The Italian's Final Redemption - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,8

clutching on to and save myself the drama.’

‘You could,’ she allowed. ‘But it wouldn’t do you any good. All the information on this laptop is encrypted, and the passwords are all in my head.’

The edge of his stare was pressing against her skin, cutting her.

She gritted her teeth, refusing to give in and look away. She might not know much about men, but she did know that strong men liked to test that strength on others. She’d seen her father do it with his associates and his enemies, and he enjoyed it. When he was in the mood, he even appreciated strength in others, too.

Perhaps de Santi was the same. In which case maybe letting him test his strength against her determination might buy her the time she wanted. Maybe it would even go towards him changing his mind about handing her over to the authorities.

Whatever, it was clear that remaining unnoticed and slipping beneath the radar the way she normally did wouldn’t work with him. In which case, if he was going to notice her, then she couldn’t allow him to see her fear, her weakness. And, since she wasn’t particularly strong, she’d just have to be determined instead, and if there was one thing she was it was determined.

‘Looking at me ferociously won’t make me any more likely to tell you,’ she said, clutching tighter to her laptop. ‘I can hold out against you.’

He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming from beneath surprisingly long, dark lashes. ‘I’m sure you can. But I’ve broken hardened criminals, and I’m sure one small, soft one would be no bother at all.’

Was he mocking her? She couldn’t tell. The expression on his brutal, aristocratic face was utterly unreadable, his gaze absolutely opaque.

He frightened her. And yet she realised that, even though she was frightened, the prickling feeling she got between her shoulder blades whenever she thought about her father had gone.

De Santi had dealt with him for now. For now, at least, she was safe.

That thought steadied her.

‘You can try,’ she said, glaring at him. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

‘Yes, you are.’ His voice was very deep and very cold, his gaze as merciless as the man himself. ‘You’re terrified of me.’

It was obvious she didn’t like him pointing that out to her. Anger glittered in her eyes, her delicate jaw getting a stubborn cast. She opened her mouth, no doubt to deny it, but he forestalled her.

‘Don’t lie to me, Miss Armstrong. I can smell a lie a mile off. And I have a feeling you’re not very good at it anyway.’

She bit her full bottom lip, small white teeth worrying at it. He found his gaze had fixated on that soft mouth for absolutely no reason that he could see. He liked a woman’s mouth, but unless it was doing something interesting to him he wouldn’t tend to notice it in the general scheme of things. Certainly not when the owner of said mouth was a criminal he was hoping to bring to justice.

He took his pleasures with women only when it suited him and did not allow himself to be subject to the whims of his body. It was true that he’d been too busy for female company the past month, mopping up the last of the St Etienne family and their drug empire, but that didn’t concern him. His body might protest but he rather enjoyed such exercises in self-control. It kept him sharp.

Regardless, even if he’d been desperate he wouldn’t have let his interest fall on the woman opposite. He preferred his lovers less...unkempt. And definitely not criminals.

Especially criminals who had the gall to accuse him of using torture. Which he didn’t. He would never stoop to using the same tactics his own family had once employed, even if only in centuries past. He didn’t need to now, anyway. When it came to information gathering, the team he’d assembled to assist him was the best in the world, and most of the time he didn’t even need his quarry to be physically present. He collected the information, handed it to the police, and let them do the rest.

Miss Lucy Armstrong continued to glare at him, while at the same time her knuckles were white as she simultaneously clutched her laptop with one hand, the other gathering and releasing the fabric of her shapeless dress. ‘Well?’ she demanded in her sweetly husky voice, ignoring what he’d said about her fear. ‘Will you give me a week or not?’

‘Why