At Dante's Service. Chantelle ShawЧитать онлайн книгу.

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      For Bernadine, my aunt and dearest friend, who has filled the hole in my life left by my mum.

      CHAPTER ONE

      HE STOOD out from the crowd. Exceptionally tall and impossibly good-looking. Rebekah’s gaze was drawn to the man standing on the other side of the garden and her heart gave a jolt. Handsome did not do justice to the sculpted perfection of his features. He looked Mediterranean with olive-gold skin stretched taut over chiselled cheekbones and his black hair gleaming like raw silk in the sunshine. His jaw was square and determined; the curve of his mouth innately sensual. Heavy black brows arched above eyes that Rebekah knew were light grey and could sometimes resemble cold steel when he was annoyed, but at other times, when he was amused, gleamed like silver.

      He was chatting to one of the guests but perhaps he sensed her scrutiny because he turned his head and their eyes met across the distance of the wide lawn. She tensed beneath his brooding stare. But then he smiled, and she felt a fierce surge of delight. Her lips curved into a tentative smile in response. The low hum of chatter from the guests who were milling around the garden and gathered in the marquee seemed strangely distant. To Rebekah it seemed as though only she and Dante existed on this golden summer’s day with the sun beating down from a cloudless blue sky and the sweet scent of honeysuckle filling the air.

      From behind her she heard the faint rustle of silk, and out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a willowy blonde wearing a low-cut scarlet dress that clung to her reed-slender figure like a second skin. The woman was looking across the garden, and it suddenly dawned on Rebekah that Dante was not smiling at her, but at his mistress, Alicia Benson.

      Flushing hotly at her mistake, she turned her back on him and forced a bright smile as she offered the tray of canapés she was holding to the group of guests standing close by. Idiot, she told herself, praying he had not noticed that she had been staring at him like a lovesick adolescent. In fact there was no reason why Dante Jarrell might not have been smiling at her. Over the past two months they had established a harmonious and friendly working relationship. But that relationship had never crossed the invisible boundary between an employer and a member of his staff.

      She was Dante’s chef; she cooked his meals and catered for the many dinner parties and social events he hosted. Rebekah was sure he regarded her as a functional object necessary to help his busy life run smoothly, like his computer or his mobile phone. She was embarrassed by her intense awareness of him and was always on her guard to hide how she felt about him, which was why she was so annoyed with herself for thinking that his sexy smile had been directed at her.

      Unlike the lovely Alicia, she hardly warranted the attention of a gorgeous multimillionaire playboy, she thought, with a rueful glance down at her uniform of black and white-checked trousers and pristine white jacket. Her clothes were practical but did not flatter her curvaceous figure; rather they seemed to emphasise the fact that she was not beanpole-thin as fashion dictated. Beneath her chef’s hat her hair was tightly braided and pinned on top of her head, and she knew that after spending hours in a hot kitchen her face was pink and shiny. If only she’d put on a bit of make-up. But it was still unlikely that Dante would have taken any notice of her, she reminded herself as she shot another glance across the garden and watched his beautiful mistress wrap her sinuous body around him.

      ‘I’ve already eaten far too much, but I can’t resist one of these pastries. What’s the filling made of?’

      The sound of a voice dragged Rebekah from her thoughts and she smiled at the man who had halted in front of her.

      ‘It’s smoked salmon with hollandaise sauce, cooked in a filo pastry case,’ she explained.

      ‘They’re absolutely delicious, as all the food you have provided today has been,’ the man said when he had finished his second canapé. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Rebekah. And, of course, I’m hugely grateful to Dante for allowing Susanna and I to hold the christening party for our son at his home. I was worried we would have to reschedule the whole thing, after the venue we’d booked cancelled at the last minute,’ James Portman admitted. ‘But Dante organised the marquee and the waiting staff, and assured me that he employed the best chef in London.’

      Rebekah