Ultimate Temptation

‘Can you affford that?’ Clearly he wasn’t fooled.

‘I don’t have a choice.’ She gave him a defiant look.

‘How fortunate,’ he said softly, ‘that I was able to read your mind so accurately.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lucy was suddenly very still.

‘Your friends have gone. I told them you would not be accompanying them.’

Lucy stared at him, suddenly, tensely aware of how quiet the house had become.

‘You mean they’ve left me here alone?’ Her voice almost cracked. ‘Without even a word?’

His smile deepened. There was something pagan in the curve of his mouth, she thought, a stir of unbidden excitement warring with the growing apprehension inside her.

He said gently, ‘Not alone, signorina. You forget that I shall be here too. From now on you will be staying as my guest.’ He paused. ‘And also,’ he added softly, ‘as my companion.’

CHAPTER THREE

LUCY stared at him. She was suddenly aware that she was trembling. That all the warmth seemed to have drained from her body, leaving her ice-cold.

There was danger here, all the more shocking because it was totally unforeseen.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails grating across the soft palms. She tried to keep her voice level.

‘Companion, signore? I don’t think I understand.’

‘It’s quite simple. You will remain here, signorina, to make reparation for the insult which has been made to my home—my family—by you and your—acquaintances.’

‘I’ll remain?’ She took a startled breath. ‘But that isn’t fair...’

Giulio Falcone shrugged. ‘By your own admission you cannot afford proper recompense for the damage that has been done. However, there are other methods of payment.’ His smile barely touched the corners of his mouth. ‘I believe we can reach a settlement that would be—agreeable to us both.’

‘Then you’re wrong,’ Lucy said furiously. Cold no longer, she was now burning with shame and anger, and an odd sense of disappointment. ‘How dare you even suggest such a thing? Who the hell do you think you are—and what do you take me for?’

‘I am Falcone.’ He threw back his head, the dark face arrogant, brooding. ‘And you are a girl who has twice trembled in my arms. Can you deny it?’

‘I was upset,’ she flung at him defensively. ‘The first time I’d nearly been robbed, and the second I was running away. I thought you realised that—and why...’

‘Ah, yes.’ His voice was reflective. ‘But, in that case, why tempt a man by wearing a dress that begs to be taken from your body and then deny him the pleasure? Your companions, after all, showed no such reticence,’ he added, his mouth curling slightly.

She said shortly, ‘I’m responsible for no one’s conduct but my own, and I don’t play games like that.’

‘Are you a virgin?’

She gasped, the colour deepening to fiery red in her face. ‘You have no right to ask me that.’

‘A simple “no” would have sufficed,’ he said mockingly. ‘Although—’ he sent her a narrow-eyed glance ‘—your eyes do not have the look of a woman who has known all the satisfaction that love can bring.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Lucy said haughtily.

He laughed. ‘I’m quite sure you don’t, but it will be an exquisite pleasure to teach you some day—or some night.’

There was a caress in his voice which shivered down Lucy’s spine and danced in her pulses. She felt the muscles in her throat tauten.

She managed a brief shrug of her own. ‘Fortunately, I shan’t be around that long. As I said, I’m leaving for Pisa.’

‘Ah,’ the count said meditatively. ‘And just how do you propose to get there?’

Lucy paused in the act of locking her case. ‘Why— drive there, of course.’

‘I did not realise you had brought your own vehicle.’

‘Well, I haven’t, but...’ Her voice trailed into silence as she saw his smile deepen mockingly, and the slow negative movement of his dark head.

She said unsteadily, ‘Of course, the car is yours too. I should have realised.’

‘Not mine,’ he corrected her. ‘It belongs to the contessa.’

She was very still for a moment, her thoughts whirling blankly. The idea that he could be married had never even crossed her mind. Not, of course, that it made the slightest difference...

She said brusquely, ‘Then she has my sympathy.’

‘Why?’ His brows lifted enquiringly. ‘Is the car so difficult to drive?’

‘Certainly not,’ Lucy snapped. ‘I meant that I—I pity anyone who’s involved with a—a Lothario like you.’

‘You imagine, perhaps, that Lothario was an Italian.’ Giulio Falcone shook his head again. ‘You are wrong, signorina. He was the invention of an English dramatist. Just as you seem to be inventing me,’ he added, his tone dry.

