A Night In His Arms. Annie West

you will call me Domenico, si? And I’ll call you Lucy.’

      Time warped. It was as if they were back in Rome, chance met strangers, her heart thundering as their eyes locked for the first time.

      His gaze bored into hers, challenging her to admit the idea of his name on her lips discomfited her. Or was it the sound of her own name, like a tantalising caress in his rich, deep voice, that made her pulse falter?

      ‘I don’t think—’

      ‘To seal our truce,’ he insisted, his gaze intent as if reading the thrill of shock snaking through her.

      ‘Of course.’ She refused to let him fluster her, especially over something so trivial.

      Yet it didn’t feel trivial. It felt... Lucy groped for a word to describe the sensations assailing her but failed.

      With a nod he released her and stepped away. Yet Lucy still felt the imprint of his hand on hers and her spine tingled at the memory of him saying her name with that delicious hint of an accent.

      She had the uncomfortable feeling she’d just made a huge mistake.

       CHAPTER SIX

      THEY WERE SILENT as they walked along the beach to the villa. Late afternoon light lengthened their shadows and for the first time in weeks Domenico felt something like peace, listening to the rhythm of the sea and their matched steps.

      Peace, with Lucy Knight beside him!

      His business negotiations had reached a crucial phase that would normally have consumed every waking hour. On top of that was Pia’s near hysterical response to the latest press reports, and his own turbulent reactions to the release of his brother’s killer.

      And here he was walking with her in the place that was his refuge from the constant demands on his time. Was he mad letting her in here?

      Yet the stakes were too high. He had to convince her—

      Beside him she stopped. He turned, wondering what had caught her attention.

      In the peachy light her hair was a nimbus of gold, backlit by the sun that lovingly silhouetted her shape. She’d taken off her sandals and stood ankle-deep in the froth of gentle waves. She looked...appealing.

      His pulse thudded and he realised she was watching him. Her gaze branded his skin.

      Instinctively he moved closer, needing to read her expression. What he saw made premonition jitter through him. Was she going to agree to his terms? He schooled his face, knowing better than to rush her.

      ‘Lucy?’ Her name tasted good on his tongue. Too good. This was business. Business and the protection of his family. It was his duty to protect Taddeo and Pia now Sandro wasn’t here to do it. The thought of Sandro renewed his resolve.

      ‘I...’ Her gaze skated away and he leaned in, willing her to continue. She drew a deep breath, straining her blouse across ripe breasts. Domenico berated himself for noticing, but he noticed everything about her. Was that an asset or a penalty?

      ‘You?’ Expectation buzzed. It wasn’t like her to hesitate. She was aggressively forthright.

      Her eyes met his and something punched deep in his belly. Gone were her defiance and her anger. Instead he read something altogether softer in her face.

      ‘I never told you.’ She paused and bit her lip, reminding him in a flash of blinding memory of the girl he’d met all those years ago. The one whose forget-me-not eyes had haunted him with their apparent shock and bewildered innocence. Who’d been a conundrum with her mix of uncertainty and belligerent, caustic defiance.

      His belly tightened. There was no logic to the fact she unsettled him as no other woman had.

      ‘Sorry. I’m usually more coherent.’

      ‘You can say that again.’

      Her lips twisted. Then she straightened, her jaw tensing as she met his eyes head-on.

      ‘We agreed not to make accusations and I understand there’s no point protesting my innocence.’ She inhaled through flared nostrils. ‘But there’s something you need to hear.’ She paused as if expecting him to cut her off, but Domenico had no intention of interrupting.

      ‘I’m sorry about your brother.’ Her gaze didn’t waver and Domenico felt the force of her words as a palpable weight. ‘His death was a tragedy for his wife and child, for all his family. He was a good man, a caring one.’ She released a breath that shivered on the air between them. ‘I’m sorry he died and I’m sorry I was involved.’

      Stunned, Domenico watched her lips form the words.

      After all this time...

      He’d never expected an apology, though he’d told himself an admission of guilt would salve the pain of Sandro’s loss.

      She didn’t confess, yet, to Domenico’s amazement, her words of regret struck a chord deep inside. He stared at her and she didn’t try to hide, even lifted her face as if to open herself to his scrutiny.

      For the first time he felt the barriers drop between them and he knew for this moment truth hovered. Truth and honest regret.

      ‘Thank you.’ His voice was hoarse from grief that seemed fresh as ever. But with the pain came something like peace.

      The cynic in him stood ready to accuse her of an easy lie, a sop to his anger. Yet what he saw in Lucy’s face drowned the voice of cynicism. ‘I appreciate it.’

      Her lips twisted in a crooked smile. ‘I’m glad.’ She paused then severed eye contact, turning towards the sea. ‘I wrote to your sister-in-law some time ago, saying the same thing. I’m not sure she even read the letter.’

      ‘You wrote to Pia?’ It was the first he’d heard of it and usually Pia was only too ready to lean on him for emotional support.

      He stared at the woman he’d thought he understood. How well did he know her after all? She confounded his certainties time and again.

      She made him feel so many unexpected emotions.

      * * *

      A day later Domenico stood at his study window, drawn from his computer by the sound of laughter.

      On the paved area by the head of the stairs to the beach were Rocco’s niece, Chiara, and Lucy, neat in her denim skirt and blouse. Lucy bent to mark the flagstones in a square chalk pattern and Domenico fought to drag his eyes from the denim tight around her firm backside.

      Heat flared as his gaze roved her ripe curves.

      Too often he found himself watching Lucy with distinctly male appreciation.

      He switched his gaze to Chiara as, shaking her head, she took the chalk and drew her own patterns, circular this time. As she finished, understanding dawned. They were playing a children’s game: Mondo. Watching Chiara gesticulate he guessed she was explaining her game rather than the English Hopscotch, that Lucy had marked.

      ‘You wanted me, boss?’ Rocco tapped at the door.

      Did he? Domenico couldn’t recall. Frustration bit. He’d been distracted all morning. Lucy and her refusal to sign his contract undermined his focus.

      ‘Have you seen who your niece is playing with?’ His voice grated as he realised it wasn’t Lucy’s obstinacy that distracted him. It was the woman herself—prickly, proud and, he hated to admit it, intriguing in ways that had nothing to do with the danger she posed to his family.

      ‘They’re good together, aren’t they?’

      Domenico frowned. ‘You have no qualms about Chiara playing with a woman who served time for killing a man?’

      Not just any man. His brother. Domenico’s breath was harsh in his constricted