Читать книгу A Night In His Arms - Annie West - Страница 17

CHAPTER NINE

‘OF COURSE TADDEO is welcome here as usual. Nothing will ever change that. He’s my nephew and as precious to me as a son.’

Domenico thrust his hand through his hair in frustration as his sister-in-law squawked her outrage down the phone line. She was family and, for his nephew’s sake especially, Domenico put up with her.

‘Yes, Lucy’s here. Far better she stays here away from the press than selling her story. Isn’t that what you wanted?’

He eased the phone from his ear as Pia unleashed a torrent of objections. Mouth flattening, he strode to the wide terrace and inhaled deep of the fresh sea air. Pia had read about Domenico rescuing Lucy from the press and demanded to know why she was still with him.

As if he had to clear his actions with Pia!

He’d only got involved in this situation because Pia had pleaded for him to intervene.

Though this had passed well beyond a simple business negotiation. He was...personally involved.

He thought of his overwhelming relief when Lucy had emerged from that dark hole. For heart-stopping minutes panic had filled him as it seemed to take a lifetime to haul her up. Domenico tasted rusty fear, remembering.

He’d gathered her close and hadn’t been able to release her even when her well-wishers crowded around. He’d needed her with him.

Domenico scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He and Lucy had unfinished business. Business he’d delayed. It had nothing to do with Sandro or Pia or the press.

‘Calm down, Pia, and hear me out.’

* * *

Lucy heard Domenico as she entered the house. She stopped, not to eavesdrop but because he had that effect on her. She’d given up pretending. She might be weak where he was concerned but she refused to lie to herself.

The sound of that rich macchiato voice pooled heat deep in her body. The memory of his tender kiss, as if he treasured her, made forbidden hope unfurl.

‘I understand your concerns, Pia, but she’s not the woman the press have painted.’

Lucy started, realising Domenico was talking to his sister-in-law about her. She went rigid, torn between curiosity and protecting herself. Since the rescue it had been hard to keep him at arm’s length. Yet she needed to because he could hurt her badly.

She was moving away when he spoke again.

‘That was years ago, Pia. People change. She’s changed. Did you get her letter?’

Lucy’s steps faltered.

‘You shouldn’t have destroyed it. She wrote to say how much she regretted Sandro’s death. She was genuine, Pia. I’m sure of that.’

Lucy’s heart hammered against her ribs, her hand clenching on the door handle.

Domenico was standing up for her against his sister-in-law! She could scarcely believe it.

‘I understand, Pia. But it’s time we moved on. For Taddeo’s sake.’ He paused as if listening. ‘We can’t change the past, much as we wish it. I know Lucy wishes she could. She’s genuinely sorry for what happened to Sandro.’

Lucy clung to the door handle as her knees wobbled.

‘That’s your choice, Pia. But think about what I’ve said. Living in the present is the best thing for your son. He’s a fine boy, one Sandro would have been proud of. You don’t want him growing up bitter and fearful, do you?’

Domenico’s voice dipped on his brother’s name, reminding Lucy this was a private conversation.

She released the door and crossed the foyer. Confusion filled her but it didn’t dim her smile and her step was light.

Domenico had stood up for her!

* * *

Sunlight filtered through spreading branches and Lucy leaned against her cushion with a sigh of contentment.

‘More?’ Domenico lifted a bunch of dark grapes with the bloom of the vineyard still on them.

‘I couldn’t.’ She patted her stomach. ‘I’ve eaten like a horse.’

His eyes followed the movement and fire licked her. She stiffened then forced herself to relax as his gaze grew intent. Domenico saw too much, especially now when her skill at hiding her feelings had disintegrated.

‘I’ll have some.’ Chiara skipped across the clearing. The plaster on her wrist was the only reminder of last week’s ordeal.

Lucy met Domenico’s rueful gaze and realised they shared the same thought. She smiled, sharing the moment of relief, and he smiled back. It was like watching the sunrise after endless night, warming her with an inner glow.

Her breathing snagged then resumed, quicker and shorter as she watched his eyes darken. Her skin shivered as if responding to the phantom brush of his hand.

