by Annie West
‘Don’t talk like that!’ Domenico’s voice was hoarse.
‘Why not?’ She tilted her jaw in challenge. ‘It’s what I did just now—’
‘No. It’s not.’ She couldn’t reduce what they’d shared to something so crude. It had been wild and out-of-control, but it had been anything but casual sex. It had been... Dammit, he didn’t understand what it was, but he knew it was something.
Domenico grabbed her other hand, regardless of the sheet slithering to the floor between them.
Fifteen minutes ago he’d been unable to tear his gaze from her luscious naked form. Now, though his predictable body stirred, his gaze meshed with hers. She looked back with a hauteur that chilled him to the marrow. She was so furious he wondered if she even noticed the loss of the sheet.
He threaded his fingers through hers, entwining them together. ‘What just happened wasn’t like that.’
‘What was it like then?’ Her fine brows arched. ‘When you didn’t even believe me?’
‘I believed.’ Not coherently, not consciously, because he’d put such effort into hiding from what his instincts told him. He’d shied from connecting all the dots. Because if Lucy was innocent she’d suffered all these years because of a mistake and his family’s need for justice.
Because he’d let himself be swayed by hurt pride into believing the worst when others claimed she’d seduced Sandro.
He’d taken the easy route and avoided confronting his doubts head-on. He’d found comfort in his cosy role of righteous brother.
He’d been too comfortable, too long.
Domenico had never thought himself a coward. Now, seeing how he’d wounded her, he knew himself less than the man he’d always believed himself. His stomach churned.
‘Liar,’ she whispered.
‘I knew you weren’t the woman the prosecution painted you.’ He sounded desperate. ‘I knew you were warm and caring, that your instincts are decent, not self-centred. Look at the way you saved Chiara. The way you faced down a mob to protect her rather than leave her and take to your heels.’
She shook her head. ‘Not good enough.’
He knew it wasn’t. Shame blistered him as he realised it was the best he could do. He should have been sure sooner.
He’d wanted to believe she was innocent. He’d wanted to think her fear of Sandro’s old bodyguard pointed to him, not her, being responsible for Sandro’s death. But Domenico hadn’t made that final leap of faith. Even when he’d felt her virginal body welcoming him home the truth hadn’t hit. He’d been completely absorbed in the heady pleasure of potent, white-hot sex more intense than anything he’d known. His own pleasure had ruled him.
It was only afterwards, watching her go limp in his arms that the enormity of what he knew about her struck.
It had fallen into place, everything he felt, knew and guessed about her.
Every instinct had been attuned to Lucy since she’d bent at his car door and stared at him in frozen horror. Fear of being disloyal to Sandro had stopped him seeing clearly. Or was he simply used to the world fitting his expectations? Had he grown so used to his rarefied world he couldn’t see the truth before his eyes?
Heat seared his face.
Domenico gestured to the wall where the world had shuddered as they came together. ‘I wasn’t thinking about your virginity.’ Desperation made him speak the unvarnished truth. ‘All I could think about was being inside you, filling you till you screamed my name as you came. Filling you till I finally found my own release.’ His lungs hurt as he dragged in air. ‘Do you know how I’ve hungered for you?’
Her eyes widened as if his words shocked her. A trickle of heat circled in his belly at the idea of shocking her some more, with actions this time, not words.
It was strange how innocent she was in some ways while she was so tough and worldly in others.
‘I didn’t have some grand plan to seduce you.’ He held her gaze, wondering if he had any hope of convincing her. ‘It’s you who’s been seducing me all along.’
‘I have not!’ She jerked back in his hold. ‘You make it sound like I connived—’
‘You didn’t have to. All you had to do was be yourself.’ That was what had hooked him from the start. Her fascinating, richly layered character. Her strength and fiery independence and her warm-hearted generosity, especially with Chiara. Her courage, her pleasure in simple delights, her straight-down-the-line honesty. She was so uncompromising in her truthfulness that even now he found her a challenge. How had he ever believed her deceitful?
