding—he had that look about him.

She was halfway to the door when his words stopped her.

‘My business with your mother is private.’

Slowly she turned, cataloguing the harsh light in his eyes and the straight set of his mouth. Whatever his business it spelled trouble and Mamma wasn’t in any state to deal with him. She was floundering, trying to adjust to the loss of the man she’d loved so ardently. Ravenna had to protect her.

‘My mother’s not in Paris. You can deal with me.’

He shook his head and took a pace towards her. It ate up the space between them alarmingly, bringing him within touching distance.

Did she imagine she felt the heat of his body warm her?

‘Where is she?’ It wasn’t a request but a demand. ‘Tell me now.’

Ravenna curled her fingers into tight fists, her nails scoring her flesh. His high-handed attitude infuriated her.

‘I’m not your servant.’ By a miracle she kept her voice even. She knew the guilt Silvia had suffered for years because of this man’s refusal to reconcile with his father. ‘My mother might have worked for your family once but don’t think you can come here and throw your weight around. You have no power over me.’

Anger pulsed between them, so strong she felt it throb hard against her chest wall.

At least she thought it was anger. The air between them clogged with tension that stole her breath and furred the nape of her neck.

‘But I do have power over your mother.’ The words were silky soft, like an endearment. But it was suppressed violence she heard in that smooth baritone, a clear threat.

‘What do you mean?’ Alarm raised her voice an octave.

‘I mean your mother’s in serious trouble.’

Fear clawed at Ravenna’s throat and she swallowed hard, taking in the pitiless gleam in his silvery eyes.

Understanding hit. ‘You’re not here to help, are you?’

His bark of laughter confirmed the icy foreboding slithering along Ravenna’s spine.

‘Hardly!’ He paused, as if savouring the moment. ‘I’m here to see she goes to prison for her crimes.’

CHAPTER TWO

RAVENNA LOCKED HER knees as the room swirled sickeningly.

She reached out a groping hand to steady herself and grabbed fabric, fingers digging claw-like as she fought panic.

The last few months had been tougher than anything she could once have imagined. They’d tested her to the limits of endurance. But nothing had prepared her to confront such pure hatred as she saw in Jonas Deveson’s face. There was no softness in his expression, just adamantine determination. It scared her to the core.

Shock slammed into her and the knowledge, surer with every gasping breath, that he was serious. He intended to send her mother to prison.

A hand covered hers to the wrist, long fingers encompassing hers easily, sending darts of searing heat through her chilled flesh.

Stunned, Ravenna looked down to find she’d grabbed the only thing near—the lapel of Jonas Deveson’s tailored jacket. Now he held her hard and fast.

‘Are you all right?’ Concern turned his deep voice to mellow treacle. She felt it softening sinew and taut muscle, easing her shocked stasis enough that she finally managed to inhale. The spinning room settled.

She tugged her hand away. Worryingly, she felt cold without that skin-to-skin contact.

Ravenna spun on her foot and paced to the window. This time when she clutched fabric it was the heavy gold swag of curtain. It was rich and smooth under her tingling fingers, but not as reassuring as the fine wool warmed by Jonas Deveson’s body.

She shook her head, banishing the absurd thought.

‘Ravenna?’

Her head jerked up. She remembered him calling her by name years before, the only time they’d really talked. In her emotionally charged state then she’d imagined no one but he could ever make her name sound so appealing. For years her unusual name had been the source of countless jibes. She’d been labelled the scrawny raven and far, far worse at school. It was disturbing to discover that even now he turned her name into something special.

‘What?’

‘Are you okay?’ His voice came from closer and she stiffened her spine.

‘As okay as you can expect when you barge in here threatening my mother with gaol.’

For a moment longer Ravenna stared out of the window. The Place des Vosges, elegant and symmetrical with its manicured gardens, looked as unchanged as ever, as if nothing could disturb its self-conscious complacency.

But she’d learned the hard way that real life was never static, never safe.

Reluctantly she turned to find him looming over her, his eyes unreadable.

‘What is she supposed to have done?’

‘There’s no suppose about it. Do you think I’d come here—’ his voice was ripe with contempt as he swept the salon with a wide gesture ‘—if it wasn’t fact?’

Ravenna’s heart dropped. She couldn’t believe her mother had done anything terrible, but at the same time she knew only the most extreme circumstances would bring Jonas Deveson within a kilometre of Silvia Ruggiero. There was hatred in his eyes when he spoke of her.

‘You’re too angry to think straight.’ At her words his lowering dark brows shot up towards his hairline. Clearly this was a man unused to opposition.

She drew another, slower breath. ‘You’ve despised my mother for years and now you think you’ve found a way to make her pay for the sin of falling in love with your father.’

The sizzle of fire in his eyes told her she’d hit the nail on the head. Her hands slipped onto her hips as she let righteous indignation fortify her waning strength.

‘I think you’ve decided that, without Piers here to defend her, she’s easy prey.’ Her breath hitched. ‘But she’s not alone. You’d do well to remember that.’

‘What? She’s moved on already?’ His voice was contemptuous. ‘She’s found another protector to take his place? That must be some sort of record.’

Ravenna wasn’t aware of lunging towards him but suddenly she was so close she saw his pupils dilate as her open hand swung up hard and fast towards his cheek.

The movement came to a juddering halt that reverberated through her as he caught her wrist. He lifted it high so she stretched up on her toes, leaning towards him. Her breasts, belly and thighs tingled as if from an electric charge as the heat of his body, mere centimetres away, burned hers.

His eyebrows lowered, angling down straight and obstinate over eyes so intent they seemed to peer into her very soul.

His scent—clean male skin and a hint of citrus—invaded her nostrils. Abruptly she realised she’d ventured too far into dangerous territory when she found herself inhaling and holding her breath.

A shimmy of reaction jittered through her. A reaction she couldn’t name. It froze the air in her lungs.

Instinct warned he was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with her mother.

Ravenna tugged hard but he refused to release her hand.

Leaning up towards him like this, almost touching along the length of their bodies, Ravenna became fully aware of the raw, masculine power hidden beneath the designer suit. The clothes were those of an urbane businessman. The burning stare and aura of charged testosterone spoke instead of primitive male power, barely leashed.

She breathed deep, trying to douse rising panic, and registered an unfamiliar spicy musk note in the air. Her nerves stretched tighter.

Never had Ravenna felt so aware of the imbalance of physical power between male and female. Of the fact that, despite her height, she was no match for this man who held her so easily and so off balance.

