An Inheritance of Shame - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,19

rose from the bench and slid into the sumptuous leather interior of the car.

Angelo pulled smoothly away from the kerb and they drove in silence down the boulevard towards Quattro Canti, the historic centre of Palermo, its Baroque buildings now gilded in fading sunlight. Lucia watched the buildings stream by in a blur until they were out of the city, and speeding down a dusty road towards Capaci, the sea shimmering in the distance.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked after the silence had stretched on for several minutes.

‘My villa.’

‘Your villa?’ She turned to him in surprise. ‘Why do you stay at the hotel if you have your own villa nearby?’

Angelo lifted one powerful shoulder in a shrug, his gaze still on the road. ‘It’s more convenient to stay at the hotel.’

They didn’t speak again until Angelo pulled up on a long, curving drive and parked in front of his villa. The place was sleek and utterly modern, made of local stone and built into the rocky hillside so it seemed to blend with the landscape. Lucia followed him inside and stood in the centre of the soaring living room; the furniture was all chrome and leather, top-of-the-line and completely sterile.

Angelo tossed his keys on a side table and loosened his tie. ‘Would you like a shower? Or to change?’

She shrugged, although she would have liked to freshen up. ‘I don’t have any other clothes.’

‘That is not a problem. I had some delivered. They’re upstairs in one of the bedrooms.’

Shock had her simply staring for a few seconds. ‘Why would you do that, if we’re just going to have a conversation?’

Now he shrugged, the twist of his shoulders seeming impatient. ‘Why not?’

It wasn’t, Lucia thought, much of an answer, but she didn’t have the energy to question him and the truth was she would kill for a shower. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as graciously as she could manage, and headed upstairs.

She found the clothes in one of the bedrooms overlooking the sea, several shopping bags’ worth from Palermo’s most exclusive boutiques. Pocket change to Angelo, of course, but those few bags contained more clothing than she possessed, and were worth far more than anything she owned.

With a ripple of apprehension she headed into the massive marble en suite and stripped off her maid’s uniform. It felt good to wash away a day’s dirt, but she couldn’t shake the uneasy sense that Angelo wanted more from her than just a conversation.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in the most casual clothes she’d been able to find, a silk T-shirt in pale blue and a matching swishy skirt that ended just above her knee, she went downstairs to find Angelo.

He had obviously showered too, for his hair was damp and curling on his neck and he had changed from his steel-grey suit to a pair of faded jeans and a worn T-shirt in hunter green.

Lucia stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched him, her breath catching in her chest at the sight of him, the powerful shoulders encased in snug cotton, the flat stomach and trim hips and powerful thighs. He was as beautiful as a Roman statue, and in so many ways just as remote.

Did she really know this man any more? He’d left Sicily fifteen years ago, and she’d only seen him once in all that time. One unforgettable time.

He glanced up, and his eyes seemed even greener as he gazed at her for one long, taut moment before he nodded towards her clothes.

‘They fit.’

‘Yes. I didn’t think you knew my size.’

‘I guessed.’ He gestured to some containers on the counter in front of him. ‘Are you hungry? I realise you probably haven’t eaten.’

She was starving and so she nodded, coming into the kitchen to watch Angelo lift the lids off several foil containers.

‘I’m not much of a cook,’ he said with the tiniest quirk of a smile, ‘so I just ordered from the hotel’s kitchens.’

‘A perk of being the boss, I suppose,’ she said, and although she’d meant to sound light she heard a faint note of bitterness creep into her voice, and she knew Angelo heard it too. He glanced up at her, the expression in his eyes veiled.

‘Does that bother you? Me being the boss?’

She shrugged, a twitching of her shoulders. ‘Why should it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, I don’t know either.’ What an inane, childish conversation they were having. Lucia turned away from the sleek granite worktops and prowled around the open living space. ‘Has anyone ever lived here?’