yet utterly adorable. ‘How did you get to be so bitter, Felice?’
For a second she wavered, his harsh judgement searing through her. She wanted to scream at his injustice, to tell him he was wrong, but what possible purpose would that serve?
It was better that he thought her a hard-nosed madam, better just to walk away now.
‘Years of practice. Now…’ she gave a very thin, very strained smile ‘…if you’ll let me have my wrist back, please, I’d like to have that shower.’
Oh, the bliss of the water as it slid over her body, washing away the caked on make up, the sticky lacquered hair. She allowed the tears she had held back so fiercely to slip unnoticed down her cheeks as she stood trembling under the jets, trying to fathom what she had done, the huge ramifications of the Pandora’s box she had opened.
Wrapping herself in a soft white robe, she dragged a comb through her damp blonde hair. She was almost listless now, the unleashed emotions leaving her curiously drained. Staring in the mirror, she gazed at her reflection. The clear amber eyes stared back, for once unsure. The usually stiff upper lip was trembling as she attempted a mental plan of attack, a resolution to her problems.
She had really thought she could do it.
Really thought she could push emotion aside, ignore the awful implications of an empty engagement, do whatever it might take to buy her father some peace. But in the end she had failed him.
She pushed aside the internal ream of excuses that sprang to mind as forcibly as she pushed open the bathroom door.
There was no excuse.
Luca Santanno was right; it all came down to one simple truth: in the end she simply couldn’t have gone through with it.
‘I’m sorry.’
His words made her start, the sight of him pacing as she walked unannounced out of the bathroom unexpected.
‘I am so very sorry for what has happened to you, to your family. I take full responsibility.’
He wasn’t looking at her; the pacing had stopped now and he stood like a thundercloud, dark and brooding by the window.
‘It’s not your fault.’ The admission surprised even Felicity. For a year now even the name Luca Santanno had caused her internal abhorrence, a fierce surge of hatred just on hearing it; yet now, standing before him, hearing his words, feeling his guilt, the tide suddenly turned and she knew her hatred had been misdirected.
‘But it is my fault.’ Dragging a deep breath in, he clenched his fists in a strange salute by his sides. ‘You were right. It is my name on the notepaper; I am the one who writes the cheques.’ His fists tightened more, if that were possible. ‘And it is my name this Matthew has sullied. If the coffee is too cold, if the beds are not turned back, the pool too cool, it is my responsibility. Sure, I cannot be everywhere; I have to trust my senior staff. But when one of them…’ He turned then, his eyes fixing on her; sincerity laced with anger, pride laced with shame ‘For him to have treated you like this—’ He thumped his chest, balled his fist against his heart. ‘He is gone.’ The clenched fist opened and he flicked the air dismissively. ‘Gone. Dismiss him from your mind.’
‘It’s not quite that easy. Even if he’s exaggerated, Matthew still has—’
‘He is gone,’ Luca said, with such precision, such a sense of finality Felicity almost believed him.
Almost.
Somewhere along the way she’d given up believing in people. Right here, right now, Luca was probably telling the truth, and Felicity didn’t question it, didn’t doubt that his apology was genuine, his outrage sincere, that he had every intention of following through. But in a few hours he would be back in Rome, back in his world, a world far removed from hers, and his intentions, however well meant at the time, would fade into insignificance.
She’d seen it all before—too many times.
Promises meant nothing.
‘He’s got a contract,’ Felicity pointed out, her tone businesslike, addressing Luca as she would a client. ‘There are unfair dismissal laws in place.’
‘Would they have protected your father?’ Luca responded quickly, quelling her argument with a stroke of his tongue. ‘These are just minor details. My legal staff will take care of them.’ He flicked his hand again. ‘I promise you this, Felice…you will never have to see him again, never have to worry about that man forcing himself upon you, blackmailing you…’
‘It’s my father who is the concern here,’ Felicity pointed out. ‘I can take care of myself.’
‘No, Felice, clearly you cannot.’ He walked over to her, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Last night anything could have happened to you.’
‘You’re overreacting.’ Her voice remained assured, but she felt rather than heard her conviction waver. Luca was right. Last night she had played a dangerous game, a stupid game, and her only saving grace had been the man who stood before her, the man who had rescued her. Her shift in feelings startled her, unnerved her, triggering a surge of adrenaline as she struggled with the impossibility of her emotions, praying for a voice of reason to descend.
She simply couldn’t be attracted to Luca Santanno.
Surely it was a primitive response he had triggered? She was mistaking gratitude for lust. It took a supreme effort to keep her breathing even, to slow down her rapidly accelerating heart-rate as she urged sanity to prevail. It was gratitude she was feeling, nothing else, and it would serve her well to remember the fact. Clearing her throat, she forced conviction into her words. ‘I knew what I was getting into.’
‘Perhaps.’ A muscle flickered in his cheek, but his voice remained soft—weary, even. ‘What if it hadn’t been my room you ended up in? What if another man…?’ The muscle was flickering rapidly now, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘What then?’
He searched her face, one hand moving up to her hair, stroking the soft blonde sheen, taking in the wide hazel eyes, so much softer without the sharp black kohl, the full rosebud mouth. The soft woman before him was such a contrast to the sophisticated beauty he had first laid eyes on, and it terrified him, truly terrified him what might have happened. The worst-case scenarios played over and over in his mind, kindling a surge of protectiveness, an immeasurable guilt for the pain he had caused.
‘But nothing did happen.’ Her voice was strangely high. She was trapped by his eyes, caught in the line of fire and, most surprisingly of all, with no desire to move. ‘I ended up here with you.’ A ghost of a smile trembled across her lips, but still she held his gaze. ‘And you said yourself it wasn’t difficult not to take advantage.’
‘I lied.’
The simple admission hung in the air between them. He was moving closer now, his hand still on her hair, and the other one was working its way around her slender waist. She had every opportunity to move, every chance to step backwards, to brush away his hand, but instead she stood there, trapped by her own inquisitiveness, overawed and overwhelmed by the feelings he ignited. She could almost taste the thrill of sexual excitement in the air, the tingling awareness of her skin. Every tiny hair, every pore, every cell was saturated by his presence, thrilled and terrified at the same time as his deep voice washed over
