Yet, even though Vincenzo seemed no less angry, she wasn’t scared. His was a coldly controlled anger and the threat of violence that hovered around him wasn’t directed at her. He told her he would never hurt her and she’d believed him then; she believed him now too.
She didn’t back away and leave the room the way she might have done even a week earlier. Instead she lifted her chin and stood there, waiting for him to finish. She’d been going to ask him why he’d left her that morning, but now she wanted to know why he was so angry. Was it her father? Business? What?
Quite suddenly he disconnected the call and flung the phone back down on the desk with a clatter. ‘What do you want?’ There was an edge to his cool voice. ‘I told Martina I wasn’t to be disturbed.’
Lucy took a breath, studying the hard cast of his features and the black glitter of his eyes. ‘Why are you angry?’
‘Why do you think? I gave orders that I wasn’t to be interrupted and yet here you are.’
‘That’s not why.’ Something more was going on here, she was sure of it. The hot breath of his fury was too intense to be about a mere interruption. ‘Is it my father?’
He muttered something vicious under his breath and looked away, the tension pouring off him.
The urge to go around the desk and put her hands on those hard, muscled shoulders to ease him was almost overwhelming. But they’d only had one night together and she couldn’t presume anything. He probably wouldn’t welcome it anyway.
She clasped her hands in front of her instead. ‘Vincenzo?’
‘You should leave.’ The words were bitten out. ‘I’m not in the mood for conversation.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
He lifted his head, his gaze clashing with hers again. The darkness in it made it hard to breathe. ‘You happened, civetta.’
Shock slid down her spine. She stared at him, not understanding. ‘What do you mean, I happened?’
He straightened, a muscle in his jaw leaping. ‘Last night you compromised my moral code and it cannot happen again.’ The anger threading through his voice was like hot metal piercing a block of ice, making his accent more pronounced. ‘I do not sleep with my prisoners.’
Oh. So that was the issue. She was the issue. And he regretted it.
A heavy disappointment settled in her stomach, though she knew she had no right to be disappointed. There had been no promises made, no indication that it would happen again. She’d just assumed, because it had been so good...
For you. But perhaps not for him.
Her mouth dried, the disappointment turning inward, growing sharp edges. ‘I...see,’ she said huskily. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘You didn’t mean to sleep with me? Is that what you’re trying to say? You didn’t mean to compromise me? Or cause me to forget everything I stand for?’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You overestimate your charms, Miss Armstrong. It wasn’t you and your lovely body, believe me. It was my own weakness.’
The edges were razor-sharp, cutting her, pain seeping through her. She wanted to turn away and leave the room, run away and hide. She’d thought that what had happened between them had been special, had been precious, and now he was looking at her as if it had meant nothing. As if she’d meant nothing.
He’d told her that she was worth savouring, but...had he not meant it?
Are you worth it, though? After what your mother sacrificed for you? You were where you shouldn’t have been and that’s all your fault.
The thought ran like acid through her. No, she wasn’t going to think about that. Yet she couldn’t pretend to herself that his opinion didn’t matter to her, either. Pretending wouldn’t change the emotion sitting in her heart. It did matter, because the night with him had been special and it had meant something. And maybe she was assuming that because it had been that way for her, it had been that way for him, too. But clearly she was wrong. While she’d felt changed on some fundamental level, he simply felt angry.
That hurt, she couldn’t deny it. She didn’t expect anything from him—an emotional attachment was the last thing she wanted—but she wasn’t going to act as if it meant nothing either.
He’d told her to be honest and so she would, both with herself and with him, and if he didn’t like that then too bad.
‘Yet it’s me you’re apparently angry with.’ She pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘Shouldn’t you be yelling at yourself in that case?’
He gave a short laugh that held no amusement. ‘I should, yes.’
‘You might regret what happened last night, Vincenzo, but I don’t.’ She lifted her chin, holding his ferocious gaze. ‘I don’t regret any second of it. In fact, that’s why I came to find you. I wanted to know why you left and whether you wanted to—’
‘No,’ he cut her off harshly. ‘I will not sleep with you again.’
But she didn’t let his tone get to her. ‘I wasn’t going to ask if you would, only if you wanted to.’
The tension gathered tighter around him, like a fist closing, and all of a sudden it was clear to her what that tension was and where his anger was coming from: he did want to. He wanted to badly, because she knew that fierce look in his eyes. She’d seen it the night before as he’d moved inside her. It was hunger, fierce desire, and denial.
He was at war with himself and what he wanted.
The raw feeling inside her eased; she’d been hoping he might feel the same way she had about the night before, but she hadn’t been sure. Now it seemed clear that, despite himself, it had been good for him. And that he wanted more.
Except she didn’t know what to do, whether to let him put her at a distance or to close it.
‘I do not want to,’ he bit out, his whole posture rigid with tension.
‘You told me honesty was precious,’ she said quietly. ‘And yet you’re lying.’
