Annie West – A Night In His Arms: Captive in the Spotlight / Meddling with a Millionaire / How to Seduce a Billionaire (страница 12)
Lucy loved his perplexed expression. How many people said no to this man? She bet precious few women ever had.
‘I’m not interested.’
‘You’ve got to be joking. You need money.’
‘How do you know that?’ She leaned forward. ‘Don’t tell me you managed to access my private bank details.’ She shook her head. ‘That would be a criminal offence.’
His teeth bared in a grimace that told her he fought to retain his temper. Good. Goading him was the closest she’d get to revenge and she was human enough to revel in it.
‘If you expect a better offer you’ll have a long wait. My price is fair.’
‘Fair?’ Her voice rose. ‘No price is fair if I can’t tell my side of the story. You really expect me to forget what happened to me?’ Disbelief almost choked her. ‘If I took your blood money it would be tantamount to admitting guilt.’ The thought made her sick to the stomach.
‘And so?’
‘Damn you, Domenico Volpe!’ Lucy shot from her chair and skewered him with a glare that should have shrivelled him to ashes in his precious executive chair. ‘I refuse to soothe your conscience or that of your sister-in-law.’
He rose and leaned across so his face was a breath away from hers.
‘What are you implying?’
‘Don’t play the innocent.’ She braced her hands on the table, firing the words at him. ‘Your family’s influence was what convicted me.’
‘You have the temerity to hint the trial wasn’t fair? Because of us?’
She had to give him credit. He looked so furious he’d have convinced anyone. Except someone who’d been behind bars for years because of his precious family.
‘Come on! What chance did I stand with an overworked public defender against your power and influence?’
‘The evidence pointed overwhelmingly to you.’
‘But it wasn’t true.’ Her breath came in uneven pants as she faced him across the desk.
‘You’d be well advised to sign.’ His look sent a tremor of fear racing through her.
But he couldn’t hurt her. Not now. She was free. She had no one and almost no money, but she had integrity. He couldn’t take that.
‘Now who’s making threats?’ She stared into eyes that glowed like molten steel.
Deliberately she leaned across his desk, her lips almost grazing his cheek, her nostrils filling with the heady spice scent of him. His eyes widened in shock and she wondered if she’d looked like that out in the garden when he’d come close enough to kiss her.
‘I don’t respond to threats,’ she breathed in a whisper that caressed his scrupulously shaved jaw. ‘The answer is still no.’
DAMN THE WOMAN.
Domenico paced his study, furious he hadn’t broken the deadlock. Lucy Knight still rejected his offer.
It stuck in his craw to give her anything but it was the only way to stop her selling her story. Then what privacy would Pia and Taddeo have? The scandal could go on for years, dogging Taddeo as he grew.
Money was the obvious lever to get what he needed. She was desperate for cash. If she’d had funds she’d have spent it on a top-flight defence team.
A splinter of discomfort pierced him, remembering her inexperienced, under-prepared lawyer. Watching his ineffectual efforts had made Domenico actually consider intervening to organise a more capable defender.
To defend the woman who’d killed Sandro!
Perhaps if he hadn’t known she was guilty he would have. But how could he doubt the overwhelming evidence against her?
A mere week before Sandro’s death Lucy Knight had bumped into Domenico, literally, at an exhibition of baroque jewellery. He was supervising the inclusion of some family pieces but had been distracted, outrageously so, by the charms of the delightful young Englishwoman who’d blushed and stammered so prettily. She’d looked at the gems with unfeigned delight and at him with something like awe.
Yet it was her hesitation to accept his spur of the moment invitation to coffee that had hooked him. How long since a woman had even pretended to resist him?
Coffee had turned into a stroll through the Forum, lunch at a tucked away trattoria and an afternoon sightseeing. He’d enjoyed himself more than he could remember with a woman who was just Lucy to his Domenico. A woman whose eyes sparkled with unconcealed awareness, yet who trembled with innocent hesitation when he merely took her hand. She was smart, fun and refreshingly honest. Enough to make him believe he’d found someone special and rare.
