A Clash With Cannavaro by Elizabeth Power Page A

involuntary glance over those superbly masculine shoulders, ‘You would have been far too young and healthy for me to convince the world you died of natural causes.’
    He laughed again, the sound more natural this time. ‘Is that why you prefer older men like that smitten banker I saw you making eyes at at that party?’
    ‘I wasn’t making eyes at him! If you must know, he was boring me senseless!’ She dumped the plate with the chunk of cake down on the counter in front of him. ‘If you want anything else then the local pub does a cheap steak dinner on Fridays. I would cook you one myself but, as you’ve probably already discovered, I’m all out of savouries at the moment!’ Ridiculously, she felt near to tears as she demanded, ‘So what is it you want, besides food?’
    ‘You know what I want,’ he said.
    He meant Danny. As if she could forget!
    Meeting the disturbing clarity of his eyes, however, as he sank those strong white teeth into her cake, she wondered whether he was referring to something else altogether. Or was that just her mind working overtime because of the way he was making her feel?
    He’d been wearing a tie earlier but must have slipped it into his pocket, because now the top buttons of his shirt were unfastened, exposing the corded strength of his throat.
    Dry-mouthed, Lauren felt a little frisson run through her as her gaze came to rest on the dark shadow of hair spanning his chest through the fine material of his shirt.
    She reached for the mug she hadn’t realised he had filled while she had been cutting him some cake and the normality of the situation suddenly seemed laughable in the circumstances.
    ‘What are you smiling about?’
    Of course. He didn’t miss a thing.
    ‘Maybe it’s because I’m being waited on in my own kitchen by a man who not only thinks I’m a gold-digger of the highest order, but a child abductor as well. That’s got to be pretty amusing, don’t you think?’
    ‘So convince me you aren’t.’
    ‘I don’t need to convince anyone of anything,’ she assured him, watching him demolish his piece of Madeira cake in two bites.
    He dipped his head in an oddly courtly gesture before putting his empty plate back on the worktop. Was he giving her the benefit of the doubt?
    Sipping her coffee, she watched him rake one side of his hair back in that way that was such an integral part of him and which was already so familiar to her. It was then that she noticed the blood staining his shirt cuff, and the angry red marks above his hand on the underside of his right wrist.
    ‘You cut yourself.’ He must have done so out there when he had been trying to free Brutus earlier. Yet he hadn’t given any indication of it. Not a murmur...
    ‘It is nothing,’ he dismissed, reaching round and picking up his own mug.
    ‘Nothing?’ Even from where she was standing, Lauren could see how inflamed and sore it looked. ‘You’d better bathe that. Put some antiseptic on it or something. You can’t just leave it.’
    ‘Why not?’ Draining his mug of its contents, he returned it to the kitchen counter.
    ‘You could get tetanus or some other infection, especially where animals have been involved,’ she told him, although he looked so fit and hard that she couldn’t imagine any self-respecting bacteria attacking him . ‘I really must advise you to get it cleaned up,’ she pressed when she could see he had no intention of bothering.
    ‘Why don’t you do it for me?’ he suggested in a way she hadn’t heard him speak to her since that morning when she’d woken up, deliciously tender from his lovemaking and hungry for more, in his monstrous bed in that hotel room.
    Her first instinct, though, was to tell him to go to hell. After all, he had treated her abominably when he’d misjudged her so completely after that wild night and morning when nothing but their need for each other had seemed to matter. That night and morning that had been the most amazing—and then the most