Henderson, this is Cesare Urquart. He is the reason the school enjoys the connections with local businesses you were so complimentary about.’
Anna was so flustered she barely recalled her name, let alone the comment she had made earlier.
‘Mr Urquart.’ Relieved she sounded relatively sane despite her temporary but dramatic hormone imbalance, Anna tipped her head back and in the process found herself on the receiving end of a penetrating and distinctly chilly stare.
‘Anna was also very impressed by our green credentials.’ The older man appeared oblivious to the weird undercurrents—did that mean it was all in her head?
Her hand on the door handle, she paused as he added, ‘It is thanks to Cesare’s generosity and foresight that the school not only produces enough electricity for itself but sells it back to the grid. There was talk at one point of the school closing like so many other small schools before Cesare took a personal interest.’
There was a pause, and Anna knew a response was expected. So she nodded and made an admiring noise in the back of her throat, but would it kill the man to smile?
‘I have a personal interest.’
The woman on the panel spoke up. ‘And how is little Jasmine? We have all missed her, Killaran.’
‘Bored.’
So rich and influential Mr Urquart—or Killaran?—appeared to be a parent. Presumably with the child came a wife and mother who was his glamorous female equivalent? Rich incomers who had bought their way into the hearts of the locals? Her cynicism allowed room for the possibility their motives might be totally altruistic. Either way she knew there were many small schools under threat of closure who would have envied the village their rich benefactor. It was just sad that they needed one.
‘Miss Henderson.’ Cesare Urquart took a step her way and her grip on the door handle tightened. She was forced to tilt her head back to meet his eyes and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other feeling more like an errant schoolgirl than a prospective headmistress. ‘I must apologise for my late arrival.’
He didn’t sound sorry, and the smile that he gave did not reach his spectacular eyes. Anna was receiving the strong unspoken message that this disturbingly handsome man did not like her. Fair enough, she didn’t particularly like him. She returned his smile with one of equal insincerity. She might not have been as good an actor as he was because she saw a flash in his eyes before she brought her lashes down in a protective shield.
‘You have no objection if I ask you a little about yourself?’ he asked. Like wrecked any marriages recently?
Of course he knew the answer. Women like her rarely changed; they sailed through life leaving a trail of destruction in their selfish wake.
‘Of course not,’ Anna lied as Cesare Urquart shrugged off the dark cashmere overcoat he wore to reveal an elegant grey suit and a body that appeared to consist of solid muscle. She was shocked to feel desire clutch low in her belly and averted her shamed stare, focusing hard on her steepled fingers pressed together until her knuckles went white.
She had to get a grip—the atmosphere had definitely changed.
Cesare had walked into the room, seen a beautiful woman and felt a visceral stab of attraction that hadn’t diminished even after he had recognised her and experienced a deluge of outraged anger. Anger so extreme that he had literally been a reckless breath away from confronting her right there, outing her in front of the panel.
Fortunately the shock had flattened out, though not the testosterone-fuelled heat in his belly. Hormones were indiscriminate things; however, he was not. He had not allowed his hormones to rule him since he was a schoolboy.
He firmly believed a man could not be in control of any situation unless he was in control of himself. Cesare liked to be in control.
Like any other situation, this one needed a cool, analytical approach. When he applied this rule two things were clear to him: she was the last woman on the planet equipped with the moral authority to be a head teacher, and she had won over the interview panel.
And to be fair, had he been meeting her for the first time, even with his razor-sharp instincts for reading people, he might not have guessed that a first-class immoral bitch hid behind the angelic face. Even given his insider knowledge it was a struggle to reconcile what he knew her to be capable of with the guileless, quite disturbingly direct bright blue stare.
He did not allow the seeds of doubt to take hold; neither did he doubt his ability to convince the other panel members, help them see beyond the sexy librarian suit and the smile, that she was the wrong person for the job. He would be totally impartial while he gave her the chance to prove it for him.
As he took his seat behind the long table his attention was drawn to the gleaming top of her head. On the occasion when he had last seen her his attention had been captured, not by this woman’s colouring, but what she had been doing, namely publicly devouring the face of his married best friend!
Even with his attention on other things, under the subdued lights of the restaurant her hair, cut into a sleek jaw-length style, had been definably auburn. But under the harsh, unforgiving electric light of this room, grown long enough now to twist into a neat knot that revealed the long, smooth curve of her throat, it shone as bright as flame, rich, dramatic, glossy copper interwoven with threads of bright gold.
Paul always had had a thing for redheads—some had even been natural—but he had married a blonde and despite this woman’s attempts to wreck that marriage he still was.
Cesare continued to study the face of the woman who had almost cost his friend his marriage and felt desire as indiscriminate as it was strong twist in his belly.
He could recognise his response, see it for what it was: a primal male reaction to a beautiful woman. Paul hadn’t, but then his friend always had been a hopeless romantic, frequently making the classic mistake of confusing sex with love.
The night in question Paul had followed him out of the restaurant, catching him up as he was about to get in his car. ‘It isn’t what you think.’
Cesare had not responded to his friend’s breathless opening statement. It was not his place to give the approval Paul clearly sought, though why a grown man would need it mystified Cesare.
‘You won’t say anything to Clare? All right, sorry, sorry, I know you wouldn’t.’
Slamming the door of his car, Cesare had turned back to his friend... How could an intelligent man be so stupid? ‘Someone will tell her, though—you must see that. You were hardly being discreet.’
‘I know, I know, but it’s Rosie’s birthday and I wanted to take her somewhere nice. She’s incredible and so beautiful...’
It appeared not to have occurred to Paul that it would suit his mistress if his wife found out and Paul was pushed to make a choice. She must be very confident, Cesare realised.
Backed up against his car, Cesare had adopted a folded-arm stance. It cut down on the temptation to grab his friend by the throat and demand to know what the hell he thought he was playing at, while Paul had given in to the need to unburden himself.
The less Cesare had said, the more Paul had confided in way too much detail. Reading between the lines a picture did emerge and it was a