There were black flames in his eyes, his temper a cold fire. ‘Don’t presume to know me, civetta. You have no idea—’
‘You want me, Vincenzo. I can see it in your eyes.’
The muscle in the side of his jaw leapt again. ‘It won’t happen, Lucy. I’ve already told you that.’
‘Then why are you still so angry?’ She came closer, the width of his desk all that separated them. ‘If it’s not going to happen again, then why should what’s already happened matter?’
He said nothing, staring at her, the panther starving for his prey.
She swallowed, the sound of her heartbeat getting louder in her head.
Perhaps she should leave after all. Perhaps it was selfish of her to force this issue with him. He was a man of strict principles and she was essentially asking him to go against everything he believed in. Then again, he was also a man of strong passions, passions that he hadn’t given in to and yet clearly needed release from.
Would it be wrong to encourage him to release them with her? He’d already done so the night before after all, and a second time couldn’t hurt. And anyway, when was the last time anyone had made him feel good? Did he even have anyone?
Lucy put her fingertips on the desk, steadying herself. ‘Do you want to know why I’m here, Vincenzo?’
‘No.’
She ignored him. ‘I came to tell you that last night was special to me. That you made me feel...so very good. And so very safe. I’ve been afraid for so long, but I wasn’t last night. I wasn’t afraid at all, not for one second. And I...want that again.’
The flames in his eyes burned like cold wildfire. ‘You are my prisoner.’
‘So you keep saying. And I know you care about that, but I don’t.’
‘You should care. I’m going to hand you over to the police and they’re going to put you in a cell, and there will be no one to ease your fear then, civetta. No one to hold you or calm you.’
Something vulnerable inside her shivered, but she ignored it.
/> You won’t be able to change his mind. He’ll never release you.
She ignored that too.
‘I know that,’ she said and didn’t look away.
‘You will get no gentleness from me. No mercy.’
Lucy arched a brow, her own temper stirring. ‘Did I ask for any?’
He muttered something low and vicious in Italian, then continued in English, ‘You don’t know what you’re asking for.’
She lifted her chin even higher. ‘Then show me.’
There was only the desk between them. Only a paltry length of wood that he could have reached across and dragged her over the top of at any time. It was all he could do to stop himself from doing just that.
She looked so beautiful this morning in a green silk dress that made her skin look creamy and deepened the chestnut of her hair, making her eyes seem greener too. The fabric was sheer and he could see the curvaceous shape of her through it, and it made him so hard he could barely think.
Then again, he’d been trying to think all morning and been unable to, his mind full of her. He’d thought going to his study and burying himself in work would be the answer, but it wasn’t. Even the news he’d just received, about how Armstrong wanted to do a deal for her return, hadn’t distracted him.
The whole night had been a mistake and he knew it. That moment of clarity, of purity, when pleasure had annihilated all thought and he’d lost himself in the darkness of her eyes, had been the turning point. If it had only been sex between them, if she’d been just another in the long line of women he’d had before, then it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d have taken his pleasure as often as he could with her and the rest of the world be damned.
But she wasn’t just another woman and it wasn’t only sex. He’d known it wouldn’t be the moment she’d told him that she wanted him to be her first. And it certainly hadn’t felt like only sex when he’d touched her, when he’d buried himself inside her.
There was something in the way she looked at him, the way she touched him, as if he was her white knight, a man who would save her, not lock her in a cell. A man who would protect her, keep her safe. A man she trusted...
But he could never be those things for her. Not if he didn’t want to compromise his entire life up to this point. Justice had always been his driving force and he didn’t allow himself to be swayed or manipulated. Wouldn’t allow his emotions to be twisted or turned the way his mother had twisted and turned them. Yet somehow Lucy had done both.
Correction. She hadn’t done it; he’d allowed it to happen. The problem was him, not her. He’d been weak. He should be burning with the holy fire of justice, not the sensual flame of desire.
Yet that flame wouldn’t go out and now she was here, so close, offering him more of what his body so desperately wanted, and the need inside him wouldn’t be leashed.
She was a criminal, though. She’d broken the law. She was his prisoner. She was everything he’d been fighting against and he couldn’t allow himself to have her.
But why not? She wants you. And no one need know. You’ve told her that you won’t be kind and you won’t show mercy, and that you’re still going to hand her over to the law, so she will have no expectations. After all, you’ve already crossed the line once...
His hands clenched tight, all the reasons for holding back suddenly seeming spurious. Maybe he was turning this into a bigger issue than it needed to be. Yes, he’d thought the night before had been about more than sex, but it didn’t need to continue like that. She wasn’t a virgin any more. And besides, it would only be for another few days and then the time limit he’d imposed would be up. He would give her over to the police and hopefully by then this madness—because it couldn’t be anything other than madness—would have left him.
The look in her eyes from across the desk now was all challenge, an emerald glow glittering in the depths. A familiar emerald glow. It had burned bright as she’d climaxed beneath him, his name torn from her all husky and raw.