‘Nobody slaps me.’ His lips barely moved, yet Ravenna felt his warm breath on her face with each terse word.

‘Nobody insults my mother like that.’

Even stretched taut against him, her mind grappling with a multitude of new sensations, she refused to back down. She stared into those glittering, merciless eyes and felt a thrill of fear, realising he was utterly unyielding.

‘Then we’re at an impasse, Ms Ruggiero.’

Did he tug her closer or did she sway towards him? Suddenly keeping her balance was almost impossible as she teetered on the balls of her feet.

‘In which case there’s no need for the macho act. You can let me go.’ She paused, deliberately going limp in his hold. ‘Unless you feel you have something to prove.’

Relief gushed through her as he released her.

Rather than let him see it, Ravenna bent her head as if examining her wrist for bruises. There wouldn’t be any. His touch hadn’t been brutal, but its implacability had scared her.

‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ she said finally, looking up into his arresting, aristocratic face. ‘My mother loved your father.’

‘You expect me to believe that?’ Jonas shook his head, his lips curling in a sneer. ‘I’m not some callow kid who believes in fairy tales. She was on the make—out to snare a rich lover. It was obvious to everyone.’ He raised a silencing hand when she would have spoken. ‘She flaunted herself every chance she got.’

‘My mother never—’

‘He was years older, with a wife, a home, a family. He had an extraordinarily comfortable lifestyle, the respect of his peers and a social life he revelled in. You think a man of my father’s disposition would give all that up unless he’d been lured into it by a clever gold-digger?’

Ravenna hesitated, as ever torn by the knowledge of how many people had been hurt by Piers and her mother. But loyalty made her speak up.

‘You don’t believe in love, then?’

‘Love?’ He almost snorted the word. ‘Silvia pandered to his desires in the most obvious way. I’m sure he loved flaunting her just as he loved showing off his other possessions.’ His gaze raked the room, lingering on a Cézanne on the far wall that Ravenna knew for a fact was a copy of an original sold just last year. The derisive twist of Jonas’ lips told her he knew it too.

‘And as for her...’ Wide shoulders shrugged. ‘He was just a meal ticket. They had nothing in common except a love of luxury and an aversion to hard work. Why should she toil on as a housekeeper when she could be kept in style for simply letting him—’

‘That’s enough!’ Bile blocked Ravenna’s throat and she swallowed hard, forcing it down. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of your poison.’

His brows rose. ‘You’re hardly a schoolkid any more, Ravenna.’ This time when he said her name there was no lingering warmth and no frisson of subtle reaction. ‘You can’t pretend.’

‘Leave it!’ She put up her hand for silence. ‘We’ll never agree, so leave it.’ She hefted in a deep, steadying breath. ‘Just cut to the chase and tell me why you’re here.’

* * *

Fury still sizzled in Jonas’ blood so he took his time slowing his breathing and finding his equilibrium. It wasn’t like him to lose his cool. He was known for his detachment, his calm clarity of vision even in the most potentially dangerous of commercial ventures.

And in his personal life...he’d learned his lesson early, watching his father lurch from one failed love affair to another. He’d seen the ecstatic highs of each new fixation, then the boredom and disappointment of each failure.

Jonas wasn’t like his father. He’d made it his business to be as different from the old man as humanly possible. He was rock steady, reliable, controlled.

Except right now his hands shook with the force of his feelings. He swept the gilded room with a contemptuous glance and assured himself it was inevitable his father’s flashy love nest would evoke a reaction.

‘Well? I’m waiting.’

At her husky voice he turned to survey her.

Ravenna Ruggiero. He’d never have recognised her as the tear-stained girl he remembered. Then she’d been lanky with the coltishness of youth, her features still settling and her hair in ribbons, as if to remind him she was still a child. Only her mouth and her stunning eyes had hinted at beauty. And the low register of her voice that even then had unsettled him with its promise of sensuality to come.

It had come all right.

Silvia Ruggiero had been a stunning woman in her prime. But her daughter, even dressed in sombre, loose clothes, outshone her as a flawless diamond did a showy synthetic gem.

There was something about Ravenna. Not just a face that drew the eye as a magnet drew metal so he’d had to force himself not to stare. But an elegance, a grace, that contrasted with yet magnified the earthy sexuality of her voice, and that sassy attitude of hers...

The feel of her stretched up against him, her breasts almost grazing him as she panted her fury in defiance of his superior strength, had stirred something long dormant.

Suspended in a moment of sheer, heady excitement, he’d revelled in the proximity of her soft curves and lush mouth. There’d been a subversive pleasure in her combative attitude, in watching the sparks fly as she launched herself at him.

For the first time in his life Jonas, who preferred his pleasures planned, wondered about being on the receiving end of such unbridled passion. Not just her anger, but—

‘Did you hear me?’ Fingers clicked in the air before him, dragging his attention to her flushed face.

The colour suited her better, he realised, than the milky pallor he’d noticed earlier. Then he cursed himself for the stray thought.

‘You want to know what your mother’s been up to?’ It was easy to thrust aside his unsettling distraction and focus on familiar ire. ‘She’s stolen money. My money.’

He had the satisfaction of seeing Ravenna’s eyes widen.

It galled him that she’d had the temerity to defend Silvia when they both knew the truth about her mother. Like a magpie with an eye for a pretty, expensive bauble, she’d feathered her nest with his father’s wealth.

Jonas recalled the day he’d come home unexpectedly to Deveson Hall from London and found the housekeeper in his mother’s suite, in front of a mirror, holding an heirloom choker of sapphires and pearls to her throat. Instead of embarrassment at being caught out, she’d laughed and simply said no woman could have resisted the temptation if she’d found the necklace lying there. Without turning a hair she’d put it down on the dressing table and turned to plump the cushions on a nearby settee.

‘No.’ This time Ravenna’s low voice sounded scratchy as if with shock. ‘She wouldn’t do that.’

‘Wouldn’t she?’ He looked around the over-stuffed room, wondering how many of the pieces were what they appeared. Money had obviously been tight enough for his father to cash in the more valuable pieces.

‘Of course not.’ Ravenna’s certainty tugged his attention back to her. No longer flushed but pale and composed, she stared back with infuriating certainty.

‘Then how do you explain the fact she forged my father’s signature in a cheque book she shouldn’t even have had access to?’

‘Why blame my mother?’

