Dmitri closed his eyes briefly to shut out the scene. Such behaviour, such loss of control, was totally out of character for him. His commitments and responsibilities did not allow for such impulsive, highly reckless behaviour. That he had behaved like that with the sister of a man he no longer trusted made his lapse doubly unacceptable to him.
He drew in a deep breath before answering. ‘That would seem only fair, as I cooked the meal.’ He quirked one dark brow in challenge.
There was no arguing with that, Lily acknowledged ruefully; Dmitri had prepared and cooked their delicious meal. So it was a pity that the pasta and garlic bread now seemed to have settled like a heavy weight in the bottom of her stomach. ‘Fine,’ she accepted curtly. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, then.’
He nodded. ‘If you would care for a swim before breakfast there is a heated pool in the east wing of the palazzo.’
The palazzo had its own heated swimming pool?
Why was Lily surprised? The place was big enough to house an indoor football pitch if Dmitri had decided he wanted one! ‘As it’s December, I didn’t bother to bring my bathing costume with me,’ Lily admitted.
‘I have no problem with you skinny dipping …’ Those pale green eyes swept over Lily from her head to the tips of her toes, before settling back on her now slightly flushed face.
‘I have a problem with it!’ Lily said firmly.
Dmitri shrugged as he walked towards the doorway out into the hallway. ‘The offer is there if you should change your mind.’
‘I won’t,’ she stated flatly. She had already behaved in a reckless way with this man, she didn’t need to ask for trouble by swimming in the nude! More trouble, that was …
Heaven only knew what Dmitri thought of her after that wanton display—if it was anything like the things Lily had been thinking about herself then it wasn’t in the least complimentary.
‘Aren’t you going to take my mobile with you this time?’ Lily couldn’t resist calling after him—and then wished she hadn’t as she realised she had just reminded him that her mobile was her only means of contacting anyone outside the palazzo.
His shoulders tensed as he paused in the doorway before turning slowly to look at her speculatively. ‘Would you tell me if you were to receive a telephone call or text from your brother?’
‘Yes, of course I’d tell you.’ Lily didn’t even have to think about her answer. She knew that beneath Dmitri’s arrogance he was genuinely worried about his sister; it would be cruel of her not to tell him if she were to hear from the eloping pair.
He nodded. ‘Then you may keep the mobile.’
‘How kind of you to allow me to!’ Lily felt stung into retaliating.
A brief but humourless smile curved his lips. ‘I thought so, yes. Goodnight, Lily.’
‘Night, Dmitri,’ she mumbled in reply, waiting until she was sure he had definitely gone before sinking slowly down onto one of the kitchen chairs, her heated cheeks buried in her hands, as she was instantly bombarded with memories of every arousing moment of being in his arms …
Forty-eight.
Dmitri continued to count the number of lengths of the pool he had swum so far as he pushed away from the side and once again struck out powerfully for the opposite end.
Forty-nine.
Neither the exercise nor the refreshingly warm water had done anything to cool his ardour from an hour ago, when he had left Lily in the kitchen and, instead of going to his study as planned, decided to take up his own suggestion of going for a swim. Secure in the knowledge, of course, that Lily had no intention of taking up the offer; having her here too, with or without a bathing costume, would certainly negate his own reasons for being here! Fifty.
Not that this deliberately punishing exercise had in the least helped him in the least to understand—or accept—his unprecedented response to Lily.
Fifty-one.
She was beautiful, yes. But Dmitri had known and bedded many beautiful woman in his thirty-six years. So what was it about her, specifically, that now made it as impossible to put the touch of the silky softness of her skin from his mind as it had been for him to resist kissing her in the kitchen earlier? Dio mio—in the kitchen, on top of the table where they had just eaten dinner, of all things!
Fifty-two.
And what was this man Danny to Lily? A friend, she had said. But what sort of friend? A friend who just happened to be male? Or was the other man more than that? Surely a man who was just a friend wouldn’t have called her quite so late at night? And long distance, at that.
Fifty-three.
Yet why should it matter to him who or what this man Danny had been, or still was, in Lily’s life? It did not, obviously. Except she had given him the impression she did not have a man currently in her life …
Fifty-four.
It should not matter to him one way or the other whether Lily had lied to him earlier. It did not matter to him! Why should it? Lily meant nothing to him. Except as the annoying sister of the man who had eloped with Dmitri’s own sister.
Fifty-fi—
Dmitri stilled as the flashing of red lights caught and held his attention and he stared up at the security panel on the wall beside the door into the swimming complex. The lights only flashed like that when an intruder was trying to break into the palazzo.
Or when someone was trying to break out …
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WHAT did you think you were doing?’ Dmitri growled, concentrating on wrapping a bandage about the cut on Lily’s hand as she sat in front of him on one of the kitchen chairs.
She gave a pained wince. Not because of the discomfort from the cut to her hand, but because of the obvious disgust in Dmitri’s tone as he asked her why she had broken a small window in the kitchen in an effort to try and get out of the palazzo.
Obviously with hindsight—and the arrival of four hefty employees of the security company who monitored the system installed in the palazzo, along with several local police officers—it hadn’t been such a good idea, after all.
Lily had cleared away in the kitchen before going upstairs to her bedroom. Where she had instantly felt the sharp edge of her confinement. That, and also the full force of her embarrassment at her behaviour in the kitchen earlier. No—nothing so mild as embarrassment. She had been totally devastated as she was bombarded with memories of her own lack of inhibition.
She just didn’t behave in that way. With any man. Let alone one who was keeping her a virtual prisoner—albeit a pampered one—in his home. And the thought of having to face him across the breakfast table in the morning had simply been too mortifying for her even to contemplate.
The obvious solution to her dilemma had seemed to be to remove herself from the palazzo and the temptation its dangerously
