His Cinderella's One-Night Heir / Consequences Of A Hot Havana Night. Louise Fuller
of the amount of attention he attracted.
Belle’s face was red and she hated that she couldn’t stop that rush of self-conscious colour that turned her the colour of an overripe tomato. It embarrassed her as much at the age of twenty-two as it had when she had been at school and the butt of unkind jokes. Diminutive in height, red-haired, freckled, as well as overly endowed in the chest category, she had been very, very low on the cool scale of popularity at school.
Dante was hugely amused by the top-to-toe blush that had enveloped Belle. When had he last seen a woman blush? He could not remember, but then he didn’t make the mistake of associating blushing with either shyness or innocence. He was much more inclined to link it to sexual attraction and awareness. He was accustomed to women looking at him and wanting him. After all, it had been happening since he was sixteen, when he had lost his virginity to one of his mother’s friends, his rebellion after being confronted by his mother’s extramarital fling. At the age of twenty-eight, he took it for granted that ninety-nine out of a hundred women would say yes to sharing his bed if he asked. And rarely did he even have to ask. Sex was frequently offered to Dante on a plate and without the smallest encouragement.
Belle delivered the drinks without once looking in Dante’s direction and that overheated feeling in her body began mercifully to fade, allowing her to breathe again. It was normal to notice an attractive man, she soothed herself, and it wasn’t her fault that she blushed fire-engine red. Just an unfortunate fact of life and she needed to learn to deal with it, as she had learned to deal with so many other unfortunate facts.
Predictably, her mind strayed back to the bad luck that seemed to thread through almost every wrong decision she made. She had been born to a woman who didn’t want her, and a father who wanted nothing to do with her and told her so without embarrassment. Her grandmother, Sadie, had told her that that lack of interest was her parents’ problem and not something that Belle should take personally. Her grandparents had loved her, she recalled with a prickling sensation behind her eyes, but her gran and grandad were both gone now and thinking about their loss only made Belle feel sad because it reminded her all over again that she was alone in the world with nobody and nothing to fall back on when things went wrong. And in France, things had gone very, very wrong for Belle.
Dante studied Belle as she moved round the bar, striving to imagine her dressed in haute couture, and that was a challenge when for some juvenile reason his brain only wanted to picture her naked. Clearly, a new wardrobe would make her infinitely more presentable but, of course, she would have to stop biting her nails. Such a disgusting habit, he reflected with distaste.
‘What’s she doing in France?’ he asked Steve carelessly, angling his chin in Belle’s direction.
‘I only know local gossip. Word is she came out here about three years ago as a housekeeper/ companion for an elderly English widow living in the village. The widow’s family hired her in London and left her to sink or swim as the old lady drifted into dementia. Eventually the local doctor got a little help for her but Belle was basically left to struggle.’
Dante slanted up an ebony brow. ‘She sounds like an idiot. Why didn’t she just walk out and go home when the job got too much for her?’
Steve frowned. ‘She was attached to the old lady by then and didn’t want to let her down or abandon her.’
‘How did she end up working here, in the bar?’
‘The widow had a heart attack and died and as soon as the funeral was over, her family sold her house and left Belle homeless and without sufficient money to get home on. They also threw out the old lady’s dog...Charlie,’ Steve murmured as a small raggedy mutt badly in need of grooming nudged up against his leg for attention before moving on to eagerly greet another regular customer, who was more likely to offer him food.
Dante paid no heed to the dog, his attention resting on his friend. ‘And then?’
‘The guy who rents this place offered Belle an old campervan to live in. It’s parked in the overflow car park behind the trees and she and the dog moved in. Then he gave her a job here.’
‘So, she’s pretty much one of life’s losers,’ Dante surmised without surprise. ‘I’m more into winners.’
‘But losers are undoubtedly easier and less demanding to negotiate with,’ Steve remarked with cynical acceptance. ‘And when have you ever been shy about profiting from other people’s misfortunes?’
Dante grinned. ‘Being ruthless is in my genes.’
‘Except when it came to your brother. I lost count of the times you dragged Cristiano out of trouble,’ Steve murmured, unimpressed. ‘And you say you’re not sentimental and yet look at the lengths you’re willing to go to, simply to buy that woodland back.’
Dante’s high cheekbones and strong jawline clenched hard. ‘That’s different.’
‘It must be, particularly as I seem to remember that the first time you stayed in Cristiano’s log cabin, you hated it like hell.’
‘I don’t enjoy roughing it, but Cristiano was always a back-to-nature freak,’ Dante recalled abstractedly, his attention locking back on Belle as a couple of young guys flirted with her while she delivered their drinks. She wasn’t blushing for their benefit, she was brisk and professional, he noted with helpless satisfaction. He signalled her with a graceful brown hand to order another set of drinks.
‘Not for me,’ Steve demurred with regret. ‘Sancha will have dinner on and she hates it when I’m late for meals.’
‘It’s only nine,’ Dante pointed out incredulously.
‘Well, to be honest, my wife doesn’t really like me out of her sight for too long,’ Steve admitted with quiet pride.
Dante winced at the very idea of his freedom to do as he liked being curtailed in such a fashion.
‘Listen, don’t knock being married until you’ve tried it!’ Steve protested in his own defence.
‘I am never ever going to try it,’ Dante assured him with a grim look of amusement. ‘But I am in the market for a girlfriend I can employ and I may be late back tonight.’
Dante returned to watching Belle, his attention drawn involuntarily to the bountiful swell of her breasts as she bent down to lift drinks off the tray, not to mention the enticing curve of her bottom thrust out and the skirt rising to expose the backs of her slender bare thighs. He shifted in his seat again, his even white teeth gritting with irritation. He wasn’t a horny teenager. Why was he reacting like one? She brought him his drink and he tossed a note down, telling her to keep the change.
‘It’s too much,’ she said uncomfortably.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Dante advised succinctly. ‘I’d like a word with you in private when you finish your shift.’
‘I’m tired. I’ll be going straight to bed,’ she told him swiftly. ‘Sorry!’
‘Don’t blow me off before you hear what I have to say,’ Dante urged. ‘It’s possible that I could have a job for you, a job that would eventually get you back to the UK.’
Belle tensed like a greyhound fired up at the starting line. Her eyes lifted from the table they had been carefully studying and surged up to his lean, darkly handsome features instead. There she clashed unwarily with stunning dark golden eyes and she took a very slight step back, gooseflesh tingling on her exposed skin. ‘A job? What kind of a job?’ she questioned.