Читать книгу A Night In His Arms: Captive in the Spotlight / Meddling with a Millionaire / How to Seduce a Billionaire - Annie West - Страница 13

CHAPTER SIX

THEY WERE SILENT as they walked along the beach to the villa. Late afternoon light lengthened their shadows and for the first time in weeks Domenico felt something like peace, listening to the rhythm of the sea and their matched steps.

Peace, with Lucy Knight beside him!

His business negotiations had reached a crucial phase that would normally have consumed every waking hour. On top of that was Pia’s near hysterical response to the latest press reports, and his own turbulent reactions to the release of his brother’s killer.

And here he was walking with her in the place that was his refuge from the constant demands on his time. Was he mad letting her in here?

Yet the stakes were too high. He had to convince her—

Beside him she stopped. He turned, wondering what had caught her attention.

In the peachy light her hair was a nimbus of gold, backlit by the sun that lovingly silhouetted her shape. She’d taken off her sandals and stood ankle-deep in the froth of gentle waves. She looked...appealing.

His pulse thudded and he realised she was watching him. Her gaze branded his skin.

Instinctively he moved closer, needing to read her expression. What he saw made premonition jitter through him. Was she going to agree to his terms? He schooled his face, knowing better than to rush her.

‘Lucy?’ Her name tasted good on his tongue. Too good. This was business. Business and the protection of his family. It was his duty to protect Taddeo and Pia now Sandro wasn’t here to do it. The thought of Sandro renewed his resolve.

‘I...’ Her gaze skated away and he leaned in, willing her to continue. She drew a deep breath, straining her blouse across ripe breasts. Domenico berated himself for noticing, but he noticed everything about her. Was that an asset or a penalty?

‘You?’ Expectation buzzed. It wasn’t like her to hesitate. She was aggressively forthright.

Her eyes met his and something punched deep in his belly. Gone were her defiance and her anger. Instead he read something altogether softer in her face.

‘I never told you.’ She paused and bit her lip, reminding him in a flash of blinding memory of the girl he’d met all those years ago. The one whose forget-me-not eyes had haunted him with their apparent shock and bewildered innocence. Who’d been a conundrum with her mix of uncertainty and belligerent, caustic defiance.

His belly tightened. There was no logic to the fact she unsettled him as no other woman had.

‘Sorry. I’m usually more coherent.’

‘You can say that again.’

Her lips twisted. Then she straightened, her jaw tensing as she met his eyes head-on.

‘We agreed not to make accusations and I understand there’s no point protesting my innocence.’ She inhaled through flared nostrils. ‘But there’s something you need to hear.’ She paused as if expecting him to cut her off, but Domenico had no intention of interrupting.

‘I’m sorry about your brother.’ Her gaze didn’t waver and Domenico felt the force of her words as a palpable weight. ‘His death was a tragedy for his wife and child, for all his family. He was a good man, a caring one.’ She released a breath that shivered on the air between them. ‘I’m sorry he died and I’m sorry I was involved.’

Stunned, Domenico watched her lips form the words.

After all this time...

He’d never expected an apology, though he’d told himself an admission of guilt would salve the pain of Sandro’s loss.

She didn’t confess, yet, to Domenico’s amazement, her words of regret struck a chord deep inside. He stared at her and she didn’t try to hide, even lifted her face as if to open herself to his scrutiny.

For the first time he felt the barriers drop between them and he knew for this moment truth hovered. Truth and honest regret.

‘Thank you.’ His voice was hoarse from grief that seemed fresh as ever. But with the pain came something like peace.

The cynic in him stood ready to accuse her of an easy lie, a sop to his anger. Yet what he saw in Lucy’s face drowned the voice of cynicism. ‘I appreciate it.’

Her lips twisted in a crooked smile. ‘I’m glad.’ She paused then severed eye contact, turning towards the sea. ‘I wrote to your sister-in-law some time ago, saying the same thing. I’m not sure she even read the letter.’

‘You wrote to Pia?’ It was the first he’d heard of it and usually Pia was only too ready to lean on him for emotional support.

He stared at the woman he’d thought he understood. How well did he know her after all? She confounded his certainties time and again.

She made him feel so many unexpected emotions.

* * *

A day later Domenico stood at his study window, drawn from his computer by the sound of laughter.

On the paved area by the head of the stairs to the beach were Rocco’s niece, Chiara, and Lucy, neat in her denim skirt and blouse. Lucy bent to mark the flagstones in a square chalk pattern and Domenico fought to drag his eyes from the denim tight around her firm backside.