Because he’d wanted someone to suffer for Sandro’s death.
Because in his grief and rage he’d been too ready to accept the image painted by the prosecution.
Because he’d been jealous of his brother.
‘You’re like those lawyers, making out I—’
Domenico tugged her to him so her naked body pressed against his. His senses jangled into overdrive.
Yet Lucy apparently felt none of the seductive friction between them. She held herself proud as a princess.
He fought to keep his mind on what mattered. ‘What happened had nothing to do with the trial.’ He searched her troubled gaze, frustration filling him when he couldn’t read her thoughts. ‘You have to believe me.’
‘I don’t have to do anything.’
That was the hell of it.
He had no right to expect anything, especially after what had been done to her in the name of justice. Yet he wanted her, still, again, more than before.
Any minute now she could wash her hands of him and leave. Who would blame her?
He gathered her closer, one hand shackling her wrist and the other encircling her bare back. Heroically he strove to ignore the silken invitation of her nakedness. He was torn between so many conflicting emotions.
‘I know you didn’t kill Sandro, Lucy.’
He felt the almighty tremor race through her at his words, saw her eyes pop wide as she stared up at him.
‘You can’t know it.’ She shook her head emphatically, distrust in her gaze. ‘You have no new proof. Nothing. I told you, the fact that I didn’t sleep with Sandro—’
‘I understand.’ He released her hand and lifted his fingers to her cheek, hesitating a moment before sliding his fingers into her hair. ‘Technically it doesn’t prove your innocence.’
But he knew in his gut, with every instinct, that she was innocent. Finding that she was a virgin had simply been the shock that made the pieces fit together.
No wonder he’d been plagued by doubts. Nothing about the woman he’d come to know fitted with the woman the prosecution had portrayed in court.
‘I won’t ask you to forgive me for doubting you so long.’ That would be asking too much. ‘But you must know I’m sorry for what happened. More sorry than I can say.’
He recalled how she’d watched him in court, waiting for him to go to her. And he, blind fool, had been so wrapped up in prejudice and hurt pride, he’d spurned her instead of listening to his instincts. Even though an extramarital affair was out of character for Sandro, Domenico had believed it because Lucy had knocked him off his feet and he was scared by the conflicting emotions she aroused. In his neat world, no woman had the power to unsettle him.
‘And I’m going to prove you didn’t kill Sandro.’ That wouldn’t erase the last five years, but he owed her.
He read something that might have been wonder in her face. Hope dawned on her fine features. Her lips trembled and she swallowed hard. His throat dried as he saw her struggle with emotion.
How alone she’d been, with no one on her side. She deserved better.
Then she blinked and her mask of indifference dropped into place. The one she used to keep the world, and him, at bay. The one he was beginning to hate. He wanted to strip it away and smash it, so she couldn’t hide from him any longer.
His pulse drummed at the intensity of what he felt.
He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t move to stop her wh
en she backed away, scooping up the sheet and wrapping it tight around her.
He tried not to notice the way the cotton moulded her ripe breasts and pebbled nipples. Impossibly, the flimsy cover only made him more aware of her delectable body beneath.
‘Why would you try to prove my innocence?’ Suspicion filled her voice and he was struck anew by how hard it was for her to trust.
‘Because of the wrong done you.’ Wasn’t it obvious?
‘That’s not your problem.’
Domenico frowned. Didn’t she want his help?
It didn’t matter; she was getting it whether her pride revolted at the idea or not.
‘I should have questioned earlier. Instead an injustice has been done in the name of my family. To ignore that would be cowardly. Not to act would bring shame on my family and me. I owe you.’
* * *
Lucy looked up into that dark, proud face, honed by a centuries-old aristocratic gene pool and the assurance born of success, wealth and privilege.
Despite the intimacies they’d just shared—maybe because of them, with him smartly dressed and her naked beneath a sheet—she felt the yawning chasm between them more than ever.
