The Cost of Her Innocence Page 4

  * * *

  Dante Cannavaro, with a face like thunder, walked into his office on Monday morning, sat down at his desk and contacted the security firm he used when a delicate investigation was needed for a client.

  Minutes later he lounged back in his black leather chair, his mind not on work but fixated on a tall redhead. He had put the wheels in motion to find out exactly who Beth Lazenby was, and if there was anything suspicious about her he would deal with her appropriately.

  Miss Lazenby had already messed up his weekend and a hell of a lot more—including his plans for the future. He had taken Ellen back to her apartment on Saturday night, but had not joined her in bed because she had obviously drunk too much. Ellen had taken offence, blaming Dante for taking her to Tony’s party in the first place, and not taking her out to dinner. She had accused Dante of being arrogant and uncaring and of eyeing up another woman in her presence—namely Beth. She had claimed that he did not love her and had used a lot of words he had never thought she knew. The argument had culminated in Ellen calling the wedding off and throwing her ring at him as he had exited her apartment.

  Dante had returned home in a foul mood, and had then spent a restless night with the image of a flame-haired woman plaguing his mind and his body. He’d had to remind himself that he had gotten over the urge to bed every desirable woman he met years ago. Yet he was still convinced that he knew Beth.... But how and from where he had no idea—and that was his problem.

  Dante was as frustrated as hell, thanks to the redheaded witch, and he was damn sure he was not going to let her mess up Tony’s life. He glanced at his watch. He had a flight booked to New York at noon, and he expected to be there for a few weeks at least. He called his driver to pick him up and got to his feet, a ruthless gleam in his dark eyes.

  When he returned to England, whatever the outcome of his enquiries, he would take great pleasure in dealing with Beth Lazenby personally. There was no way she was marrying Tony! Just the thought of being faced with Beth as his brother’s wife at every family gathering for the rest of his life was enough to make him shudder.

  About to get in the car, he stopped and took his cell phone from his pocket and called Tony, realising his younger brother was impulsive enough to marry the woman without a second thought. Proof or not, it was his brotherly duty to warn Tony of his suspicions for his own good

  ‘Dante—to what do I owe this honor?’ Tony answered. ‘You rarely call me—and never during working hours.’

  ‘I want to let you know Ellen and I have split up. The wedding is cancelled and I am going to America for a while.’

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t say I’m surprised. In fact I told Beth I was amazed you’d got engaged in the first place. Why settle for one when you can take your pick, bro?’

  Dante heard his chuckle and grimaced. ‘Yes, well, I’ve learned my lesson. But knowing how impulsive you can be, I thought I should warn you in case you make the same mistake.’

  ‘Warn me? That sounds ominous.’

  ‘Not ominous, just cautious... I’ve met Beth’s type before—a beautiful woman who probably knows your father owns a bank and is as interested in money as she is in you.’ Dante heard Tony laugh out loud and gritted his teeth. His brother never took anything seriously.

  ‘Ah, Dante, you really are too serious to be believed. As for Beth—I really couldn’t care less if she knows Dad owns a bank or not. You’ve met her. She is absolutely gorgeous! Do you honestly think I, or any other red-blooded male who was lucky enough to have Beth in his bed, would give a damn about the money? You must really be getting old, Dante, but don’t worry—I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.... Ciao.’ And, still laughing, he clicked off.

  Dante slipped his phone back into his pocket, feeling a complete idiot. Tony’s parting shot did worry him, and as he got into the car, his lips twisting wryly, he acknowledged that his brother’s assessment of the male of the species where Beth Lazenby was concerned was probably correct.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WAS A blazing-hot day, and Beth’s carefully straightened hair was already beginning to wave in the heat as she searched the kitchen one more time.

  ‘Got you!’ she cried triumphantly and, cradling Binkie in her arms, she carried him into the hall and closed the kitchen door with her hip. Finally she was ready to go. Her luggage was loaded into the boot of her car, and had been for hours, but Binkie was not. It was a five-hour drive to Devon, and she had planned on leaving at one. It was now three, but with luck she would easily make it before dark.

  She eyed the cat carrier standing open in the hall. Binkie hated travelling, which was why she had spent ages trying to coax him out from under the kitchen units, after having chased him around the garden and the apartment. Now all she had to do was put him in the carrier and they could go.

  Beth had given in her notice at work on Monday and, with the three weeks’ holiday she had yet to take, did not need to return to the office. She had spoken to Tony last night, but had not mentioned she was leaving permanently. She intended to do that when she came back to clear her apartment. Tony had promised to keep an eye on the place, and had also told her his brother’s engagement was off. Dante had gone to work in America for a while, conveniently escaping the flak from their mother over the cancelled wedding. She had already bought a hat!

  Tony’s news had been music to Beth’s ears, and she’d realised she had probably worried unnecessarily. But she was pleased that Dante’s appearance in her life again had focused her mind and forced her to make a decision. Now, sun, sea and a new chapter in her life beckoned, Beth thought happily, bending down to lower Binkie into the carrier—which was easier said than done. He had leapt out of it twice already.