Heat flared as his gaze roved her ripe curves.

Too often he found himself watching Lucy with distinctly male appreciation.

He switched his gaze to Chiara as, shaking her head, she took the chalk and drew her own patterns, circular this time. As she finished, understanding dawned. They were playing a children’s game: Mondo. Watching Chiara gesticulate he guessed she was explaining her game rather than the English Hopscotch, that Lucy had marked.

‘You wanted me, boss?’ Rocco tapped at the door.

Did he? Domenico couldn’t recall. Frustration bit. He’d been distracted all morning. Lucy and her refusal to sign his contract undermined his focus.

‘Have you seen who your niece is playing with?’ His voice grated as he realised it wasn’t Lucy’s obstinacy that distracted him. It was the woman herself—prickly, proud and, he hated to admit it, intriguing in ways that had nothing to do with the danger she posed to his family.

‘They’re good together, aren’t they?’

Domenico frowned. ‘You have no qualms about Chiara playing with a woman who served time for killing a man?’

Not just any man. His brother. Domenico’s breath was harsh in his constricted lungs.

There was a long silence. He turned to find Rocco regarding him steadily. ‘The past is the past, boss. Even the court said it wasn’t premeditated. Besides, she loves children. Anyone can see that.’ He nodded to the garden and Domenico turned to see Lucy ushering Chiara, who’d grown boisterous with excitement, away from the steps.

Domenico felt a sliver of something like shame, seeing her concern for Chiara. Even the prosecution at her trial had acknowledged she’d been a reliable carer for little Taddeo.

‘Mamma trusts her with Chiara. You can’t say better.’

Rocco’s mamma was a redoubtable woman, canny and an excellent judge of character. As housekeeper to the Volpes for over thirty years, she and Sandro between them had brought Domenico up when his parents had died.

‘Maybe Signorina Knight isn’t the woman you think.’

Domenico stiffened. He didn’t need Rocco’s advice, even if he was the best security manager he’d ever had.

Yet once lodged in his brain, his words couldn’t be dismissed.

Was she the same woman he’d heard about all those years ago? Greedy, self-centred, luring his brother into indiscretion under his wife’s nose? If he hadn’t experienced first-hand the powerful tug of her innocent seductress routine he’d never have believed Sandro would be unfaithful.

She had been only eighteen then; had the last years changed her?

He saw glimpses of a far different woman. One with surprising depths—an inner core of strength and what he suspected was her own brand of integrity. One that reminded him a little of the golden girl who’d once snared his attention, but far, far tougher and sassy. Besides, that girl had been a mirage.

Frustration rose. He wasn’t used to uncertainty, either in business or with women. Usually his instincts for both served him well.

Was he seeing what he wanted to see?

More important, did he see what she wanted him to see? Unfamiliar tension coiled in Domenico’s belly. She’d got under his skin, inserting doubt where previously there’d been certainty.

Why maintain her innocence after all this time? Unbidden, he recalled again her inexperienced legal representative. Would the trial’s outcome have been different with a better lawyer?

A twinge of discomfort pierced him.

Domenico’s mouth tightened. His curiosity had as much to do with attraction at a primal level as it did the need for understanding. This was about more than gagging Lucy Knight from spreading stories that would harm his family.

The stakes were far more personal.

* * *

Lucy was walking back to the villa when a figure loomed before her.

‘How would you like to come snorkelling?’

Suspicion welled as she looked into Domenico’s unreadable grey eyes. True, they’d agreed a truce. True, he let her have the run of the estate, even access to the Internet so she could trawl fruitlessly for jobs—as if anyone would take her on with her history. But taking her on an excursion?

Lucy shook her head. ‘I should check my email.’ As if there was a chance some employer had bothered to respond to the dozens of queries she’d sent. Given the poor economic climate, attracting an employer’s interest would be a miracle. Even if she managed that, there were the hurdles of character and criminal record checks.

‘You can do that when we return. Come on, it will be good to get off the island.’

‘Why?’

What did he want? Remembering his glowering scowl when they’d first met, a fatal boating accident seemed possible. But lately... No, he wasn’t a violent man, just one used to getting what he wanted. And he wanted her to sign his contract. Was he trying to soften her up?

He shrugged and to her chagrin she followed the movement of those wide, straight shoulders with a fascination she still couldn’t conquer.

‘Because I’m fed up with emails and performance indicators and financial statements. It’s time for a break.’ His lips curved in a one-sided smile that carved a long dimple in one cheek and snared her breath before it could reach her lungs.

