A Night In His Arms. Annie West

warred with shock as she realised how far their kisses had taken her. To the brink of fulfilment. To the brink of giving herself to the man she’d called enemy. To the point of baring herself emotionally as well as physically. That was what scared her.

      Her hand clamped his as he moved to insinuate his fingers under the fabric. He froze, his eyes turning blindly to hers. His other hand still cupped her breast.

      Lucy watched realisation dawn. His eyes lost that unfocused glitter and widened a fraction.

      ‘I think it’s time to stop.’

      It was a wonder he heard. Her voice was hoarse, a frayed thread of sound. Yet he understood. An instant later he’d backed away, his hands furrowing through his thick hair as if he didn’t trust himself not to touch her again.

      Lucy swayed, perched on the edge of the boat. Without his support she felt bereft. She bit her tongue to stop herself calling him back. Her eyes ate him up, from the hard jut of his jaw to the dusting of hair across his broad pectoral muscles and the swell of his biceps as he lifted his arms. From the heavy arousal to the storm-dark glint of his hooded eyes.

      She wanted him still. Wanted him to step back and obliterate her doubts with the caress of that clever mouth, seduce her into delight with that big, hard body. Every nerve ending danced in anticipation, undermining her resolve.

      Fear surfaced. She’d never known how compelling the need for sexual gratification could be. Domenico tempted her to forget everything. She’d thought herself strong and self-sufficient. Yet all it had taken was one kiss to undo every barrier she’d spent years erecting.

      What did it mean?

      ‘You’re right. It’s late.’ He turned away and, to her consternation, Lucy felt disappointment swell.

      * * *

      After an evening apart breakfast the next morning was full of silences and stilted conversation.

      What had got into him?

      Oh, he knew what had got into him. He’d desired Lucy from the moment he’d set eyes on her all those years ago.

      How could he have come so close to sex, raw and unvarnished, with the woman convicted of killing Sandro? Guilt churned in his belly. Where was his family loyalty?

      Gone the moment he held her. Evicted by sexual desire and the conviction Lucy Knight was a mystery he’d just begun to unravel. An enigma who’d haunted him for years. He desperately needed to understand her for his peace of mind.

      It wasn’t only desire she triggered. He’d been beside himself with thwarted fury when he realised she’d been attacked by a family employee. His need to protect had been as strong as if she was his responsibility. His woman.

      A frisson of warning crept down his spine.

      Yesterday’s revelations had rocked him to the core.

      For years he’d believed Lucy had engineered their initial meeting. How unlikely a coincidence that she’d literally bump into him, on his fleeting visit to Rome, when she already worked for his brother?

      When the revelations had come thick and fast about Sandro’s uncharacteristic weakness for his au pair, the way she’d twisted him round her little finger and milked him for expensive gifts, it hadn’t taken a genius to work out she’d tried out the same wiles on Domenico.

      He’d picked up the tension in his brother’s household that very morning on his visit, only later realising it was due to a love triangle.

      Or was it?

      She’d said yesterday she hadn’t known his identity before the trial. It was tempting to think Lucy lied but there was no reason now. Besides, he’d seen real hurt in her face when she’d asked why he’d avoided her. Hell! He no longer knew what to believe.

      Could she be innocent?

      His blood froze. The idea that he’d misjudged her so badly, letting her suffer for a crime she didn’t commit, didn’t bear thinking about.

      He looked across to where she sat, eyes riveted on her breakfast as if it fascinated her.

      Never before had she refused to meet his eyes.

      He wanted to demand she look at him. He wanted to kiss that sultry down-turned mouth and unleash the passion that had blasted the back off his skull yesterday. Behind that reserve lurked a woman unlike any he’d known. More alive, more vital, more dangerous.

      Was he out of control, ignoring what he owed his dead brother? Or were his doubts valid?

      ‘Mail, sir.’ The maid entered with a bundle of letters. To his surprise she placed an envelope beside Lucy’s plate.

      ‘For me?’ Lucy frowned. ‘Thank you.’

      Who knew she was here? Someone she’d corresponded with via email? He forced himself to take another sip of fresh juice rather than demand to know who’d sent it.

      She slipped a finger under the seal and withdrew a sheet of paper, discarding the envelope. That was when he saw a bold, too-familiar logo. It belonged to the magazine that had run her stepmother’s interview.

      He clenched his jaw, forcing down bile. Obviously Lucy was making the most of her opportunities, accepting his hospitality while negotiating with the gutter press for a better financial deal.

      It shouldn’t surprise him.

      So why did he feel betrayed?

      So much for the wronged innocent. How often would he let her dupe him?

      ‘Is it a better offer?’

      ‘Sorry?’ Lucy looked up into eyes of gun-metal grey, piercing in their intensity.

      She blinked, stunned by the change in Domenico. His eyebrows slashed in a V of disapproval and he looked as if he’d bitten something sour.

      True, she’d shied away from contact this morning, still shocked by her response yesterday. But there’d been no venom in his voice, no ice in his stare when she’d entered the breakfast room.

      ‘I assume from your absorption they’re offering better terms than I did.’

      Belatedly understanding dawned as he stared at the paper in her hand.

      Pain sliced down, sharp as a blade of ice. It tore through her heart, shredding the bud of hope she’d nursed since yesterday. Making a mockery of that warm, sunshine glow Domenico had put there with his protectiveness, his acceptance and his desire.

      What an idiot she’d been! How pathetically gullible.

      Hadn’t life taught her not to believe in miracles?

      Domenico Volpe caring for her, trusting her even a little, would be a miracle. Yet against the odds she’d hoped some of the emotions she’d read in him yesterday had been real.

      She’d almost given herself to him!

      Lucy cringed at how far she’d let herself be conned.

      Crazy, but even more than his sexual hunger or his protectiveness, Lucy missed their camaraderie as they’d snorkelled and watched the sunset. The sense of acceptance and liking. That had been precious. They’d shared things that were important to them both. Memories of their loved ones.

      For those few hours Lucy had felt genuine warmth, a spark of liking. Of trust.

      Fool, fool, fool. He’d buttered her up to get what he wanted.

      ‘I said—’

      ‘I heard.’ She looked from him to the letter in her clenched fingers. There was nothing to choose between them. At least the press was upfront about what they wanted. Domenico had tried to distract her with a show of friendliness.

      And she’d fallen for it.

      What was one more deceit in a world of disappointment? Yet this one gouged pain in a