A Night In His Arms. Annie West

story. Then what privacy would Pia and Taddeo have? The scandal could go on for years, dogging Taddeo as he grew.

      Money was the obvious lever to get what he needed. She was desperate for cash. If she’d had funds she’d have spent it on a top-flight defence team.

      A splinter of discomfort pierced him, remembering her inexperienced, under-prepared lawyer. Watching his ineffectual efforts had made Domenico actually consider intervening to organise a more capable defender.

      To defend the woman who’d killed Sandro!

      Perhaps if he hadn’t known she was guilty he would have. But how could he doubt the overwhelming evidence against her?

      A mere week before Sandro’s death Lucy Knight had bumped into Domenico, literally, at an exhibition of baroque jewellery. He was supervising the inclusion of some family pieces but had been distracted, outrageously so, by the charms of the delightful young Englishwoman who’d blushed and stammered so prettily. She’d looked at the gems with unfeigned delight and at him with something like awe.

      Yet it was her hesitation to accept his spur of the moment invitation to coffee that had hooked him. How long since a woman had even pretended to resist him?

      Coffee had turned into a stroll through the Forum, lunch at a tucked away trattoria and an afternoon sightseeing. He’d enjoyed himself more than he could remember with a woman who was just Lucy to his Domenico. A woman whose eyes sparkled with unconcealed awareness, yet who trembled with innocent hesitation when he merely took her hand. She was smart, fun and refreshingly honest. Enough to make him believe he’d found someone special and rare.

      She’d evoked a slew of emotions. Passion, delight and a surprising protectiveness that had kept him from sweeping her off to his bed then and there. For the connection between them had been sizzling, each touch electric.

      She’d been different from every other woman, her impact so profound he’d suggested meeting again when he returned to Rome.

      In New York he’d counted the hours to his return.

      Till he’d seen Lucy in a news report, doused in his brother’s blood as she was led away by the police.

      His heart stuttered at the memory.

      Then piece by piece he’d heard from Pia and Sandro’s staff the truth about Lucy. How she’d seduced his brother and flaunted her power over him.

      She must have known who Domenico was at the gallery and engineered the meeting. Why stick with Sandro, whose wife was already making a fuss about his affair, when his brother—just as rich and single to boot—was available? And just as susceptible.

      Domenico thrust a hand through his hair. He’d fallen for her with an ease that shamed and angered him.

      No. She’d brought on the result of the trial herself.

      Yet he couldn’t douse his awareness of her. The delicacy of her features snagged his attention again and again, as did the proud, wilful angle of her jaw that appealed even as it repelled.

      All afternoon he’d watched her. She appeared fascinated by the grounds, apparently content with the tranquillity here. Which made him wonder what her life had been like behind bars that she should revel in solitude.

      There it was again. This unholy interest in the woman. She should mean nothing to him but a problem to be solved. Instead he found himself...intrigued.

      And that tiny dead of night niggle was back, disturbing his rest.

      He strode to the window, hands jammed in his pockets.

      She gave him no peace. There she was at the end of the garden. The afternoon sun burnished her hair, making it glint like gold as she tipped her head back. Her obvious sensual delight was far too alluring, the way she held her arms open to embrace the heat, her deep breaths that drew his eyes to her delectable breasts.

      She stiffened, head turning and arms folding in a classic defensive pose. Her tension was obvious as a figure approached from the villa. Rocco, his Head of Security.

      Rocco held out a broad-brimmed hat. For a moment she stood stiff, as if unwilling to accept it. Then Rocco spoke and her defensive posture eased. She took the hat and put it on. Rocco spoke again and she shook her head. Was that laughter he caught in the distance?

      Domenico stared, fascinated. Lucy Knight was so wary, stiffening the instant he or his security staff came near. To see her relaxed and laughing... Why? Because Rocco had offered her protection from the sun? It was a simple consideration anyone would offer.

      Yet look how she responded. Now they were in conversation. She must be asking about landmarks for he pointed to the mainland and she nodded, leaning close.

      Domenico frowned, not liking the swirl of discontent that rose as he watched them together.

      The difference in her was remarkable. Domenico recalled the way her face had lit up at lunch when the maid served a delicious tiramisu, saying it was the cook’s speciality, prepared to welcome the new guest. Lucy’s eyes had widened then softened with appreciation and shock before she realised he was watching and looked away. Later she’d made a point of telling the maid how much she’d enjoyed the dessert.

      The tiramisu was a little thing, a familiar courtesy to a guest, yet Lucy Knight had responded with surprised delight.

      Was she so unused to consideration or kindness?

      Given how she’d lived for the past several years it wasn’t surprising.

      What had she said when she’d rejected his offer out of hand? That she didn’t respond to threats?

      Domenico’s brain snapped into gear. He’d seen her proud defiance, her cool calm and her haughty, almost self-destructive need to assert her independence. Look at the way she’d faced the paparazzi.

      If the threats didn’t work...what would she respond to?

      Perhaps there was another way to get what he needed.

      Instead of demands, persuasion might be more effective. Didn’t they say you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar?

      * * *

      Lucy shut her eyes and listened to the drowsy hum of bees in the garden and, below, the soft shush of waves. She was so incredibly lethargic, mind and body reacting as if, for the first time in years, she didn’t need to be constantly on guard. It was easy to relax here, too easy, given she had a future to organise and decisions to make. She should—

      ‘I thought I’d find you here.’ The deep voice swirled across her nerve ends, jerking them into tingling life.

      She sat up abruptly in the low sun lounger. Standing between her and the sun was her host. For a moment she saw only an imposing silhouette, rampantly male with those broad shoulders, long legs and classically sculpted head. Her heart quickened with something other than surprise.

      She scrambled to rise.

      ‘Don’t move.’ He put his hand out to stop her and sank onto a nearby seat.

      She subsided, then gathered herself. Obviously he was here to demand she sign his contract. So much for the peace he’d promised!

      She sat straight, knees together, watching suspiciously.

      ‘I thought I’d take you on a tour of the grounds.’

      Lucy stared at him, but he returned her disbelieving look blandly.

      ‘Why?’

      His black brows arched infinitesimally and ridiculously she felt a sliver of jab at her brusqueness. As if she cared what he thought of her manners. Once upon a time she’d have bantered polite words but not now. He’d forfeited her trust.

      ‘If you’re going to stay you should learn the lie of the land.’

      He sounded so reasonable. So civilised.

      But then he was a civilised man. Look at the way he’d