The man was indecently attractive.

‘I really should—’

‘You’re not avoiding me, are you, Lucy?’

Stoically she ignored the way his hint of an accent turned her ordinary name into something delicious. It had made her weak at the knees the day they’d met.

‘Why would I do that?’

His eyes sizzled pure silver—the colour of a lightning bolt against a stormy sky. She could almost feel the ground shake beneath her feet from its impact.

Again he shrugged. This time she kept her eyes on his face. ‘Perhaps I make you nervous.’

He was dead right. No matter how often she told herself Domenico had no power over her, instinct eclipsed logic and fear shivered through her. A fear that had nothing to do with his wealth and influence and everything to do with him as a potently attractive, fascinating man.

She’d washed her hands of him long ago. She’d seen him in court and her heart had leapt, believing he was there for her. Instead he’d cut her dead, so sure of her guilt before the trial even began. She’d been gutted.

Why did she still respond to him?

‘Why should I be nervous?’

‘I have no idea.’ Yet his expression was knowing, as if he read her tension.

Did he guess the shockingly erotic fantasies that invaded her dreams each night? Fantasies that featured Domenico Volpe, not as disapproving and distant, but as her hot, earthily sexy lover? Lucy swallowed hard, reassuring herself that if he knew the last thing he’d do was invite her to spend time with him.

‘I don’t have a swimsuit.’ Her voice emerged husky and she watched his attention shift to her mouth. Her lips tingled and heat bloomed deep in her belly.

He smiled. A fully fledged smile that made her heart skip a beat and alarm bells jangle.

‘Be my guest. Find yourself a new one in the pool house.’

Lucy shook her head before she could be tempted. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Why not? Don’t you want to go out there?’ His gesture encompassed the azure shimmer of sea that had lured her since the moment she’d arrived.

How she’d love to do more than paddle in the shallows for once! She’d even toyed with the idea of a midnight skinny dip but it would be just her luck to be found by his security staff.

‘I don’t accept handouts.’ She wasn’t a charity case.

Domenico watched her for long seconds with a look that in anyone else she’d call astonished. When he spoke his voice had lost its teasing edge.

‘It’s not a handout. It’s what we do for our guests. Rocco’s mamma has a lovely time buying hats and wraps and swimsuits for guests. You’d be surprised how many people forget them on a seaside stay.’

Not like her. Lucy had been shuffled out of Rome in a hurry with no idea where she was heading. She wasn’t like his other guests. She opened her mouth to say so when he spoke again.

‘Come on, Lucy. Set your pride aside and enjoy yourself. I promise it won’t make you obligated to me.’

That was what she hated, wasn’t it? Feeling indebted to Domenico Volpe for this respite when she most needed it.

Of course he had his own agenda. He wanted to buy her silence.

Was she too proud? Self-sufficiency was something she’d learnt in a hard school. Did she take it too far?

The sound of the sea behind her and the tang of salt on the air reminded her that the only person to suffer for her pride was herself. Swimming in the Med was something she’d always wanted to do. When would she have the chance again? When she finally found a job she’d be too busy making ends meet to travel.

‘Thank you,’ she said at last. ‘That would be...nice.’

Was that a flash of pleasure in Domenico’s eyes? Not triumph as she’d half expected. Her brow puckered.

‘Good.’ He pointed her to the pool house. ‘You’ll find what you need up there. Don’t forget a hat. I’ll meet you at the boat.’

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Lucy hurried down the steps to the beach. She’d rifled through a treasure trove of designer swimwear, finally selecting the plainest one-piece she could find. No way was she flaunting herself before Domenico in a barely there string bikini. Nevertheless she felt strangely aware of the Lycra clinging to her body under her skirt and shirt. It reminded her of the flicker of heat she saw in his eyes, and her body’s inevitable reaction—a softening deep inside.

So often she found him watching her, the hint of a frown on his wide forehead, as if she was some enigma he had to puzzle. Or was he calculating how long she’d hold out against the fortune he offered?

On condition she stopped proclaiming her innocence.

She set her jaw. The first thing she’d do when she found work was pay back the price of this swimsuit. Even if it took her months on the basic wage!

Lucy stepped into the boatshed, trying to calculate how much a designer swimsuit would set her back.

It was dim inside and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She blinked at the sleek outline of the speedboat moored inside. Was this the boat they were taking?

She turned, wondering if she should wait outside, when movement caught her eye.