‘Domi? Can’t I have some?’

Domenico dragged his attention to Chiara. ‘Of course, bella.’ He handed over the bunch then leaned back on his arms. Lucy’s heart pattered faster. If he shifted again they’d be touching.

Domenico hadn’t touched her since Chiara’s accident. That made her wonder if she’d imagined the strength of his embrace that day, or the way his hands had trembled as he held her. Her breath eased out in a sigh.

She’d never forget the magic of his kiss. Her fingers drifted to her mouth as she relived the brush of his lips.

It worried her how much she longed for him. How readily she responded now he treated her as a welcome guest. After hearing him defend her to Pia she hadn’t been able to quell effervescent excitement, or the conviction that things had changed irrevocably between them.

She looked up to find his hooded eyes gleaming with heat. It arced between them, pulsing darts of sizzling awareness to her breasts, her belly and beyond.

Lucy shivered and his mouth curled in a lopsided smile that carved a long dimple down his lean cheek. She curled her fingers into the grass, fighting the impulse to reach out and touch.

‘So, Lucy.’ He paused, glancing across to where Chiara sat with the flowers she’d gathered. ‘You approve of Italian picnics?’

‘I adore Italian picnics.’

‘You’ve only been on one.’

She shrugged and felt the soft breeze waft over her bare arms, the melting laxness in her bones. ‘What’s not to like? Sunshine and food fresh from the farm.’ She gestured to the remains of home baked bread, bowls of ricotta and local honey, prosciutto, olives and a cornucopia of summer fruits. ‘It’s heaven. Almost as good as our picnics back home.’

His eyebrows slanted high. ‘Almost?’

‘Well, there’s nothing like a sudden English rainstorm to liven up outdoor eating.’

He laughed, the deep rich sound curling round her. An answering smile hovered on Lucy’s mouth.

Smiling had become second nature lately. Because she’d been made to feel she belonged. By Chiara’s warm-hearted family and by Domenico. Gone was his judgemental frown, replaced by easy-going acceptance that banished so many shadows. He’d taken her snorkelling again, taught her to waterski and whiled away more hours than he needed to in her company, never once mentioning his brother or the story she might sell to the press. As if he trusted her.

Lucy could relax with him now.

No, that wasn’t right. This tingling awareness wasn’t relaxation. It was confidence and excitement and pleasure all rolled together.

Risky pleasure, when it lulled her into fantasy. When she found herself hoping the horrors of the past would vanish and leave them untroubled in this paradise.

A chill frisson snaked up her backbone.

It can’t last.

One day soon the real world would intrude.

Lucy marvelled that Domenico had taken so much time out from what must be a heavy work schedule. He’d have business elsewhere. And she...she’d have to go too.

Regret lanced her and she twisted towards Chiara rather than let Domenico glimpse her pain.

Its intensity shocked her. It ripped through her, stealing the breath in her lungs.

Lucy pressed a hand to her chest.

‘Are you okay?’ Domenico moved abruptly as if sensing her discomfort.

‘I’m fine.’ This time her smile was a desperate lie. ‘Just a little too much indulgence after all.’

Panic stirred. This wasn’t just regret that the vacation was almost over. She’d known it would be tough trying to create a new life. She’d spent the last weeks facing the unpalatable facts of a future without family, friends, a job or anywhere to call home.

But the dread that made her skin break into a cold sweat owed nothing to that. It had everything to do with Domenico Volpe and what she’d begun to feel for him.

She felt...too much.

On a surge of frantic energy Lucy shot to her feet. Domenico was just as quick, his expression concerned as he broke his own unspoken rule and encircled her wrist with long fingers.

Instantly Lucy stilled, willing her pulse to slow.

‘What is it, Lucy?’

‘Nothing. I just wanted to move.’

Grey eyes searched her face and she held her breath, praying he couldn’t read her thoughts. She could barely understand them herself. Amazing as it seemed, she cared for Domenico in a way that made the idea of leaving him send panic spurting through her.

‘Liar.’ To her addled brain the whisper sounded like a caress.

The stroke of his thumb against her wrist was a caress. She clamped her hand on his to stop it, looking down to see his dark golden fingers cradle her paler ones.