He spoke of family honour as if that was all that mattered.
Her heart dived. She’d thought for a moment his concern was for her. Instead it was for the precious Volpe name. She knew how devoted he was to it after he’d gone to such lengths to preserve it. He’d even brought her from prison to his home.
He hadn’t done it for her. It was for his family.
She’d been right. He’d had sex. He hadn’t made love.
‘I’m not interested in preserving your family’s honour.’
His eyes narrowed to glittering slits. ‘This is about clearing your name. Rehabilitating you in the eyes of the world.’
Despite all logic, hope leapt in her chest. But only for an instant.
‘That’s something even you can’t do.’ If she’d had evidence to prove her innocence she’d have used it.
His head reared back as he folded his arms over his broad chest, the epitome of male confidence. ‘Watch me.’
He spoke with the assurance of a man who took on disastrous financial markets and won. Who’d built an empire against all known trends. Who succeeded where so many others crashed and burned. A man who never failed.
But he’d learn as she had. The task was impossible. She’d hoped to clear her name but she’d accepted now she couldn’t.
‘Good luck with that, Domenico. But I don’t care to stay around and watch you fail.’
Fire sizzled in those slitted eyes. Anger or challenge?
He paced towards her and to her horror Lucy found herself retreating.
‘One way or another we’re going to reintroduce you to society. You will not be on the run from troublemakers like that harridan this afternoon.’ She opened her mouth to protest but he kept right on talking. ‘If it’s humanly possible, I’ll find a way to overturn the court’s ruling.’
Lucy wrapped her arms around herself, torn between wanting to believe he meant it and worry that he did. She didn’t have the strength to keep fighting, much less go through another bout with the criminal justice system. The thought of it made her flesh crawl.
‘You’re not going anywhere, Lucy, till we’ve made this right.’
That’s what he was good at, wasn’t it? Fixing things, overcoming obstacles. Look at the way he’d risen to the challenge of keeping her from selling her story.
Only now he saw it as family duty to rectify the wrong done in their name. He’d do what he could to put things right because honour demanded it and then... What?
He’d walk away.
Better to make the break now, while she could. For no matter how she tried to deny it, her emotions were engaged. What she felt for Domenico petrified her.
‘You haven’t thought this through.’ She wrapped the sheet more securely and walked to the bed where her case now rested on the floor. She lifted it onto the bed. ‘Any scheme to “rehabilitate” me will attract press attention. The media circus would get worse and your family privacy would be a thing of the past.’
Guilt or no guilt, that would make him leave her alone. In a contest between family and the woman he’d lusted for briefly, family would win every time.
She bit her lip and reached for a shirt to put in the case. To her horror, her hand shook visibly.
A long arm reached around her and took the shirt from her grasp. He stood so close behind her she felt the blazing heat of his body warm her. Lucy stiffened.
‘I don’t care.’ His words brushed her nape and shivered around her. ‘I have to do this, Lucy. Don’t you understand? Everything has changed.’
She stood transfixed as his words sank in.
How she wanted them to be true.
His hand wrapped around hers but this time his touch was infinitely gentle. Slowly he turned her towards him. For the life of her, Lucy couldn’t resist.
When he demanded, she could stand up to him. But his tenderness? It undid her.
‘Nothing has changed. Don’t you see?’ Her chest was too tight as she looked into eyes the colour of soft mist in the morning. ‘I’ve lived with this. I know.’
‘Cara.’ The simple endearment stole her breath, or maybe it was the way he looked at her. As if he saw only her, not some debt of honour. ‘You have to trust me, at least for a little longer.’
‘I—’ His thumb brushed her bottom lip as he cradled her jaw, the heat of his hand pure comfort after the inner chill she’d battled so long. It made her forget that she no longer knew how to trust.
‘Let me help you, Lucy. Let me try to make amends.’ He leaned forward till his mouth almost brushed her cheek. Her eyelids grew heavy as that riot of sensations started up inside. ‘Please?’