‘It doesn’t take a great deal of imagination,’ Lucy retorted. ‘Nina was right, after all. You Italian studs are all the same.’

‘The looks of a dove and the tongue of a wasp,’ he said silkily. ‘An intriguing combination.’

‘Not for much longer.’ Lucy swung the case off the bed. ‘Will you loan me your—contessa’s car to drive to Pisa, please?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I will not.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Right—then I’ll walk there.’ ‘In that dress?’ He surveyed her mockingly. ‘You’d be lucky to get half a kilometre. Even if the police did not stop you first,’ he added, almost casually.

‘I planned to change, given some privacy,’ she said. ‘I don’t think jeans and a shirt would make me liable to arrest.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘But there is the matter of trespass, which you seem to have overlooked.’

Fright was building up again, making her stomach churn. Her fingers tightened almost convulsively round the handle of her case.

She said jerkily, ‘You can’t be serious, signore. I—we acted in good faith. We didn’t know this was your house.’

‘That is hardly a defence,’ he said. ‘Especially when added to the acts of vandalism committed against my possessions.’

She couldn’t argue. Her knowledge of Italian law was nil. Perhaps it ws one of those countries where you were guilty until you proved yourself innocent, she thought faintly.

She tried again. ‘But you can’t put all the blame on me. There were others involved.’

‘True,’ he said softly. ‘But they have gone, and you, columbina, are the only one left to make the recompense I require.’

‘You think I’m like them—like Nina and the others.’ Her voice shook. ‘But I’m not—I swear to you.’

‘I believe you.’ He lifted a negligent shoulder. ‘Otherwise I would not want you.’

The amber eyes, hooded, watchful, swept over her, lingering on her breasts, the curve of her hips, the slender line of her thighs.

The dark face was coldly, almost dispassionately absorbed. Like his namesake, the falcon—the ultimate predator—with its prey in sight, and helpless, Lucy thought wildly, her body trembling, her brain teeming with desperation.

She said, ‘You have no right—no right at all to keep me here against my will.’

‘I think, under the circumstances, I have any rights that I choose to assume, Lucia mia.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

Giulio Falcone frowned. ‘I was told it was your name.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t give you permission to use it.’ She stood her ground, glaring at him.

‘A minor detail,’ he said softly. ‘At such a time.’ He paused. ‘And when we are already on terms of such intimacy.’

‘Because I ran to you for help?’ Lucy asked scornfully. ‘In that situation I’d have run to Frankenstein’s monster.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Because you have been occupying my room. Sleeping, mia bella, in my bed, which presumably you chose out of all the others. Doesn’t that establish some kind of bond between us?’ He watched the shocked colour storm into her face and laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you hadn’t guessed.’

‘Think what you like.’ Lucy gritted her teeth. ‘But I’ll never spend another night in it, or anywhere else under your roof.’

‘I don’t think that is your choice,’ he said. ‘Make me the restitution I require, and I promise that afterwards you will be driven to Pisa, your air fare paid, and a suite at the best hotel put at your disposal while you await your flight.’

‘No deal.’ Lucy made her tone brief and cutting. ‘I am not for sale, signore.’

‘And I am not buying, signorina. But I am prepared to—hire you for a while.’

‘You disgust me.’ In spite of herself, her voice trembled. ‘Call the police, why don’t you? Even jail would be better than another minute in your company. And I shall have my own story to tell them too,’ she added bravely.

‘In my bedroom—in that dress?’ He sighed. ‘I think appearances would be against you, Lucia.’

‘Your wife might take a different view,’ Lucy flashed. ‘Or does she take your lousy, deceitful behaviour completely for granted?’

‘It would be worth keeping you here if only to teach you to speak civilly,’ Giulio Falcone said grimly. ‘Anyway, you are under a misapprehension. I have no wife.’ He paused. ‘You are also ludicrously wrong about my motives for detaining you.’

He saw the sudden bewildered question in her eyes and smiled sardonically. ‘The little comedy is over between us, signorina. My interest in you, alas, is more practical than romantic. I hope you are not too disappointed.’

