Annie West - A Night In His Arms

She’d said yesterday she hadn’t known his identity before the trial. It was tempting to think Lucy lied but there was no reason now. Besides, he’d seen real hurt in her face when she’d asked why he’d avoided her. Hell! He no longer knew what to believe.

Could she be innocent?

His blood froze. The idea that he’d misjudged her so badly, letting her suffer for a crime she didn’t commit, didn’t bear thinking about.

He looked across to where she sat, eyes riveted on her breakfast as if it fascinated her.

Never before had she refused to meet his eyes.

He wanted to demand she look at him. He wanted to kiss that sultry down-turned mouth and unleash the passion that had blasted the back off his skull yesterday. Behind that reserve lurked a woman unlike any he’d known. More alive, more vital, more dangerous.

Was he out of control, ignoring what he owed his dead brother? Or were his doubts valid?

‘Mail, sir.’ The maid entered with a bundle of letters. To his surprise she placed an envelope beside Lucy’s plate.

‘For me?’ Lucy frowned. ‘Thank you.’

Who knew she was here? Someone she’d corresponded with via email? He forced himself to take another sip of fresh juice rather than demand to know who’d sent it.

She slipped a finger under the seal and withdrew a sheet of paper, discarding the envelope. That was when he saw a bold, too-familiar logo. It belonged to the magazine that had run her stepmother’s interview.

He clenched his jaw, forcing down bile. Obviously Lucy was making the most of her opportunities, accepting his hospitality while negotiating with the gutter press for a better financial deal.

It shouldn’t surprise him.

So why did he feel betrayed?

So much for the wronged innocent. How often would he let her dupe him?

‘Is it a better offer?’

‘Sorry?’ Lucy looked up into eyes of gun-metal grey, piercing in their intensity.

She blinked, stunned by the change in Domenico. His eyebrows slashed in a V of disapproval and he looked as if he’d bitten something sour.

True, she’d shied away from contact this morning, still shocked by her response yesterday. But there’d been no venom in his voice, no ice in his stare when she’d entered the breakfast room.

‘I assume from your absorption they’re offering better terms than I did.’

Belatedly understanding dawned as he stared at the paper in her hand.

Pain sliced down, sharp as a blade of ice. It tore through her heart, shredding the bud of hope she’d nursed since yesterday. Making a mockery of that warm, sunshine glow Domenico had put there with his protectiveness, his acceptance and his desire.

What an idiot she’d been! How pathetically gullible.

Hadn’t life taught her not to believe in miracles?

Domenico Volpe caring for her, trusting her even a little, would be a miracle. Yet against the odds she’d hoped some of the emotions she’d read in him yesterday had been real.

She’d almost given herself to him!

Lucy cringed at how far she’d let herself be conned.

Crazy, but even more than his sexual hunger or his protectiveness, Lucy missed their camaraderie as they’d snorkelled and watched the sunset. The sense of acceptance and liking. That had been precious. They’d shared things that were important to them both. Memories of their loved ones.

For those few hours Lucy had felt genuine warmth, a spark of liking. Of trust.

Fool, fool, fool. He’d buttered her up to get what he wanted.

‘I said—’

‘I heard.’ She looked from him to the letter in her clenched fingers. There was nothing to choose between them. At least the press was upfront about what they wanted. Domenico had tried to distract her with a show of friendliness.

And she’d fallen for it.

What was one more deceit in a world of disappointment? Yet this one gouged pain in a heart she’d told herself was too well protected to hurt again.

‘It’s an attractive offer,’ she said at last. As if the idea of selling her story to those hyenas didn’t make her flesh crawl. They’d done more than destroy her reputation. They’d harried her poor dad in his last weeks. ‘I’ll have to consider it carefully.’

Distaste burned but maybe she didn’t have the luxury of saying no any more. If she sold her story she’d get enough to start fresh. Hadn’t she earned the right to profit after the terrible price she’d paid?

Maybe if she co-operated they’d leave her alone and she could pretend to be the woman she’d been before.

And pigs might fly. The press would never let her go whilst there was a story to be sold. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, imagining lurid revelations about her attempts to live a normal life. Shocked reactions from neighbours when they discovered a killer living in their midst.

It would never end. Not for years.

She snapped open her eyes and glared as Domenico looked down his aristocratic nose at her.

A silent howl of despair rose. She’d wanted to trust him. She’d begun to open up, to believe he cared.

‘Perhaps I could canvass the other media outlets and see what they’re offering.’

His scowl was a balm to her lacerated feelings. Let him stew!

‘You haven’t already done that? Isn’t that why you spend so long on the computer? Negotiating the best deal?’

‘Actually, no. But of course you won’t believe me.’

He leaned across the table, his eyes flashing daggers. ‘If you haven’t contacted the press, how do they know where you are?’

Lucy shoved her chair back and stood.

‘Perhaps they took an educated guess,’ she purred. ‘Since they knew I was at your palazzo it wouldn’t take much to suppose I’d be at one of your properties. Maybe they’ve written to me at each one. Who knows? Maybe this is the first of a flurry of offers.’ She smiled, injecting saccharine sweetness into her tone. ‘A bidding war. Wouldn’t that be fun?’

He looked as if he wanted to strangle her with his bare hands. They clenched into massive fists before him.

Lucy’s bravado ended as she recalled the stroke of those hands across her body. He’d touched her as if she were the most precious thing on earth.

She’d felt precious, desirable, special.

She forced down welling pain.

‘Here.’ She slowed as she walked past, letting the letter flutter to his lap. ‘See what the opposition is offering. Maybe you’ll increase your bid.’

Lucy strode out of the door before nausea engulfed her.

* * *

‘Excuse me, boss. Have you seen Chiara?’

Domenico looked up from his email to find Rocco at the door, concern etched on his face.

‘Isn’t she with Lucy? They spend half the day together.’

‘Chiara said Miss Lucy couldn’t play today. She said she looked upset.’ He paused and Domenico’s stomach dipped. A finger of guilt slid across his neck as he remembered the pain he’d seen on Lucy’s face when he’d confronted her.

After what they’d shared yesterday, and in light of what they’d almost shared, her anguish had been a knife to his gut. It made him feel like a jerk. Even though he was trying to protect his family, he’d been in the wrong.

Maybe because his anger wasn’t about protecting his nephew but himself? Because he’d overreacted when he’d seen her correspondence as he’d felt his illusions shatter?

Lucy Knight got under his skin as no other woman. He’d lashed out because emotion had overridden his brain.

Certainty had become doubt. But was it because he wanted her for himself or because she was innocent? He circled again and again round the puzzling truths he’d discovered about her.

She had him so confounded he didn’t know what to believe. He’d felt so betrayed this morning, discovering he couldn’t rely on his instincts where she was concerned.