Annie West - A Night In His Arms

‘I adore Italian picnics.’

‘You’ve only been on one.’

She shrugged and felt the soft breeze waft over her bare arms, the melting laxness in her bones. ‘What’s not to like? Sunshine and food fresh from the farm.’ She gestured to the remains of home baked bread, bowls of ricotta and local honey, prosciutto, olives and a cornucopia of summer fruits. ‘It’s heaven. Almost as good as our picnics back home.’

His eyebrows slanted high. ‘Almost?’

‘Well, there’s nothing like a sudden English rainstorm to liven up outdoor eating.’

He laughed, the deep rich sound curling round her. An answering smile hovered on Lucy’s mouth.

Smiling had become second nature lately. Because she’d been made to feel she belonged. By Chiara’s warm-hearted family and by Domenico. Gone was his judgemental frown, replaced by easy-going acceptance that banished so many shadows. He’d taken her snorkelling again, taught her to waterski and whiled away more hours than he needed to in her company, never once mentioning his brother or the story she might sell to the press. As if he trusted her.

Lucy could relax with him now.

No, that wasn’t right. This tingling awareness wasn’t relaxation. It was confidence and excitement and pleasure all rolled together.

Risky pleasure, when it lulled her into fantasy. When she found herself hoping the horrors of the past would vanish and leave them untroubled in this paradise.

A chill frisson snaked up her backbone.

It can’t last.

One day soon the real world would intrude.

Lucy marvelled that Domenico had taken so much time out from what must be a heavy work schedule. He’d have business elsewhere. And she...she’d have to go too.

Regret lanced her and she twisted towards Chiara rather than let Domenico glimpse her pain.

Its intensity shocked her. It ripped through her, stealing the breath in her lungs.

Lucy pressed a hand to her chest.

‘Are you okay?’ Domenico moved abruptly as if sensing her discomfort.

‘I’m fine.’ This time her smile was a desperate lie. ‘Just a little too much indulgence after all.’

Panic stirred. This wasn’t just regret that the vacation was almost over. She’d known it would be tough trying to create a new life. She’d spent the last weeks facing the unpalatable facts of a future without family, friends, a job or anywhere to call home.

But the dread that made her skin break into a cold sweat owed nothing to that. It had everything to do with Domenico Volpe and what she’d begun to feel for him.

She felt...too much.

On a surge of frantic energy Lucy shot to her feet. Domenico was just as quick, his expression concerned as he broke his own unspoken rule and encircled her wrist with long fingers.

Instantly Lucy stilled, willing her pulse to slow.

‘What is it, Lucy?’

‘Nothing. I just wanted to move.’

Grey eyes searched her face and she held her breath, praying he couldn’t read her thoughts. She could barely understand them herself. Amazing as it seemed, she cared for Domenico in a way that made the idea of leaving him send panic spurting through her.

‘Liar.’ To her addled brain the whisper sounded like a caress.

The stroke of his thumb against her wrist was a caress. She clamped her hand on his to stop it, looking down to see his dark golden fingers cradle her paler ones.

They held each other, fingers meshing. Strength throbbed through her. How could she give this up?

Because she must.

‘You promised—’

‘I promised not to revisit the past.’ His breath was warm on her cheek. ‘But this isn’t about the past, is it, Lucy? This is about the present. Here. Now.’

Unable to stop herself, she turned her head and met his eyes. Molten heat poured through her as their gazes locked. The world receded, blocked out by the knowledge she read there, the awareness.

‘I can’t—’ Words clogged in her throat.

‘It’s all right, Lucy. You don’t have to do anything.’

‘Domi? Lucy? What’s wrong?’

Domenico looked down at Chiara and Lucy felt the sudden release of tension as if a band had snapped undone around her chest. She breathed deep, trying to find equilibrium. But Domenico still held her, his touch firm and possessive. A thrill of secret pleasure rippled through her.

‘Everything’s fine, little one. I’ve got a surprise for you both.’

* * *

The surprise was a trip to the mainland, to a town that climbed steep hills in a fantasy of pastel-washed houses. Lucy wished she had a camera. Everywhere she turned were amazing vistas and intriguing corners.

‘Come on, you’re so slow.’ Chiara tugged her hand.

‘I’ve never seen any place like this.’ Lucy lifted her gaze past a tree heavy with huge golden lemons to the view of green hilltops above the town. ‘It’s beautiful.’

The little girl tilted her head. ‘Isn’t it pretty where you come from?’

Instantly Lucy had a vision of grey concrete and metal, of bare floors and inmates scarred by life. It seemed like a dream as she stood here in the mellow afternoon sunlight.

‘Yes, it is pretty.’ She thought of the village where she’d grown up. ‘The bluebells grow so thick in spring it’s like a carpet in the forest. Our house had roses around the door and the biggest swing you ever saw underneath a huge old tree in the garden.’

Summers had seemed endless then. Like this one. Except it had to end.

She’d have to forget trying to find a bookkeeping job. Instead she’d look for casual waitressing when she got to England. Something that didn’t require character references.

‘Come on.’ Chiara tugged her hand again. ‘Domi said we can have a gelato in the square.’

Lucy let herself be led back towards the centre of town. Domenico would have finished his errand for Chiara’s nonna. He’d be waiting. Her heart gave a little jump that reminded her forcibly that it was time to leave for England.

Yet her smile lingered. For this afternoon she’d live in the moment. Surely she could afford to store up memories of one perfect afternoon before she faced the bleak future?

They were passing some shops, Chiara hopping on one leg then the other, when a shout yanked Lucy’s head around.

‘Look! It’s her!’

A thin woman on the other side of the narrow street pointed straight at Lucy and Chiara.

‘I told you it was her when they walked up the hill, but you didn’t believe me. So I went in and got this. See?’ She waved a magazine, drawing the attention not only of the man beside her, but of passers-by.

Lucy’s heart sank. She took Chiara’s hand. ‘Come on, sweetie.’

But the woman moved faster, her voice rising.

‘It’s her I tell you. She’s a killer. What’s she doing with that girl? Someone should call the police.’

Nausea roiled in Lucy’s belly as she forced herself to walk steadily, not break into a sprint. That would only frighten Chiara. Besides, fleeing would only incite the crowd. She remembered how a mob of inmates reacted when they sensed fear in a newcomer.

Skin prickling from the heat of so many avid stares, she tugged Chiara a little faster. Around them were murmurs from a gathering crowd.

The woman with the magazine came close but not close enough to stop their progress. But the malevolent curiosity on her sharp features spelled trouble. For a moment Lucy was tempted to snarl a threat to make her shrink back.

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to regress to that hunted woman she’d been, half-savage with the need to escape, ready to lash out at anyone in her way.

It had only been a few weeks since her release but they’d altered her. She’d lost the dangerous edge that had been her protection in prison. Besides, what sort of example would that set? She squeezed Chiara’s hand and kept walking.