The Italian's Final Redemption - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,31

be changing his mind. She needed to answer for her crimes so justice would be served.

The thought hardened his resolve, though it did nothing for the restlessness that coiled through him as the day progressed into night. He stayed in his office till midnight, and only then did he leave, stalking back to his bedroom in search of sleep.

He didn’t find it, however, and after several hours of lying there, staring at the ceiling, he admitted defeat and slid out of bed, pulling on some jeans and prowling downstairs to the salon that led out onto the big terrace.

It felt hot and airless, so he went to the double doors and pushed them open, allowing the salt-soaked night air and moonlight to pour in. He stood in the doorway a minute and took a deep breath, trying to find his usual clarity of purpose, the bone-deep knowledge that what he was doing was right and necessary.

He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted from it by an inconvenient attraction to the worst possible woman. He wouldn’t. He must keep on with his crusade, right the wrongs his family had perpetrated over the centuries, that his mother had carried into this century too. It would end with him, that was certain.

Behind him came the sound of a soft footstep and a whisper of an indrawn breath, and he was turning, instantly on his guard. He normally had a weapon with him, but since the villa was well-protected he hadn’t bothered with one tonight.

Not that he needed one.

A small figure stood in the darkness near the door to the hall. There was enough moonlight for him to see golden dragons gleaming on red silk and the gloss of dark curls, of light reflected off the round discs of her glasses. The sweet scent of apples reached him and he felt himself go still, his entire body tightening in anticipation.

You’re getting ahead of yourself. She didn’t want you, remember?

He remembered. She’d been made of fear, not desire.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured in her husky voice. ‘I didn’t know you were here. I’ll go if you—’

‘What are you doing up, civetta?’ He shouldn’t ask. He should leave her the way he’d left her the night before. Yet he didn’t move.

‘I...couldn’t sleep.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shifted on her feet, silk rustling, sounding uncertain and nervous. ‘I was just...restless.’

As he was restless.

Perhaps it’s for the same reason?

Perhaps. But again, last night, he hadn’t seen desire in her when she’d opened her robe. Only uneasiness and nerves.

You could be wrong.

A thread of heat wound its way through him and he found himself wanting to see her face, see what expression was in her hazel eyes.

‘Come here.’ He had to put some effort into not making it sound like an order, but he managed it. Part of him wanted to know if she would come if it wasn’t a command. If she would come because she wanted to.

She hesitated, but only for a moment, and then she came slowly towards him, the moonlight moving over glorious red silk, dark curls, and pale skin.

He could see her face now as she stopped a few feet from him, laid bare in the light coming from behind his back. The moon had bleached all the colour from her cheeks, turning her eyes very dark. With the lenses of her glasses reflecting the light, she looked even more owlish than she normally did.

The night before when he’d told her that she didn’t want him she hadn’t denied it. She’d simply looked at him as if wanting him hadn’t entered her head, even though she’d been fully prepared to offer him sex. And he couldn’t lie to himself. The fact that she hadn’t wanted him had angered him too.

‘Yes?’ The word was tentative, her gaze full of familiar wariness.

‘Perhaps you can’t sleep for the same reason I can’t,’ he said.

‘I...’ She stopped, and her hands moved nervously to the sash of her robe, touching it before falling away again. ‘What reason would that be?’

He might have thought she was deliberately misunderstanding him if he hadn’t known already that she had no guile whatsoever. But, as he was learning, she wasn’t like his mother; her response had the ring of truth to it. She genuinely didn’t know. Which meant that she had no sexual thoughts about him at all, or she was so desperately inexperienced she didn’t recognise them.

Does it matter? You’re not going to take her anyway.

It didn’t matter. And of course he wasn’t.

‘Were