The rich timbre of his voice detonated explosions of delight across her senses. Her head swam.
Domenico leaned closer, his lips brushing hers with a tenderness that almost undid her. Lucy’s heart pounded and she jerked her head back.
‘Don’t do that!’ If only she sounded as if she meant it. ‘I don’t want you to kiss me.’ She shoved her palm against his chest but that only brought her in contact with his muscled heat.
‘Liar,’ he whispered in her ear, sending sensual pleasure spiralling through her. His mouth grazed her cheek, then his lips were at the corner of her mouth.
‘I said no!’ With a supreme effort she pulled out of his hold to stand, panting with exertion as if she’d run a marathon. That was how strong the sensual current of awareness she fought. ‘You don’t have to seduce me, remember? You already know all about my sexual experience. You’ve got nothing else to prove.’
Meeting his eyes was one of the most difficult things she’d done. Lucy felt stripped bare, the memory of her passion, her complete sexual abandon, glaringly proclaiming her weakness for him.
‘You have no idea, do you, cara?’ He shook his head, his mouth a grim line. ‘This isn’t about proving anything, except how much I want you. How perfect we are together.’
In a sudden, shocking movement, he tugged his shirt free of his trousers, pulling it over his head and away.
Lucy’s throat narrowed and the air hissed from her lungs as she surveyed his chest—a dusting of dark hair over golden skin, a torso full of the fascinating dips and bulges that proclaimed his body’s muscled power.
‘I want you, Lucy. The same way you want me.’ He kicked off his shoes and bent to strip away his socks before she could formulate a reply.
She stepped back, horrified, as her resistance crumbled at those simple words. Was that all it took to make her putty in his hands? The backs of her legs hit the mattress. Dazed, she thought of escape, but couldn’t summon the energy to try.
Or maybe she didn’t want to. The memory of ecstasy held her still.
As she watched, he made short work of his belt and zip, only pausing to retrieve his wallet before letting his clothes drop to t
he floor.
She’d seen him in bathers, with water plastering the fabric to his strong thighs and taut backside. But she’d never seen him naked. She wanted to reach out and trace the lines of his body. She wanted...
Domenico let the wallet drop and tossed a foil packet onto the bedside table. The sight of it made her skin prickle and heat swirl deep in her womb. He swept her bag off the bed and, dazed, she saw her belongings scatter across the floor.
She couldn’t believe she stood, unmoving, waiting for his touch.
Except it was what she wanted—Domenico’s passion and warmth. She craved the sense of being linked not just bodily but soul to soul. It almost didn’t matter that it was an illusion. What he did to her was magic and, despite every argument common sense mustered, she couldn’t turn her back on it. On him.
Not yet.
‘Carissima.’
He took her in his arms as if she were fragile gossamer. Only the glitter in his eyes and the tremor in his touch revealed how hard it was for him to take his time.
Yet take his time he did, learning her body with a thoroughness that made her squirm in ecstasy and increasing desperation. Along the way she discovered some of his weaknesses. When she trailed her fingertips across his hip and down to his groin he sucked in his breath. When she nipped at his throat he groaned aloud and when she took his shaft in her hand he rolled her onto her back and pinioned her with the full weight of his body. She revelled in the sense of his powerful frame blanketing her.
‘Do that again and this will be over in seconds,’ he growled.
‘Don’t treat me like a piece of porcelain.’ She stared up into stormy eyes, loving that she’d made him lose his cool. ‘I want you. Now.’
Domenico’s sudden feral smile should have scared her. Instead, fire licked her veins. She wriggled, her thighs opening wider, and he sank onto her.
His smile faded and her breath hitched.
What followed was testament to Domenico’s iron control and sexual prowess. He brought her to not one but several peaks of ecstasy, till she thought she’d die from the force of the pleasure pounding through her.
Then at last he joined her, reaching his climax just as Lucy’s world shattered in a whirling kaleidoscope of fractured colours and pleasure-drenched senses that surely would never recover from the onslaught.