  ‘Stop wriggling, you useless ball of fur,’ she told him, and was just about to draw one hand free to shut the carrier when there was a ring at the front door—peremptory and sharp.

  Ignoring it, Beth leant over, using her body to block Binkie’s escape, and swiftly closed the lid.

  ‘All right, all right—I’m coming!’ she yelled as the bell rang again and kept on ringing.

  She got to her feet and, leaving the carrier on the floor, walked to the door. Probably some salesman, she thought. But whoever it was she would get rid of them quickly. She opened the door.

  The social smile froze on her lips and she simply stared at the man standing before her. A dark, unsmiling figure in a charcoal pinstriped suit, jacket unfastened, the white shirt beneath open at the neck and startlingly brilliant against his tanned throat. Her stomach clenched and she stiffened, straightening her shoulders. It was the man she hated with a passion but had dreamed of far too often in the past two weeks for her peace of mind. Cannavaro...

  * * *

  Dante had received the report on Beth Lazenby a week ago in New York, and what he had read had confirmed his suspicions about her. He had arrived back in London this morning, and after a shower and a change had leapt in his car and driven here. Now he was on her doorstep. His features hardened as slowly he took in every detail of the way she looked: her hair was dishevelled, her face clear of make-up—and as for what she was wearing...

  If he’d had the slightest doubt of the investigator’s findings that Jane Mason and Beth Lazenby were one and the same, it vanished as he noted the snug fit of denim shorts that showed off her long legs and the skimpy white top that revealed a tantalising cleavage and stopped six inches short of the toned flesh of a slender waist and abdomen. She was slimmer than before, but still had curves in all the right places, and she was more striking than ever.

  He felt a surge of lust and saw again in his mind’s eye the image of that girl in the picture, wearing almost the same outfit as this woman wore now, but with one dramatic difference. The girl in the picture had had long black hair—as had the girl who’d stood in the dock and been found guilty of being a drug dealer.

  He had been right to be suspicious of the redheaded beauty who had captivated his brother. She had latched
on to a younger boy when she was a teenager, and been prepared to use his infatuation for her to ruin him and save her own neck when she had been caught in her reckless drug dealing. It would seem that she had ensnared his younger brother in much the same way. She obviously had not changed—only in the colour of her hair, which couldn’t be real. The thing that surprised him was that he had not recognised who she was sooner.

  ‘Hello, Beth. Or should I say Jane?’ he queried sardonically.

  ‘My legal name is Beth Lazenby,’ Beth stated bluntly.

  The air between them was crackling with tension.

  ‘Maybe now. But it wasn’t when you were in the dock at nineteen.’

  ‘You’ve finally recognised me. Bully for you,’ she snapped sarcastically, seeing no point in denying it. So he had remembered where he had seen her before? Her temper rose at the audacity of the man, confronting her on her own doorstep.

  ‘Not exactly. But the investigator I hired to check on you refreshed my memory.’

  Beth’s temper very nearly exploded at that revelation, and only by a terrific effort of will did she control the anger simmering inside her—along with other emotions she refused to recognise. She reminded herself she was no longer a gullible teenager but a confident woman, and she flatly refused to let Cannavaro intimidate her again.

  ‘Shame you wasted your money. I’m going on holiday now, and have already spent ages chasing the cat—which has made me late. You need to leave.’ And she caught the door handle with the intention of slamming the door in his face.

  ‘Not so fast.’ He put his foot in the door. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, tough. Because I have absolutely nothing to say to you.’ She turned, hanging on to her temper by a thread, and went to retrieve the cat in order to go.

  But, remembering the time and pain Cannavaro had already cost her, she decided she had nothing left to lose, and spun back to find him towering over her.

  She looked up at him, her green eyes spitting fury. ‘Except to say you have some nerve investigating me. Call yourself a lawyer? You are without doubt the most arrogant, devious, manipulative, lying bastard it has ever been my misfortune to meet. Got it? Now, go.’

  His face was like carved granite and his eyes hard as he watched her mouth spew out the angry words. Suddenly he moved and a long arm shot around her. His large hand splayed across her back whilst the other grasped the back of her head and jerked her body towards him. He dipped his head, his mouth crashing down on hers, relentlessly prising her lips apart with the powerful thrust of his tongue. Shocked and furious, she tried to pull away, but his hands clamped her in position. Her head was so close to his she could not drag it from beneath his all-consuming mouth. The steel band of his arm was holding her pressed hard against his long body. She tried to struggle, but he was too strong—and shamefully, instead of feeling revulsion, she was floundering in the wave of heady sensation flowing through her body.

  Frantically she tried to lift her hands and shove him away, but she was held so tightly against the hard wall of his chest that all she could do was claw at his broad shoulders as he wreaked sensual havoc with his penetrating kiss. Still she tried to resist, but he explored her mouth, hotly igniting a flame of arousal deep inside that scorched through her defences—and suddenly she wasn’t clawing, but clinging to him.

  His fingers wound into her hair, pulling it back to tilt her head to one side, his mouth trailing the line of her neck to suck on the frantically leaping pulse there.

