Annie West - A Night In His Arms

‘Why doesn’t someone stop her?’ the woman shrieked. ‘She’s a murderer. She shouldn’t be allowed near an innocent child.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw the picture in the magazine she waved like a banner. It was a close-up of Lucy getting into Domenico’s limousine. The headline in blood-red said, ‘Where Is Sandro’s Killer Now?’.

Her heart leapt against her ribcage as fear battered her. The nightmare would never end, would it? Now Chiara was caught in it. She felt the child flinch as the woman screeched. Anger fired deep inside.

She stopped and turned, tugging Chiara protectively behind her.

The woman shrank back apace. ‘Don’t let her hurt me! Help!’ Instantly others surged forward, curious.

‘Signora—’ Lucy dredged up a polite tone ‘—please don’t shout. Can’t you see you’re frightening my friend? It would be much better for everyone if you didn’t.’

The woman gawped, opening then closing her mouth. Then she hissed, ‘Listen! She’s threatening me.’

‘Lucy?’ Chiara’s voice was unsteady, her eyes huge as Lucy turned to reassure her, stroking her hair and plastering what she hoped was a confident smile on her face. But inside she trembled. This was turning ugly.

‘Grab her, someone. Can’t you see she shouldn’t be with that child?’

There was a murmur from the crowd and Lucy sensed movement towards her. She spun around to confront a sea of faces. Her stomach dived but she drew herself up straight.

‘Touch me or my friend and you’ll answer to the police.’ She kept her tone calm by sheer willpower, her gaze scanning back and forth across the gathering.

* * *

The words were loud even over the mutterings of the crowd. And enough to hold them back...for now.

Domenico took in the defiant tilt of Lucy’s head and her wide-planted feet, as if she stood ready to fight off an attack. But she couldn’t fend them off. Her hands were behind her back, holding Chiara’s.

She looked like a lioness defending her young.

A lioness outnumbered by hunters.

Something plunged through his chest, a sharp purging heat like iron hot from the forge. His hands curled into fists so tight they trembled with the force of his rage. He wanted to smash something. Preferably the shrewish face of the woman stirring the crowd.

He strode up behind Lucy.

She must have sensed movement for she swung round, her face pale.

Her eyes widened. She gulped, drawing attention to the tense muscles in her slender throat and the flat line of her mouth. She looked down, murmuring reassurance to Chiara, but not before he’d seen the fear in her eyes. Half an hour ago those eyes had danced with pleasure at the sight of the pretty town and its market stalls.

Naked fury misted his vision.

Domenico stalked the last pace towards her. In one swift movement he scooped up Chiara and cuddled her close. He looped his other arm around Lucy and pulled her to him. She was rigid as a board and he felt tension hum through her, an undercurrent of leashed energy.

‘I don’t know who you are,’ he growled at the harridan in the thick of the crowd, ‘but I’ll thank you not to frighten my family.’

Beside him Lucy jerked then stilled. He heard her soft gasp and rubbed his palm up her arm. It was covered in goose bumps. Damn him for leaving them alone!

‘But she’s—’

‘It doesn’t matter who she is, signora. But I’ll have your name.’ His voice was lethal. ‘I’ll need it for my complaint to the police. For public nuisance and harassment.’ He watched the woman wilt. ‘Possibly incitement to violence.’

He turned and glared at the gathering, which had already thinned substantially.

‘And the names of anyone else involved.’

He turned to Chiara, giving them time to digest that. ‘Are you all right, bella?’

She nodded. ‘But Lucy isn’t. She was shaking.’

‘It’s all right, little one. I’m here now and Lucy will be fine.’

Domenico felt Lucy shudder and held her tighter, wishing he had both arms free to hold her. Wishing he hadn’t dispensed with security support today. He turned back to the street. Only a couple of people remained, watching wide-eyed. He heard the woman at the front whispering.

‘He’s the one in the magazine. The one whose—’

‘Basta!’ He scowled. ‘One more word from you and I’m pressing charges.’ He gave her a look he reserved for underperforming managers. A moment later, she and her companions had scuttled away.

‘Right, girls.’ He turned towards the main square, his arms tight around Chiara and Lucy, his tone as reassuring as he could make it over simmering fury. ‘Gelato time. I’m having lemon. How about you?’

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