‘No one else had access. Piers would have kept it safely by him, believe me.’ He let his gaze rove the room. ‘I’m sure if we search the apartment we’ll find it.’

‘There’ll be no searching the apartment. And even if it was here, what’s to say it wasn’t Piers’ signature? His handwriting could have changed when he got ill.’

Jonas shook his head. ‘That would have been convenient, wouldn’t it? But it won’t wash. Unless you can explain how he managed to cash a cheque the day after he died.’

Her eyes widened, growing huge in her taut face.

‘I don’t believe you.’ It was a whisper but even that was like a flame to gunpowder. How could she deny her mother’s wrongdoing even now?

‘I don’t care what you believe.’ It was a lie. Her blind faith in the gold-digging Silvia was like salt on a raw wound. Perhaps because he’d never known such loyalty from his own parents. Why should she lavish it on a woman so patently undeserving?

Piers had been an absentee parent, finding plenty of reasons to stay in the city rather than at the Hall. As for his mother—he supposed she’d loved him in her own abstracted way. But she’d been more focused on her personal disappointment in marrying a man who loved not her but the wealth she’d brought with her.

Jonas slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew the photocopied cheques.

‘Here.’ He held them out, daring her to take them. ‘I never lie.’ His father had been an expert at distorting the truth for his convenience. As a kid Jonas had vowed never to do the same.

He watched Ravenna swallow, the movement convulsive, then she reached out and took the papers. Her head bowed as she stared at them.

The sound of her breath hissing in told him he’d finally got through to her. There was no escaping the truth.

The papers moved as if in a strong breeze and he realised her hands were trembling.

In that instant guilt pierced his self-satisfaction. Belatedly it struck him that taking out his anger on Silvia’s daughter was beneath him.

His belly clenched as he reviewed their encounter. Even given his determination to make Silvia pay for her crime, he’d behaved crassly. He’d stalked in, making demands when a simple request for information would have done. Worse, he’d been too caught up in own emotional turmoil to spare a thought for the shock this would be for Ravenna.

‘Do you want to sit down?’ The words shot out like bullets, rapid and harsh with self-disgust.

She didn’t say anything, just stood, head bowed, staring at the papers in her shaking hands.

Hell! Was she in shock?

He leant towards her, trying to read her expression.

All he registered was the stiff set of her jaw and the scent of warm cinnamon and fragrant woman.

And the way she bit her bottom lip, pearly teeth sinking deep in that lush fullness.

Jonas breathed in slowly, telling himself the heat whirling in his belly was shame, not arousal.

The idea of being turned on so easily by any woman was anathema to a man who prided himself on his restraint. When she was the daughter of the woman who’d destroyed his mother... Unthinkable!

‘Ravenna?’ His voice sounded ridiculously hesitant, as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet.

She looked up, her eyes ablaze as they met his. Then her gaze shifted towards the window.

‘You’re mistaken.’ Her voice sounded wrong, he realised, tight and hard. ‘Silvia had nothing to do with this.’

‘Stop denying, Ravenna. It’s too late for that. I’ve got proof of her forgery.’

‘Proof of forgery, yes. But not Silvia’s.’ She shifted, standing taller.

Jonas shook his head, weary of the unexpected emotional edge to this interview. ‘Just tell me where she is and I’ll deal with her.’

Those warm sherry eyes lifted to his and he stilled as he saw how they’d glazed with emotion.

‘You don’t need to deal with her. She had nothing to do with it.’ Ravenna tilted her chin up, her gaze meeting his squarely. ‘I did it. I took your money.’

CHAPTER THREE

RAVENNA’S PULSE KICKED as Jonas stiffened. Her throat dried so much it hurt to swallow. But she didn’t dare turn away. Instead she met his stare unflinchingly.

She feared if she showed even a flicker of the emotions rioting inside, he wouldn’t believe her.

He had to! The alternative, of pinning the theft on her mother, was untenable.

With Jonas’ revelation so much fell into place—Piers’ remarkable generosity in not just covering her medical costs these last months, but funding the long convalescent stay at an exorbitantly expensive Swiss health resort.

Only it hadn’t been Piers making that final, massive payment, had it? It must have been Silvia—breaking the law to help her daughter.

Ravenna’s heart plummeted as she recalled her mother’s insistence that she needed total rest to recuperate. That without the health resort there was a danger of the treatment failing. Ravenna, too weary by then to protest when all she wanted was to rest quietly and get her strength back, hadn’t put up much resistance.

She’d never sponged off Piers’ wealth, and had silenced her protesting conscience by vowing to pay back every last euro. It was only when she’d arrived at the Paris apartment the other day that she realised they were euros Piers and her mother could ill afford.

Guilt had struck Ravenna when she saw how much they’d sold off. But she’d never for a moment thought her mother had purloined money that wasn’t hers!

Oh, Mamma, what have you done?

Through the years Silvia had gone without again and again so Ravenna could have warm clothes and a roof over her head. And later, so she could go to the respected school her mother thought she needed. But to take what wasn’t hers...!

‘You’re lying.’ Jonas’ frigid eyes raked her face and a chill skimmed her backbone.

Ravenna smoothed damp palms down her trousers and angled her chin, trying to quell the roiling nausea in her stomach.

‘I don’t lie.’ It was true. Maybe that was why she hadn’t convinced him. Her muscles clenched as desperation rose.

She couldn’t let him guess the truth. Already a broken woman, Mamma would be destroyed by the shame and stress of gaol.

For a moment Ravenna toyed with blurting out the whole truth, revealing why her mother had stolen the funds and throwing them both on Jonas Deveson’s mercy.

Except he didn’t have any mercy.

That softer side he’d once shown her years before had been an aberration. In the six years Silvia and Piers had been together, Jonas hadn’t once condescended to acknowledge his father’s existence. He had ice in his veins rather than warm blood, and a predilection for holding a grudge.

Now it seemed he had a taste for vengeance too.

That might be ice in his veins but there was fire blazing in his eyes. It had been there since he shouldered his way into the apartment, prowling the room with lofty condescension as if his father’s death meant nothing to him.

His hatred for her mother was a palpable weight in the charged atmosphere.

He blamed Silvia for his father’s defection. He’d sided with the rest of his aristocratic connections in shunning the working-class foreigner who’d had the temerity to poach one of their own.

Ravenna had to keep this from her. If Mamma found the theft had been discovered she’d come forward and accept the penalty. Ravenna couldn’t let her do that, not when she saw the violence in Jonas Deveson’s eyes. She couldn’t condone what Mamma had done but could understand it, especially since she must have been overwrought about Piers.