She said between her teeth, ‘Not in the slightest—if I had the least idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Actually, it’s quite simple. I have a problem to which you could provide the solution.’ He gave a slight grimace. ‘Early yesterday, my sister was in a car accident. Neither she or the two children were badly hurt—cuts, bruises and shock, that’s all. But the governante—the nanny—was not so fortunate. She broke her leg, and has to spend some time in the clinic.

‘Fiammetta wishes to come here to rest and recuperate, but there is no one now to look after the children, and Marco and Emilia can be more than a handful.’

He spread his hands. ‘I thought, of course, that Maddalena would be here to take charge until Alison recovers. The children are accustomed to her.’ He paused. ‘But, of course, there is no Maddalena. Only you, Lucia.’

‘Me?’ Lucy swallowed, aware that relief was being overtaken by a curious sense of deflation. ‘But I’m not a nanny.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘But you are here at this moment. You have admitted you owe me a debt you cannot pay. In turn I have ruined your holiday.’ The amber eyes looked into hers, and she felt her heart thud suddenly and painfully. ‘Tell me truly, Lucia, do you really wish to leave Tuscany so soon, when you could stay here, and be paid for doing so?’

‘I couldn’t possibly,’ Lucy denied, trying to control her flurried breathing.

‘Why not? With my sister and the children, you would be well chaperoned, if that is your concern.’

Lucy saw the amusement in his eyes, the sensuous curve of his mouth, and decided it would be safer not to explore that particular avenue.

‘But I’d be totally unsuitable,’ she protested instead. ‘You don’t know anything about me, after all.’

‘You are unused to children, perhaps?’

‘Well, no,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I have nephews.’

‘Of what age?’

‘Six and four,’ she admitted, an involuntary smile curving her mouth. She saw him assimilate that betraying tenderness, and added hastily, ‘But it’s still out of the question.’

‘I don’t see why. Marco and Emilia are slightly older, it is true, but they have had a bad experience and they need someone who will care, as well as give them companionship.’ He added softly, ‘In spite of your temper, Lucia, you do not strike me as heartless.’

She said shakily, ‘That’s emotional blackmail.’

He shrugged. ‘You say you cannot be hired, and will not be bought. What else is left to me?’

She tried again. ‘But your sister may have other ideas.’

‘Fiammetta, as usual, will take the line of least resistance. And this is an emergency. They will be released from the clinic tomorrow morning, and will be coming straight here. I cannot allow them to find a scene of such devastation.’

‘And this is where I come in?’ Lucy’s tone was hollow.

‘Until tomorrow, when I can mobilise help from the estate, certainly.’ He gave her a measuring look. ‘If this had been a genuine rental, you would have been expected to keep the house clean and tidy, after all.’

She bit her lip. ‘I suppose so. But if all you want is a glorified housemaid-cum-nanny, why did you pretend—let me think...?’ She halted, vexed with herself for asking.

‘Because you were so ready to believe that I was just some—latter-day Casanova.’ The firm lips twisted slightly. ‘The temptation to confirm your worst fears became quite irresistible, believe me. But while you are in my employment and under my roof you are quite safe.’ He flicked a glance towards the tumbled bed. ‘Unless, of course, you insist.’

She was angrily aware that her face had warmed again. ‘I don’t,’ she said tersely.

‘Then I suggest you find yourself another room.’ Both his tone and smile were pleasant, and untinged by even a modicum of regret, which, oddly enough, seemed to increase her annoyance.

She met his gaze stonily. ‘So, if I agree to help out, you promise that will cancel all obligations between us?’

‘More than that,’ he said. ‘I will ensure you suffer no financial loss as a result of Moressi’s trickery.’

He paused. ‘You will also take with you, I hope, some unforgettable memories of Tuscany, as well as the undying gratitude of the Falconese,’ he added sardonically.

‘Naturally, that would be one of my main considerations.’ Her tone was sarcastic.

Giulio Falcone inclined his head gracefully. ‘I knew you would see things my way.’

‘Did you?’ Lucy gave him an assessing look. ‘Tell me, signore, are you related to the Medici by any chance?’

His mouth twitched. ‘Only on my mother’s side, signorina,’ he returned silkily. ‘Why do you ask?’

She shrugged. ‘I gather they were hard men to refuse in their day. And so are you, Count Falcone.’

