Why was she going to find him? What did she think she’d say? They’d spent the night together, that was all. No promises had been made, nothing had been said.
He’d given her pleasure and it had been the most incredible experience of her life, but he was still who he was. That hadn’t changed. Nothing had changed.
But perhaps you have.
A strange feeling pulsed through her, part certainty, part strength. As if last night he’d given her some of his, along with the pleasure.
Yes, she had changed. She felt...different. More sure. Less afraid. And maybe if she had the urge to find him, to tell him that she wanted him again, then she should do it. He’d told her to be honest, that it was precious, so why shouldn’t she be honest with him?
Avoiding things and hiding was what she’d done in the past and that had kept her safe. But safety was beginning to look overrated to her now. He’d given her a night without fear, a night of pleasure and warmth, and she wanted more.
She only had a few days left of it, after all—if she couldn’t change his mind, that was.
First, though, she would eat.
Fifteen minutes later, full of coffee, bacon and some delicious pastries, Lucy went to find Martina to ask where Vincenzo was. Through some emphatic gestures, she understood that he was in his office and wasn’t to be disturbed.
That gave her a moment’s pause. Did that apply to just her or did that mean he didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone? She only needed five minutes. That was allowable, wasn’t it? Deciding that it was, she made her way to his office.
It was at the other end of the villa and the door was closed, so Lucy gave it a discreet knock. When there was no reply she stood there a second, debating, but then, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so she opened it quietly and went in.
The room was large, with fabulous views out over another terrace, a formal garden below that led all the way to the edge of the cliff and then the sea. A big desk stood near a set of high, arched windows and behind it stood the tall, powerful figure of Vincenzo.
He faced the windows with his back to the door, talking on the phone in his beautiful Italian, his voice calm and casual-sounding. His usual tone.
He wasn’t in a suit today, wearing a pair of well-worn jeans that sat low on his hips and a faded blue T-shirt. As casual as his voice. A man doing a bit of light work on the weekend.
Except there was nothing casual about the tension that gathered in his broad shoulders and back, and even standing where she was by the door she could sense it. Was something bad happening? Did it have to do with her father?
She slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, moving over to the desk and pausing in front of it. Obviously hearing her footstep, he swung around, his obsidian gaze catching hers, the ferocity in it driving all the air from her lungs.
Had that fierceness always been there? Had she simply not seen it? Or was this new?
No, it had always been there, the driving force of his will allied with the flame of purpose. A man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted or to do what was right. Who wouldn’t let anything get in his way, not mercy, not sympathy, not tenderness. No soft feeling at all.
Yet...last night he’d been nothing but gentle with her—at least initially. Until she’d shown him that she didn’t need gentleness.
He kept talking, the tone of his voice not changing one iota, holding her gaze with his. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The seething tension that gathered around him held her fast.
Something was wrong. He was angry. No, more than that. He was furious.
Male anger was always something to be wary of. Her father’s rages had been terrifying and she’d seen the consequences of that rage first-hand. After her mother had died, being in his vicinity had always made her go icy with fear and she tried to avoid him at all costs when he was like that.
Yet, even though Vincenzo seemed no less angry, she wasn’t scared. His was a coldly controlled anger and the threat of violence that hovered around him wasn’t directed at her. He told her he would never hurt her and she’d believed him then; she believed him now too.
She didn’t back away and leave the room the way she might have done even a week earlier. Instead she lifted her chin and stood there, waiting for him to finish. She’d been going to ask him why he’d left her that morning, but now she wanted to know why he was so angry. Was it her father? Business? What?
Quite suddenly he disconnected the call and flung the phone back down on the desk with a clatter. ‘What do you want?’ There was an edge to his cool voice. ‘I told Martina I wasn’t to be disturbed.’
Lucy took a breath, studying the hard cast of his features and the black glitter of his eyes. ‘Why are you angry?’
‘Why do you think? I gave orders that I wasn’t to be interrupted and yet here you are.’
‘That’s not why.’ Something more was going on here, she was sure of it. The hot breath of his fury was too intense to be about a mere interruption. ‘Is it my father?’
He muttered something vicious under his breath and looked away, the tension pouring off him.
The urge to go around the desk and put her hands on those hard, muscled shoulders to ease him was almost overwhelming. But they’d only had one night together and she couldn’t presume anything. He probably wouldn’t welcome it anyway.
She clasped her hands in front of her instead. ‘Vincenzo?’
‘You should leave.’ The words were bitten out. ‘I’m not in the mood for conversation.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
He lifted his head, his gaze clashing with hers again. The darkness in it made it hard to breathe. ‘You happened, civetta.’
Shock slid down her spine. She stared at him, not understanding. ‘What do you mean, I happened?’
He straightened, a muscle in his jaw leaping. ‘Last night you compromised my moral code and it cannot happen again.’ The anger threading through his voice was like hot metal piercing a block of ice, making his accent more pronounced. ‘I do not sleep with my prisoners.’
Oh. So that was the issue. She was the issue. And he regretted it.
A heavy disappointment settled in her stomach, though she knew she had no right to be disappointed. There had been no promises made, no indication that it would happen again. She’d just assumed, because it had been so good...
For you. But perhaps not for him.
Her mouth dried, the disappointment turning inward, growing sharp edges. ‘I...see,’ she said huskily. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘You didn’t mean to sleep with me? Is that what you’re trying to say? You didn’t mean to compromise me? Or cause me to forget everything I stand for?’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You overestimate your charms, Miss Armstrong. It wasn’t you and your lovely body, believe me. It was my own weakness.’