Ultimate Temptation. Sara Craven

      She didn’t return the smile. ‘I think you’d do better to stay with your friends,’ she said evenly. She nodded towards Sue and Clare. ‘Some of them don’t seem very happy.’

      ‘They can look after themselves,’ he dismissed. ‘I’ve been watching you all evening. You’re a bit of a dark horse, Lucy.’ His eyes slid over her, making her feel as naked as the revellers in the pool. ‘So, what’s your story?’

      She took his hand from her arm. ‘I haven’t one. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go.’

      ‘Oh, but I do mind.’ His voice hardened slightly. ‘Whatever the lads get up to tonight, tomorrow it’ll be kiss and make up with Sue and Clare. I’ve seen it all before. I’m sticking with you. You intrigue me.’

      ‘I’m afraid it isn’t mutual.’ Lucy’s tone was icy. She turned away, seeking another means of retreat, but Hal grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her round to face the others.

      ‘The lady wants to leave,’ he announced. ‘What do you say?’

      ‘Oh, let her go,’ called Fee. ‘Winters by name, wintry by nature,’ she added with a giggle. ‘She’s no loss.’

      ‘No, chuck her in here.’ Ben’s voice was slurred. ‘Serve her right for being a spoilsport.’

      ‘But don’t ruin her pretty dress,’ Greg added, leering, and Nina began to laugh.

      ‘Off, off, off,’ she chanted, and the others joined in, only Sue and Clare maintaining a tight-lipped silence.

      Lucy froze as she felt Hal’s hands, odiously familiar, fumbling for her zip. Felt her dress beginning to slide from her shoulders.

      ‘No.’ Frantically, she kicked backwards, her sandal heel connecting smartly with his shin. He swore and his grip slackened fractionally—momentarily.

      It was enough. Lucy pulled free and ran round the pool towards the sheltering darkness of the garden, desperation lending her speed, in spite of her aches and pains.

      She had some crazy idea of trying to reach the car parked at the side of the house. But there was something blocking her way again. Or someone, her mind registered helplessly as she was captured and held.

      Greg must have cut her off. At the very least, she was going to be stripped and thrown into the water, and every fibre of her being recoiled in revulsion from the thought.

      ‘Let me go.’ She began to struggle fiercely, punching and clawing at the imprisoning arms. ‘I said, leave me be, damn you.’

      ‘Sta’ zitto.’ The low voice was grimly familiar. ‘Shut up, you little fool, and be still.’

      ‘You?’ Lucy stared up at the dark, patrician face, and her voice cracked with relief, and another, less easily recognisable emotion, as she acknowledged, ‘It’s you.’

      Involuntarily, she found herself pressing against him and burying her face in his chest as she drew a shuddering breath.

      For a moment he let her remain where she was, then he put her away from him and walked forward into the lamplight.

      All heads had turned towards him as if they were on strings. The laughing and shouting had died away as if a switch had been thrown, to be succeeded by a strangely intense silence into which his voice, quiet and cold, fell like a stone.

      He said. ‘I am Giulio Falcone. And this is my house. May I know what you are doing here?’

      ‘Your house?’ Nina was the first to break the spell his appearance had created. She faced him, flushed, tousled and frankly aggressive. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

      ‘Easy,’ Ben intervened sharply. ‘It is him. It’s Count Falcone himself.’

      ‘I don’t care who he is,’ Nina flung back. ‘This place belongs to Tommaso Moressi, and we’re renting it from him.’

      ‘You are mistaken, signorina.’ Count Falcone’s voice was like steel. ‘The man you speak of, Moressi, is no more than the nephew of my servant, Maddalena. He owns nothing apart from what he can steal,’ he added contemptuously. ‘I hope you have not been unwise enough to pay him anything.’

      ‘I’m afraid we have.’ Lucy spoke, her voice hollow, her hands shaking as she put her dress to rights. ‘Three weeks’ rent, plus the use of a car and maid servce. Only the maid has disappeared—and so has Signor Moressi.’

      ‘I don’t doubt it.’ Giulio Falcone shrugged. ‘Almost certainly word of my unexpected return spread at once, and he took fright.’ He shook his head, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘Poor Maddalena. She has always indulged that worthless fool’

      ‘Poor Maddalena?’ Fee echoed shrilly. ‘To hell with that. What about us—our money?’

      She had climbed out of the pool, and the Count’s face tightened with distaste as he glanced at her.

      ‘Be good enough to cover yourself at once, signorina,’ he directed with icy formality. ‘I regret that you have been the victim of a confidence trick, but that is hardly my problem. What I must demand is that you vacate my house immediately.’ He looked around, frowning. ‘Are you all staying here?’

      ‘No.’ Ben was huddling into his clothes. He looked awkward and faintly ridiculous. ‘My parents have a place near Lussione.’

      ‘Then I suggest you return there. And take your friends with you,’ Giulio Falcone added bitingly.

      ‘No,’ Lucy said forcefully, her shocked negation instantly echoed by Sue and Clare.

      ‘You bring these slags back with us and I walk out.’ Sue glared at Ben.

      The Count’s lip curled. ‘We seem to have an impasse,’ he drawled. ‘I suggest you settle it amongst yourselves before I am forced to call the polizia.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shall we say fifteen minutes?’

      His mention of the police had an oddly galvanising effect. Within seconds, the poolside was clear and the erstwhile tenants of the Vila Dante were on their way upstairs to pack.

      As Lucy passed the door of the salotto, she could hear a furious argument going on between Ben and the others. Hal detached himself from it and came to the door.

      ‘It’s all right, sweetheart.’ His eyes swept over her in an appraisal that combined sensuality with malice. ‘You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ve got my own room at Ben’s place. I’ll make sure you’re looked after—as long as you start being friendlier.’

      She said with icy clarity, ‘Over my dead body,’ and went up to her room, two stairs at a time.

      Her heart was thudding like a sledgehammer as she began to empty the chest of drawers and the wardrobe, hardly aware of what she was doing as she tried to think—to plan. She’d have to cut her losses altogether, she told herself as she piled everything untidily into her case. Somehow she’d have to make her way to Pisa and get a flight home. Anything else was unthinkable.

      She presumed she’d be able to transfer the return half of her ticket to a different flight. If not, she’d simply have to pay all over again.

      I’ll worry about that when I get there, she told herself as she dashed into the bathroom to collect her toiletries.

      When she returned to the bedroom, she realised with another thump of the heart that she was no longer alone.

      Giulio Falcone was lounging in the doorway, watching her.

      ‘You don’t have to check up on me,’ she said quickly, aware that her breathing had quickened, and resenting the fact. ‘I’ve almost finished.’

      ‘So I see.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Are you so eager to go to Lussione?’

      ‘You know I’m not.’ She pitched her toilet