Sara Craven - Ultimate Temptation

The contempt in his face and voice stung Lucy like a flick from a whip. There was no real reason to feel so mortified, she told herself angrily. He was a stranger to her, and she was never going to see him again, so what did it matter if he thought she was tarred with the same brush as Nina?

Yet somehow, and quite ridiculously, it seemed to matter a lot.

She said stonily, ‘Think what you wish, signore. I’m grateful for your help but not your opinion of me.’

‘Then accept my aid,’ he said. ‘Believe that I cannot simply walk away and leave you here like this.’ And, when she still hesitated, he added, ‘But on the other hand, signorina, I do not have the entire day to devote to your interests either. So please make up your mind.’

Lucy bit her lip. ‘Well—perhaps a lift back to the main square. I’m meeting my friends there.’

‘Of course,’ he said softly. ‘No doubt there will be more male talent to be reviewed. You should take care, signorina. You are not in the cold Anglo-Saxon north now. To provoke a Tuscan is to play with fire.’

She gave him a frigid Anglo-Saxon look. ‘Please don’t worry about me, signore. I’m fireproof, I assure you.’

Not that she felt it. Her abiding impression was that she had been run over by a bus, but she gritted her teeth and limped along beside him to where his car was parked in an adjoining street.

It was a sports car, naturally, black, long and low, with concealed power in every menacing line. Rather like its owner, Lucy decided, trying to extract some humour from the situation and signally failing.

She accepted his assistance into the passenger seat with as much dignity as she could muster, and sat in silence, hoping she was not bleeding onto his upholstery, as he expertly wove his way through the tangle of streets and traffic, out into the bustling familiarity of the main square again. Where he halted.

He said with cool politeness, ‘You are sure I may not take you to the clinic?’

‘Absolutely. The damage is only superficial, and I had an anti-tetanus jab before I came away.’ Lucy was aware that she was babbling, and stopped. ‘You’ve been very...’ She halted again. The only word she could think of was ‘kind’, so she said it, although she wasn’t convinced it was appropriate.

She fumbled for the door-catch, and he leaned across her to release it. Again she was aware of that tantalising musky fragrance, and of the disturbing warmth of his body close to hers. Too warm. Too close.

She met his gaze, saw a tiny flame dancing in the amber eyes, and heard herself swallow. Deafeningly.

He said sardonically, ‘So you think you’re fireproof?’

He leaned forward, took Lucy’s chin in his fingertips and kissed her on the mouth, slowly and very thoroughly.

Then he released her, and, with a graceful wave of his hand, indicated that she was free to go.

Burning, Lucy stumbled out of the car. Only to hear his voice following her, softly, mockingly.

‘I hope your Italian stud did not disappoint you. Arrivederci, signorina.’

Then, silently as a panther, the car slid away, and she was left staring after it, a hand pressed to her trembling lips.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR heaven’s sake, Lucy castigated herself wearily, not for the first time. You’re not a child. You’ve been in love with a man. You’ve lived with him. So one kiss, even from a complete stranger, is no big deal. Pull yourself together.

She was lying on the bed in her room at the villa, staring at the ceiling. Trying to get all that had happened into some kind of perspective.

The others had been genuinely shocked and concerned when they’d returned from their boutique trip and found out what had happened to her. At first, they’d wanted to call the police, but Lucy had vetoed this. She had neither the number of the motorcycle nor any adequate description of its riders. Besides, apart from the ruin of her bag and trousers, she’d lost nothing, and her only witness had driven off into oblivion.

She’d described him solely as a passer-by. It seemed wiser not to revive Nina’s interest, or lay herself open to any inconvenient questions, she’d decided, passing the tip of her tongue over her still tingling lips.

Nina had driven the Fiat back to the Villa Dante with exaggerated care, while Sandie and Fee had plied Lucy with offers of everything from grappa to a homely cup of tea.

They’d been frankly sceptical, however, when she’d told them about Tommaso. The collective feeling was that she’d gone to the wrong address.

‘I mean, would a man who owns a place like this be camping out in some kind of slum?’ Nina had demanded, and Lucy had to admit it seemed unlikely. Tomorrow, she’d thought, she would make proper enquiries.

However, there was still no sign of Maddalena, which meant Nina and the others had to prepare for their party themselves.

Lucy, however, was not expected to help. Nina had escorted her somewhat perfunctorily upstairs, asked if she wanted anything, and vanished at Lucy’s polite negative.

Once alone, she’d filled the big sunken tub which took pride of place in the adjoining bathroom, and soaked herself luxuriously, letting the warm water soothe as well as cleanse.

She had superficial grazing on her knees and elbows, and there would undoubtedly be bruising to follow, but she would survive, she’d decided with a faint sigh.

But her injured feelings were not as easily mollified, she’d thought as she’d dried herself carefully and put on her lemon silk robe.

It was galling to be classified with the man-hungry Nina, but probably unavoidable under the circumstances. However, she would never have to face her tormentor again, so the only sensible course was to put the whole basically trivial incident behind her, and enjoy the rest of her holiday.

Hers was not the largest bedroom, but it had the best view across the valley, and she liked the uncluttered lines of its furnishings and the plain, heavy cream drapes. It occurred to her now that the room was almost masculine in concept. Maybe this was where Tommaso usually slept, she thought, her flesh creeping at the very idea.

Someone had brought up a pitcher of fruit juice and some paracetemol while she was in the bath. It was a genuinely kind thought, and maybe it would mark a new phase in her somewhat chequered relationship with her companions.

They were younger than her, even if it was only by a matter of a few months, perfectly aware of their own considerable attractions, and looking for a good time. And where was the real harm in all that?

You should stop being so critical and join in more, she told herself forcefully. Make the best of things, starting with tonight’s party. Remember that you’re single too now, instead of half of a couple.

Aided by the painkillers, she slept for a while, her dreams confused and disturbing. And, throughout them all, a man’s dark figure walked on the edge of her consciousness, his face as proud and beautiful as a fallen angel’s.

She awoke in the twilight with a start, her hands reaching across the empty bed for a presence that didn’t exist, and lay still, waiting for the drumming of her pulses to subside.

Philip, she thought. I must be missing Philip.

She did not feel particularly rested, and she was beginning to stiffen up, too, her bruises announcing their existence. It wouldn’t have taken much for her to cry off from the evening’s festivities and stay in her room, she acknowledged, hauling herself gingerly off the bed and over to the big, heavily carved guardaroba. But then solitude had no particular appeal either. It gave her imagination too much scope, she decided wryly.

Most of the clothing she’d brought with her was casual, but at the last moment she’d thrown in a dress that was strictly after-dark gear.