her ruthlessly, ignoring the curious tug in his gut when he saw her stricken expression. ‘A word of advice—if you don’t want to be kissed, say it like you mean it. Otherwise the coming month that we’re going to be spending together in Tuscany could get very tedious.’
‘Tuscany?’ Rebekah queried shakily.
‘It’s written in your contract that I might occasionally want you to accompany me to Italy and carry out your duties as my cook at my home near Siena. I intend to spend the whole of July in Tuscany—’ he paused and gave her a glittering look ‘—and I will require your services.’
He made her sound like a hooker, Rebekah thought furiously. She welcomed her spurt of temper. Anything was better than the numb sense of shame she had felt after the way she had responded to him.
‘I don’t want to go with you. You can’t make me.’
He shrugged. ‘No. But if you refuse, I can, as I have already mentioned, make it difficult for you to find another job.’
How on earth had she fooled herself into thinking he had a softer side? She must have imagined the element of tenderness she’d thought she had sensed when he had made love to her last night. Had sex with her, she amended. There had been nothing loving about it. She was infuriated by his arrogance and more than anything she wished she could tell him to go to hell.
But the stark truth was that she had no choice but to honour the terms of her contract. She would have to accompany him to Tuscany if she was to have any hope of finding a job in the future, Rebekah acknowledged heavily. She did not want to risk Dante ruining her chance of working for Gaspard Clavier.
She lifted her chin and said with cool dignity, ‘Very well, I will work out my month’s notice in Tuscany. But I want to make it clear that I will go there on a strictly professional basis as your chef.’
‘Is that so?’ Dante reached out and idly wound a strand of her long hair around his finger, but his indolent air was deceptive and the feral gleam in his eyes sent a frisson of nervous excitement down her spine.
Before she could guess his intention, he gripped the hem of her shirt and whipped it over her head.
‘How dare you?’ Breathing hard, her temper boiling over, Rebekah’s hand flew to his face. But he caught her wrist before she could strike him and held her firmly while he moved his other hand behind her and deftly unfastened her bra so that her breasts spilled free.
‘You are gorgeous.’
Dante’s voice dropped to a husky growl that caused the tiny hairs on Rebekah’s body to stand on end. She realised as she watched the sudden flare of colour on his cheekbones that he was no more in control of the situation than she was. And somehow that made her feel better, made her less ashamed of her attraction to him, because although she hated herself for her weakness she could not deny her longing for him to make love to her again.
He stroked her nipples and rolled them between his fingers until they hardened and tingled. ‘Stop fighting me, mia bellezza, and let me make love to you,’ he murmured, his breath warm on her skin, his tongue darting out to lick one tight bud so that it swelled in urgent response.
A quiver of anticipation ran through Rebekah. But, as Dante trailed a line of kisses along her collarbone, she was conscious of a different, altogether more unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach. She knew the headache she’d woken with was her body’s reaction to the alcohol she had unwittingly consumed at the party, and now a feeling of nausea swept over her.
‘Dante …’ she muttered, turning her head away as he was about to claim her mouth.
‘No more games, cara.’ He did not try to hide his impatience.
‘I’m not playing games,’ she gasped, fighting the churning sensation inside her. ‘I’m going to be sick.’
With a strength born of desperation, she pulled out of his arms and flew out of the kitchen and down the stairs to her apartment on the basement level.
Ten minutes later, she emerged from her bathroom to find Dante sitting on the end of her bed.
‘That’s not the reaction I usually get from women,’ he said drily.
‘Please go away.’ A glance in the mirror told her she looked even worse than she felt and the knowledge compounded her humiliation. She was just thankful she had pulled her dressing gown around her half-naked body.
Dante stood up from the bed as she sank weakly onto it, but he remained in the room, looking unfairly gorgeous with a shadow of dark stubble shading his jaw and his hair falling onto his brow. His eyes narrowed on her white face and there was a faint note of concern in his voice.
‘Are you ill?’
Rebekah shook her head wearily. ‘No, I just react badly to alcohol, even small amounts. I wasn’t drunk last night.’ She flushed as she recalled how Dante had insisted she had known exactly what she was doing when she had slept with him. ‘But my body sometimes reacts badly to alcohol, and I’ll continue being sick until all traces of it have gone.’
She had barely finished speaking when another wave of nausea sent her running back into the en suite bathroom. It was so unglamorous—she couldn’t imagine what Dante must think of her. On the plus side, she thought as the sickness finally passed and she splashed her face with cold water, she had probably killed his desire for her stone-dead. Surely he wasn’t seriously expecting her to go to Tuscany with him?
When she staggered back to the bedroom she saw that he had placed a jug of water by the bed and drawn back the covers.
‘You had better try and sleep it off. How long do you think it will be before the sickness passes and you can travel?’
‘I expect I’ll be fine in twenty-four hours,’ she admitted wearily.
Dante unearthed her nightdress from beneath her pillow and handed it to her. ‘Come on, get into bed,’ he urged, frowning when she simply stood there.
‘I’ll get changed once you’ve gone,’ she muttered, faint colour stealing into her white face.
‘It’s a bit late now for modesty,’ he said drily, but he turned around and she quickly slipped off her dressing gown and trousers and pulled the nightgown over her head.
‘Can I get you anything? Something to eat, perhaps?’ he asked, walking back over to the bed.
Rebekah grimaced as the queasy sensation returned when she lay down. ‘Not in this lifetime,’ she said with feeling.
‘Poor cara.’
She tensed as Dante drew the bedcovers over her. The unexpected note of tenderness in his voice was the last straw. She hadn’t expected him to be kind. She felt weak and wobbly and silly tears filled her eyes. The prospect of spending a month in Tuscany with him filled her with foreboding. How would she cope with her infatuation with him, especially now that she knew he was every bit the dream lover of her fantasies? Of course she did not have to sleep with him, her common sense pointed out. He couldn’t force her to. But the shameful truth was that he would not need to. He only had to kiss her and she turned to putty in his arms.
‘Please don’t insist on me working out my notice,’ she