They held each other, fingers meshing. Strength throbbed through her. How could she give this up?

Because she must.

‘You promised—’

‘I promised not to revisit the past.’ His breath was warm on her cheek. ‘But this isn’t about the past, is it, Lucy? This is about the present. Here. Now.’

Unable to stop herself, she turned her head and met his eyes. Molten heat poured through her as their gazes locked. The world receded, blocked out by the knowledge she read there, the awareness.

‘I can’t—’ Words clogged in her throat.

‘It’s all right, Lucy. You don’t have to do anything.’

‘Domi? Lucy? What’s wrong?’

Domenico looked down at Chiara and Lucy felt the sudden release of tension as if a band had snapped undone around her chest. She breathed deep, trying to find equilibrium. But Domenico still held her, his touch firm and possessive. A thrill of secret pleasure rippled through her.

‘Everything’s fine, little one. I’ve got a surprise for you both.’

* * *

The surprise was a trip to the mainland, to a town that climbed steep hills in a fantasy of pastel-washed houses. Lucy wished she had a camera. Everywhere she turned were amazing vistas and intriguing corners.

‘Come on, you’re so slow.’ Chiara tugged her hand.

‘I’ve never seen any place like this.’ Lucy lifted her gaze past a tree heavy with huge golden lemons to the view of green hilltops above the town. ‘It’s beautiful.’

The little girl tilted her head. ‘Isn’t it pretty where you come from?’

Instantly Lucy had a vision of grey concrete and metal, of bare floors and inmates scarred by life. It seemed like a dream as she stood here in the mellow afternoon sunlight.

‘Yes, it is pretty.’ She thought of the village where she’d grown up. ‘The bluebells grow so thick in spring it’s like a carpet in the forest. Our house had roses around the door and the biggest swing you ever saw underneath a huge old tree in the garden.’

Summers had seemed endless then. Like this one. Except it had to end.

She’d have to forget trying to find a bookkeeping job. Instead she’d look for casual waitressing when she got to England. Something that didn’t require character references.

‘Come on.’ Chiara tugged her hand again. ‘Domi said we can have a gelato in the square.’

Lucy let herself be led back towards the centre of town. Domenico would have finished his errand for Chiara’s nonna. He’d be waiting. Her heart gave a little jump that reminded her forcibly that it was time to leave for England.

Yet her smile lingered. For this afternoon she’d live in the moment. Surely she could afford to store up memories of one perfect afternoon before she faced the bleak future?

They were passing some shops, Chiara hopping on one leg then the other, when a shout yanked Lucy’s head around.

‘Look! It’s her!’

A thin woman on the other side of the narrow street pointed straight at Lucy and Chiara.

‘I told you it was her when they walked up the hill, but you didn’t believe me. So I went in and got this. See?’ She waved a magazine, drawing the attention not only of the man beside her, but of passers-by.

Lucy’s heart sank. She took Chiara’s hand. ‘Come on, sweetie.’

But the woman moved faster, her voice rising.

‘It’s her I tell you. She’s a killer. What’s she doing with that girl? Someone should call the police.’

Nausea roiled in Lucy’s belly as she forced herself to walk steadily, not break into a sprint. That would only frighten Chiara. Besides, fleeing would only incite the crowd. She remembered how a mob of inmates reacted when they sensed fear in a newcomer.

Skin prickling from the heat of so many avid stares, she tugged Chiara a little faster. Around them were murmurs from a gathering crowd.

The woman with the magazine came close but not close enough to stop their progress. But the malevolent curiosity on her sharp features spelled trouble. For a moment Lucy was tempted to snarl a threat to make her shrink back.

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to regress to that hunted woman she’d been, half-savage with the need to escape, ready to lash out at anyone in her way.

It had only been a few weeks since her release but they’d altered her. She’d lost the dangerous edge that had been her protection in prison. Besides, what sort of example would that set? She squeezed Chiara’s hand and kept walking.

