them. Some awareness, some connection, like a vibration in the taut air. Something that for a moment drew them together. It left Domenico unsettled.
Any connection with Lucy Knight was a betrayal of Sandro.
Anger snarled in his veins. ‘You’re alive to complain about your treatment. You didn’t give my brother that option, did you? What you did was irrevocable.’
‘And unpardonable. Is that why you spirited me away from the press? So you can berate me in private?’
She lounged back in her corner and made a production of crossing her legs as if to reinforce her total lack of concern. Even in her drab navy skirt and jacket there was no hiding the fact she had stunning legs. He was honest enough to admit it was one of the things that had drawn him the day they met. That and her shy smile. No wonder she’d always worn a skirt in court, trying to attract the male sympathy vote.
It hadn’t worked then and it didn’t work now.
‘What a ripe imagination you have.’ He let his teeth show in his slow smile and had the satisfaction of seeing her stiffen. ‘I have better things to do with my time than talk with you.’
‘In that case, you won’t mind if I enjoy the view.’ She turned to survey the street with an intense concentration he knew must be feigned.
Until he realised she hadn’t seen anything like it for five years.
* * *
It was even harder than she’d expected being near Domenico Volpe. Sharing the same space. Talking with him.
A lifetime ago they’d shared a magical day, perfect in every way. By the time they’d parted with a promise to meet again she’d drifted on a cloud of delicious anticipation. He’d made her feel alive for the first time.
In a mere ten hours she’d fallen a little in love with her debonair stranger.
How young she’d been. Not just in years but experience. Looking back it was almost inconceivable she’d ever been that naïve.
When she’d seen him again it had been at her trial. Her heart had leapt, knowing he was there for her as she stood alone, battered by a world turned into nightmare. She’d waited day after day for him to break his silence, approach and offer a crumb of comfort. To look at her with warmth in his eyes again.
Instead he’d been a frowning dark angel come to exact retribution. He’d looked at her with eyes like winter, chilling her to the bone and shrivelling her dreams.
A shudder snaked through her but she repressed it. She was wrung out after facing the paparazzi and him, but refused to betray the fact that he got to her.
She should demand to know where they were headed, but facing him took all her energy.
Even his voice, low and liquid like rich dark chocolate laced with honey, affected her in ways she’d tried to suppress. It made her aware she was a healthy young woman programmed to respond to an attractive man. Despite his cold fury he made her aware of his masculinity.
Was it the vibration of his deep voice along her bones? His powerful male body? Or the supremely confident way he’d faced down the press as if he didn’t give a damn what they printed? As if challenging them to take him on? All were too sexy for her peace of mind.
The way he looked at her disturbed, his scrutiny so intense it seemed he searched to find the real Lucy Knight. The one she’d finally learned to hide.
Lucy stifled a laugh. She’d been in prison too long. Maybe what she needed wasn’t peace and quiet but a quick affair with an attractive stranger to get her rioting hormones under control.
The stranger filling her mind was Domenico Volpe.
No! That was wrong on so many levels her brain atrophied before she could go further.
She made herself concentrate on the street. No matter what pride said, it was a relief to be in the limo, whisked from the press in comfort.
Yet there’d be a reckoning. She’d given up believing in the milk of human kindness. There was a reason Domenico Volpe had taken her side. Something he wanted.
A confession?
Lucy pressed her lips together. He’d have a long wait. She’d never been a liar.
She was so wrapped in memories it took a while to realise the streets looked familiar. They drove through a part of Rome she knew.
Lucy straightened, tension trickling in a rivulet of ice water down her spine as she recognised landmarks. The shop where she’d found trinkets to send home to her dad and Sylvia, and especially the kids. The café that sold mouth-watering pastries to go with rich, aromatic coffee. The park where she’d taken little Taddeo under Bruno’s watchful eye.
The trickle became a tide of foreboding as the limousine turned into an all too familiar street.
She swung around. Domenico Volpe watched her beneath lowered lids, his expression speculative.
‘You can’t be serious!’ Her voice was a harsh scrape of sound.
‘You wanted somewhere free from the press. They won’t bother you here.’
‘What do you call that?’ The pavement before the Palazzo Volpe teemed with reporters. Beyond them the building rose, splendid and imposing, a monument to extreme wealth and powerful bloodlines. A reminder of the disastrous past.
Lucy’s heart plunged. She never wanted to see the place again.
Was that his game? Retribution? Or did he think returning her to the scene of the crime would force a confession?
Nausea swirled as she watched the massive palazzo grow closer. Horror drenched her, leaving her skin clammy as perspiration broke out beneath the cloth of her suit.
‘Stop the car!’
‘Why? I wouldn’t have thought you squeamish.’ His eyes were glacial again.
She opened her mouth to argue, then realised there was no point. She’d been weak to go with him and she had to face the consequences. Hadn’t she known he’d demand payment for his help?
Lucy lifted one shoulder in a shrug that cost her every ounce of energy. ‘I thought you wouldn’t like the press to know we were together. But on your head be it. I’ve got nothing more to lose.’
‘Haven’t you?’ His tone told her he’d make it his business to find her soft spot and exploit it.
Let him try. He had no notion how a few years in jail toughened a girl.
He fixed his gaze on her, not turning away as the vehicle slowed to enter a well-guarded entrance. The crowd was held back by stony-faced security men. Anxiously Lucy scanned them but couldn’t recognise any familiar faces.
Surreptitiously she let out a breath of relief.
Then the car slipped down a ramp. They entered a vast underground car park. A fleet of vehicles, polished to perfection, filled it. She saw limousines, a four wheel drive, a sleek motorbike and a couple