‘Then don’t refuse me.’ He smiled at her, reminding her unnecessarily of the power of his attraction. ‘And I don’t use my title, unless I have to. Call me Giulio.’

Oh, no, she thought, the breath catching in her throat. That was an intimacy she didn’t need.

Aloud, she said, ‘I don’t know what to say—what to do...’

‘Then obey your instinct, columbina.’

Instinct was telling her to get out while she could. To put herself at the furthest, safest distance possible from this man. From his smile. From the charm that seemed to reach out to her like a caressing hand. From the sheer sexual charisma that turned the blood in her veins to warm honey. And which, she reminded herself, he seemed able to exercise at will.

Somehow, she heard herself say, ‘Very well, I’ll stay. But only till you can find someone else.’

‘Grazie, Lucia.’ His smile deepened, half-mocking, but wholly disturbing. ‘And now I suggest you change out of that dress—before I forget all my good resolutions.’

For one long moment, his eyes stripped her lazily and quite deliberately. Then he raised his hand to his lips, blew her an amused kiss, and walked out of the room.

Lucy watched the door close behind him, and said loudly and clearly from the bottom of her heart, ‘Bastard.’

Her first action, naturally, was to find another room. She chose one at the furthest end of the house from his, regardless of the fact that it was also the smallest.

Quite suitable for a servant’s quarters anyway, she told herself, swinging her case onto the narrow bed.

Her pulses still seemed to be behaving oddly. She couldn’t believe how easily she’d allowed herself to be wound up. How could she have thought, even for a moment, that someone like Count Giulio Falcone cherished even marginal designs on her?

The trouble was that at each of their prior encounters she’d been at some kind of disadvantage, which in turn had stopped her thinking rationally. That was the only explanation. And it provided a kind of marginal reassurance.

She still wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to stay, however, except that there didn’t seem to be much alternative. He was a wealthy and powerful man, who could probably be ruthless.

But it wouldn’t be for long, she appeased herself. No doubt his sister would find a replacement nanny from some domestic agency when she’d recovered from the shock of the accident. And then the whole incident would dwindle into a little adventure to be laughed over ruefully back in England. Although not with Nina and the others.

And now to get out of this damned dress.

Lucy twisted round, feeling for the zip and tugging it downwards, but nothing happened.

‘Oh, come on,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘You can’t be stuck.’

But the zip, apparently, had other ideas, and remained exactly where it was. With a sigh of frustration, Lucy decided she’d have to cut herself out.

She was searching for her nail scissors, when there was a peremptory rap on the door, and Giulio Falcone walked in.

‘So this is the sanctuary you have chosen.’ He glanced around. ‘A little cramped, don’t you think?’

‘I think it’s ideal,’ Lucy returned with a coolness she was far from feeling.

‘As you wish.’ He shrugged. ‘But why are you still not ready? I was going to show you where the clean linen is kept.’

‘Just give me general directions,’ Lucy said tersely. ‘I’ll find it myself.’

‘Is there a problem?’

‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ She straightened, scissors in hand.

He surveyed them enigmatically. ‘If you need to defend yourself, the range of knives in the kitchen might serve you better.’

‘Nothing of the kind,’ Lucy said crossly. ‘My zip’s stuck, that’s all.’

‘Then allow me.’ He walked over to her, and turned her so that her back was to him.

She stiffened. ‘I can manage.’

‘Stand still.’

His breath was warm on her exposed skin as he bent closer to examine the erring metal strip.

‘A thread has been caught,’ he murmured. ‘I think I can free it.’

Lucy waited rigidly, trying not to flinch as his cool fingers slid under the edge of the dress and touched her back.

‘Don’t be so nervous,’ he chided softly, laughter in his voice. ‘This must be better than attacking yourself with scissors.’

Not, Lucy thought with gritted teeth, necessarily.

He was infinitely too close to her, in the exact situation she had wanted to avoid. In the wall mirror, she could see his intent dark face, his lips only a fraction away from her bare skin. She found herself remembering, starkly, the feel, the taste of his mouth on hers, and was swept by a wave of longing she could neither control nor excuse. The movement of his hand against her spine as he tried to release the trapped fabric only increased her silent torment.

She said huskily. ‘Could you hurry, please?’

