Pain jagged her chest, robbing her of air. Predictable as his reaction was, she couldn’t watch them leave. Her chest clamped around her bruised heart and she sagged against the stone balustrade.

Lucy had toughened up years ago. The naïve innocent was gone, replaced by a woman who viewed the world with cynicism and distrust. A woman who didn’t let the world or life get to her any more.

Yet the last twenty-four hours had been a revelation.

She’d confronted the paparazzi, then Domenico Volpe, learnt of Sylvia’s betrayal and faced the place where her life had changed irrevocably. Now she confronted a man’s instinct to protect his niece, from her.

All tore at her precious self-possession. It had taken heartache, determination and hard-won strength to build the barriers that protected her. She’d been determined never to experience again those depths of terror and pain of her first years in prison. Until now those barriers had kept her strong and safe.

Who’d have thought she still had the capacity to hurt so much?

* * *

She leant on the railing, eyes fixed on the south Italian mainland in the distance.

Domenico took in her slumped shoulders and the curve of her arms around her body, hugging out a hostile world.

It reminded him of the anguish he thought he’d spied yesterday in her old room at the palazzo. She’d hunched like a wounded animal over the spot Sandro had died. The sight had poleaxed him, playing on protective instincts he’d never expected to feel around her.

Almost, he’d been convinced by that look of blind pain in her unfocused eyes. But she’d soon disabused him. It had been an act, shrewd and deliberate, to con him into believing her story of innocence.

Innocent? The woman who’d seduced his brother then killed him?

He’d once fancied he felt a connection with the girl who’d burst like pure sunshine into his world. But before he could fall completely under her spell tragedy and harsh truth had intervened, revealing her true colours.

A breeze flirted with her wrap, shifting it against the curve of her hip and bottom.

She didn’t look innocent.

He remembered her trial. The evidence of Sandro’s Head of Security and of Pia, Sandro’s widow, that Lucy Knight had deliberately played up to Sandro, flirting and ultimately seducing him.

When it became clear her relationship with Sandro was core to the case against her, Lucy Knight had offered to have a medical test proving her virginity.

You could have heard a pin drop in the courtroom as all eyes fixed on her nubile body and wide, seemingly innocent eyes. Every man in that room had wondered about the possibility of being her first. Even Domenico.

The prosecution had successfully argued it was her intentions that mattered, not whether the affair had yet been consummated. In the end a medical test was deemed immaterial but for a while she’d cleverly won sympathy, despite the rest of the evidence.

Having seen her in action, Domenico had no doubt she knew exactly how to seduce even the most cautious man.

He traced the shapely line of her legs down to her bare feet and something thudded in his chest. Was the rest of her bare beneath that wrap?

His body tightened from chest to groin as adrenalin surged. His pulse thudded. Physical awareness saturated him and he cursed under his breath.

Hunger for Lucy Knight was not to be contemplated.

Yet the hectic drumming in his blood didn’t abate.

As if sensing him, she turned her head. ‘You! What are you doing here?’ She spun to face him, legs planted wide and hands clenched at her sides, a model of aggressive challenge.

Except for the robe’s gaping neckline and the flutter of cotton around bare thighs that highlighted her femininity.

Domenico reminded himself he liked his women accommodating. Soft and pliant. Warrior queens with lofty chins and defiance in every sinew held no appeal.

Till now.

His body’s wayward response angered him and guilt pricked. This woman had destroyed Sandro.

‘This is my property. Or had you forgotten?’

‘You implied I’d be here alone.’

‘Did I? Are you sure?’ Of course she wasn’t. He’d chosen his words carefully. Even to his enemies, Domenico didn’t lie. Seeing her skittishness, he’d deliberately neglected to mention he’d arrive here today. ‘I fail to see what my travel plans have to do with you.’

He waited for her to splutter her indignation. But she merely surveyed him through slitted eyes. He sensed she drew her defences tight, preparing for battle.

Was she like this with everyone or just him?

‘You came to make sure I don’t steal the silver.’ The sarcastic jibe almost hid her curiously flat tone. Yet he heard that hint of suppressed emotion, as if she was genuinely disappointed.

