grief slammed into her. She’d missed him so long she’d finally learned to repress the waves of loss. But she hadn’t been prepared for this.
Not now. Not here. Not in front of the man who saw himself as her enemy.
Maybe grief hit harder because it was her first day of freedom. The day, by rights, when she should be in her dad’s reassuring embrace. But all that was gone. Lucy swallowed the knot of emotion clogging her throat, forcing herself to stare, dry-eyed, around the cavernous space.
‘How did you get permission to excavate?’ She was relieved her voice worked. ‘I thought this part of the city was built on the ancient capital.’
‘You didn’t know about the basement car park?’ His voice was sceptical.
Finally, when she knew her face was blank of emotion, Lucy met his stare. ‘I was just the au pair, remember? Not the full-time nanny. I didn’t go out with the family. Besides, Taddeo was so little and your sister-in-law—’ she paused, seeing Domenico’s gaze sharpen ‘—she didn’t want him out and about. It was a struggle to get permission to take him to the park for air.’
Gun-metal grey eyes met hers and again she felt that curious beat of awareness between them. As if he knew and understood. But that was impossible. Domenico Volpe hated her, believed she’d killed his brother. Nothing would change his mind.
‘The car park was necessary for our privacy.’ His shoulders lifted in a shrug that indicated whatever the Volpe family needed the world would provide. Naturally. ‘There was an archaeological survey but fortunately it didn’t find anything precious.’
Lucy bit back a retort. It wouldn’t matter how precious the remains. The Volpes would have got what they wanted. They always did. They’d wanted her convicted and they’d got their way.
The car slid to a halt and her door opened.
Lucy surveyed the big man holding it. Her heart gave a flip of relief as she saw it was the guy who’d tried to strong-arm her into the car earlier. Not a spectre from the past. But embarrassment warred with relief as she recalled how she’d abused him.
‘Thank you.’ She slid awkwardly from the seat, not used to a skirt after years in regulation issue trousers.
Silently he inclined his head.
Damp palms swiping down her skirt, Lucy located the rest of the security staff. Her heart clenched as she thought she saw a familiar figure in the dim light but when he moved Lucy realised it was another stranger. Her breathing eased.
‘This way, signorina.’ The bodyguard ushered her towards a lift.
Minutes later she found herself in a part of the palazzo she’d never visited. But its grand dimensions, its exquisitely intricate marble flooring and air of otherworld luxury were instantly familiar.
Her skin prickled as she inhaled that almost forgotten scent. Of furniture polish, hothouse flowers and, she’d once joked, money. Memories washed over her, of those first exciting days in a new country, of her awe at her surroundings, of that last night—
* * *
‘Ms Knight?’ Lucy, he’d called her once. For a few bright, brief hours. Instantly Domenico slammed the memory of that folly into an iron vault of memory.
She spun around and he saw huge, haunted eyes. Her face had paled and her fine features were pinched.
The mask slipped at last.
He should feel satisfaction at her unease in his family home. But it wasn’t pleasure he experienced. He had no name for this hyper-awareness, this knife-edge between antipathy and absorption.
Sensation feathered through him, like the tickle of his conscience, teasing him for bringing her here.
Lucy Knight had fascinated him all those years ago. To his chagrin he realised she still did. More than was desirable. It was one thing to know your enemy. Another to respond to her fear with what felt too much like sympathy.
As he watched the moment of vulnerability was gone. Her face smoothed out and her pale eyebrows arched high as if waiting for him to continue.
‘This way.’ He gestured for her to accompany him, conscious of her beside him as they headed to his side of the palazzo. She was a head shorter but kept pace easily, not hesitating for a moment.
He had to hand it to her; she projected an air of assurance many of his business associates would envy. Twice now he’d seen behind the façade of calm but both times it had been a quick glimpse and the circumstances had been enough to discomfit anyone.
In his study he gestured for her to take a seat. Instead she prowled the room, inspecting the bookcases, the view from the window and, he was sure, scoping out a possible escape route. There was none.
Instead of taking one of the sofas near the fireplace as he’d intended, Domenico settled behind his desk.
‘Why have you brought me here?’
She stood directly before the desk, feet planted as if to ground herself ready for attack.
‘To talk.’
‘Talk?’ The word shot out. ‘You had your chance to talk five years ago. As I recall, you weren’t interested in renewing our acquaintance.’ Her tone was bitter and her eyes glittered with fury.
The difference between this Amazon and the girl he’d briefly known struck him anew.
‘And to separate you and the press.’
‘No altruistic rescue then.’ She gave no indication of disappointment, merely met his gaze in frank appraisal.
‘Did you expect one?’
‘No.’ She answered before he’d finished speaking.
Why did her readiness to distrust rankle? He hadn’t expected doe-eyed innocence. The scales had been ripped from his eyes long ago.
‘Feel free to sit.’
‘No.’ She paused. ‘Thank you. I prefer to stand.’ She swallowed hard.
Thanking him must almost have choked her.
As having her in his home revolted every sensibility. Was Sandro turning in his grave? No. Sandro would have approved of his actions.
‘For how long?’ She watched him closely.
‘As long as it takes.’
She frowned. ‘As long as what takes?’
Domenico leaned back in his chair. He sensed it was too early to reveal his full intent. Better proceed slowly than rush and have her refuse out of hand.
‘For the press to lose interest in this story.’
‘There is no story. It happened so long ago.’
Domenico’s belly clenched. ‘You think what happened means nothing now? That it’s all over?’
Her
