A Night In His Arms. Annie West
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paused, looking up from her hidey-hole behind a couple of palm trees. ‘Don’t you wish you were six too?’
Unfamiliar warmth spread through Lucy. ‘Today I do.’ How wonderful to enjoy all this without a care for the future that loomed so empty.
It had been years since she’d seen a child, much less talked with one. Looking into that dimpled face, alight with curiosity, she realised how much she’d missed. If things had been different she’d have spent her life working with children. Once she had the money behind her to study, she’d intended to train as a teacher.
But her criminal record made that impossible.
‘Will you play with me?’
Lucy stiffened. Who would want her daughter playing with an ex-con? A woman with her record?
‘You’d better talk to your mummy first. You shouldn’t play with strangers, you know.’
The little girl’s eyes widened. ‘But you’re not a stranger. You’re a friend of Domi’s, aren’t you?’
‘Domi?’ Lucy frowned. ‘I don’t know—’
‘This is his house.’ Chiara spread her hands wide. ‘The house and garden. The whole island.’
‘I see. But I still can’t play with you unless your mummy says it’s all right.’
‘Uncle Rocco!’ The little girl spoke to someone behind Lucy. ‘Can I play with Lucy? She says I can’t unless Mummy says so but Mummy’s away.’
Lucy spun round to see the stolid face of the big security guard she’d lambasted outside the prison. Did it have to be him of all people? Heat flushed her skin but she held his gaze till he turned to the little girl, his features softening.
‘That’s for Nonna to decide. But it can’t be today. Signorina Knight just arrived. You can’t bother her with your chatter.’ He took the child by the hand and, with a nod at Lucy, led her to the villa.
Lucy turned towards the sea. Still beautiful, it had lost some of its sparkle.
At least Rocco hadn’t betrayed his horror at finding his niece with a violent criminal. But he’d hurried to remove her from Lucy’s tainted presence.
Pain jagged her chest, robbing her of air. Predictable as his reaction was, she couldn’t watch them leave. Her chest clamped around her bruised heart and she sagged against the stone balustrade.
Lucy had toughened up years ago. The naïve innocent was gone, replaced by a woman who viewed the world with cynicism and distrust. A woman who didn’t let the world or life get to her any more.
Yet the last twenty-four hours had been a revelation.
She’d confronted the paparazzi, then Domenico Volpe, learnt of Sylvia’s betrayal and faced the place where her life had changed irrevocably. Now she confronted a man’s instinct to protect his niece, from her.
All tore at her precious self-possession. It had taken heartache, determination and hard-won strength to build the barriers that protected her. She’d been determined never to experience again those depths of terror and pain of her first years in prison. Until now those barriers had kept her strong and safe.
Who’d have thought she still had the capacity to hurt so much?
* * *
She leant on the railing, eyes fixed on the south Italian mainland in the distance.
Domenico took in her slumped shoulders and the curve of her arms around her body, hugging out a hostile world.
It reminded him of the anguish he thought he’d spied yesterday in her old room at the palazzo. She’d hunched like a wounded animal over the spot Sandro had died. The sight had poleaxed him, playing on protective instincts he’d never expected to feel around her.
Almost, he’d been convinced by that look of blind pain in her unfocused eyes. But she’d soon disabused him. It had been an act, shrewd and deliberate, to con him into believing her story of innocence.
Innocent? The woman who’d seduced his brother then killed him?
He’d once fancied he felt a connection with the girl who’d burst like pure sunshine into his world. But before he could fall completely under her spell tragedy and harsh truth had intervened, revealing her true colours.
A breeze flirted with her wrap, shifting it against the curve of her hip and bottom.
She didn’t look innocent.
He remembered her trial. The evidence of Sandro’s Head of Security and of Pia, Sandro’s widow, that Lucy Knight had deliberately played up to Sandro, flirting and ultimately seducing him.
When it became clear her relationship with Sandro was core to the case against her, Lucy Knight had offered to have a medical test proving her virginity.
You could have heard a pin drop in the courtroom as all eyes fixed on her nubile body and wide, seemingly innocent eyes. Every man in that room had wondered about the possibility of being her first. Even Domenico.
The prosecution had successfully argued it was her intentions that mattered, not whether the affair had yet been consummated. In the end a medical test was deemed immaterial but for a while she’d cleverly won sympathy, despite the rest of the evidence.
Having seen her in action, Domenico had no doubt she knew exactly how to seduce even the most cautious man.
He traced the shapely line of her legs down to her bare feet and something thudded in his chest. Was the rest of her bare beneath that wrap?
His body tightened from chest to groin as adrenalin surged. His pulse thudded. Physical awareness saturated him and he cursed under his breath.
Hunger for Lucy Knight was not to be contemplated.
Yet the hectic drumming in his blood didn’t abate.
As if sensing him, she turned her head. ‘You! What are you doing here?’ She spun to face him, legs planted wide and hands clenched at her sides, a model of aggressive challenge.
Except for the robe’s gaping neckline and the flutter of cotton around bare thighs that highlighted her femininity.
Domenico reminded himself he liked his women accommodating. Soft and pliant. Warrior queens with lofty chins and defiance in every sinew held no appeal.
Till now.
His body’s wayward response angered him and guilt pricked. This woman had destroyed Sandro.
‘This is my property. Or had you forgotten?’
‘You implied I’d be here alone.’
‘Did I? Are you sure?’ Of course she wasn’t. He’d chosen his words carefully. Even to his enemies, Domenico didn’t lie. Seeing her skittishness, he’d deliberately neglected to mention he’d arrive here today. ‘I fail to see what my travel plans have to do with you.’
He waited for her to splutter her indignation. But she merely surveyed him through slitted eyes. He sensed she drew her defences tight, preparing for battle.
Was she like this with everyone or just him?
‘You came to make sure I don’t steal the silver.’ The sarcastic jibe almost hid her curiously flat tone. Yet he heard that hint of suppressed emotion, as if she was genuinely disappointed.
As if what he thought mattered.
Domenico frowned, instinct and intellect warring. He knew what she was, yet when he looked at her he felt...
Abruptly she pulled her robe in tight, as if only now realising the loose front revealed the shadow of her cleavage. Methodically she knotted the belt, all the while holding his gaze. Why did it feel as if she were putting on armour, rather than merely covering herself?
Did she know, with the light behind her, the wrap revealed