Craving Her Enemy's Touch. Rachael Thomas

would be too much, yet this man seemed hell-bent on bringing the past into the present.

      ‘I think you should leave, Mr Roselli.’ She stepped away from him, out of his shadow and into the sun as it crept out from behind the clouds. ‘Neither is it doing me any good.’

      With eyes narrowed by suspicion, he watched her as she took another step back and away from him. ‘I am here because Sebastian asked me to come.’

      She shook her head, the emotional meltdown she’d wanted to keep at bay threatening to erupt. ‘I still want you to leave.’

      She didn’t care if he remained standing in her precious garden; she just wanted to escape him, escape the aura of a man obviously used to getting all he wanted, no matter what the cost to anyone else.

      * * *

      Alessandro closed his eyes and sighed as Charlie fled across the garden, heading for the open door of the cottage. Hysteria had not been on his agenda. He didn’t need this now. For a moment he thought about turning and walking away, getting in his car and driving as fast and as far away as he could. He’d kept part of his promise to Sebastian, after all. But had he even achieved that?

      ‘Maledizione!’ he cursed aloud and strode after her, his legs brushing against the lavender which tumbled from the borders, raising the scent. Just being in the garden, with its proud display of flowers, made him remember the time he’d looked after his sister while she’d recovered from a car accident. It was a memory that wouldn’t help at all right now.

      As he neared the open back door he heard Charlie’s frustrated growl. He didn’t knock, didn’t pause. He just walked straight in. He wasn’t going to be dismissed so easily.

      This woman had stubbornly refused her brother’s requests to go to Italy and see the car they’d been working on and it had angered him. Then, after the accident, he’d offered his support, but he’d never expected her rejection or her cold and furious denial of his existence.

      With her arms locked rigidly tight, she leant on the kitchen table, her head lowered in despair. She spun round to face him. ‘How dare you?’ Hot angry words hurtled across the small space to him, but he stood tall, despite the low beams of the old cottage, and took her anger.

      ‘I dare because I promised Sebastian that I would.’ He moved nearer to the small table, nearer to her, until only a pulled-out chair, left as if recently vacated, separated them.

      ‘I’m sure Seb would not have made anyone promise to come and hassle me like this.’ He watched as her full lips clamped shut on further words and he felt the strangest desire to kiss those lips, to taste her rage and frustration, to draw it from her and replace it with hot desire.

      ‘Hassle?’ He frowned at her and saw her green eyes widen, liking the swirling brown within their depths, reminding him of autumn.

      ‘Yes, hassle. Hound. Harass. Call it what you like, but he wouldn’t have wanted that.’ Her words were short and sharp. Irritation made her breathing shallow and fast. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly beneath her T-shirt, snagging his attention as lustful hormones raced to places he just didn’t need them going right now.

      ‘He made me promise to bring you to Italy and involve you in the launch.’ His words were sharper than he’d intended, but then he’d never expected to meet a woman who unleashed such a cocktail of fury and fire within him. She was not at all the sweet and happy girl Sebastian had told him about; she was sexy and passionately angry.

      ‘He what?’ She pushed the chair under the old pine table and moved closer to him.

      Not a good idea, not when his body was reacting so wildly to her sexy curves. He wanted to drag the damn chair back out, keep the barrier between them. Maybe then he’d be able to think about the reason he’d come here instead of this long neglected need for a woman’s body.

      ‘The car is due to be launched. I want you there.’ The words rushed out and he had the strangest sensation that she was depleting his control, weaving some kind of spell around him.

      ‘You want me there?’ Her voice raised an octave and he blinked hard, then realised how it had sounded to her. A little pang of conscience surged forwards but he pushed it back. Clearly she held him responsible for that night and he couldn’t sully her memories with the truth. Not after the promise he’d made.

      ‘Sebastian wanted you there.’ What was the matter with him? This woman wasn’t at all what he’d expected. She didn’t look glamorous and the idea that she had, until recently, been living a luxury lifestyle didn’t seem remotely possible.

      Why did this ordinary and plain version of Charlotte Warrington, tousled and unkempt from the garden, arouse him so instantly? He couldn’t process thought coherently, his body flooding with lust, demanding satisfaction.

      She shook her head. ‘No, he wouldn’t have asked that. But then he wouldn’t have been killed if it wasn’t for you and your stupid car.’

      ‘You know he lived for cars, for the thrill of speed. It was what he did, what he was good at.’ Sandro pushed back the image of the accident, shelving the terror of all that had unfolded minutes after the crash, which had proved, within hours, to be fatal. He could relate to her pain, sympathise with her grief, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t allow her to apportion the blame to him.

      He’d kept the truth from the world and the gossip-hungry media, out of respect for the young driver who’d quickly become his friend. Now it was time to carry out Seb’s final request. He’d wanted his sister at the launch, wanted her stamp of approval on the car, and that was what Seb would have—whatever it took.

      ‘It is also how he died.’ Sadness deflated her voice and he saw her shoulders drop. Was she going to cry? Panic sluiced over him.

      As she composed herself, his gaze scanned the small country kitchen, typically English and not at all the sort of thing he’d imagined her living in. Herbs hung drying from a beam and various fresh versions adorned the windowsill. Nestled among them, in a small frame, was a photo of Sebastian and Charlie.

      He reached for it and saw her gaze dart from him to the photo, but she said nothing as he picked it up and looked at the picture. Instead of being drawn to his friend, he looked at the image of the woman who now stood close to him. A woman he knew through the media but had never met. The same woman who was now having a strange effect on him—or was that just his conscience?

      From the photo her eyes shone with happiness, her deliciously full lips spread into a smile. She was leaning against a sports car, her brother, his arms wrapped protectively around her, pulled her close, equally happy.

      ‘Rome. Two years ago,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper, and he sensed her move closer to him, felt the heat radiating from her body. ‘Before he became embroiled in your project and forgot about us.’

      He took a deep breath in, inhaling her scent, something light and floral, like jasmine, mixed with an earthy scent from her time just spent in the garden. Carefully he replaced the photo on the windowsill, ignoring the barb of accusation in her last words. That was not a discussion for now. ‘You are alike.’

      ‘Were.’

      That one word ratcheted up his guilt, the same guilt he’d told himself again and again he shouldn’t carry and, finally, he’d thought he’d convinced himself. He should have known that coming here, facing this woman wouldn’t be easy. That it would only increase the self-apportioned guilt instead of lessen it. The fact that he still kept Seb’s darkest secret from everyone didn’t help.

      He looked down at her as she stood at his side and when she looked up, her mossy green eyes so sad, so vulnerable, his chest tightened, almost crushing him with a need to chase away that sadness, to put that happy smile back on her sexy lips once again.

      ‘It’s what he wanted, Charlotte,’ he said softly, unable to break the eye contact.

      ‘Charlie. Nobody calls me Charlotte. Except my mother,’ she whispered. The kind of sexy