‘You haven’t got it in you to do that, Ravenna.’ He shook his head. ‘Theft is more your mother’s style.’

Fury boiled in her bloodstream. She didn’t know which was worse, his bone-deep hatred of her mother or that he thought he knew either of them when at Deveson Hall family hadn’t mixed with staff.

His certainty of her innocence should have appeased her; instead, tainted as it was by prejudice, Ravenna found herself angrier than she could ever remember. Rage steamed across her skin and seeped from her pores.

‘You have no idea of what her style is or mine.’ Her teeth gritted around the words.

His damnably supercilious eyebrows rose again. ‘I’m a good judge of character.’

That was what Ravenna feared. That was why she had to work hard to convince him.

Maybe if her mother had a spotless reputation she’d ride out a trial with nothing worse than a caution and community service. But sadly that wasn’t the case.

Years before, when Silvia had been young and homeless, kicked out by her father for shaming the family with her pregnancy, she’d resorted to shoplifting to feed herself. She’d been tried then released on a good behaviour bond. That had terrified the young woman who’d been until then completely law abiding.

Much later, when Ravenna was nine, her mother had been accused of stealing from the house where she worked. Ravenna remembered Mamma’s ravaged, parchment-white face as the police led her away under the critical gaze of the woman who employed her. It didn’t matter that the charges had been dropped when the woman’s daughter was found trying to sell the missing heirloom pieces. Silvia had been dismissed, presumably because her employer couldn’t face the embarrassment of having accused an innocent woman.

Mud stuck and innocence didn’t seem to matter in the face of prejudice.

Look at the way Jonas already judged her. If she went to trial he’d dredge up her past and every scurrilous innuendo he could uncover and probably create a few for good measure. His air of ruthlessness that chilled Ravenna. His lawyers would make mincemeat out of her mother.

Ravenna couldn’t allow it. Especially since her mother had stolen to save her.

Hot guilt flooded her. How desperate Mamma must have been, how worried, to have stolen this man’s money! She must have known he’d destroy her if he found out.

Which was why Ravenna had to act.

She stepped forward, her index finger prodding Jonas’ hard chest. It felt frighteningly immovable. But she had to puncture his certainty. Attack seemed her best chance.

‘Don’t pretend to know my mother.’ Furtively she sucked in air, her breathing awry as her pulse catapulted. ‘You weren’t even living at home when we moved to Deveson Hall.’

‘You’re telling me you masterminded this theft?’ His tone was sceptical. ‘I think not.’

‘You—’ her finger poked again ‘—aren’t in a position to know anything about me.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ Warm fingers closed around her hand so that suddenly she was no longer the aggressor but his captive. Tendrils of sensation curled up her arm and made her shiver. ‘I know quite a bit about you. I know you hated school, especially maths and science. You wanted to run away but felt you had to stick it out for your mother’s sake.’

Ravenna’s eyes widened. ‘You remember that?’ Her voice faded to a whisper. She’d assumed he’d long forgotten her teary confession the day he’d found her wallowing in teenage self-pity.

‘You hated being made to play basketball just because you were tall. As I recall you wanted to be tiny, blonde and one of five children, all rejoicing in the name of Smith.’

It was true. Living up to her mother’s expectations of academic and social success had been impossible, especially for an undistinguished scholar like Ravenna, surrounded by unsupportive peers who treated her as a perennial outsider. For years she’d longed, not to be ‘special’ but to blend in.

‘And you didn’t like the way one of the gardeners had begun to stare at you.’

Ridiculously heat flushed her skin. That summer she’d been a misfit, neither child nor adult. She hadn’t known what she wanted.

But she hadn’t minded when Jonas Deveson looked at her or, for one precious, fleeting moment, stroked wayward curls off her face.

Ravenna blinked. She wasn’t fifteen now.

‘You remember far more of that day than I do.’ Another lie. Two in one day had to be a record for her. Maybe if she kept it up she could even sound convincing.

Did she imagine a slight softening in those grey eyes?

No. Easier to believe she’d scored her dream job as a pastry chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant than that this steely man had a compassionate side.

‘You haven’t changed that much.’ His deep voice stirred something unsettling deep inside.

‘No? You didn’t even recognise me.’ She pulled back but he didn’t loosen his grip. He held her trapped.

For a moment fear spidered through her, till she reminded herself he had too much pride to force himself on an unwilling woman. His hold wasn’t sexual, it was all about power. The charged awareness was all on her side, not his.

She had no intention of analysing that. She had enough to worry about.

‘You’ve changed a lot.’ Her tone made it clear it wasn’t a compliment. At twenty-one he’d been devastatingly handsome but unexpectedly kind and patient. She’d liked him, even more than liked him in her naïve way.

Now he was all harsh edges, irascible and judgemental. What was there to like?

‘We’re not here to discuss me.’ His eyes searched hers. Stoically she kept her head up and face blank. Better to brazen out her claim than show a hint of doubt.

Yet inside she was wobbly as jelly. The past days had taken their toll as she saw how grief had ravaged her mother, making her seem frail. Ravenna had sent her away from the apartment so ripe with memories of Piers. She’d offered to pack up the flat and deal with the landlord, but even those simple tasks were a test of Ravenna’s endurance. Now this...

‘We’re here to discuss my money.’ Jonas’ fingers firmed around her. ‘The money stolen from my account.’

Ravenna swallowed hard at his unrelenting tone.

Just what was the penalty for theft and forgery?

* * *

Jonas felt her hand twitch in his.

A sign of guilt or proof she lied about being the one who’d ripped him off?

Her soft eyes were huge in her finely sculpted face, giving her an air of fragility despite her punk-short hair and belligerently angled chin.

Jonas wasn’t sentimental enough to let looks mar his decision-making. Yet, absurdly, he found himself hesitating.

He didn’t want to believe Ravenna guilty.

Far easier to believe her rapacious mother had organised this swindle. After years keeping his emotions bottled up he’d almost enjoyed the roaring surge of fury against his father’s mistress that had borne him across the channel in a red-misted haze.

But what bothered him most was the recognition he didn’t want it to be Ravenna because he remembered her devastating innocence and honesty years ago. He didn’t want to reconcile that memory with the knowledge she’d become a thief.

