pipe dream collapsed, Lucy knew that she would have to dig deep to find an excuse that would work. The blame would fall squarely on her shoulders.
The day after she and Dio had lunched in the café, Mark had arrived at work clutching brochures for computers and printers. He had made noises about getting the national press involved to cover a ‘feel good’ story because ‘the world was a dark place and it was just so damn heart-warming to find that there were still one or two heroes left in it’...
Lucy had nearly died on the spot. In what world could Dio Ruiz be classed as a hero?
No one had actually asked what the mysterious conditions were that had been imposed on her, for which she was very grateful, because she had no idea what she would have said.
They had been dependent on various money-raising ventures and government help to cover the scant lease on the building; now two members of the local council descended, beaming, to tell her that there were plans afoot to buy the place outright. They delivered a rousing speech on how much it would benefit the community to have the place brought up to scratch and in permanent active use.
They dangled the carrot of helping to subsidise three full-time members of staff who could perhaps assist in teaching non-English-speaking students, of which there were countless in the borough.
And, twice daily, Dio had called her on her mobile, ostensibly to find out how she was—given their new relationship, which involved conversation—but really, she knew, to apply pressure.
Two weeks...
And then, after that, freedom was hers for the taking.
Was he right? Would sleeping with him be such a hardship? They were married and, when she had married him, she had been hot for him, had counted the hours, the minutes and the seconds till they could climb into bed together. Her virginity was something precious to be handed over to him and she hadn’t been able to wait to do it.
She was still a virgin but she was now considerably more cynical than she had once been. And how precious was it, really? So once upon a time she had had a dream of only marrying for love and losing her virginity to a guy she wanted to spend her life with. She had woken up. Big deal.
And she was still hot for him. It pained her to admit it, especially since he had gloatingly pointed it out to her and, worse, had proved it by kissing her, feeling her melt under his hands.
What was the point in denying reality? She’d been damned good at facing reality so far; she had not once shied away from the fact that she was trapped in a marriage and forced to play the part of the socialite she probably should have but never had been.
On day three she picked up her mobile to hear his dark, velvety voice down the line and, as usual, she felt the slow, thick stir of her heightened senses.
Once more or less able to withstand the drugging effect of his personality, Lucy had now discovered that her defences had been penetrated on all fronts. Even when he was on the opposite side of the world, she just had to hear his voice and every nerve inside her body quivered in response.
Overnight it seemed as though all the walls she had painstakingly built between them had been knocked down in a single stroke.
‘What are you up to?’
Lucy sat down. Was she really interested in launching into a conversation about the porridge she had just eaten?
‘Marie has handed in her notice. I knew she was going to at some point. She’s far too ambitious to be cleaning. She’s got a placement at a college. So I’m afraid you’re going to have to find someone else to do the cleaning in the Paris apartment.’
‘I’m going to have to find someone else?’
‘Well, I won’t be around, will I?’ Lucy pointed out bluntly. She projected to when she would shut the door of their grand, three-storey mansion in London for good and she felt her heart squeeze inside her.
Sitting in the first class lounge at JFK airport, Dio frowned. By the time he returned to London, he wanted an answer from her, and the only answer he was prepared to accept was the one he wanted to hear.
That was what he wanted to chat about now. He certainly didn’t want to have a tedious conversation about their apartment in Paris and finding a cleaner to replace the one who had quit. He didn’t want her to start the process of withdrawing from the marriage. No way. Nor had he contemplated the prospect of not getting what he wanted from her.
It occurred to him that there really was only one topic of conversation he was willing to hear.
‘I’ll cross the bridge of hiring a new cleaner when the time comes.’
‘Well, it’ll come in the space of two weeks, which is when Marie will be leaving.’
‘What are you wearing? It’s early over there...are you still in your pyjamas? Does it strike you as a little bizarre that we’ve never seen each other in the confines of a bedroom, wearing pyjamas?’
Lucy went bright red and cleared her throat. ‘I don’t know what my clothes have to do with anything...’ She automatically pulled her dressing gown tighter around her slender body and was suddenly conscious of her bra-less breasts and the skimpiness of her underwear.
‘I’m making small talk. If we’re to spend the next two weeks together—’
‘Eleven days,’ Lucy interrupted.
Dio relaxed and half-smiled to himself. He had made sure to phone her regularly while he had been away. Over the marriage, they had managed to establish a relationship in which she had been allowed to retreat. That retreat was not going to continue.
And now, without her having to say it, he could hear the capitulation in her voice. It generated the kick of an intense, slow burn of excitement.
‘If we’re to spend the next eleven days together, then we need to be able to converse.’
‘We know how to converse, Dio. We’ve done a great deal of that over the course of our marriage.’
‘Superficial conversation,’ Dio inserted smoothly. ‘No longer appropriate, given the fact that our relationship has changed.’
‘Our relationship hasn’t changed.’
‘No? I could swear you just told me how long we’re going to be spending on our long-overdue honeymoon...’
Lucy licked her lips nervously. The dressing gown had slipped open and, looking down, she could see the smooth lines of her stomach and her pert, pointed breasts.
She had made her mind up about his ultimatum and she hadn’t even really been aware of doing so.
Soon that flat stomach and those breasts would be laid bare for him to see and touch.
A little shiver raced through her. She slipped her finger beneath her lacy briefs and felt her own wetness. It shocked her. It was as if her body was already reacting to the knowledge that someone else would be touching it—that Dio would be touching it.
‘Okay,’ she said as loftily as she could manage. ‘So, you win, Dio. I hope it makes you feel proud.’
