feel his still-pounding heart against her back, and after a moment Angelo found her hand with his own and laced his fingers with hers, resting their joined hands against her belly as sleep finally claimed her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LUCIA WOKE TO an empty bed. She rolled over on her back, stared at the ceiling and let the memories wash over her. The pleasure of last night, and more surprisingly and poignantly, the incredible intimacy. She hadn’t expected that. She’d gone into the evening expecting a bargain, an exchange of both power and pleasure. This time she’d be the one to want the one-night stand. And the one to walk away.
The trouble was, she didn’t want to.
She rolled onto her side, tucked her legs up towards her tummy. She was an idiot, of course. An absolute idiot to think she could walk away from Angelo. To think that she could want it. She’d loved him since she was seven years old.
And yet she knew, with a heavy, painful certainty, that walking away was her only choice. Angelo wouldn’t want anything else, and she refused to surrender her dignity yet again. This time she would choose first…if he hadn’t already.
Slowly she swung her legs over the side of the bed, felt aches in all sorts of places. A glance at the clock told her it was after eight, and she was due at the hotel in less than an hour. She pushed her hair out of her face and went in search of her maid’s uniform.
Ten minutes later she was dressed, her hair and teeth brushed thanks to the basket of toiletries in the guest bedroom, and resolutely she went in search of Angelo. She found him in the kitchen, slicing fruit, the tantalising aroma of fresh coffee scenting the air.
Lucia hung back for a moment, watching as he moved around the kitchen. He wore another worn T-shirt, this one in heather grey, and a pair of boxers. His hair was tousled, almost curly in the heat, and he looked comfortable, natural, happy. She’d never seen him look so happy before.
And for a second, no more, she let herself imagine that this was real. Lasting. This was their home, their life, a normal morning in a loving relationship. She even, treacherously, allowed herself to imagine their daughter slept upstairs, six years old, with Angelo’s eyes and her dimple.
A longing so intense it felt as if she were being suffocated took hold of her, stole her breath. Shakily Lucia drew another, forced the images back.
This was what was real: work in half an hour and whatever little she and Angelo had shared over. Throwing her shoulders back, she came into the kitchen.
Angelo raised his head as soon as he heard her; Lucia saw the welcoming light wink out of his eyes as he stared at her, his mouth compressing into a hard line.
‘Why are you wearing that wretched uniform?’
She stiffened at the disdain in his voice. ‘Because I’m due at work in less than an hour.’
‘Work?’ He sounded utterly incredulous. ‘I called already. You’re not expected.’
‘You…called?’ Lucia stared at him blankly. Why would he call? Why would he not want her to go to work?
‘Yes, I called. Of course you’re not going to work today.’
‘I’m not?’ She prickled, fought against the treacherous surge of hope his words caused to rise up within her. ‘Why not?’
His mouth quirked in a smile. ‘I think the better question is, why would you?’
‘Because it’s my job and I don’t want to get fired?’
His smile widened. ‘Since I now own the hotel I don’t think you’ll get fired.’
‘Don’t, Angelo.’ Even though she knew he was speaking the truth his words made her cringe. Sleeping with the boss. It sounded so sordid, as sordid as the last time he’d breezed in and out of her life, and left rumours and heartache in his wake.
‘Don’t what?’ He frowned, seeming genuinely confused, and Lucia just shook her head and took a deep breath.
‘I think,’ she said, ‘it would be better—cleaner—if we ended this now.’
Angelo stared at her for a long moment. The frown had gone from his face, just like the smile. He looked utterly unreadable, completely expressionless. ‘Cleaner,’ he finally said, his tone neutral.
‘Yes.’
‘You want to end this now?’
‘I think it would be better.’
He glanced back down at the melon he’d been slicing and arranged the slices on a plate, his long fingers working deftly, his head lowered. ‘I don’t want to end this now,’ he said after a moment, and Lucia’s