‘I am trying to be careful. I don’t want to damage the material.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I’m never going to wear it again.’

‘Truly?’ He shrugged. ‘In tal caso...’ He took the edges of the dress’s neckline in his hands and pulled at them sharply. There was a harsh, splitting sound as seams and stitching gave way, then the entire bodice slid gracefully but inexorably from Lucy’s shoulders, baring her to the waist.

For a stunned second she was motionless, then, with a small wail of horror and embarrassment, she snatched at the ruined fabric, dragging it up over her breasts.

Giulio Falcone stood back, watching her struggles, amusement dancing in his amber eyes, along with something deeper and more dangerous.

She said thickly, ‘How could you? Oh, God, how dare you do such a thing?’

He shrugged. ‘I merely followed your instructions. I am hardly to blame if the result did not meet your expectations.’ He paused. ‘Although it exceeded mine,’ he added, half to himself.

‘Get out of this room.’ She was close to embarrassed tears. ‘Get away from me. I should have known I couldn’t trust you.’

‘Then you’d be wrong.’ His voice was stem. ‘If I was the villain you imagine, you’d be in bed with me now, and we both know it, so let there be no more pretence about that.’

He paused again, his mouth twisting. ‘As it is, I’m going to tell myself, mia bella, that you don’t have skin like moonlight, or breasts like flowers waiting to be gathered by a man’s hands, and go downstairs.’ He added laconically, ‘I’m going to make coffee. If you want some, join me.’

He sent her a brief, impersonal nod and walked out.

Lucy sank down onto the edge of the bed: In a reeling world, she was certain of only one thing. She could not risk remaining at the Villa Dante. She had to get away.

She lifted her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror. A stranger with dishevelled hair and eyes wide with confusion stared back. A stranger huddling the remnants of her dress against the pallor of her half-naked body.

‘Skin like moonlight...’ The remembered words sent an aching shiver through her body.

She thought, Let me get through tonight—just tonight.

And realised it sounded like a prayer.

CHAPTER FOUR

WORK, and more work, Lucy told herself with grim determination. That’s the answer. Keep busy—keep out of mischief.

Not that Giulio Falcone could be described as anything so innocent as mischief, she amended stormily as she changed into the comparative demureness of jadegreen leggings and a matching sweatshirt, and kicked the discarded red dress into the comer of the room. He was danger—sheer and unequivocal. And she was all kinds of a fool to let him get to her like this.

Survival was the name of the game in this situation, and she knew enough about that, even if men like the Count were an enigma to her. A mystery, she told herself tersely, that she had neither the right nor the inclination to solve.

By keeping busy—concentrating on the task in hand—she could stop herself thinking—wondering about him. And once the children arrived her time would be filled anyway, she reminded herself. Their presence would provide her with a measure of safety at least until she could make her escape.

She found all the clean bedding and towels she needed in a huge linen press at the head of the stairs. Sachets of dried herbs had been tucked amongst them, and she sniffed appreciatively as she collected her first load. However foolishly Maddalena might have behaved over her nephew, her housekeeping had been faultless, she thought wistfully.

The rooms the others had been using looked as if they’d been swept by a tornado, with unmade beds, cupboard doors swinging open, and empty drawers upended onto the floor, along with discarded hangers.

Wet towels decorated the bathrooms, with trails of dusting powder, and there were smears of hair gel and moisturiser on the mirrors and tiled surfaces.

Gritting her teeth, Lucy launched herself into the task of restoring order. Most of it was cosmetic, anyway, she realised as she made the bedding into loose bundles for future laundering. Luckily, they hadn’t occupied the Villa Dante long enough to create the kind of mess that had to be scoured away.

Her own room—his room, she corrected herself tersely—she left until last. She stood outside for a long moment, oddly reluctant to proceed. Then, steeling herself, she pushed open the door.

The room was safely empty, and, apart from the unmade bed, tidier than the others. She felt obscurely glad of that.

The long window was open to the night, and some faint current of air made the drapes billow into the room.

She walked over to the window, intending to close it, and paused, staring up at the star-sprinkled velvet of the sky.

People said that one’s fate was written in the stars, she remembered wryly. But she could see no pattern, no rhyme or reason for what had befallen her over the past twenty-four hours in those chilly, far-off specks of light.