Does it matter? You’re not going to take her anyway.
It didn’t matter. And of course he wasn’t.
‘Were you thinking of me?’ he asked, not moving, not taking his gaze from hers.
Even in the moonlight he saw the flush rise in her cheeks.
‘Yes,’ she admitted hesitantly.
The confession hit him like a jolt of electricity, unexpected and raw as a lightning strike, making his hands curl into fists at his sides.
‘Why?’ This time he couldn’t make it sound like anything less than a demand.
‘I don’t know. I can’t work it out. I’m...afraid of you. And yet I can’t stop thinking about you.’ The blush in her cheeks got even deeper. ‘That was too honest, wasn’t it?’
But that was what she was, wasn’t it? Too honest. And in ways he was only now beginning to understand. Honesty had been so rare in his life, he barely recognised it. Yet there was more to her than simple honesty. She was also wary and guarded, as if she didn’t know what parts of herself she should be protecting.
He wasn’t sure why that was, but one thing he did know. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. Thinking of him, yes. Scared, no.
He held her gaze. ‘Honesty is rare these days and it is precious. Never apologise for it.’
She blinked, then her gaze dropped from his, down to his chest, which was bare, since he hadn’t bothered with a shirt. And stayed there a second before she looked away, nervously fiddling with the knot of her sash.
She wasn’t a seductress, he knew that already, and he knew, too, with sudden insight, that she would never have offered him what she had if she hadn’t on some level been attracted to him. It simply wouldn’t have occurred to her.
But she was attracted to him. Her problem was that she didn’t know what it was, because she had no experience. She had no experience of anything at all.
‘And are you afraid now?’ He searched her vulnerable face. ‘Afraid of me?’
Her fingers pulled at her sash. ‘Yes.’ She said the word tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should reveal it to him or not.
That wasn’t what he wanted, not here, not now. She’d been afraid for a long time and right now he didn’t want her to be. Just as he didn’t want to be only one more man who scared her.
Vincenzo didn’t stop to question himself. He merely reached out and took one of her nervous hands in his and slowly drew it towards him. She tensed, looking up at him, her eyes widening. But she didn’t pull away, allowing him to place that small hand palm down on his bare chest. Then he put his own over the top of it, holding it there.
The hiss of her indrawn breath echoed in the still darkness, her touch on his skin as warm as sunshine resting on him. Her eyes were wide, that soft, vulnerable mouth open.
‘And are you afraid now?’ he asked quietly.
CHAPTER SIX
LUCY WANTED TO tell him that she wasn’t afraid. But she was. She was terrified.
Of the smooth, oiled silk of his skin. Of the heat of his body. Of all the hard muscle she could see clearly etched in sharp, carved lines all over his torso. Of the strength and power that hummed through him like electricity through a high-tension wire.
His eyes were the night itself beyond the terrace and his face was all brutal beauty and ferocity, a combination that mesmerised her.
She’d told the truth. She’d come downstairs, restless and unable to sleep, because she’d been thinking of him. She’d been thinking of him all day and she didn’t know how to stop.
The words he’d said to her the night before kept revolving in her head, taking up space. Making her angry that he would dare to tell her what her own emotions were and yet also making her examine those emotions. Examine the fear that lived inside her and had done so ever since her mother had died.
Yes, she was afraid of him, but it was such a complex fear. And she’d never wanted anyone before, had never thought about physical hunger that wasn’t for food. Had never felt drawn to anyone at the same time as she was afraid of them. It made her think of her mother and how afraid she’d been of Lucy’s father. Yet she’d stayed with him all the same.
Love, that had been the issue, though, Lucy was sure.
And she didn’t love Vincenzo.
The whole day she’d done her best to do her usual thing, which was to pay attention only to the moment as she’d explored the villa, to never think about anything else. Yet it gradually became clear to her as the day went on that she wasn’t just exploring the villa. She was also looking for him. Wanting to see him, talk to him. Ask him how he knew that she didn’t want him, because she wasn’t sure that was the case.
She didn’t think it was the case now as he held her hand to his powerful chest, the inky black of his gaze holding hers. She wanted... She didn’t know what she wanted. Not love, that was for sure. In fact, she’d never want that, but sex? Maybe.
Sex wasn’t a mystery to anyone with an internet connection and she’d looked up various things. It had all looked faintly ridiculous and like nothing she’d ever want to participate in, but what she’d seen on her computer screen had nothing to do with the reality of Vincenzo de Santi, half-naked, in the middle of the night in a villa on Capri, watching her with heat in those black eyes.
There was nothing ridiculous about him. Nothing ridiculous about the heat inside her either.
Why isn’t he simply taking you?
A good question. Powerful men took what they wanted, as she knew all too well, but he wasn’t taking her. He hadn’t the night before either, even though she’d offered herself to him. In fact, he’d got up and left rather than reach for her, and that only added a layer to the complex puzzle he was turning out to be.
An incorruptible man, yet not a man without hungers. A man with a strong moral code who stuck by that morality regardless of what he might want for himself.
He is not your father. You don’t have to be afraid of him.
Lucy swallowed, her mouth dry. It was true. He wasn’t anything like her dad. And she wasn’t anything like her mum. Once she’d been fearless like her. Brave and inquisitive and curious, too. But that had been before those things had led to her mother’s death, so these days she locked them away. Fear kept her safe, after all.
Yet last night she’d realised that she was tired of being afraid, and now she realised something else. She was tired of being afraid of Vincenzo. The frightened little girl she’d spent so many years being wanted to pull her hand away and run to the safety of her bedroom. But the woman who’d spent a day near the sea, who’d smelled the salt and watched the boats, who’d opened her robe and offered herself to a dangerous man, didn’t want to leave. Right now there was a fascinating and beautiful panther in front of her. And she was ruffling his fur and nothing bad was happening. He wasn’t being violent. He wasn’t hurting her. He was only holding her hand to his chest. And she was so very curious about what would happen if she stroked him...