bet you’re being quoted a crazy figure for the clean-up because the firm knows you can afford it.’
Rafaello surveyed her with sardonic cool. ‘Glory…it takes highly trained professionals to repair valuable antiques and restore damaged plasterwork. That kind of expertise comes at a premium charge.’
Feeling very foolish, feeling all the confused embarrassment of someone who had not a clue about the care of antiques, Glory subsided and set off doggedly on another tack. ‘I feel awful that we can’t offer you any financial compensation—’
‘I feel awful that sentencing tearaway teenagers to thirty lashes has gone out of fashion,’ Rafaello imparted very drily. ‘But the return of the snuff box that was removed from the drawing-room might…just might persuade me not to prosecute your brother.’
Glory had gone very still. ‘Something was—er—taken? But why didn’t the police mention that to Sam yesterday?’
‘They weren’t aware of it until this morning when I realised that it was missing,’ Rafaello explained grimly. ‘The snuff box is tiny and would’ve been easily slipped into a pocket.’
‘A snuff box?’ Glory parrotted weakly, aghast at the news that an item of value might have been stolen from the Park, for that was an infinitely more serious offence.
‘German, eighteenth century, made of gold and covered with precious stones. It will be virtually impossible to replace,’ Rafaello outlined.
Glory parted her taut lips. ‘How much is it worth?’
‘About sixty grand.’
Glory tried and failed to swallow. ‘Sixty thousand…pounds?’
‘I have excellent taste—’
‘And you think it’s been stolen?’ Glory exclaimed. ‘I mean, have you searched? Are you sure?’
‘I would not have reported it to the police otherwise. It puts rather a different complexion on your touching portrayal of bored teenagers with nowhere to go and nothing to do, and I have every intention of pressing charges on the score of that theft.’
Her lips bloodlessly compressed and her knees wobbling, Glory sank down almost clumsily into the seat she had vacated mere minutes before. ‘No way would Sam have stolen anything—’
‘Someone did.’
Her head felt as if it was going round and round. The situation was even worse than she had realised. There had been around twenty teenagers at that impromptu party. Any one of them could have lifted something small without attracting attention. A tiny box worth sixty thousand pounds? She felt physically sick. Sam having let himself into the huge house to throw a party for his drunken friends had been serious enough…but theft as well?
‘Obviously you’re planning to press charges against Sam and you have no intention of changing your mind about dismissing my dad.’ Glory could see that she had no hope of dissuading him on either count now.
‘Did you think I would be so overwhelmed by your fabulous face and body that I would write it all off for old times’ sake?’ Rafaello murmured softly and smoothly but she felt his contempt right down into her bones and recoiled from it.
‘No…but I had to try to reason with you,’ she stressed shakily, looking up to encounter hard dark eyes with a shocking sense of betrayal. She could neither bear nor yet accept how low she had sunk in his estimation. ‘My father and my brother deserve to be in trouble for being stupid but you’re talking about wrecking their lives. Dad’s got no fancy gardening qualifications and he won’t get another job at his age. All because of this snuff box going missing? What do you need with a stupid box costing that much anyway?’
‘Beautiful things give me pleasure,’ Rafaello admitted without hesitation.
‘Is there anything I can say or do…?’ Glory demanded feverishly.
‘You’re asking me to advise you on how to change my mind?’ Rafaello slung her a sardonic appraisal and then he vented a husky laugh. ‘What have you got to offer me in return?’
‘Undying gratitude?’ Glory suggested without much hope.
‘Something for nothing is not my style. Perhaps you should appeal to my baser instincts. Let me think. What do I want that you can give me?’ Rafaello rested dark deep-set eyes that were shimmering with glints of awakening on her taut seated figure. ‘Only one thing. Sex.’
CHAPTER TWO
SEX? What sort of a crack was that to make? Glory released a nervous laugh. Eyes very wide and blue pinned to him, she muttered unevenly, ‘You don’t mean that…you don’t mean that like it sounds.’
‘Don’t I? I’m the guy you sold out for a derogatory five grand. You’ll never convince me that moral standards are a subject likely to keep you awake at night,’ Rafaello murmured in a hypnotically quiet undertone that rasped down her taut spine like sandpaper on silk. ‘So what about it, Glory?’
‘What about what?’ Glory snapped half an octave higher, still refusing to credit that he could actually mean what he was saying and springing restively upright again. She pushed back a straying strand of honey-blonde hair from her brow in a defensive movement. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’
‘A joke? Far from it. You should be flattered.’ Lounging at his ease, Rafaello gazed steadily back at her. ‘I’m offering to whisk you off the factory floor and install you in my bed while at the same time allowing your useless male relatives off the hook. Now if that’s not generous, what is?’
‘You’re just saying this stuff to humiliate me because you don’t like me—’
‘Glory…I don’t need to like or respect you to want you under me, over me and any other way I can think of having you,’ Rafaello countered with level cool, his unapologetic bluntness in delineating that earthy reality shattering what few illusions she still retained.
‘How can you talk to me like this?’ Glory demanded half under her breath, her damp hands clenching into fists by her sides.
‘Don’t knock the lust factor when it can work to your advantage. Even dressed as you are now, you’re gorgeous.’ Rafaello ran brilliant dark golden eyes over the full swell of her breasts below the sweater, let his meaningful scrutiny of her charms slide to the pronounced curve of her hips below her tiny waist and then lower still.
She stood there with her face burning. She felt that unashamedly male appraisal like a flame of sexual contempt singeing her sensitive skin. But, worst of all, she was experiencing sensations she had almost forgotten she could feel. That enervating little tightening frisson of physical response low in her pelvis, the mortifying sensation of liquid heat between her clenching thighs.
‘I don’t want to hear any more!’ she gasped, spinning away from him, sucking in a stark breath, fighting to stop her body reacting to the erotic buzz in the atmosphere, to him.
‘But the more I contemplate the possibilities, the more I warm up to the idea, cara,’ Rafaello confided huskily. ‘Straightforward sex. An honest agreement, free of all those restrictive relationship complexities. I keep you…and you please me.’
‘You
