A Dangerous Infatuation

There was genuine affection in her voice, and the smile she gave his grandmother was notably warmer than the frosty glances she occasionally directed his way, Rocco noted. Although he hated to admit it, his curiosity was piqued by Emma’s coolness. It was fair to say that it was not the sort of response he usually received from women, he thought self-derisively.

He acknowledged his luck in having been blessed with an athletic build and facial features that had drawn attention from the opposite sex since he was a youth. A degree of cynicism, developed over the years, warned him that his status as heir to his grandfather’s billion-pound company added greatly to his appeal. Mistresses came in and out of his life with mundane regularity, and it was rare for any woman to hold his interest for more than a few months.

It was always too easy, he reflected. He had never met a woman yet who had presented a challenge.

His eyes were drawn again to Emma’s neat red-gold bob that curved around her face. There was nothing frivolous about her appearance. Her practical hairstyle was the ideal choice for a busy professional, yet there was something very sexy about her sleek, shiny hair that made him want to run his fingers through it.

Eliciting a smile from her could be an interesting challenge, he mused. His gaze lingered on her mouth, and the unbidden image came into his head of tasting her, of slanting his lips over hers and exploring their moist softness. She was sitting on the sofa, attending to Cordelia’s hand, but she looked up at that moment and Rocco was startled to feel heat surge into his face.

Dio, the last time he’d felt embarrassed was when he had been fourteen and the housemaster at his boarding school had caught him looking at pictures of half-naked women in a magazine. Muttering an oath beneath his breath, he strode over to the window to close the curtains, grateful for the excuse to turn his back on his grandmother’s nurse while he fought to bring his libido under control.

Emma finished re-bandaging Cordelia’s hand. ‘The burn is healing slowly, but there’s still a risk of infection so you need to keep it covered for another few days. I’ll visit again on Monday to change the dressing,’ she said as she stood up.

Her body tensed involuntarily when Rocco strolled across the room and halted beside her. Although she carefully did not look at him, she was supremely conscious of him towering over her, and to her disgust her hand shook slightly as she closed the zip of her medical bag.

‘It’s started snowing again,’ he announced. ‘The roads were treacherous on the way here, and they can only be worse now. I think it would be a good idea for you to spend the night here, Emma.’

His sexy accent lingered on each syllable of her name and sent a little quiver of reaction down Emma’s spine. For heaven’s sake! How could she be seduced by his voice? she berated herself silently.

Taking a deep breath, she flashed him a polite half smile. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I must get back.’

Rocco frowned. In his mind he had pictured sitting by the fire with Emma after his grandmother had retired to bed, enjoying the particularly fine malt whisky Cordelia always kept for him and exerting his acknowledged easy charm to break through her barriers. Her crisp refusal shattered the cosy picture and aroused his curiosity.

‘Is someone expecting you?’ This blunt question was just about the most unsubtle way of discovering if she had a partner, he acknowledged sardonically.

‘My three-year-old daughter.’ Cool grey eyes briefly met his gaze before flicking to the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I was due to collect Holly half an hour ago. Fortunately her childminder was fine about it when I phoned to explain that I would be late. But now I really must go.’

‘Can’t your daughter’s father collect her?’

Rocco did not know who was more surprised by his unguarded query—him or Emma. He couldn’t understand what had got into him—or why, when he glanced at her left hand, the sight of the gold wedding band on her finger intensified his feeling of irritation.

‘No.’ Emma did not offer any further explanation. The mention of Holly had made her impatient to get home. She was aware of Rocco’s frown, but she had no intention of appeasing his idle curiosity by discussing Holly’s father. ‘I’ll just go and get my boots and jacket, and then I’ll be off. Stay in the warm, Cordelia,’ she added, when the elderly lady began to get to her feet. ‘I’ll see you after the weekend.’

‘Don’t forget your hat,’ Cordelia called after her. ‘It’s lucky I knitted it for you. You need it in this weather.’

Emma stifled a sigh at the mention of the dreaded woollen hat that so resembled a tea cosy. But Cordelia had been so proud when she had presented it to her a few weeks ago that she’d felt she must wear it. As she passed Rocco she caught the glimmer of amusement in his eyes and flushed.

He was waiting by the front door when she walked back down the hall from the kitchen a few minutes later. She was desperately conscious of his appraisal and, although she knew she was being ridiculous, she wished she was wearing her elegant grey wool coat rather than the unflattering ski jacket.

‘I’ll see you out,’ he said, opening the door so that a gust of icy air rushed into the hall. The snow falling from the inky black sky was light, but steady, and not for the first time that winter Emma was grateful to her father for giving her the four-by-four.

‘There’s no need for you to come out,’ she told Rocco when he followed her down the front steps.

He ignored her and walked with her to where she was parked. ‘I haven’t thanked you for coming to my rescue.’ His face was shadowed in the darkness, but his eyes glowed amber, reminding her once again of tiger’s eyes.

‘You’re welcome.’ Emma hesitated. ‘To be honest, I’m relieved you’re here. I worry about Cordelia living alone in such a remote place. How long do you plan to stay?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’ His original intention to visit his grandmother for a few days was no longer viable, Rocco acknowledged. But he could not remain in England indefinitely when he had a business empire in Italy to run.

Perhaps Emma recognised his quandary, because after she had climbed into the four-by-four she gave him a sharp look. ‘While you’re here I’ll need to arrange a meeting with Social Services so that we can decide on the best way to care for Cordelia.’