  This could not be! She hated the man. She began to struggle so wildly that their bodies swayed and crashed against the wall, his long, hard length pinning her there. She was aware of his hot, male scent and the strength of his muscular and highly aroused body against her own in a shockingly intimate way she had never experienced before.

  He lifted his head, her breath catching as she saw his face. He was staring at her with dark, mesmerising eyes as his hand moved from her head to the neckline of her top, his long fingers slipping beneath the fabric to graze a swelling nipple. Involuntarily her body arched, and she bit back the moan that rose in her throat.

  Her voice seemed to have deserted her, and her heart was thudding so hard she thought it might burst. Her passionate hatred of him had been overtaken by passionate desire.

  ‘You can’t help yourself. You want me,’ he said in a deep, thickened voice.

  ‘No, I hate you,’ she said hoarsely.

  He gave her one long look, his face suddenly wearing a cold remoteness that was frightening in itself. He straightened up and pulled her closer against him, his hand circling her throat to tip her head back. ‘Hate away. But think yourself lucky I only kissed you. If any man had said what you did to me he would be on the floor now. I will not tolerate anyone defaming my character—and certainly not a conniving ex-con like you. Understand?’

  Shaken, and battling to control her overloaded senses, she heard his words and they were better than a cold shower. How typical of the arrogant devil. Beth shook her head in disgust.

  ‘Now we will have that talk.’ His hands dropped from her and he took a step back—and stumbled over the cat carrier. He swore, and Binkie shot out beneath his feet. Dante struggled to avoid the cat, lost the battle, and fell to the floor.

  Beth laughed—if a bit hysterically. Perfect karma, she thought. The stunned look on his handsome face was priceless.

  ‘How the mighty are fallen,’ she quipped, and bent down to grab Binkie, ignoring the furious mountain of a man leaping to his feet. ‘There, there, Binkie,’ Beth said as she walked into the living room, cuddling the cat over her chest and shoulder to comfort him—and to disguise her tight nipples. ‘I know the nasty man kicked you, but he’s going now.’

  Dante straightened up, not quite sure what had just happened. He’d been kissing her like a savage beast gone wild one minute, the next on the floor in a heap! He could still taste her on his tongue, and Beth—Jane—whoever she was—had for the first time in his life left him knocked out sensually and physically.

  ‘I did not kick the cat,’ Dante declared, following her into the room. His pride was seriously dented and he raked a distracted hand though his hair. What was it about this witch of a woman that turned him into a primitive, clumsy oaf? He had never tripped over his feet since he was a child. He looked at her, with a great lump of red fur the same colour as her hair clamped to her chest, her slender fingers stroking the cat’s head, then moving to scratch the animal under the chin.

  She raised her eyes and looked at him. ‘You kicked over his carrier with him inside, which is the same thing—isn’t it, Binkie?’

  Dante could not believe she had actually asked the damned cat. Maybe he had fallen into a different dimension. Maybe she really was a witch and the cat was her familiar, he thought, as two identical pairs of green eyes stared accusingly at him. The cat bared its teeth and he was sure he heard it hiss in agreement with his mistress.

  He shook his head to clear his brain. The woman was driving him crazy. What hope would his impressionable young brother have with her? None—and his express purpose for being here was to get her out of Tony’s life.

  ‘I am not going anywhere—and neither are you until we talk,’ he commanded between clenched teeth. To emphasise the fact he shrugged off his jacket, crossed to one of the sofas flanking the fireplace and dropped it on the arm before he sat down.

  Beth was a realist. She had to be. She saw the cold determination in his hard face. The wild, passionate interlude in the hall had been exactly what he had said—a punishment for daring to impugn his good character. Which was a joke, because as far as she was concerned he didn’t have one.

  ‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ she stated, her lips twitching as she sat down on the opposite sofa. She kissed the cat and put him down beside her. ‘Go on, Binkie. You can have another roam around the kitchen before we leave.’ She watched him jump off the sofa.

  ‘Do you always talk to your cat?’

  She tur
ned her cool gaze on Dante, trying to ignore the lingering warmth in the rest of her body that wasn’t being helped by the sight of him in a tailored white shirt and pleated trousers that fitted snugly over his muscular thighs. ‘Not always, but he is one of the few honest males I have met, and he is a great judge of character.’ She glanced down at Binkie, who had walked straight across to Cannavaro with his back arched, fur bristling as though he was about to attack. ‘He certainly recognises your type,’ she said dryly.

  ‘That cat does not like me.’ Dante stated the obvious, eyeing the hunchbacked animal with equal dislike. He was amazed to see that at the sound of his mistress’s voice the cat turned and looked at Beth, then crossed to rub slowly up against her bare legs before walking out of the door.

  She shrugged her shoulders ‘Binkie is a tomcat and you are a strange male invading his territory. His natural instinct is to protect it.’

  ‘Not that strange. I have known you a long time, Jane.’ He deliberately used her old name, determined to get down to business.

  Beth let her eyes rest on him for a moment. He was sitting on her sofa, making himself at home, with his long legs stretched out in casual ease, his black hair falling over his brow. He seemed so supremely sure of himself. To her shame, Beth felt her body responding to his potent masculine appeal and anger resurfaced—almost as much with herself as him.