The Italian's Final Redemption - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,47

ever seen. It softened the stern lines of his face, making him seem much more approachable and incredibly sexy. ‘That would, indeed, be unfortunate. Perhaps I’ll wait, then.’ He picked up a large white towel he’d draped over a nearby stone bench. ‘Come, civetta. Get out of the bath and let me dry you.’

She could have done it herself, but she didn’t want to, getting out of the bath and letting him dry her off and wrap her in the lovely red silk robe. It made her feel cared for, and it had been a long time since she’d felt cared for, so she would let herself enjoy it while it lasted.

Not that you deserve it. Not when your mother died because of you.

Lucy ignored the thought.

A few minutes later she was seated on one of the stone benches, cushioned by mounds of pillows, a plate full of cold meats, salad, cheeses and delicious fresh-baked bread in her lap. A glass of wine sat on the back of the bench at her elbow, while Vincenzo lounged in a chair opposite, ostensibly making sure her plate was full. To ‘build up her strength’ since it was apparent he had plans for the rest of the evening. Plans that obviously featured her.

‘This is wonderful,’ she said, picking up an olive. ‘Thank you.’

He inclined his head in wordless acknowledgement, sipping on his wine as she slowly chewed the olive, relishing the sharp, salty taste.

‘This whole place is wonderful,’ she went on, gesturing around them at the villa and its grounds. ‘Did you come here a lot as a child?’

‘Not often. I do spend a lot of time here now, however.’

‘Oh? Why is that?’

‘The palazzo is...medieval and dark. I prefer this villa. It’s much lighter, and being near the sea is pleasant.’

There was something in his voice she couldn’t place. An edge. She wanted to ask him what it meant, but the mood between them was relaxed and easy and she didn’t want to upset it.

‘I think that was the worst thing about the house in Cornwall,’ she said instead. ‘It was near the sea, but it had no view. I could hear the waves but I could never see them.’

‘You weren’t allowed to go out at all?’ This time there was no edge in his voice, the question utterly neutral. ‘Not even for a drive?’

‘No.’ She didn’t see the harm in telling him. It was only the truth, after all. ‘Perhaps I could have argued for a trip to the beach, but I couldn’t see the point. It would only make me want what I couldn’t have.’ The story of her life, really. ‘Easier to take a virtual trip via my computer.’

Vincenzo frowned. ‘So you never left the house?’

‘Dad would sometimes take me to London.’ She reached for her wine and took a sip herself, enjoying the cool bite of it. ‘But not often. I didn’t like going anyway. It meant meetings with some of his contacts and friends and they scared me.’

Vincenzo’s frown became fierce, the glitter of his eyes sharper. ‘Why? Did they hurt you?’

She could hear the promise of retribution in his voice and it set up a small, warm glow inside her, even though she knew it shouldn’t. ‘No. Dad wouldn’t have been pleased with them if they had and they were afraid of him.’

‘You were afraid of him too.’

‘I was,’ she agreed. ‘I am.’

‘And yet you escaped him.’ Vincenzo tilted his head, his black gaze focusing on her as if he’d never seen anything so interesting in his life. ‘What made you run, civetta? Was it opportunity or had you been planning it?’

They hadn’t talked of anything personal the whole day and she’d been more than happy with that. But now tension crawled through her. Talking about this would involve explaining about the promise she’d made to her mother, and how her mother had died, and the reason for it...

Then he’ll know exactly how guilty you really are.

A kernel of ice settled in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to tell him. She wanted him to keep thinking of her as someone worth savouring, someone worth taking care of. She didn’t want this warmth between them to end. There was still a chance she could convince him to change his mind about handing her over to the police, but if she told him the real reason for her mother’s death, that chance would be gone.

She looked down at her plate, picking up a red cherry tomato