‘Why doesn’t someone stop her?’ the woman shrieked. ‘She’s a murderer. She shouldn’t be allowed near an innocent child.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw the picture in the magazine she waved like a banner. It was a close-up of Lucy getting into Domenico’s limousine. The headline in blood-red said, ‘Where Is Sandro’s Killer Now?’.

Her heart leapt against her ribcage as fear battered her. The nightmare would never end, would it? Now Chiara was caught in it. She felt the child flinch as the woman screeched. Anger fired deep inside.

She stopped and turned, tugging Chiara protectively behind her.

The woman shrank back apace. ‘Don’t let her hurt me! Help!’ Instantly others surged forward, curious.

‘Signora—’ Lucy dredged up a polite tone ‘—please don’t shout. Can’t you see you’re frightening my friend? It would be much better for everyone if you didn’t.’

The woman gawped, opening then closing her mouth. Then she hissed, ‘Listen! She’s threatening me.’

‘Lucy?’ Chiara’s voice was unsteady, her eyes huge as Lucy turned to reassure her, stroking her hair and plastering what she hoped was a confident smile on her face. But inside she trembled. This was turning ugly.

‘Grab her, someone. Can’t you see she shouldn’t be with that child?’

There was a murmur from the crowd and Lucy sensed movement towards her. She spun around to confront a sea of faces. Her stomach dived but she drew herself up straight.

‘Touch me or my friend and you’ll answer to the police.’ She kept her tone calm by sheer willpower, her gaze scanning back and forth across the gathering.

* * *

The words were loud even over the mutterings of the crowd. And enough to hold them back...for now.

Domenico took in the defiant tilt of Lucy’s head and her wide-planted feet, as if she stood ready to fight off an attack. But she couldn’t fend them off. Her hands were behind her back, holding Chiara’s.

She looked like a lioness defending her young.

A lioness outnumbered by hunters.

Something plunged through his chest, a sharp purging heat like iron hot from the forge. His hands curled into fists so tight they trembled with the force of his rage. He wanted to smash something. Preferably the shrewish face of the woman stirring the crowd.

He strode up behind Lucy.

She must have sensed movement for she swung round, her face pale.

Her eyes widened. She gulped, drawing attention to the tense muscles in her slender throat and the flat line of her mouth. She looked down, murmuring reassurance to Chiara, but not before he’d seen the fear in her eyes. Half an hour ago those eyes had danced with pleasure at the sight of the pretty town and its market stalls.

Naked fury misted his vision.

Domenico stalked the last pace towards her. In one swift movement he scooped up Chiara and cuddled her close. He looped his other arm around Lucy and pulled her to him. She was rigid as a board and he felt tension hum through her, an undercurrent of leashed energy.

‘I don’t know who you are,’ he growled at the harridan in the thick of the crowd, ‘but I’ll thank you not to frighten my family.’

Beside him Lucy jerked then stilled. He heard her soft gasp and rubbed his palm up her arm. It was covered in goose bumps. Damn him for leaving them alone!

‘But she’s—’

‘It doesn’t matter who she is, signora. But I’ll have your name.’ His voice was lethal. ‘I’ll need it for my complaint to the police. For public nuisance and harassment.’ He watched the woman wilt. ‘Possibly incitement to violence.’

He turned and glared at the gathering, which had already thinned substantially.

‘And the names of anyone else involved.’

He turned to Chiara, giving them time to digest that. ‘Are you all right, bella?’

She nodded. ‘But Lucy isn’t. She was shaking.’

‘It’s all right, little one. I’m here now and Lucy will be fine.’

Domenico felt Lucy shudder and held her tighter, wishing he had both arms free to hold her. Wishing he hadn’t dispensed with security support today. He turned back to the street. Only a couple of people remained, watching wide-eyed. He heard the woman at the front whispering.

‘He’s the one in the magazine. The one whose—’

‘Basta!’ He scowled. ‘One more word from you and I’m pressing charges.’ He gave her a look he reserved for underperforming managers. A moment later, she and her companions had scuttled away.

‘Right, girls.’ He turned towards the main square, his arms tight around Chiara and Lucy, his tone as reassuring as he could make it over simmering fury. ‘Gelato time. I’m having lemon. How about you?’