As if what he thought mattered.

Domenico frowned, instinct and intellect warring. He knew what she was, yet when he looked at her he felt...

Abruptly she pulled her robe in tight, as if only now realising the loose front revealed the shadow of her cleavage. Methodically she knotted the belt, all the while holding his gaze. Why did it feel as if she were putting on armour, rather than merely covering herself?

Did she know, with the light behind her, the wrap revealed rather than concealed her curves? Was it a deliberate ploy to distract him?

His voice was harsh. ‘I leave it to my security staff to watch for thieves.’

Did she flinch? He remembered her rosy flush in court when evidence had been presented about the jewellery she’d either been given or had stolen from Sandro.

No sign of a blush now.

‘What do you want?’ Her insolence made his hackles rise.

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny he wanted anything, but pragmatism beat pride. He was here for one reason only and the sooner he fixed it the sooner he could put Lucy Knight firmly in the past.

‘I do have some business to discuss with you but—’

‘Ha! I knew it!’ She folded her arms and Domenico had to force his gaze above the plump swell of her breasts, accentuated by the gesture.

‘Knew what?’ To his chagrin he’d missed something. He who never missed a nuance of any business negotiation.

‘That it was too good to be true.’ Her lip curled. ‘No one gives anything for nothing. Especially you.’ Her gaze flicked him from head to toe as if she read his body’s charged response to her. His skin drew tight. Fury spilled and pooled. At her dismissive tone. At himself for the spark of arousal he couldn’t douse.

‘You’re here, aren’t you? Safe from the media?’

‘But at what price?’ She stepped close, eyes flaring wide as if she felt it too, the simmer of charged awareness, palpable as a caress against overheated flesh. ‘There are strings attached to this deal, aren’t there? A price I have to pay?’

Domenico looked down his nose with all the hauteur six centuries of aristocratic breeding could provide. No one doubted his honour. Ever.

‘I’m a man of my word.’ He let that sink in. ‘I offered you sanctuary and you have it. There are no strings.’

Yet if she hadn’t been so stressed yesterday she’d have made sure of that before agreeing to his offer.

Domenico muffled a sliver of guilt that he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability. The stakes were too high, the trouble she could cause too severe for him to have second thoughts.

Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose. ‘I’m free to leave?’

Domenico stepped back and gestured to the boats moored in the bay. ‘I will even provide the transport.’

He wished she’d take him up on the offer. Yes, he wanted more from her but instinct warned him to be rid of her. He didn’t relish the discordant tumble of his reactions to her. There was nothing logical or ordered about them. She made him feel...things he thought long dead.

Her eyes bored into his, as if she sought the very heart of him. ‘But you want me out of the limelight.’

‘Of course.’ He shrugged. ‘But I’m not keeping you prisoner. There are laws in this country.’

Her breath hissed and she stiffened, reading his implication. That one of them at least was honest and law-abiding.

Her mouth tightened but otherwise her face was blank. So much for vulnerability. Lucy Knight was as tough as nails.

‘If you’re staying...’ He looked at her expectantly but she said nothing. ‘We can discuss business when you’re dressed.’ He glanced at his watch. Eleven o’clock. ‘Shall we say midday?’

‘Why delay? I’d rather know what you want now.’

She spoke as if he hid something painful from her. He almost laughed at the idea. Once he made his offer she’d be eager enough.

‘You’re hardly dressed for business.’

She stuck her hands on her hips, her pose challenging and provocative. ‘You’d be more comfortable if I wore a suit? Why can’t you tell me now?’ Again those delicate eyebrows rose, as if she silently laughed at him.

Something snapped inside.

He stalked across till he stood close enough to inhale the scent of soap and fragrant female flesh. Close enough to hook an arm round her and haul her flush against him if he chose. Instead he kept his hands clenched at his sides.

She refused to shift. Even though she had to tip her head back to look at him, exposing her slim throat. Heat twisted in his belly, part unwilling admiration at her nerve, part implacable fury.

His gaze held hers as his pulse thumped once, twice, three times. The artery at her throat flickered rapidly and she swallowed. Yet she didn’t look away.

