do you care who I sleep with, anyway?’
‘I don’t. I have absolutely no interest in your bedtime activities.’
‘No?’ Dante’s eyes narrowed speculatively on her face. He could feel the vibes of tension emanating from her and his curiosity was aroused. He knew very little about her, he realised. She had told him a few basic facts, such as that she had grown up on her family’s farm in North Wales and had trained as a chef at a hotel in a town with an unpronounceable name. But he knew nothing about her personal life. He’d seen no evidence that she had a boyfriend, yet why would a young and attractive woman choose to be single?
‘Maybe you’re jealous,’ he suggested idly. He was still annoyed with her, and had made the comment with the deliberate intention of riling her. But her reaction surprised him.
‘Of course I’m not jealous,’ she snapped. ‘What a ridiculous idea. I want more from a relationship than to be a rich man’s plaything.’
‘I don’t get any complaints from my playthings,’ Dante drawled. He knew he was being unfair to tease her, but he could not deny a certain satisfaction as he watched the rosy flush on her face deepen to scarlet. He wondered if she was a prude. She certainly dressed like a woman determined to quash any hint of her sensuality.
Occasionally he had found himself imagining unbuttoning her, literally, and removing her shapeless chef’s jacket.
With a derisive shake of his head, he dismissed his inappropriate thoughts. He leaned his hip against the kitchen table and crossed his arms over his chest while he debated how he was going to deal with the situation that had arisen between them. He did not want to terminate her employment, but she would have to understand that he had every right to live his life the way he chose.
‘I don’t want to know about your love life.’ Rebekah shoved her recipes back into their folder, praying Dante would not notice that her hands were trembling. She sensed he was still angry and she felt sick inside as she waited for him to dismiss her from her job.
‘Then in future don’t pass judgement on how I choose to live my life,’ he growled.
Dante stared at her stiff shoulders and felt a sudden urge to pull the pins from her hair and release it from its tight knot on top of her head. He sighed, his temper cooling as quickly as it had flared.
‘I’m going to forget what happened tonight on the understanding that you won’t interfere in my personal affairs again. You said you had prepared a meal for two?’
Relief swept through Rebekah when she realised that Dante did not seem about to sack her. ‘Yes, but I can freeze the spare portion.’
‘I have a better idea. You can join me for dinner.’ The steely glint in his eyes warned her against arguing with him. ‘This is a good opportunity for us to get to know one another. I’ve been involved in a difficult divorce case in recent weeks and haven’t taken the time to check if you’ve settled in. Now is your chance to tell me if you have any problems.’
WHAT would Dante’s response be, Rebekah wondered, if she revealed that the only problem she had was when he strolled into the breakfast room at weekends, wearing nothing more than a black robe? On weekdays he was always dressed in one of his superbly tailored suits, and quickly gulped down coffee and toast as he skimmed through case notes. But on weekends he enjoyed a cooked breakfast and spent a leisurely hour reading the newspapers.
The first morning that she had been faced with his half-naked body, his hair damp from the shower and his jaw covered in dark stubble that added to his sex appeal, her heart had slammed against her ribs. Even now, the memory of his long tanned legs, and the mass of crisp dark chest hairs revealed when the front of his robe gaped slightly, evoked a molten sensation in the pit of her stomach.
She dared not look at him and quickly turned away to open the oven. ‘If you go through to the dining room, I’ll bring the food in.’
Minutes later, she pushed the serving trolley into the dining room and halted when she saw Dante’s angry expression.
He stared at the table, set with candles and roses that she had picked from the garden. ‘If I ever want you to play cupid, I’ll let you know,’ he said sarcastically. ‘What were you thinking of?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Did Alicia put you up to it, and ask you to arrange for her to have a romantic dinner with me?’
‘No, I just thought …’ Rebekah’s voice tailed away. It was impossible to explain that she had hoped Dante’s relationship with Alicia Benson was serious. If he was in a committed relationship then she would have to accept that her own attraction to him was pointless, she had reasoned. And instead of wasting time fantasising about him, she would get over her ridiculous infatuation.
She tore her eyes from Dante’s handsome face, hating herself for the ache of longing she could not suppress. ‘I’ll take the flowers away,’ she muttered as she set his dinner in front of him.
‘You may as well leave them. Sit down and eat your food before it gets cold,’ he said tersely when she leaned across the table to pick up the vase of roses. ‘Do you need to wear your apron while we’re eating?’
‘Sorry!’ Rebekah’s voice was as curt as his as she reached behind her to unfasten the apron. She tugged it off and dropped it onto the chair beside her.
She sat down and stared at her plate of Thai chicken. While it had been cooking it had smelled so tempting that she had decided to forget her diet for one night and have some. But she hadn’t expected Dante to ask her to eat with him—well, he had ordered, not asked, she thought, feeling infuriated by his arrogance. Sometimes she wondered why she was so attracted to him, but a quick glance at his handsome profile caused her heart to slam against her ribs. Every nerve-ending in her body seemed to be finely attuned to him and she felt so tense that the idea of swallowing food seemed impossible.
Dante leaned back in his chair and studied Rebekah. Today had been full of surprises, he mused. There had been that strange incident at the christening party when she had practically recoiled from James Portman’s baby, and then her puzzling behaviour regarding his ex-mistress. And now, for the first time since he had known her, she was not dressed in her chef’s jacket but had changed into a plain white T-shirt that moulded her breasts. Her curvaceous figure was a pleasant surprise.
To his shock, he felt his body stir as a hot flood of desire swept through him. It was a predictable male reaction to the feminine form, he told himself. Perhaps it was the Italian blood in him that made him find a woman with full breasts and shapely hips more attractive than the current fashion to be stick-thin and bony.
He cleared his throat. ‘Would you like red or white wine?’
‘Oh, I won’t have any, thanks.’ Rebekah grimaced. ‘I’m really hopeless with alcohol. Half a glass of wine is all it takes to make me drunk.’
‘Is that so?’ Dante found himself picturing his chef after she’d had a couple of glasses of wine—all bright eyes, flushed cheeks and discarded inhibitions. He poured himself a glass of Chianti. ‘Getting drunk doesn’t sound a bad idea after having to deal with Alicia’s unacceptable behaviour,’ he said grimly.
‘Don’t you ever worry that you’ll end up alone and lonely? Surely even playboys grow bored of sleeping