Jonas’ lips twisted. Who’d have thought he still had illusions he didn’t want to shatter? He’d been too long in the cut-throat business world to believe in the innate honesty of mankind. Experience had taught him man—and womankind were out for all they could get.

Why should this revelation be so unwelcome?

‘You say you wrote the cheques?’

Again that jerk of tension through her. Her pulse tripped against his palm and he resisted the absurd impulse to caress her there.

She nodded, the movement brief but emphatic.

‘How did you get access to the cheque book?’ Piers would have been canny enough to keep it close at hand, not lying around. ‘Were you living here with them?’

‘No, I—’ She paused and her gaze shifted away. Instinct told him she hid something. ‘But I visited. Often. My mother and I have always been close.’

That at least had the ring of truth. He remembered her misery in her teens, not simply because she hated school and the vicious little witches who made her life hell there, but because she didn’t want to disappoint her mother by leaving. She cared what her mother thought.

Enough to learn her mother’s ways in seeking easy money from a man? Had she modelled herself on Silvia?

The notion left a sour tang of disappointment on his tongue.

‘You’re hurting me!’

Jonas eased his grip, but didn’t let her go. He was determined to sort this out. Until then he’d keep her close.

‘Why did you need the money?’

Her eyebrows arched and she tilted her head as if to inspect him. As if he weren’t already close enough to see the rays of gold in the depths of her eyes.

‘You’re kidding, right?’ Her tone of insouciant boredom echoed the attitude of entitlement he’d heard so often among wealthy, privileged young things who’d never worked a day in their lives. Except something in her tone was ever so slightly off-key.

Suspicion snaked through him.

He pulled her closer, till her body mirrored his. He felt the tension hum through her. Good! He wanted her unsettled.

‘A girl needs to live, doesn’t she?’ This time there was an edge of desperation in her tone. ‘I’ve had...expenses.’

‘What sort of expenses? Even shopping at the top Parisian fashion houses wouldn’t have swallowed up all that money.’

Her gaze slid from his. ‘This and that.’

A cold, hard weight formed in the pit of Jonas’ belly. He was surprised to feel nausea well.

‘Drugs?’

She shook her head once, then shrugged. ‘Debts.’

‘Gambling?’

‘Why the inquisition? I’ve admitted I took your money. That’s all that matters.’ Her gaze meshed with his and a jagged flash of heat resonated through Jonas. It stunned him.

How could a mere look do that? It wasn’t even a sultry invitation but a surly, combative stare that annoyed the hell out of him.

Yet aftershocks still tumbled through his clenching belly and he found himself leaning closer, inhaling her warm cinnamon and hot woman scent.

This couldn’t be happening.

He refused to feel anything for the woman who’d stolen from him. Especially since she was Silvia Ruggiero’s daughter. The thought of that family connection was like a cold douche.

Deliberately he chose his next words to banish any illusion of closeness. ‘Why steal from me when Piers would have indulged a pretty young thing like you? I’m sure he’d have been amendable to private persuasion.’

‘You’re sick. You know that? Piers was with my mother. He had no interest in me.’ She drew herself up as if horrified. Either she was a brilliant actor or she drew the line at men old enough to be her father.

‘In my experience he wasn’t discriminating.’

Ravenna yanked her hand to free it from his grasp but Jonas wasn’t playing. He wrapped his other arm hard around her narrow back, drawing her up against him.

Just to keep her still, he assured himself.

It worked. With a stifled gasp she froze. Only the quick rise and fall of her breasts against his arm where he still held her hand revealed animation.

‘Speaking from personal experience, are you, Jonas?’ Her voice was all sneer. ‘What are you doing now? Copping a feel?’

His jaw ached with the effort to bite back a retort.

Unlike his father he’d never been a sucker for a pretty face and a show of cleavage. Sure, he appreciated a sexy woman. But he was discriminating, private in his affairs and loyal to whomever he was with. His intellect and his sense of honour took precedence over cheap thrills.

When he married there’d be no shady liaisons on the side, no whispered rumours and knowing looks to embarrass his family. None of the pain to which Piers had subjected them.

Jonas stared down at the firebrand who’d managed to tap into emotions he’d kept safely stowed for years. In one short interlude she’d cut through years of hard-won self-control so he teetered on the brink of spontaneous, uncharacteristic, dangerous action. He almost growled his fury and frustration aloud.

He wanted to lean down and silence her sassy mouth, force those lush lips apart and relieve some of his frustrated temper in steamy passion and a vibrant, accommodating woman.

She’d be receptive, despite that accusatory look. That was what made the idea so tempting. Ravenna might hate him for making her face what she’d done. But it wasn’t merely anger she felt for him—not by a long chalk.

‘Oh, I choose my women very carefully, Ravenna.’ His voice was a low, guttural burr. ‘And I never take anything from a woman that’s not offered freely.’

Dark satisfaction flared as he assessed her reaction with a knowing eye.

He read her rapid breathing and the flush that began at her cleavage and highlighted her cheeks. The way her tongue furtively slicked her lower lip. The indefinable scent of feminine arousal.

‘Really?’ Her breathless challenge didn’t convince. ‘Well, keep that in mind. I’m not offering you anything.’

Jonas was torn between wanting to kiss her senseless and wanting to put her over his knee. He leaned in a fraction and heard her soft exhale of breath. A sigh...of surrender or triumph?

Suddenly it hit him anew that he was in danger of succumbing to the allure of a Ruggiero female. Of an unprincipled thief who threw her crime in his teeth.

Who enticed with her soft body and tell-tale physical signals.

‘Is that so?’ he murmured, knowing he had her measure.

She’d use any tactic to thwart his retribution. Did she aim to play him for an easy mark, as her mother had targeted Piers?

The realisation stilled his impetuous need to taste her. Yet he couldn’t draw back. He was trapped by a hunger sharper and more potent than he’d known in years.

That infuriated him even more than the missing money. He burned with it, the fire in his belly white hot with a virulent mix of lust and self-disgust at his weakness.

Keeping one arm around her back, he released her hand and let his fingers drift. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, her eyes daring him to do his worst. Because she thought herself immune or because she assumed he wouldn’t rise to her challenge?

His fingers brushed her soft, high breast and moulded automatically to that sweet ripeness. The hard nub of her nipple pressed into his palm and arousal seared his groin. A spasm of something like electricity jerked through his body.

For a breath-stealing moment she stood rigid as if about to lambast him for groping. Her eyes widened in shock, then dropped in heavy-lidded invitation. Her lips parted on a silent sigh. A moment later she shifted, melting against him.