Show me, she’d said, and so maybe he would. Maybe she needed to see what kind of man he was at heart.
He unclenched his hands and moved around the side of his desk, approaching her slowly. She didn’t move, watching him come closer, her gaze steady. There was nothing wary or guarded about it now—she was an open book, her desire for him easily readable in her pretty face.
The urge to take that face between his palms and kiss her, give her more gentleness, was strong, but he resisted it. He’d told her he had no mercy and so he would give her none. And if she wanted to know what that was like, then he would show her.
‘On your knees,’ he ordered coldly.
She blinked, but after a moment’s hesitation she knelt on the silk rug in front of him, her head tilting back as she looked up at him. Pink tinged her cheekbones, her eyes a deep, fascinating green behind the lenses of her glasses.
His breath caught, the ache in his groin almost overwhelming now. He reached down and took her glasses off, laying them carefully on the desk beside them.
‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked breathlessly.
There was no fear either in her voice or her expression, only a sensual curiosity that made his pulse accelerate. There were so many things he could teach her, that they would both enjoy, and why not? Why not take the entire day? If he was going to do this, he might as well commit himself whole-heartedly.
‘I’ll tell you.’ He dropped his hands to the fastenings of his jeans and undid the button, drawing down the zip. Her gaze followed his movements, the pink in her cheeks deepening into red.
‘Give me your hand,’ he murmured.
She did so without hesitation and he took it in his, guiding her fingers to him, showing her how to draw him out of his boxers and jeans, then how to hold him in her fist. Her touch was searing and it was all he could do to make himself go slowly. Because even though he had no mercy, she was still new to this and he still couldn’t bring himself to frighten her.
‘Now,’ he went on, his voice husky as the pressure of her fist around him sent pure electricity to every nerve-ending he had. ‘Take me in your mouth.’
She obeyed, taking him in as if she’d been waiting her whole life to taste him, and the second the heat of her mouth encircled him he had to grit his teeth against the urge to thrust deep.
Instead, he dropped both hands to her hair and threaded his fingers through it, guiding her mouth on him gently and showing her what to do. Encouraging her with whispered commands to use her teeth and her tongue, when to suck and when to release, teaching her the rhythm he preferred.
She was eager and didn’t balk at anything he asked of her, the softness of her lips and her inexperienced enthusiasm somehow making it ten thousand times more erotic than what he’d had from other women.
He watched her face, pleasure sweeping through him, making his heart race and the blood pump hard in his veins. The feeling of that vulnerable mouth on him was exquisite, something he’d never forget, and when she closed her eyes as if he was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted, and made a soft, husky sound in the back of her throat, he knew he wasn’t going to last.
His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her head away from him, and as he did so her eyes opened. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘Did I do something wrong?’
But he was beyond speech.
He pulled her to her feet lifted her onto the desk and set her on top of it. Then he pulled up the hem of her dress, gathering all the green silk up to her waist, before pushing her thighs apart. He spent a breathless minute finding some protection in his wallet, ripping open the packet and rolling down the latex. Then he pulled her to the edge of the desktop and dipped a hand between her legs.
Her eyes were very wide, the hazel gone smoky and dark with desire. And as his fingers touched her slick flesh she shuddered, gasping softly.
She was soft and hot, a
nd very wet, and when he positioned himself, pushing slowly inside her, she welcomed him with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, Vincenzo...yes...’
And he felt that peace again. That stillness. As if he’d been in a room full of unwelcome noise and someone had shut the door, leaving him with blissful quiet.
Nothing but heat. Nothing but pleasure. Nothing but peace.
Her thighs closed around his waist, holding him tight inside her, and then her hands were in his hair, pulling his mouth down on hers, kissing him so sweetly, making him feel as if all of this was new to him too, new and wondrous.
The war inside him ceased and he let himself have this moment of ease, beginning to move, allowing the pleasure to set its own pace, slow and languorous.
She sighed and arched against him, and he paused once to pull her dress off over her head and get rid of her bra, getting rid of his T-shirt too, so that there was nothing between them, nothing but her silky, damp skin against his. And then he kept moving, the thrust of his hips driving them both closer and closer to the edge.
Her kisses became hungry and he gave her back the same hunger, gripping her hips so he could move harder and deeper, the easy pace becoming something more desperate. She tore her mouth from his, kissing his neck and his shoulders, her tongue tasting the hollow of his throat as if she couldn’t get enough of him, frantic, feverish words spilling out of her.
He’d forgotten he was supposed to have no mercy and that he wasn’t going to give her gentleness. Stroking her back and soothing her were automatic and instinctive, as was the need to ease her desperation. He took her hand and guided it down where they were joined, putting his fingers over hers and showing her what to do to increase her pleasure. She writhed as he did so, her body desperate for release, giving harsh little pants and moaning against his neck, so he pressed her finger hard against the bundle of nerves where she was most sensitive, allowing her to tumble over the edge.
The Italian's Final Redemption (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 11
