CHARLOTTE LAMB - Dark Fate

So that was it. He was using Jamie to get her to visit his new house? He could think again; she wasn’t going within miles of the place.

‘There’s nothing important on the schedule for tomorrow, is there, Saskia?’ burbled Jamie. ‘Just a trip out to Murano—we can skip that.’

‘I want to see Murano, actually; I was looking forward to that visit,’ she stubbornly said, without taking her eyes from Domenico’s face, sending him the message she wanted him to get. He might have waited until they had had that talk over coffee at Florian’s, he might have given her a chance to explain why she had gone, why she wasn’t coming back.

Jamie looked amazed, frowning at her. ‘Oh, we can fit in a trip to Murano as well before we go, on our own—we don’t have to go with the group—and this is such a wonderful opportunity, Saskia, something we couldn’t have hoped for, a visit to one of the private villas along the Brenta, especially one designed by Palladio. It’s manna from heaven, as far as I’m concerned. I can’t wait. But you must come too; you’re the rose expert; we’ll need you there.’

Domenico smiled drily at her. ‘Yes, you must come, Saskia; I insist that you do,’ he murmured, and she tried to read his secret thoughts, to penetrate the bland exterior he was showing her and find out what he was really planning, but she couldn’t.

She had never been able to read his mind at will, of course; she never knew when she would pick up his thoughts or feelings; the flashes only came in moments of stress or intense emotion. But this time she sensed something different, something new. Domenico was shutting her out deliberately; his mind was like the blank screen of a computer; she felt no impulses at all coming from him and she had never met that before.

Until now, even when she couldn’t read his mind she had always felt the energy of his thoughts, like the hum of an electric machine.

Now there was nothing, no buzz of activity at all, as if his mind had been switched off.

That wasn’t possible, of course. His mind was operating all the time. She looked into his hard grey eyes and saw amusement, mockery there, and was startled by that, too. This mood of his was puzzling; at the opera last night she had sensed rage, hostility; this was very different.

It hadn’t occurred to her until now that Domenico might have changed inwardly as well as outwardly, but she saw now that he had. His mind as well as his body was different, and not in some small way—he had changed radically; he was not the same man she had left two years ago.

‘The easiest way to get there is for me to pick you up in my motorboat,’ he said to Jamie. ‘What time do you get up? Can you get up early, have breakfast at seven-thirty? Would eight-thirty be too early for me to pick you up?’

‘No, that’s fine,’ Jamie quickly said before Saskia could argue any more, and Domenico gave a satisfied nod.

‘Good. Then until tomorrow—I’ll see you both on the quay, outside the hotel. Oh, and bring raincoats—the weather forecast is for spring showers—and some strong walking shoes, if you haven’t got boots with you—the gardens are large and some of the older paths are overgrown with grass, and can be muddy.’

Jamie gave him a complacent look. ‘We did bring boots, actually, because we thought we might need them for some of the bigger gardens, and the tour people warned us that Venice gets lots of rain and some parts of it flood.’

‘That’s very true—the Piazza San Marco is often under water; that’s why the duckboards are often out in the square, and even San Marco itself can be flooded, unfortunately, at certain times. You’ve been very lucky with the weather so far—we’ve had fine weather for the past week—but it is about to change, I’m afraid. Spring is always unsettled here.’

‘It’s just as unsettled back home in the spring!’ grinned Jamie, and Domenico nodded.

‘I know.’

‘You’ve been to England?’ Jamie was interested; it was obvious that he was very curious about Domenico, and Saskia was nervous of that curiosity, it might make Jamie far more observant than usual.

‘Many times,’ Domenico said. ‘Especially lately; I’ve been going there often over the past couple of years.’

Saskia tensed again, and he looked into her eyes, his mouth twisting with cynical derision.

‘I suppose you have business interests there?’ asked Jamie, quite unaware of any undercurrents.

‘I do, but my visits were mainly personal,’ Domenico said, still watching Saskia.

He had been looking for her. She had always known he would; he wasn’t a man to give up anything easily. At times over the past two years she had been tensely aware of Domenico brooding over her; she had even felt sure he was in her own country, looking for her, and she had been on tenterhooks until she sensed that he had gone back to Italy again.

She couldn’t stand any more. Huskily, she said, ‘I’ve got to go upstairs to change for dinner—excuse me.’

‘See you later,’ Jamie said as she retreated.

‘See you tomorrow,’ Domenico said, with a silky threat hidden in his smooth tone.

Safely in her room, she went into the bathroom and ran a bath, took off her apple-green linen dress, was about to take off her slip when she heard a sound in her bedroom. She ran back in there, her nerves thudding as she saw Domenico closing the door.

‘How did you get in here? What the...?’

He leaned his broad shoulders on the door in a cool pose, smiling mockingly. ‘I told the floor maid I’d forgotten my key and my wife was in the shower and hadn’t heard me knocking, and she let me in with her pass key.’

‘She must have realised you weren’t part of our group! She can’t have believed you were with me; this is a single room!’

‘She must have forgotten that. She was a charming girl, and very helpful; I gave her a handsome tip.’

Saskia shook with anger. ‘You mean you bribed her to let you in here! My God, I’ll call the manager!’

‘And lose the girl her job?’

‘Someone that untrustworthy shouldn’t be working in a good hotel. She could be letting thieves into rooms, if she let you in here!’

He didn’t seem to be listening; he was too busy staring, his grey eyes intent on her naked shoulders and half-covered breasts, the way the silky slip clung to waist and hip, a wide hem of lace ending mid-thigh.

In a mirror on the wardrobe behind him Saskia caught sight of herself and was shocked to realise that with the sun streaming through the window behind her the slip was totally transparent. She might as well have been naked from her waist down, the flat stomach, rounded hips, the dark triangle of hair and below.

Saskia suddenly couldn’t breathe. She backed away, watching him with her heart knocking in her throat, her hand going out to catch hold of a white towelling robe on the end of the bed.

Domenico moved faster, caught hold of her, his hands splayed across her smooth, bare shoulders.

‘No!’ she cried out in panic, but her body was burning, aching, and his body moved against her, one hand sliding down her back to push her closer until they were touching. She trembled, mouth dry, perspiration prickling on her skin.

The conflict between wanting him and being afraid of the pain of loving him made her almost helpless. She had escaped this trap before; now she was back in it again, betrayed by her own desire, weak in the face of his.

Domenico’s mouth hunted for hers; she evaded it, turning her head from side to side. He bent his head and she gasped as his lips brushed her shoulder, crept along the collarbone to her neck, pressed deep into the soft skin. One hand caressed her back, followed the deep indentation of her spine, the other hand moved up to her breast and cupped the full, warm flesh.