A Night In His Arms. Annie West
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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.