She’d evoked a slew of emotions. Passion, delight and a surprising protectiveness that had kept him from sweeping her off to his bed then and there. For the connection between them had been sizzling, each touch electric.
She’d been different from every other woman, her impact so profound he’d suggested meeting again when he returned to Rome.
In New York he’d counted the hours to his return.
Till he’d seen Lucy in a news report, doused in his brother’s blood as she was led away by the police.
His heart stuttered at the memory.
Then piece by piece he’d heard from Pia and Sandro’s staff the truth about Lucy. How she’d seduced his brother and flaunted her power over him.
She must have known who Domenico was at the gallery and engineered the meeting. Why stick with Sandro, whose wife was already making a fuss about his affair, when his brother—just as rich and single to boot—was available? And just as susceptible.
Domenico thrust a hand through his hair. He’d fallen for her with an ease that shamed and angered him.
No. She’d brought on the result of the trial herself.
Yet he couldn’t douse his awareness of her. The delicacy of her features snagged his attention again and again, as did the proud, wilful angle of her jaw that appealed even as it repelled.
All afternoon he’d watched her. She appeared fascinated by the grounds, apparently content with the tranquillity here. Which made him wonder what her life had been like behind bars that she should revel in solitude.
There it was again. This unholy interest in the woman. She should mean nothing to him but a problem to be solved. Instead he found himself...intrigued.
And that tiny dead of night niggle was back, disturbing his rest.
He strode to the window, hands jammed in his pockets.
She gave him no peace. There she was at the end of the garden. The afternoon sun burnished her hair, making it glint like gold as she tipped her head back. Her obvious sensual delight was far too alluring, the way she held her arms open to embrace the heat, her deep breaths that drew his eyes to her delectable breasts.
She stiffened, head turning and arms folding in a classic defensive pose. Her tension was obvious as a figure approached from the villa. Rocco, his Head of Security.
Rocco held out a broad-brimmed hat. For a moment she stood stiff, as if unwilling to accept it. Then Rocco spoke and her defensive posture eased. She took the hat and put it on. Rocco spoke again and she shook her head. Was that laughter he caught in the distance?
Domenico stared, fascinated. Lucy Knight was so wary, stiffening the instant he or his security staff came near. To see her relaxed and laughing... Why? Because Rocco had offered her protection from the sun? It was a simple consideration anyone would offer.
Yet look how she responded. Now they were in conversation. She must be asking about landmarks for he pointed to the mainland and she nodded, leaning close.
Domenico frowned, not liking the swirl of discontent that rose as he watched them together.
The difference in her was remarkable. Domenico recalled the way her face had lit up at lunch when the maid served a delicious tiramisu, saying it was the cook’s speciality, prepared to welcome the new guest. Lucy’s eyes had widened then softened with appreciation and shock before she realised he was watching and looked away. Later she’d made a point of telling the maid how much she’d enjoyed the dessert.
The tiramisu was a little thing, a familiar courtesy to a guest, yet Lucy Knight had responded with surprised delight.
Was she so unused to consideration or kindness?
Given how she’d lived for the past several years it wasn’t surprising.
What had she said when she’d rejected his offer out of hand? That she didn’t respond to threats?
Domenico’s brain snapped into gear. He’d seen her proud defiance, her cool calm and her haughty, almost self-destructive need to assert her independence. Look at the way she’d faced the paparazzi.
If the threats didn’t work...what would she respond to?
Perhaps there was another way to get what he needed.
Instead of demands, persuasion might be more effective. Didn’t they say you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar?
* * *
Lucy shut her eyes and listened to the drowsy hum of bees in the garden and, below, the soft shush of waves. She was so incredibly lethargic, mind and body reacting as if, for the first time in years, she didn’t need to be constantly on guard. It was easy to relax here, too easy, given she had a future to organise and decisions to make. She should—
‘I thought I’d find you here.’ The deep voice swirled across her nerve ends, jerking them into tingling life.