‘Tell me to stop and I will.’

He prayed she wouldn’t.

She opened her mouth but no sound emerged.

The weight of her in his palm, the press of her body, the heady sense of promise thickening the air between them, sapped his resolution.

He was ready to take her up on her unspoken invitation. His body was rock hard with a hunger that was all the stronger for being unexpected. Why not take a little something for himself after she’d taken so much from him? Clearly she expected it, wanted it, if the tremors in her pliant body were any indication.

But that smacked of history repeating itself. The little thief would think he kept his brain between his legs, as his father had when he’d run off with her mother, leaving his responsibilities behind.

Jonas couldn’t let Ravenna enjoy the illusion of triumph. He had too much pride.

He was nobody’s gullible mark.

As she’d learn to her cost.

Gently he squeezed her breast, just enough to elicit a delicate shudder in her fine-boned body and a throaty sigh of delight.

The hairs on his arms prickled and his blood rushed south at the sound of her pleasure. But he refused to respond to the urges of his suddenly intemperate body.

‘You like that, do you, Ravenna?’

Slitted now, her eyes had a glazed look that told its own story. She swallowed convulsively, drawing his attention to the slim length of her pale throat. The collar of her dark jacket sat loose, giving her an air of fragility at odds with the pulse of vibrant life he felt as she arched against him.

He’d pull back soon. In a moment. When he’d allowed himself a single taste...

Cinnamon and feminine spice filled his nostrils as he dipped his head, nudging aside her collar and nipping gently at the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met. She shook in his hold, her hand grasping his between them as if for support.

‘No. Please I—’

Her words cut abruptly as Jonas laved the spot, drawing in the sweet taste of her warm skin.

Too late he realised his error, as he angled his head hungrily for a better taste, pressing kisses up her arching throat, past the throbbing pulse to the neat angle of her jaw.

She was addictive. Scent or taste or the feel of silky soft flesh, or perhaps all three, had Jonas ignoring the voice of reason and losing himself in the moment. In the luxury of caressing Ravenna.

He’d never come across a woman who tempted him so easily.

Her free hand cupped his neck, holding him close, and he pulled her tight against him, enjoying the slide of her body as she bowed back to give him free rein.

He stroked his tongue along the scented skin behind her ear and had to tighten his hold when she slumped against him as if her knees had given way.

She was so responsive, inciting a surge of arousal that swamped all else. Blood roared in his veins, primal instinct taking over. His focus blurred, his mind racing frantically with the practicalities of getting her horizontal as soon as possible.

He nipped lightly at her ear lobe and she turned her head restlessly as if seeking his lips.

Triumph hummed through him as he pressed a kiss to the corner of her lush mouth.

One quick taste then he’d find that preposterous gilded sofa and treat them both to sexual release so intense it would shatter them. Already he was hard as a rock. Carrying her across the room would be torture but he wasn’t letting her go till he’d had his fill. Till they were both limp and the urgent hunger gnawing at his vitals was appeased.

His ears rang with the force of his blood rushing. He ignored it and tilted his head to take her mouth.

Except her eyes were open now and that dreamy expression had faded. Stark horror flared instead in those dark gold depths.

Jonas frowned. She wanted him. He knew it. He felt it with every muscle and sinew as she pressed herself against him. Yet—

The ringing sounded again. This time he realised it came from somewhere outside his head—the front door.

‘Let me go.’ Her voice was so hoarse he read her lips rather than heard her. Jonas blinked, trying to make sense of the abrupt shift in mood.

She pushed against him with both hands. ‘I said, let me go!’ Her gaze slid from his as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. Because he’d made her forget her little game of temptation? Because she’d been the victim of unexpected lust this time instead of the temptress?

Something soured his belly. Memory. Disillusionment. The realisation that despite his vaunted immunity he’d fallen hard and fast for what she offered: hot sex with a gold-digging opportunist.

Just like his father before him.

He released her so quickly she wobbled and he reached out a hand to steady her.

‘Saved by the bell,’ he murmured and watched heat flush her cheeks. Not for the life of him would he let her see how she’d knocked him for six. That was his private shame.

She knocked his hand away, rubbing her palm over the place he’d held her as if to erase his touch. But he wasn’t fooled by her show of antipathy. She’d lost control too. It was that latter truth that cut him to the core, tapping the long-dammed reservoir of fury so it finally broke free.

He watched her spin away from him, her steps uneven as she headed for the foyer. With each step he cursed himself for his weakness. He’d seen what she was. She’d told him. Yet he hadn’t been able to resist her.

‘If that was you being unaffected,’ he drawled, ‘I look forward to seeing what you’re like when you put a little effort into sex.’ He drew a slow breath, watching her stumble to a halt. ‘I was willing to test the waters to see how far you’d go. And I wasn’t disappointed.’

Her shoulders hunched but she didn’t turn around.

For a moment something like sympathy hovered. Jonas had a ridiculous urge to cross the room and pull her close to comfort her.

He shook his head.

What was it about Ravenna Ruggiero that got under his skin despite what she’d done?

Was there a family weakness after all? Something in the Deveson genes that made them putty in the grasping hands of the Ruggiero women?

He gritted his teeth against a howl of fury and, worse, disappointment that now he’d never have her in his arms again. He couldn’t trust himself with her. How sick was that?

He buried the knowledge behind a wall of disdain.

‘Do let me know, if you decide you have something to offer me after all. I might even consider being a little less discriminating just for the novelty of it.’

CHAPTER FOUR

RAVENNA STARED AT the mellow wood of the floor, wishing the old boards would part in a yawning void and suck her away into nothingness. Anything to escape the sarcastic lash of Jonas Deveson’s contempt.

As if she should be so fortunate! This past year there’d been no good luck in her life. Except the unexpected gift of the rest cure in Switzerland. But now it turned out that had an awful catch. An enormous debt to be paid.

And a big, ruthless debt collector to make sure she paid in blood.

She shivered, cold to the bone, yet her skin crawled with a clammy heat that matched the nausea twisting her insides. She fought it, refusing to be ill in front of him.

Could anything be more humiliating than this?

She felt sullied by him. It was far worse than facing a dressing-down by the head chef at work, whose explosive tirades were legend. As for the torments of her school years—they’d been nothing to this excruciating shame.

For this time every word was deserved. She’d behaved like some slut, eager for the touch of a man who despised her. For the first time she hadn’t behaved like the sensible, careful, self-contained woman she was.

