Annie West – A Night In His Arms: Captive in the Spotlight / Meddling with a Millionaire / How to Seduce a Billionaire (страница 10)

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 rather than concealed her curves? Was it a deliberate ploy to distract him?

His voice was harsh. ‘I leave it to my security staff to watch for thieves.’

Did she flinch? He remembered her rosy flush in court when evidence had been presented about the jewellery she’d either been given or had stolen from Sandro.

No sign of a blush now.

‘What do you want?’ Her insolence made his hackles rise.

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny he wanted anything, but pragmatism beat pride. He was here for one reason only and the sooner he fixed it the sooner he could put Lucy Knight firmly in the past.

‘I do have some business to discuss with you but—’

‘Ha! I knew it!’ She folded her arms and Domenico had to force his gaze above the plump swell of her breasts, accentuated by the gesture.

‘Knew what?’ To his chagrin he’d missed something. He who never missed a nuance of any business negotiation.

‘That it was too good to be true.’ Her lip curled. ‘No one gives anything for nothing. Especially you.’ Her gaze flicked him from head to toe as if she read his body’s charged response to her. His skin drew tight. Fury spilled and pooled. At her dismissive tone. At himself for the spark of arousal he couldn’t douse.

‘You’re here, aren’t you? Safe from the media?’

‘But at what price?’ She stepped close, eyes flaring wide as if she felt it too, the simmer of charged awareness, palpable as a caress against overheated flesh. ‘There are strings attached to this deal, aren’t there? A price I have to pay?’

Domenico looked down his nose with all the hauteur six centuries of aristocratic breeding could provide. No one doubted his honour. Ever.

‘I’m a man of my word.’ He let that sink in. ‘I offered you sanctuary and you have it. There are no strings.’

Yet if she hadn’t been so stressed yesterday she’d have made sure of that before agreeing to his offer.

Domenico muffled a sliver of guilt that he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability. The stakes were too high, the trouble she could cause too severe for him to have second thoughts.

Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose. ‘I’m free to leave?’

Domenico stepped back and gestured to the boats moored in the bay. ‘I will even provide the transport.’

He wished she’d take him up on the offer. Yes, he wanted more from her but instinct warned him to be rid of her. He didn’t relish the discordant tumble of his reactions to her. There was nothing logical or ordered about them. She made him feel...things he thought long dead.

Her eyes bored into his, as if she sought the very heart of him. ‘But you want me out of the limelight.’

‘Of course.’ He shrugged. ‘But I’m not keeping you prisoner. There are laws in this country.’

Her breath hissed and she stiffened, reading his implication. That one of them at least was honest and law-abiding.

Her mouth tightened but otherwise her face was blank. So much for vulnerability. Lucy Knight was as tough as nails.

‘If you’re staying...’ He looked at her expectantly but she said nothing. ‘We can discuss business when you’re dressed.’ He glanced at his watch. Eleven o’clock. ‘Shall we say midday?’

‘Why delay? I’d rather know what you want now.’

She spoke as if he hid something painful from her. He almost laughed at the idea. Once he made his offer she’d be eager enough.

‘You’re hardly dressed for business.’

She stuck her hands on her hips, her pose challenging and provocative. ‘You’d be more comfortable if I wore a suit? Why can’t you tell me now?’ Again those delicate eyebrows rose, as if she silently laughed at him.