Charged seconds ticked by. Her pupils dilated. His senses stirred. Did he imagine that hint of musky arousal in his nostrils? The quiver of anticipation in the air?

Her breasts rose with her rapid breathing, almost but not quite brushing against him. The woman staring back defiantly was no modest, unprotected innocent.

The thought pulled him up. He’d almost forgotten this was about her, not him.

She wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended. He saw the fine tremor running under her skin. Her tongue flicked out to swipe her lips and he bit back a smile. For it wasn’t a consciously slow, seductive movement but sure evidence her mouth had dried. Nerves or arousal?

Domenico leaned close, letting the heat of her body drench him. Her lashes flickered and her trembling pulse accelerated. His quickened too.

Holding her gaze, he reached out and snagged her belt. Instantly she stiffened, but she didn’t retreat.

Was that a challenge in her eyes?

Her breath was a warm, sweet sigh against his chin as he tugged the bow undone, loosening the fabric around her.

Domenico bent his head and her pursed lips softened. Her eyes widened and something flickered there. Fear or anticipation?

‘My office in an hour. You’ll be less easily distracted if you’re fully dressed.’

He straightened, spun on his heel and left her.

* * *

Lucy’s breath came in great gulps. Her heart pumped so hard she thought it might jump out of her ribcage.

Domenico Volpe strolled back to the villa with an easy, loose-limbed grace that made her want to hurl something at his broad back. In dark trousers and an open-necked shirt he was the picture of elegant ease. He looked casual, sexy, utterly unaffected by the charge of erotic energy that hammered through her.

She shivered despite the molten heat inside. Her nipples were tight buds of need and she was wet between the legs. Because of the way he’d looked at her. Just looked!

How was that possible?

She shook her head, torn between shock, fury and shame. Her body betrayed her. And he knew it.

She’d read triumph in his eyes when he’d undone her belt. Had he sensed the voluptuous shiver she couldn’t suppress? The tension in her body that had as much to do with fighting her traitorous desire as standing up to him?

With fumbling hands she pulled the wrap tight, as if it made any difference now. He didn’t even look back. He was so confident he’d made his point.

That she was vulnerable to him. That she...desired him.

The realisation blasted Lucy’s ragged confidence. She wanted to pretend it wasn’t true. But hiding would get her nowhere. She had to face it.

Yet surely the fledgling attraction she’d once felt for him was dead, crushed by his cruel assumption of her guilt. She assured herself this wasn’t about Domenico Volpe. It was what he represented—hot animal sex. Despite his shuttered gaze and his insultingly casual contempt, there was no mistaking the virile male beneath the expensive clothes.

Who wouldn’t be affected by such a potently masculine man?

Lucy had been celibate so long, so cut off from attractive men. This was her body’s way of reminding her she was female, that was all.

She shoved aside the fact that she’d felt nothing like this around Chiara’s Uncle Rocco.

Maybe her distrust of Domenico Volpe, the fact that her emotions were engaged because of the past, gave a piquancy to her response.

Whatever it was, she had no intention of succumbing to weakness. As he’d soon learn.

* * *

He was seated at an enormous desk when she entered his study. Of course he’d take the position of power. Lucy had dealt with enough officials to recognise the tactic.

He was like the rest. Predictable.

He turned from the computer to survey her, taking in her denim skirt and the blue shirt that matched her eyes. It was the nicest one she owned and had always made her feel confident. Now it was years out of date and a snug fit around the bust but it was the best she could do.

His appraising glance told her he wasn’t impressed. Or was he recalling her standing, spellbound, as she let him undo her robe? The idea stiffened her resolve and she crossed the room, leaving the door open.

‘You had business to discuss?’ She sat in the chair before his desk and crossed her legs in a show of nonchalance.

He seemed riveted to the movement and she suppressed a surge of satisfaction. So, he wasn’t as remote as he appeared. The knowledge gave her a sliver of hope.

‘Yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I have a proposition for you.’

‘Really? I’d have thought I was the last woman you’d ever proposition, Signor Volpe.’