Her schoolmistress tone annoyed Rocco. Did she think he would simply disappear and abandon his grandmother? He was about to tell her that he did not need interference from her or anyone else, but then remembered that without Emma’s help over the past weeks Cordelia might have come to serious harm.

He gave a brief nod. ‘You had better get going before the snow gets worse. Will you phone to say you have arrived home safely, to put my grandmother’s mind at rest?’

The journey back to Little Copton on the hazardous roads demanded Emma’s full attention, and she pushed all thoughts of Rocco D’Angelo to the back of her mind.

‘I’m sorry I’m so late,’ she apologised to Holly’s childminder when Karen opened the door of her bungalow and ushered her inside. ‘The roads are like a skating rink.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Holly has been fine playing with the twins,’ Karen reassured her. ‘I gave her dinner with Lily and Sara, but she didn’t eat much, and she looks tired now. That flu virus really knocked her out, didn’t it? What the two of you need is a nice, relaxing holiday—somewhere abroad, where it’s warm and sunny.’

‘Some hope,’ Emma said with a sigh. ‘My finances simply won’t stretch to a foreign holiday, and I can’t plan anything while the owner of Primrose Cottage is considering putting it up for sale. I might have to start looking for somewhere else to live.’ Her heart sank as the worry that had gnawed away at her for the past few weeks filled her mind, but her smile was determinedly bright when she walked into Karen’s sitting room and Holly hurtled into her arms.

‘Mummy, I missed you.’

‘I missed you too, munchkin.’ More than words could convey, Emma thought silently as she lifted her daughter into her arms and hugged her tight.

Leaving Holly every day was a wrench she had never grown used to, but she had no choice. She enjoyed her job as a nurse, but when she had fallen pregnant she had planned to take a career break for a few years to be a fulltime mother. Fate had intervened, and the necessity to pay rent and bills meant that she had returned to work when Holly had been six months old. It also meant that the time she spent with her daughter was doubly precious, and her heart ached with love when Holly pressed a kiss to her cheek.

‘Let’s go home,’ she said softly, trying not to think about the possibility that Primrose Cottage might not be their home for much longer.

Holly was half-asleep by the time Emma had driven through the village and parked outside the cottage. Deciding to forgo giving the little girl a bath, she quickly carried out the routine of pyjamas, teeth cleaning and bedtime story, and then tiptoed from Holly’s bedroom. An omelette was not a substantial meal after a long day at work, but it was all she could be bothered to cook for her dinner. But first she needed to phone Nunstead Hall to let Cordelia know she was home.

It was ridiculous for her pulse-rate to quicken as she made the call, but to her annoyance she could not control it—nor prevent the lurch of her heart when a gravelly, accented voice greeted her.

‘Emma—I assume you have arrived home safely?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Was that breathy, girly voice really hers? And why did the sexy way that Rocco drawled her name make her feel hot and flustered? A glance in the hall mirror revealed that her cheeks were pink, she noted disgustedly. Having successfully put him out of her head for the past hour, she was dismayed when the image of his arrogantly handsome face filled her mind.

Sexual awareness had taken her by surprise from the moment she had followed him into Nunstead Hall and seen him properly for the first time, she acknowledged ruefully. He had dismissed her at first, after a cursory glance. But later, when she had taken off her coat in the kitchen, he had trailed his mesmeric amber eyes over her in a lingering appraisal, the memory of which sent a quiver down her spine.

Oh, hell. She gripped the phone tighter and fought to control her rising panic. She had never expected to be physically attracted to any man ever again. It was just chemistry, she assured herself. A mysterious sexual alchemy that defied logical explanation. It was inconvenient and annoying, but she was a mature woman of twenty-eight, not a hormonal adolescent, and she refused to allow her equilibrium to be disturbed by a notorious playboy.

‘I hope your daughter was not upset that you were late to collect her?’

Once again Rocco’s deep voice made her think of rich, sensuous molten chocolate. She drew a ragged breath and by a miracle managed to sound briskly cheerful. ‘No, Holly was fine. She’s in bed now, and I’m just about to cook my dinner, so I’ll say goodnight, Mr D’Angelo.’

‘Rocco,’ he insisted softly. ‘My grandmother has been talking about you all evening. She is clearly very fond of you, and now that I feel I know everything about you it seems too formal to address you as Mrs Marchant.’

‘Right …’ The word emerged as a strangled croak.

What on earth had Cordelia said about her? Emma wondered, feeling highly uncomfortable with the idea that Rocco knew ‘everything’ about her. Her flush deepened, and she had a strange feeling that he sensed her discomposure and was amused. She pictured his mouth curving into a slow, sexy smile, and was shocked to feel her nipples harden.

It was suddenly imperative that she end the call. ‘Well, goodnight … Rocco.’

‘Buonanotte, Emma. And thank you again for your help tonight.’

Rocco’s expression was thoughtful as he replaced the receiver and strolled back into the sitting room at Nunstead Hall. He could not deny that he was more intrigued by Emma Marchant now he had learned that she was a widow. According to Cordelia, Emma’s husband had been dead for three years—yet she still wore a wedding ring. Three years was a long time to grieve, he mused.

His jaw tightened. Why was he thinking about her? Heaven knew he had enough to deal with—including the problem of how he could take care of his grandmother. He did not have the time or the inclination to pursue an inconvenient attraction to a woman who came with baggage that included a young child.

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