A Night In His Arms: Captive in the Spotlight / Meddling with a Millionaire / How to Seduce a Billionaire

He thought of her evidence at the trial. She’d claimed it was Bruno Scarlatti, not Sandro, who’d come to her room that night. He’d heard about the scene between Sandro and Lucy when earlier that day she’d pleaded for immediate leave to visit her sick father. Understandably, Sandro had refused, concerned that with Pia unwell and the nanny off work due to illness, they needed the au pair, Lucy. The meeting had ended with Lucy shouting she’d find a way to leave despite her contract.

Her story was that Bruno had said he’d help her persuade the boss to give her leave and she’d innocently let him into her room. Once inside, he’d allegedly attacked her, tried to rape her. Sandro had heard the noise and come to her aid, but in the scuffle with Bruno he’d knocked his head against the antique fireplace and died.

Domenico rubbed a hand over his tense jaw, remembering all the holes in her story. The court had dismissed it. There was too much evidence of her guilt.

Pia had given evidence, backed by diary notes, that Sandro and Lucy had had a passionate affair. Bruno’s evidence had been the same. He’d revealed her as a seductive tease who knew her power over men and bragged about twisting the boss around her little finger. He’d seen her and Sandro together, given dates and times.

Sandro had given her expensive treats, like the exquisite jewellery found in her room the night he died. The household had heard her threaten Sandro when he’d refused to let her go.

That night he’d been drinking, torn no doubt between concern for his wife and the fight with his mistress. He’d gone to Lucy’s room with an expensive gift to salve her anger. But they’d fought again, she’d shoved him and, unsteady on his feet, he’d fallen and cracked his skull. As for Lucy blaming Bruno—he had an alibi.

Pia had found Sandro bleeding to death, cradled in Lucy’s arms.

Domenico shivered, recalling the moment he’d discovered Lucy’s identity—the image of her in a bloodstained nightdress with a blanket around her shoulders, being escorted to a police car outside the palazzo. Sandro was dead and she’d been arrested.

Domenico hadn’t even been able to blame Sandro for his fatal attraction to the young Englishwoman. He knew how difficult Pia could be and guessed that in the months following childbirth she’d been particularly demanding.

More importantly, Domenico had first-hand experience of Lucy’s power. He’d fallen under her spell in just a few hours. What must it have been like for Sandro, facing such temptation in his own home every day? That didn’t excuse the affair. But Sandro was only human.

Who was Domenico to judge when he’d felt attraction sizzle the moment he’d looked into Lucy Knight’s eyes? That knowledge had twisted guilt deep in his gut ever since.

He shifted his focus to the woman walking along the beach. Her head was bowed and her arms were wrapped tight around her body.

Confusion filled him as he recalled the fear that had racked her as he’d held her.

Because she thought she’d seen Bruno Scarlatti.

Because he’d killed Sandro?

The thought stopped the breath in Domenico’s lungs. It wasn’t possible. The court had been through all the evidence, right down to Lucy’s fingerprints on the expensive necklace Sandro had given her that night. It had been a lovers’ quarrel. And there was a witness who put Scarlatti elsewhere when Sandro died.

And yet... Again that frisson of unease stirred. That sense that something wasn’t right.

Domenico forced himself to concentrate on proven facts. The evidence supported Lucy’s guilt yet she was scared of Scarlatti. Had one part of her story been true? Had he tried to force himself on her?

There’d been an avid hunger in Scarlatti’s eyes whenever he’d looked across the courtroom at Lucy. Domenico had noticed immediately, ashamed as he was of his own response to her.

Domenico’s hands clenched so hard he found himself shaking. Could that be it? The idea hollowed his belly.

He wished Scarlatti was here now. Domenico needed an outlet for his churning fury.

* * *

‘Scarlatti no longer works for the Volpe family.’

Lucy spun to find Domenico a few paces away, eyes shaded by wraparound sunglasses. She felt at a disadvantage, wondering what the lenses hid from view.

‘Why not?’

‘He was dismissed years ago. Rocco found evidence that he’d...bothered one of the maids.’

‘Bothered?’ Why wasn’t she surprised? Bruno was a slime ball who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

‘She complained he was pestering her. A bit of digging revealed she wasn’t the first.’

Lucy bit her lip. The temptation to spill her own story about Bruno was strong. But Domenico had heard it in court. He hadn’t believed it then and wouldn’t now. Defeat tasted sour on her tongue.

Why should it matter after all this time that he didn’t believe her? Instead of getting easier to bear, it grew harder.

Nothing had changed. She’d let herself be lulled into believing it had.

Domenico was weakening her, subtly undermining her ability to keep the unsympathetic world at bay.

‘Don’t worry, he’s long gone.’

She nodded. What was there to say?

‘Now, let’s get out on the water.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll stay ashore.’

‘Why? So you can hide in your room and brood?’

Lucy’s eyes widened. ‘I never hide!’

‘Isn’t that what you’re doing now?’

She knew Domenico’s tactic. He deliberately baited her, yet she couldn’t resist the challenge. The one thing, the only thing she’d had on her side all these years had been her resolute strength. An ability to tough out the worst the criminal justice system could throw at her and pretend it didn’t matter.

She’d forced herself to morph from a scared, desperate teenager into a woman who could look after herself no matter what.

There was more than pride at stake. It was her faith in her one tangible asset—strength in the face of adversity.

Without that, how could she face the future that loomed like a black hole? She had no family now. No friends. No prospects, as each day’s job-hunting proved. If she let herself weaken she’d never survive.

Lucy met Domenico’s gaze, reading anticipation in his stillness. He expected her to make a run for it, damn him.

‘Where’s your boat?’

* * *

Three hours later she was a different woman. The mutinous set of her mouth had eased into a smile that made Domenico’s belly flip over. Her haunted expression had disappeared. Now her eyes shone pure forget-me-not blue, rivalling the sky for brightness.

He’d only once before seen a woman lit from within like this. It had been Lucy then too. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

He shook his head, unable to believe her avid enthusiasm was anything but real this time. There’d been no primping, not even a comb or mirror in the bag she’d brought. No coy looks or subtle feminine blandishments. Her focus had been on the boat and the sensation of speed as they circled the island. Her husky laughter still echoed in his ears. She’d been like a kid on a roller coaster for the first time—delighted and delightful in her glee.

‘Did you see the size of that octopus?’ She surfaced beside him, grinning as she removed the snorkel’s mouthpiece. ‘It’s amazing, and the way it moves!’