A Night In His Arms. Annie West
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It was out in the open finally.
She turned her gaze on him. To her amazement, colour flushed his tanned face, rising high on those lean cheeks.
‘Would it have changed anything?’
Lucy’s lips firmed. It wouldn’t have changed the trial’s outcome but it would have meant everything to her.
‘When I saw you there I thought you’d come to support me.’ Her mouth twisted. She’d felt utterly alone, her family so far away. ‘Until I found out who you were.’
His eyes widened, something like shock tensing his face.
‘Surely you knew that already.’
‘How could I? I only knew your first name, remember?’
They’d had such a short time together, less than a day. Her chest tightened. It wasn’t his fault she’d fallen under his spell so utterly. That she’d read too much into simple attraction. She’d been so inexperienced. Domenico was the first man to make her heart flutter.
She looked into his stunned eyes and realised what a little fool she’d been. What had her claim on him been? An afternoon’s pleasant company compared with supporting his family in crisis.
All this time she’d blamed him for not hearing her out. How could he, with Pia clinging hysterically to him? With the weight of his brother’s death weighing him down?
How could she have expected him to leave those responsibilities for her, a woman he barely knew? Simply because she’d woven juvenile fantasies about him! Suddenly she felt a million years older than the immature girl who’d stood in the dock.
She raised her hand when he went to speak.
‘Forget it, Domenico. It doesn’t matter now.’ To her surprise, it was true. Clinging to pain only held her back.
If this afternoon had shown her one thing it was that life was worth living—here, now. She intended to grab it by the throat and make the most of it. No point repining over what couldn’t be changed.
‘I’m thirsty. Do you have anything?’
Still Domenico stared, a strange arrested look in his eyes. ‘There’s beer or soft drink.’ He stepped closer and now it wasn’t his expression that held her.
He’d wiped the excess water away but hadn’t wrapped a towel around himself. She drank in the sight of his gold-toned body, powerfully muscled and mouth-wateringly tempting. His low-slung board shorts emphasised his virile masculinity.
‘Juice?’ she croaked.
He poured her a glass then collected a beer and sat down.
‘We’re not going ashore?’
He shrugged and Lucy couldn’t help but watch the way muscle and sinew moved across his shoulders and chest. In Rome he wore a suit like a man bred for formal dress. But his tailored clothes hid a body that spoke to her on the deepest, most elemental level. A level that made her forget herself.
‘Not unless you’re in a rush. Sunset over the island looks terrific from here. I thought you’d enjoy it.’
Lucy had no doubt she would, if she could tear her eyes from him.
‘Thank you for this afternoon,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’ Better to babble, she decided, than to gawk silently. Why didn’t he cover himself?
‘You’ve never been snorkelling?’
‘Or for a ride in a speedboat. I’ve never been in a boat.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Never?’
Lucy smiled. She couldn’t help it. His look of amazement was priceless. ‘I’m a landlubber. I’ve never even been in a canoe.’
‘But you can swim.’
‘Even in England we’ve got public indoor pools, you know.’ She paused. ‘That’s why I jumped at the chance to work in Italy, to see the Mediterranean.’ Pleasure rose at the sight of the azure sea, the sky turning blush pink over Domenico’s island and, when she turned, the dazzling view of villages clinging to the mainland.
It was the embodiment of those fantasies she’d had as a girl: sun, sand and an exotic foreign location. Even a sun-bronzed hunk with mesmerising good looks.
How naïve she’d been, yearning for adventure.
‘You lived far from the sea?’
She sipped her juice. ‘Not far. But our interests were all on dry land.’
‘Our?’
‘My dad and me.’ She paused, registering the familiar pang of loss, but with her attention on the breathtaking view, the pain wasn’t as sharp as usual. ‘He was a bus driver and mad about vintage cars. I spent my childhood visiting displays of old automobiles or helping him fix ours.’ She smiled. ‘He’d have loved that one you have at the palazzo.’
Her smile faded and her throat tightened as it often did when she thought of her dad and the precious time they’d lost. ‘He died just after the trial.’
She turned to find Domenico looking as grim as she’d ever seen him. This time the shiver that ran through her wasn’t one of pleasure but chill foreboding.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Lucy.’ He stood and moved towards her, then shifted abruptly away.
‘It’s no one’s fault,’ she murmured, refusing to listen to the little voice that said she should have found some way to see her beloved dad before he passed on. The voice of guilt, reminding her of all she’d put him through when he was so ill.
‘But you wanted to be with him.’
Surprised, she looked up and saw understanding in his eyes. Of course. He’d been overseas when his brother had died. He knew how it felt to be far away at such a time.
‘Yes.’ Her voice was hoarse.
‘He would have known. He would have understood.’
‘I know, but it doesn’t make it easier, does it?’
He was silent so long she thought she’d overstepped the mark, referring however obliquely to his own loss.
‘No, it doesn’t.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I was in New York when Sandro died. I kept telling myself it would never have happened if I’d been in Rome.’
Lucy bit her lip but finally let the words escape. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference.’ Did he want to hear that from the woman he thought responsible?
His eyes darkened, then he nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s just that Sandro was—’ he frowned ‘—special. Our parents died when I was young and Sandro was more than a big brother.’
‘He was a good man,’ she said. He hadn’t been perfect. She’d wished he’d got specialist help for his wife’s depression. Yet though she didn’t agree, she understood his reluctance not to upset her when she saw outside help as proof she was a bad mother.
As an employer he’d been decent. Looking back, she realised what a quandary she’d put him in with her hysterical demand to leave immediately for England. Of course he’d put his family’s needs first. She’d been young and overwrought, convinced a delay of a few days would make a difference to her father.
‘Sandro was the one who taught me to swim, and to snorkel.’ Domenico smiled wistfully. ‘And, come to that, how to drive a speedboat.’
‘My dad taught me how to strip down an engine.’ Her mouth curved reminiscently. ‘And how to make a kite and fly it. He even came to ballet classes when I was little and too shy to go alone.’
‘He sounds like a perfect father.’
‘He was.’