His gaze darted to her face and she read simmering anger there. She could deal with anger. She clung to her own like a lifeline. It was preferable to the other feelings he evoked.

‘Do tell,’ she purred. ‘I’m all ears.’

She had to bite back a smile when a frown furrowed his brow. She liked the fact that she pricked his self-possession. It wasn’t fair that even scowling he still looked lethally gorgeous. Not that she cared.

‘You want privacy and peace from the press. I want you out of the limelight. Our interests coincide.’

‘So?’

‘So I’d like to make the situation permanent.’

It was Lucy’s turn to frown. ‘I don’t understand.’

He pushed a typed document towards her. ‘Read that and you will. I’ve had it drawn up in English.’

‘How considerate.’ Perhaps he thought her Italian, learned behind bars, was inadequate. He had no idea the hours she’d spent poring over Italian legal documents.

She slid the paper towards her. It was a contract. She turned the page, heart racing as she read what he planned. She could barely believe it.

Finally she sat back. ‘You really are desperate to keep me quiet.’

His dark eyes gleamed. ‘Hardly desperate.’

‘No? A lot of people would be fascinated to know how much you’re offering to stop me talking.’

His look turned baleful. His voice when it came was a lethal whisper scudding through the silence. ‘Is that a threat?’

‘No threat, Signor Volpe. An observation.’

His eyes pinioned her and her breathing grew shallow. But she refused to be intimidated.

‘I want peace for my family.’ Yet his eyes didn’t plead, they demanded. ‘You can’t say the offer isn’t generous.’

‘Generous?’ The money on the table was stupefying. Enough to fund that new start in life she’d longed for. Enough to establish herself immediately, even though what was left of her family rejected her. Looked at that way, it was tempting.

‘On condition that I don’t talk about your brother, his wife, their son, their household, you or anyone associated with your family or the court case.’ She ticked the list off on her fingers. ‘Nor could I discuss my time in jail or the legal proceedings.’

Indignation settled like a burning ember, firing her blood. ‘I’d be gagged from making any comment, ever.’

‘You have to earn the money I’m offering.’ He shrugged those powerful shoulders, leaning back behind the massive desk, symbol of the power he wielded.

‘Earn!’ Lucy was sick of being the one ground down by those in authority. The one forced to carry the blame.

Searing anger sparked from that slow burning ember in her belly. She pushed the document across the desk.

‘No.’

‘Pardon?’

Lucy loved his perplexed expression. How many people said no to this man? She bet precious few women ever had.

‘I’m not interested.’

‘You’ve got to be joking. You need money.’

‘How do you know that?’ She leaned forward. ‘Don’t tell me you managed to access my private bank details.’ She shook her head. ‘That would be a criminal offence.’

His teeth bared in a grimace that told her he fought to retain his temper. Good. Goading him was the closest she’d get to revenge and she was human enough to revel in it.

‘If you expect a better offer you’ll have a long wait. My price is fair.’

‘Fair?’ Her voice rose. ‘No price is fair if I can’t tell my side of the story. You really expect me to forget what happened to me?’ Disbelief almost choked her. ‘If I took your blood money it would be tantamount to admitting guilt.’ The thought made her sick to the stomach.

‘And so?’

‘Damn you, Domenico Volpe!’ Lucy shot from her chair and skewered him with a glare that should have shrivelled him to ashes in his precious executive chair. ‘I refuse to soothe your conscience or that of your sister-in-law.’

He rose and leaned across so his face was a breath away from hers.

‘What are you implying?’

‘Don’t play the innocent.’ She braced her hands on the table, firing the words at him. ‘Your family’s influence was what convicted me.’

‘You have the temerity to hint the trial wasn’t fair? Because of us?’

She had to give him credit. He looked so furious he’d have convinced anyone. Except someone who’d been behind bars for years because of his precious family.

‘Come on! What chance did I stand with an overworked public defender against your power and influence?’

‘The evidence pointed overwhelmingly to you.’

‘But it wasn’t true.’ Her breath came in uneven pants as she faced him across the desk.

‘You’d be well advised to sign.’ His look sent a tremor of fear racing through her.

