A Night In His Arms. Annie West

company she refused to let him know how confused and edgy she was in his.

      ‘You don’t want to spend time with me.’ The words grated from her tight throat. ‘Why suggest it?’ The words sounded churlish, but it was the truth.

      She waited for his annoyance to show, but his face remained impassive. What was he thinking?

      ‘You’re a guest in my villa and—’

      ‘Hardly.’ Her fingers curved around the edge of her seat. ‘More a burden.’

      ‘I invited you here.’ He paused as if expecting her to interrupt. ‘As your host I have an obligation. I need to ensure your safety.’

      ‘Safety?’ Incredulous, she surveyed the delightful garden. ‘Don’t tell me, you have meat-eating killer ants that prey on people who fall asleep on the lawn?’

      Was that a smile she saw, quickly suppressed? The fleeting hint of a dimple in that lean cheek was ridiculously attractive. Her response to it scared her. ‘Or rabid guard dogs who can sniff out an ex-convict if they stray near anything precious?’

      No smile now with that blatant reminder of reality. Lucy told herself she preferred it that way. The last thing she needed was to find the man appealing again.

      ‘No animal dangers but there are things you need to be wary of, including an old well and some sink holes.’ He paused, obviously waiting for her assent.

      What could she say? His offer sounded reasonable, though the chances of her falling down a hole were nil.

      He wanted something. Why else seek her out?

      To badger her into signing his contract? She was strong enough to withstand threats.

      Besides, she was curious. She hated to admit it but it still felt as if there was unfinished business between them. Surely a little time in his company would erase that unsettling notion? Then she could leave without that niggle at her consciousness. It would be a relief to banish him from her thoughts.

      ‘If you think it necessary, by all means show me the dangers of your island.’

      ‘Va bene.’ He stood and extended a hand.

      Lucy pretended not to notice. The last thing she needed was physical contact with a man whose presence threw her senses into overdrive.

      She stood quickly, brushing down her skirt.

      ‘The first thing you must remember is to wear a hat at all times.’

      ‘Like you do?’ She stared pointedly at his dark hair, bare to the blazing sun.

      Again that hint of a dimple marked his cheek, playing havoc with her insides. Lucy drew herself up, quenching the memory of how his smile had once made her heart skip and her mind turn to mush.

      Clearly she’d been a passing amusement. Had he laughed at her gaucheness and wide-eyed wonder at Rome? And at being escorted by a stranger so handsome and attentive he’d all but made her swoon?

      ‘I’m used to southern summers and I’ve got the skin for it.’ He was right. His olive skin was burnished a deep bronze that enhanced the decisive contours of his face. ‘Whereas you—’

      ‘Have been behind bars.’ Her chin jutted.

      He shook his head slowly. ‘You shouldn’t finish other people’s sentences. I was going to say you have a rare complexion. Cream and roses.’ He leaned closer. ‘And quite flawless.’

      His eyes roved her face so thoroughly she felt his regard like the graze of a hand, making her flesh tingle. Her breath quickened and something unfamiliar spiralled deep inside, like the swoop and dip of swallows on the wing.

      ‘Your English is good but the phrase is peaches and cream.’ As if she believed he meant it! Prison pallor was more like. She looked away, needing to break the curious stillness that encompassed them.

      ‘I say what I mean.’ His voice was a low rumble from far too close. He raised his hand as if to touch her, and then let it drop. ‘Your skin has the lustre of new cream, or of pearls, with just a hint of rose.’

      Lucy swung round to face him fully, hands on hips as she leaned forward to accuse him of making fun at her expense. She was no longer a gullible young thing to be taken in by smooth talk.

      But the look on his face stole the harsh response from her lips.

      It stole her breath too.

      There was no laughter in his expression. He looked stunned, as if shocked at his own words.

      Burnished pewter eyes met hers, making her blood pound.

      Something arced between them, something like static electricity that drew the hairs at her nape erect and dried her mouth.

      Abruptly they moved apart.

      * * *

      She wasn’t the woman he’d thought he knew.

      Domenico watched her navigate the dusty path at the far end of the island with alacrity, as if exploring a semi-wilderness was high on her list of things to do. Her head swung from side to side as she took in the spectacular views and the countryside he always found so restful.

      What had happened to the girl who thrived on bright lights and male attention? Who hankered after expensive jewellery and the excitement of a cosmopolitan city filled with boutiques, nightclubs, bars and men?

      Was she hiding her boredom? She did a good job.

      She’d even forgotten to scowl at him and her face had lost that shuttered look in the last half hour. Relaxed, she looked younger, softer.

      Dangerously attractive.

      There was a vibrancy about her he hadn’t seen since the day they’d met.

      Perhaps she’d been seduced by the warmth of the afternoon and the utter peace of the place. She’d changed. The tension radiating from her like a shield was gone.

      She paused, eyes on a butterfly floating past, as if its simple beauty fascinated her.

      As she fascinated him.

      The realisation dropped into his thoughts like a stone plummeting into a calm millpond.

      How could it be? He carried Sandro’s memory strong within him. Any interest in her should be impossible.

      Yet why had he chosen to oversee her stay here? It wasn’t necessary. A lawyer could witness her signing the contract.

      The truth was Domenico was here because something about Lucy Knight made him curious even now. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something he needed to understand before she walked out of his life for ever.

      ‘Is that a ruined castle?’ The husky thread of pleasure in her voice brought Domenico back to the present.

      ‘It is.’

      ‘Yet you built your villa on the opposite end of the island.’

      He shrugged. ‘The aspect is better there. This was built to defend, not enjoy.’

      ‘Strange,’ she mused as they stopped to take in the scene. ‘I had pegged you as someone who’d rather rebuild the old family estate than start afresh. After all, you live in the family palazzo in Rome.’

      She shifted abruptly and he had the impression she wished she hadn’t spoken. The palazzo conjured memories of what lay between them.

      ‘You think I’m bound by tradition?’

      She lifted her shoulders. ‘I have no idea. I don’t know you.’

      That was the problem, Lucy decided. She’d thought she knew Domenico Volpe. All those weeks during the trial he’d been like an avenging angel, stonily silent and chillingly furious, waiting for her to be convicted. His eyes, cold as snow yet laser-hot when they rested on her, had told her all she needed to know about him.

      Yet