She’d acted like a hormone-riddled stranger with no scruples or self-respect.

The doorbell rang again and she dragged herself into the foyer, propping herself against the wall with a shaking hand as she pressed the intercom.

‘Monsieur Giscard?’ The words were so faint she cleared her throat to try again. The response from below was garbled in ears that still thrummed with the pulse of arousal.

Nevertheless, she pressed the button to let the visitor in downstairs. Whoever it was, he couldn’t be more devastating than Jonas Deveson.

She felt his eyes on her. Her skin prickled and heat drilled her spine. She could pinpoint the exact place between her shoulder blades where that penetrating gaze scored her. If she found later that his laser-sharp gaze had scorched a hole in her jacket she wouldn’t be surprised.

Ravenna struggled to swallow the hard knot of emotion blocking her throat.

What had got into her to behave so utterly out of character?

Taking a deep breath, she tried to centre herself but instead inhaled the remnants of his tangy, hot citrus scent. It had impregnated her very pores.

Never in her life had attraction been like that—instantaneous and absolute. Consciously, to her thinking mind, there’d been no attraction—just fear and shock at his revelations, and a determination to divert his thunderous anger from her mother.

But something had happened when he’d touched her. Something unheralded.

She’d heard of animal attraction. She had some experience of desire.

But this... This had been a tsunami obliterating reason and doubt and anything like resistance. She’d stood like a rabbit spotlighted by a hunter, watching his eyes cloud with desire as he touched her. Excitement had stormed through her.

Part of her brain had screamed for her to move, to slap his hand away, but she’d stood, rooted to the spot, eager for more. When he’d bitten her neck in that delicate tasting, she’d gone up in flames.

How was it possible?

Brushing off male attention had never been hard. Yet she’d practically begged for more from him as carnal heat melted her insides and left her a quivering, pathetic wreck.

Where was her backbone? Her sense of self-preservation?

The doorbell rang and she stumbled forward. Her legs felt like melted wax and she fumbled at the door with shaking hands.

On the threshold stood a man of middle years, exquisitely dressed and sporting a rosebud in his lapel.

‘Mademoiselle Ruggiero?’ He pronounced her name with the softened consonants of the French.

‘Monsieur Giscard.’ She held out her hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. I appreciate you coming so quickly.’ She led him into the apartment, carefully keeping her gaze from the far side of the salon and Jonas’ watchful presence.

If she could she’d eject him from the premises, but he wouldn’t leave till he was good and ready. They had too much to discuss.

At least having the antiques expert here gave her something else to concentrate on, and a chance to regroup after that devastating embrace.

Despite her best intentions her gaze slid across the room to lock with eyes the colour of impenetrable mist. Jonas’ face was blank but his words echoed in her ears, making heat scorch her throat and cheeks.

Beside her the dapper Frenchman started forward eagerly, his arm outstretched as he introduced himself to Jonas Deveson. For a moment Ravenna thought the two must have met before but it appeared Monsieur Giscard simply recognised him from press reports.

Ravenna spun away on the ball of her foot. Jonas Deveson even managed to usurp the position of authority now, without trying. Her visitor was fawning over him like a long-lost son. Or a wealthy potential client.

‘I have an inventory of furnishings here, Monsieur Giscard.’ Reluctantly he turned towards her, and then nodded.

‘Perhaps, Mr Deveson, we could meet later today to conclude our discussion?’ She had a snowball’s chance in hell of fobbing him off but she had to try. The idea of him watching them trail around the apartment, sizing up her mamma’s possessions, made her skin crawl.

‘I think not, Ravenna.’ He deliberately dropped his voice to a pseudo caress on her name. To her consternation and shame she felt her skin tingle and her nipples harden.

It was as if she were programmed to respond sexually even to the cadence of his voice!

‘I’m afraid Monsieur Giscard and I will be busy for some time—’

‘Don’t let me disturb you.’ His open wave of the arm, as if graciously giving them permission to continue, made her grit her teeth. ‘I’m happy to wait.’

As if to emphasise his point he sank onto a gilded chair and nonchalantly crossed his legs, his hands palm down on the arms in a pose that screamed authority. His tall frame in that delicate chair should have looked ridiculous. Instead he looked...regal.

For a second Ravenna toyed with the idea of calling for the police to eject him as an unwanted intruder. Until she realised the police were the last people she wanted. Her mother’s crime loomed over her like a leaden storm cloud.

Fear sank talons deep into her vitals. This impossible situation could only get worse, given this man’s implacable thirst for vengeance. Her body stiffened, adrenalin surging and heart pounding in an unstoppable fight-or-flight response. Chaotic thoughts of disappearing out of the front door and not coming back raced through her brain.

But she couldn’t do it.

Ravenna was hardworking, dutiful, responsible. It was the way she was made, reinforced no doubt by watching her mother slave so long and hard to support them both.

Besides, if she disappeared, Jonas would go after Mamma.

Drawing a slow breath, she squared her shoulders. If there was one thing the last months had taught her it was that she had the power to endure more than she’d ever thought possible. She’d pay the debt somehow, save her mother from his destructive fury, then get on with her life.

‘As you wish. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.’ She shot him a dazzling smile and had the momentary pleasure of seeing him disconcerted. Then she turned to Monsieur Giscard, gesturing for him to precede her from the room. ‘I thought we might start in the study.’

* * *

Why Piers had needed a study was beyond Jonas. The old man hadn’t worked for years, merely living off what was left of his investments.

Jonas had been at the helm of what had begun as a Deveson family investment company. He’d cut the old man from his life and manoeuvred him from the business when he’d left and destroyed Jonas’ mother, never once expressing regret.

Shifting in the uncomfortable chair, he cast a scathing look around the room. It didn’t improve with familiarity. The few good pieces were overwhelmed by the clutter of showy ornamentation.

Piers had been a magpie, attracted by the bright and shiny, displaying his wealth in the most obvious way. That went especially for women.

Jonas raked his hand through his hair. Had Ravenna Ruggiero’s dismay been genuine when he’d suggested she should have used her feminine wiles to get money from Piers?

More important—what on earth had possessed him to touch her?

He was appalled by his reaction to her, but fascinated. He couldn’t remember being fascinated by anything other than an exciting investment opportunity in years.

Jonas shot to his feet, unwilling to sit on the sidelines.

He found them in a large room dominated by a massive desk. They were examining ornate snuffboxes.

‘This is a passably good piece. You might manage a hundred euros for it.’