On the far side of the boat a man came towards her—thickset with a bullish head and broad neck that spoke of blatant strength. He moved with surprising agility. His dark suit blended with the shadows but, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she caught the crooked line of a broken nose and hands the size of dinner plates.

The hair at her nape stood on end and terror engulfed her. She froze, recognition filling her.

The rusty taste of blood on her bitten tongue roused her. She drew a shuddering breath and catapulted towards the door. With every step she imagined one of those heavy hands grabbing her, capturing her, punishing her.

Lucy’s breath sawed through constricted lungs as she reached, hands outstretched, for the door. Her legs seemed to slow as if in a nightmare. She knocked over some tins that clattered to the floor and almost fell but kept going, eyes on the sunlit rectangle of freedom ahead, desperation driving her.

With a sob of fear she plunged outside, blinded by light, only to find her flight stopped by a hard, hot body.

He’d never held her but she knew it was Domenico. The scent of warm spice and pine, and something else, something so profound she had no name for it, told her it was him in the millisecond before his arms came round her, hugging her close.

‘Please,’ she gasped. ‘Watch out! He’s here. He’s—’

She struggled to turn, but Domenico’s grip was firm. She was plastered to him, her face pressed to his collarbone. One hand held her head against him and his other arm lashed protectively around her waist.

Lucy felt heat, strength and solidity. Safety. His heart beat steadily against her raised palm and, despite her fear relief weakened her knees. Tendrils of heat invaded her ice-numbed body, counteracting the horror that filled her.

‘Lucy? What is it?’ His deep voice ruffled her hair and wrapped itself around her.

She shook her head. ‘Be careful! He—’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ An unfamiliar voice came from behind her. ‘I was putting provisions in the boat. I didn’t mean to scare the lady.’

Lucy turned her head, eyes widening at the man who emerged from the boatshed.

He was a stranger.

Her heart leapt even as reaction set in and her knees buckled. She clung to Domenico. His grip tightened, holding her against him as if she belonged there.

Later she’d regret clinging to him, but now she was too overwhelmed by a sense of deliverance from danger.

It wasn’t him.

The knowledge beat a rapid tattoo in her blood. She took in the worried face and bright eyes of the stranger. What she’d thought a bodyguard’s suit was a casual uniform of dark trousers and shirt. The man was an employee, but not the one she’d feared. Even the crooked jut of his nose was different and his eyes held none of the gleaming malice she remembered.

In face of the stranger’s concern Lucy tried to summon a reassuring smile but it wobbled too much.

‘Lucy?’ Domenico’s broad palm rubbed her back and comforting heat swirled from the point of contact. She pressed closer, arching into him.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was husky. She turned as far as she could within Domenico’s firm embrace. She should step free but couldn’t dredge the strength to stand alone. ‘I...overreacted. I saw someone coming towards me in the darkness and...’

‘I’m sorry, signorina.’ The big man looked solemn. ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘No. Don’t apologise.’ Lucy’s smile was more convincing now, though it felt like a rictus stretch of stiff muscles. ‘It was my mistake.’

‘It’s okay, Salvo.’ Domenico’s deep voice was balm to shredded nerves. ‘Everything’s fine. You can leave us.’

With one last troubled look the man left and Lucy sagged. The rush of adrenalin was fading. She felt almost nauseous in the aftermath.

‘Lucy? Come and sit in the shade.’

Suddenly, as if her brain had just engaged, she became fully conscious of how intimately they stood. The press of hard muscle and solid bone supporting her. The reassuring beat of his heart beneath her palm. The need to lean closer and lose herself in his embrace. The flare of pleasure at the differences between them—he was so utterly masculine against her melting weakness.

That realisation made her snap upright on a surge of horrified energy.

‘I’m sorry.’ Humiliation blurred her words as she struggled to remove herself from his hold. What must he think of her, clinging to him?

Bile churned her stomach. She knew what he must think. The prosecution at the trial had painted her as a femme fatale, using the promise of her body to win expensive favours from her indulgent boss. Domenico probably thought she was trying a similar tactic to win sympathy.

A shudder of self-loathing passed through her and she broke free. How could she have turned to him?

Her pace was uneven but she managed the few steps to the boatshed, putting her hand to its wall for support.

Stifling her shame and embarrassment, Lucy forced herself to turn. He stood, frowning, the line of his jaw razor-sharp and his grey eyes piercing.

‘Now we’re alone you can tell me who you thought you were running from. Who are you scared of?’