The Italian's Final Redemption - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,14

count? Maybe they didn’t.

‘What is it about a cell that frightens you?’

She hadn’t wanted him to know the depth of her fear, but that ship had long since sailed. And perhaps, if he knew, it might make him more sympathetic towards her. Useful, given the fact that she was still hoping to change his mind and have him not hand her over to the police.

‘There’s a room in the basement of our house in Cornwall. My father locks me in there sometimes when I won’t do what I’m told. It’s dark. There are no windows.’ A shiver coursed through her, making de Santi’s arms tighten once more.

‘I see,’ he said, his tone very neutral. ‘And do you not do what you’re told often?’

As a child, she’d been fearless and curious, always getting into things she wasn’t supposed to, which had made her father angry. Her mother had shielded her from the worst of his rages—until she hadn’t been able to shield her any more and Lucy found out just how much her mother had protected her.

‘I used to,’ she said, because there was no need to get into that. ‘Not so much any more.’

‘Except for escaping from him.’

‘Yes, except for that.’ She had relaxed against him fully now, the warmth of his body stealing through her. How could such a cold man be so warm? It didn’t make any sense. ‘Why are you so hot?’ she asked, opening her eyes again. ‘Are you sick?’

His face was blurry and she couldn’t read it, but she could feel his muscles tighten beneath her as if in surprise. ‘No, I’m not sick.’ There was a thread of something in his tone, marring the casual sound of it, but she couldn’t tell what it was. ‘Are you dizzy? Still a little faint?’

‘No. I’m okay now, I think.’

Instantly he moved, gathering her gently without a word and shifting her off his lap and onto the sofa. The whole of her left side where she’d been resting against him felt hot, the withdrawal of his arms like a loss, which was very strange and she didn’t understand it, not one bit. A wave of sudden vulnerability flooded through her, and she fussed with her dress, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

It seemed he hadn’t though, because he moved over to the desk, picking something up off it and holding it out to her. Her glasses.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured awkwardly, taking them and putting them back on.

De Santi was leaning against his desk, his arms folded, his dark gaze fixed on her with unnerving intensity.

Lucy wanted to stand up, not have him loom so threateningly over her, but she wasn’t sure if her legs would even support her, so she stayed where she was and lifted her chin instead. ‘I suppose you’re now going to put me in a cell?’

‘I haven’t decided,’ he said.

An echo of fear shivered through her once again, but she borrowed some of her mother’s courage and steeled herself against it, meeting his gaze head-on. ‘If it’s to be a cell, then you’ll have to either drug me or knock me unconscious, because I won’t go in there willingly.’

‘Clearly.’ He continued to stare at her for a couple of moments longer, then he muttered to himself in Italian again, and abruptly reached into the pocket of his suit trousers and brought out a slim, complicated-looking phone. Pushing a button, he raised it to his ear, then began to speak in rapid Italian, his gaze still resting on her.

The feeling of unease widened. What was he going to do with her now? Would he really drug her or knock her unconscious and put her in a cell?

Then again, he’d obviously had every intention of doing just that before and he hadn’t. She’d had her panic attack and, instead of simply picking her up and dumping her in whatever holding facility he’d intended to put her in, he’d held her in his lap instead. Calming her down, soothing her.

Perhaps he isn’t as merciless as he told you he was?

Certainly a merciless man wouldn’t have held her like that and eased her fear. A merciless man—and she knew all about merciless men—would have dumped her in that cell and left her there, panic attack or not.

Something hard inside her, a knot that had pulled so tight it felt as if she’d never get it undone, relaxed slightly. Perhaps there was hope, then. Perhaps she might change his mind after all. Perhaps she might be able to make good