A Night In His Arms. Annie West

confession?

      Lucy pressed her lips together. He’d have a long wait. She’d never been a liar.

      She was so wrapped in memories it took a while to realise the streets looked familiar. They drove through a part of Rome she knew.

      Lucy straightened, tension trickling in a rivulet of ice water down her spine as she recognised landmarks. The shop where she’d found trinkets to send home to her dad and Sylvia, and especially the kids. The café that sold mouth-watering pastries to go with rich, aromatic coffee. The park where she’d taken little Taddeo under Bruno’s watchful eye.

      The trickle became a tide of foreboding as the limousine turned into an all too familiar street.

      She swung around. Domenico Volpe watched her beneath lowered lids, his expression speculative.

      ‘You can’t be serious!’ Her voice was a harsh scrape of sound.

      ‘You wanted somewhere free from the press. They won’t bother you here.’

      ‘What do you call that?’ The pavement before the Palazzo Volpe teemed with reporters. Beyond them the building rose, splendid and imposing, a monument to extreme wealth and powerful bloodlines. A reminder of the disastrous past.

      Lucy’s heart plunged. She never wanted to see the place again.

      Was that his game? Retribution? Or did he think returning her to the scene of the crime would force a confession?

      Nausea swirled as she watched the massive palazzo grow closer. Horror drenched her, leaving her skin clammy as perspiration broke out beneath the cloth of her suit.

      ‘Stop the car!’

      ‘Why? I wouldn’t have thought you squeamish.’ His eyes were glacial again.

      She opened her mouth to argue, then realised there was no point. She’d been weak to go with him and she had to face the consequences. Hadn’t she known he’d demand payment for his help?

      Lucy lifted one shoulder in a shrug that cost her every ounce of energy. ‘I thought you wouldn’t like the press to know we were together. But on your head be it. I’ve got nothing more to lose.’

      ‘Haven’t you?’ His tone told her he’d make it his business to find her soft spot and exploit it.

      Let him try. He had no notion how a few years in jail toughened a girl.

      He fixed his gaze on her, not turning away as the vehicle slowed to enter a well-guarded entrance. The crowd was held back by stony-faced security men. Anxiously Lucy scanned them but couldn’t recognise any familiar faces.

      Surreptitiously she let out a breath of relief.

      Then the car slipped down a ramp. They entered a vast underground car park. A fleet of vehicles, polished to perfection, filled it. She saw limousines, a four wheel drive, a sleek motorbike and a couple of sports cars including a vintage one her dad would have given his eye teeth to drive.

      Out of nowhere grief slammed into her. She’d missed him so long she’d finally learned to repress the waves of loss. But she hadn’t been prepared for this.

      Not now. Not here. Not in front of the man who saw himself as her enemy.

      Maybe grief hit harder because it was her first day of freedom. The day, by rights, when she should be in her dad’s reassuring embrace. But all that was gone. Lucy swallowed the knot of emotion clogging her throat, forcing herself to stare, dry-eyed, around the cavernous space.

      ‘How did you get permission to excavate?’ She was relieved her voice worked. ‘I thought this part of the city was built on the ancient capital.’

      ‘You didn’t know about the basement car park?’ His voice was sceptical.

      Finally, when she knew her face was blank of emotion, Lucy met his stare. ‘I was just the au pair, remember? Not the full-time nanny. I didn’t go out with the family. Besides, Taddeo was so little and your sister-in-law—’ she paused, seeing Domenico’s gaze sharpen ‘—she didn’t want him out and about. It was a struggle to get permission to take him to the park for air.’

      Gun-metal grey eyes met hers and again she felt that curious beat of awareness between them. As if he knew and understood. But that was impossible. Domenico Volpe hated her, believed she’d killed his brother. Nothing would change his mind.

      ‘The car park was necessary for our privacy.’ His shoulders lifted in a shrug that indicated whatever the Volpe family needed the world would provide. Naturally. ‘There was an archaeological survey but fortunately it didn’t find anything precious.’

      Lucy bit back a retort. It wouldn’t matter how precious the remains. The Volpes would have got what they wanted. They always did. They’d wanted her convicted and they’d got their way.

      The car slid to a halt and her door opened.

      Lucy surveyed the big man holding it. Her heart gave a flip of relief as she saw it was the guy who’d tried to strong-arm her into the car earlier. Not a spectre from the past. But embarrassment warred with relief as she recalled how she’d abused him.

      ‘Thank you.’ She slid awkwardly from the seat, not used to a skirt after years in regulation issue trousers.

      Silently he inclined his head.

      Damp palms swiping down her skirt, Lucy located the rest of the security staff. Her heart clenched as she thought she saw a familiar figure in the dim light but when he moved Lucy realised it was another stranger. Her breathing eased.

      ‘This way, signorina.’ The bodyguard ushered her towards a lift.

      Minutes later she found herself in a part of the palazzo she’d never visited. But its grand dimensions, its exquisitely intricate marble flooring and air of otherworld luxury were instantly familiar.

      Her skin prickled as she inhaled that almost forgotten scent. Of furniture polish, hothouse flowers and, she’d once joked, money. Memories washed over her, of those first exciting days in a new country, of her awe at her surroundings, of that last night—

      * * *

      ‘Ms Knight?’ Lucy, he’d called her once. For a few bright, brief hours. Instantly Domenico slammed the memory of that folly into an iron vault of memory.

      She spun around and he saw huge, haunted eyes. Her face had paled and her fine features were pinched.

      The mask slipped at last.

      He should feel satisfaction at her unease in his family home. But it wasn’t pleasure he experienced. He had no name for this hyper-awareness, this knife-edge between antipathy and absorption.

      Sensation feathered through him, like the tickle of his conscience, teasing him for bringing her here.

      Lucy Knight had fascinated him all those years ago. To his chagrin he realised she still did. More than was desirable. It was one thing to know your enemy. Another to respond to her fear with what felt too much like sympathy.

      As he watched the moment of vulnerability was gone. Her face smoothed out and her pale eyebrows arched high as if waiting for him to continue.

      ‘This way.’ He gestured for her to accompany him, conscious of her beside him as they headed to his side of the palazzo. She was a head shorter but kept pace easily, not hesitating for a moment.

      He had to hand it to her; she projected an air of assurance many of his business associates would envy. Twice now he’d seen behind the façade of calm but both times it had been a quick glimpse and the circumstances had been enough to discomfit anyone.

      In his study he gestured for her to take a seat. Instead she prowled the room, inspecting the bookcases, the view from the window and, he was sure, scoping out a possible escape route. There was none.

      Instead of taking one of the sofas near the fireplace as he’d intended, Domenico settled behind his desk.

      ‘Why