thanks. I need the bathroom—where is it?’
‘There is one off my bedroom—I’ll follow you through. Coffee in bed quite appeals,’ he said, with a smile that was a blatant invitation.
‘Not to me, it doesn’t,’ Lucy said coolly. ‘Just tell me where the bathroom is. After all, I am here to visit your mother, and it is bad manners to keep her waiting.’ She saw the flash of surprise in his eyes and watched them narrow, and felt a chill go through her.
Lorenzo was not accustomed to being denied, and his expression hardened as he looked at Lucy. She had pinned back her hair, replaced her jacket and fastened it, and was now standing stiffly, her arms folded in front of her, defiance in every line of her seductive body. He could make her do as he wanted—but suddenly he no longer had the stomach for it.
‘In the hall—second on the left.’ He gestured with his hand at the door he had just come through. Lucy was right. It was time they left.
He had shocked himself earlier, taking her without a second thought over the back of the sofa, totally out of control. This could not go on. The ice-cold anger and rage that had consumed him when he’d discovered Lucy had done a deal behind his back had cooled down, and he wasn’t proud of the way he had behaved.
With the benefit of hindsight he should have agreed with Lucy the day she’d come to his office—agreed to support the status quo, leaving the running of Steadman’s in the hands of the employee who had been dealing with it for the last five years. Instead he had let his anger over his brother’s death be stirred up by his lunch with Manuel and reacted badly. He had made his decision in anger instead of with his usual cool control. And getting involved with Lucy was another crazy mistake. In fact, he realised most of the summer had been one of crazy decisions on his part.
He was a normal, intelligent, healthy man, who enjoyed an active sex-life, but with Lucy he was in danger of allowing sex to take over his life to the detriment of his work and his leisure. He could not allow it to continue.
Since the day he had met her he had slept only one single night at his villa in Santa Margherita and only half a day sailing. And it was well over a month since he had been to New York. Instead he had spent most of his time in England, flying back and forth from Italy, and it had to stop. He still lusted after Lucy, but that was all it was—lust. Without conceit he knew that with his power and wealth he could take his pick of women, and occasionally had in the past. He would again.
His decision made, he rose to his feet and buttoned his shirt. The solution was simple: he just needed to get through the next three days, finish things with Lucy, then move on to a woman more his type who would not disturb the smooth running of his life.
His picked his jacket off the floor and slipped it on, then tightened his tie. When Lucy reappeared he moved towards her. ‘Ready to go?’
Lucy glanced at him. ‘Yes,’ she said, equally direct.
Taking her elbow, he ushered her out of the apartment and down onto the street. ‘Get in,’ Lorenzo said, holding open the passenger door of a low-slung, lethal-looking yellow sports car.
Lucy did, and quickly fastened the seat belt. She didn’t feel safe in this monster of a car, even when it was stationary. She glanced at Lorenzo as he slid into the driving seat and was about to ask what make the car was. But one look at the determined set of his jaw made her change her mind.
There was no other way to describe it—the man drove as if he had a death wish, Lucy thought. The countryside flashed past them in a whirl, and she caught her breath as the car swung around corners.
‘Do you have to drive so fast?’ she finally demanded.
He cast her a sidelong glance and said nothing, but she noticed he did slow down a little, and she could breathe easily again.
Her first glance of Lake Garda made her catch her breath again, and as Lorenzo drove along the one road that ran around the lake she was captivated by the small villages they passed. Eventually he guided the car between two stone towers that supported massive iron gates. The drive wound steeply up through a forest of trees and then veered right. Suddenly the forest ended, and Lucy simply stared in awe at the view before her.
The house was built in pale stone, beautifully proportioned, with circular turrets on all corners and with the forest as a backdrop. The gardens swooped down in lawns and terraces to the edge of the lake, where a wooden boat house was just visible by the trees. A small boat with its sails furled was tied up at the jetty. The overall view was idyllic, and incredible to her artistic eye. Someone had planned the garden skilfully. A pergola, a summerhouse and fountains were all strategically placed to draw the eye to a perfect flow of colour and symmetry.
‘Lucy?’
It was the first word Lorenzo had spoken since they’d left Verona, and she glanced at her wristwatch. Well over an hour ago. She realised he had stopped the car. She looked out of the window, her eyes widening in admiration on the portico, a graceful structure with elegant arches and roof supported by four columns.
‘Before we go in, a word of warning.’
She turned her head and looked at him. ‘What? No stealing the silver? ‘ she quipped.
He didn’t so much as smile, just gave her a sardonic glance. ‘That is an example of what I am afraid of. You are too impulsive, Lucy—you say everything that enters your head without a second thought.’
Not everything, Lucy thought. Even locked in his arms, in the throes of passion, she resisted the impulse to tell him she loved him.
‘When you meet my mother you will be friendly and polite—no going over the top with hugs or confidences. I have the painting in the boot of the car. You will give it to her as a gift and she will be delighted. As for you and I—as far as my mother and the staff are concerned we will behave as close friends, though obviously we will not share a room. It is enough that I have brought you to the family home. Not something I ever do with the women in my life. That, along with an occasional arm around you, will confirm my mother’s opinion—thanks to the Lanza woman—that we are a couple. When I tell her it is over between us you will have an excellent reason for no further contact that she will readily accept. Understand?’
‘Perfectly. Machiavelli could not have come up with a better plan.’
The arrogance of the man confounded her. When he dumped her she was supposedly going to be so brokenhearted she would cut off all contact with the Zanelli family. The sad thing was she realised he was probably right—though he did not know it.
Forcing a smile to her face, she added, ‘You mean pretend we are lovers but no mention of casual sex? I get it.’
‘Lucy, cut out the flippant remarks. This is very straightforward. All you have to do is behave yourself in a restrained manner for a couple of days.’
‘Yes, I see.’
And she did see—all too clearly. It was in his dark, impersonal eyes, in the hard face. He could not have made it clearer that when this visit was over so was she, as far as he was concerned. She turned her head away. It was what she wanted—to be free of him, she told herself, and tried to open the car door.
Before she could, it was swung open by a man Lorenzo introduced as Gianni—the butler!
Lucy stood in the grand hall, two storeys