The antique dealer, Giscard, had his back to the door so Jonas couldn’t see what he held. But Ravenna’s disappointment at the words was clear. Her shoulders slumped and her whole body sagged.

‘Really? I’d thought perhaps this at least might be worth more.’ Her voice had an edge of desperation.

Giscard turned and Jonas watched him hesitate, his brisk manner softening as he took in her barely concealed distress.

‘Well, perhaps a little more. I tend to err on the side of caution, Mademoiselle Ruggiero.’ He turned back to the item in his hands. ‘After a closer look I think it possible we could do better. If you like I can undertake the sale personally. I have some contacts who might be interested.’

‘Really?’ Ravenna’s eyes shone hopefully and she leaned towards him. ‘That would be wonderful, Monsieur Giscard.’ Her voice was soft with hope and Jonas felt his skin contract as if she’d brushed her fingertips over him.

He clenched his jaw, furious yet intrigued at the power of that throaty voice.

‘It is the least I can do in the sad circumstances.’ The dealer moved closer as if drawn by her tremulous smile. ‘Perhaps, in the circumstances, you should call me Etienne.’

Jonas’ grip tightened on the doorjamb as the pair continued their conversation, oblivious to his presence.

Distaste was a pungent note on his tongue as he watched the older man respond to Ravenna’s artful show of vulnerability. That was what it was, he realised, his lips thinning in a grim smile.

The woman who’d made such a point of confronting him with her crime was no innocent. She was brazen and unrepentant.

From the moment she’d revealed her identity, flouncing about the astronomically expensive apartment as if it were hers, he’d wondered why she’d dressed as she had. The dark trouser suit was tailored but it hung on her, making her look like a child dressing up, especially with the gamine haircut accentuating her exquisitely pared features and huge eyes.

There’d been nothing childlike about her when he’d caressed her. She’d been all needy woman. Yet with her navy jacket hanging loose around her neck, she exuded an air of fragility that intrigued him.

Now he knew why. That vulnerability, enhanced by the sedate cut of clothes that hinted at mourning, was a deliberate act to aid her dealings with the antique dealer.

Look at Giscard! He ate her up with his eyes, like a dog slavering after a bone.

She’d prepared carefully for the interview to play on the Frenchman’s sympathies.

And Jonas had doubted she was capable of thieving!

She was as conniving and dangerous as her mother.

More so. He remembered Silvia as having a blatant sensuality that made her stand out like a Mediterranean sex goddess with her flashing eyes, swinging hips and earthy laugh. But her daughter... He narrowed his eyes as he watched the woman so easily manipulating the Frenchman. She had an arresting face, the sort of eyes that a less pragmatic man could lose himself in, and a body that, though slim, made him want to haul her close and discover its secrets.

But there was more. An aura of banked passion and quick intelligence that melded into something that drew him at the most primitive, male level.

He wanted her.

The realisation hit him a solid blow to the belly.

He didn’t like or admire her. She was the sort of woman he’d learnt to despise.

And still he wanted her.

He dragged in a deep breath, ignoring the anticipation fizzing his blood at the thought of bedding Ravenna Ruggiero.

It wasn’t going to happen. His standards were higher than that.

Instead he would make her pay for what she’d done. He’d make sure she learned the value of the money she’d taken, and when he’d finished with her she’d understand the value of hard work too. She’d repay her debt in full. There’d be no easy escape if she tried batting those long eyelashes at him.

There’d be no police, no trial. He’d looked forward to branding his father’s mistress publicly as a thief. But for reasons he didn’t want to investigate, that didn’t seem appropriate now Ravenna had revealed herself as the culprit.

Yes, he could throw her to the mercy of the courts. But having seen her, touched her, he wanted a much more personal recompense.

She’d stolen his money but the insult carved deeper than the loss of mere money, which, after all, was easily replaced.

Jonas told himself his decision had nothing to do with the heat haze of desire still drenching his skin as he watched her flirt with another man.

Or the feeling she’d somehow bested him in their first confrontation even though he held all the winning cards in this contest.

For there was a contest. Of wills. Of strength and, above all, of pride.

Somehow she’d breached the fortress he’d long ago built around his emotions. He was disappointed to discover she’d gone the way of her mother, intent on easy money rather than working for it like any decent woman. He’d expected better of her. It was as if she’d betrayed his memory of her.

His lips twisted as he reviewed his decision to give her a chance to avoid a criminal record. It was almost altruistic of him. Facing the consequences of her crime in the form of hard work might be the making of her.

Jonas’ eyes narrowed as she batted those lush lashes at the besotted Frenchman. Something cold and sharp solidified in his belly.

No matter what the outcome, he looked forward to collecting on his debt.

* * *

‘Now these,’ purred Monsieur Giscard, ‘are in a different class altogether.’ He stood in front of a cabinet displaying a collection of old glassware.

‘Really?’ Ravenna stepped closer, her hopes rising. So far they’d come across little that could be sold to pay off Mamma’s debts, let alone set her up with a nest egg for the future. ‘You think they may be valuable?’

She had little expectation of finding anything to cover the money her mother had taken from Jonas Deveson’s account but scraping together enough to pay Mamma’s immediate bills would be an enormous relief.

‘I need to examine them properly, but this appears to be a fine collection of early glassware.’ He paused, excitement lighting his face. ‘Really, a very fine collection...’ His voice trailed as he bent to view a goblet with a long, thick stem of twisted glass.

Ravenna held her breath as he opened the cabinet and reached for the goblet.

‘I’m afraid those pieces aren’t for sale.’ The deep voice came from just behind her and she jumped. She hadn’t heard Jonas Deveson approach.

‘Do you have to sneak up like that?’ As soon as the words snapped out she regretted them, seeing his raised brows and knowing smirk. Maybe it was petty given the enormity of what lay between them, but she’d rather not reveal how thoroughly he unsettled her.

He didn’t answer, instead turning to Monsieur Giscard, who held the glass cradled reverentially in his hands.

‘C’est magnifique!’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Before Ravenna could stop him Jonas reached out and took it from the Frenchman, holding it up to the light for a moment, before putting it back in the cabinet and shutting the door. ‘But it’s not for sale.’

‘Now look here—!’

He cut her off as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘It seems this inventory of yours is flawed.’ He took the clipboard from her and glanced down at it. Before Ravenna had the presence of mind to snatch it back he’d taken a gold pen from a pocket and begun slashing lines through her list.

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