But he couldn’t hurt her. Not now. She was free. She had no one and almost no money, but she had integrity. He couldn’t take that.

‘Now who’s making threats?’ She stared into eyes that glowed like molten steel.

Deliberately she leaned across his desk, her lips almost grazing his cheek, her nostrils filling with the heady spice scent of him. His eyes widened in shock and she wondered if she’d looked like that out in the garden when he’d come close enough to kiss her.

‘I don’t respond to threats,’ she breathed in a whisper that caressed his scrupulously shaved jaw. ‘The answer is still no.’

CHAPTER FIVE

DAMN THE WOMAN.

Domenico paced his study, furious he hadn’t broken the deadlock. Lucy Knight still rejected his offer.

It stuck in his craw to give her anything but it was the only way to stop her selling her story. Then what privacy would Pia and Taddeo have? The scandal could go on for years, dogging Taddeo as he grew.

Money was the obvious lever to get what he needed. She was desperate for cash. If she’d had funds she’d have spent it on a top-flight defence team.

A splinter of discomfort pierced him, remembering her inexperienced, under-prepared lawyer. Watching his ineffectual efforts had made Domenico actually consider intervening to organise a more capable defender.

To defend the woman who’d killed Sandro!

Perhaps if he hadn’t known she was guilty he would have. But how could he doubt the overwhelming evidence against her?

A mere week before Sandro’s death Lucy Knight had bumped into Domenico, literally, at an exhibition of baroque jewellery. He was supervising the inclusion of some family pieces but had been distracted, outrageously so, by the charms of the delightful young Englishwoman who’d blushed and stammered so prettily. She’d looked at the gems with unfeigned delight and at him with something like awe.

Yet it was her hesitation to accept his spur of the moment invitation to coffee that had hooked him. How long since a woman had even pretended to resist him?

Coffee had turned into a stroll through the Forum, lunch at a tucked away trattoria and an afternoon sightseeing. He’d enjoyed himself more than he could remember with a woman who was just Lucy to his Domenico. A woman whose eyes sparkled with unconcealed awareness, yet who trembled with innocent hesitation when he merely took her hand. She was smart, fun and refreshingly honest. Enough to make him believe he’d found someone special and rare.

She’d evoked a slew of emotions. Passion, delight and a surprising protectiveness that had kept him from sweeping her off to his bed then and there. For the connection between them had been sizzling, each touch electric.

She’d been different from every other woman, her impact so profound he’d suggested meeting again when he returned to Rome.

In New York he’d counted the hours to his return.

Till he’d seen Lucy in a news report, doused in his brother’s blood as she was led away by the police.

His heart stuttered at the memory.

Then piece by piece he’d heard from Pia and Sandro’s staff the truth about Lucy. How she’d seduced his brother and flaunted her power over him.

She must have known who Domenico was at the gallery and engineered the meeting. Why stick with Sandro, whose wife was already making a fuss about his affair, when his brother—just as rich and single to boot—was available? And just as susceptible.

Domenico thrust a hand through his hair. He’d fallen for her with an ease that shamed and angered him.

No. She’d brought on the result of the trial herself.

Yet he couldn’t douse his awareness of her. The delicacy of her features snagged his attention again and again, as did the proud, wilful angle of her jaw that appealed even as it repelled.

All afternoon he’d watched her. She appeared fascinated by the grounds, apparently content with the tranquillity here. Which made him wonder what her life had been like behind bars that she should revel in solitude.

There it was again. This unholy interest in the woman. She should mean nothing to him but a problem to be solved. Instead he found himself...intrigued.

And that tiny dead of night niggle was back, disturbing his rest.

He strode to the window, hands jammed in his pockets.

She gave him no peace. There she was at the end of the garden. The afternoon sun burnished her hair, making it glint like gold as she tipped her head back. Her obvious sensual delight was far too alluring, the way she held her arms open to embrace the heat, her deep breaths that drew his eyes to her delectable breasts.

She stiffened, head turning and arms folding in a classic defensive pose. Her tension was obvious as a figure approached from the villa. Rocco, his Head of Security.

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