Ultimate Temptation

WORK, and more work, Lucy told herself with grim determination. That’s the answer. Keep busy—keep out of mischief.

Not that Giulio Falcone could be described as anything so innocent as mischief, she amended stormily as she changed into the comparative demureness of jadegreen leggings and a matching sweatshirt, and kicked the discarded red dress into the comer of the room. He was danger—sheer and unequivocal. And she was all kinds of a fool to let him get to her like this.

Survival was the name of the game in this situation, and she knew enough about that, even if men like the Count were an enigma to her. A mystery, she told herself tersely, that she had neither the right nor the inclination to solve.

By keeping busy—concentrating on the task in hand—she could stop herself thinking—wondering about him. And once the children arrived her time would be filled anyway, she reminded herself. Their presence would provide her with a measure of safety at least until she could make her escape.

She found all the clean bedding and towels she needed in a huge linen press at the head of the stairs. Sachets of dried herbs had been tucked amongst them, and she sniffed appreciatively as she collected her first load. However foolishly Maddalena might have behaved over her nephew, her housekeeping had been faultless, she thought wistfully.

The rooms the others had been using looked as if they’d been swept by a tornado, with unmade beds, cupboard doors swinging open, and empty drawers upended onto the floor, along with discarded hangers.

Wet towels decorated the bathrooms, with trails of dusting powder, and there were smears of hair gel and moisturiser on the mirrors and tiled surfaces.

Gritting her teeth, Lucy launched herself into the task of restoring order. Most of it was cosmetic, anyway, she realised as she made the bedding into loose bundles for future laundering. Luckily, they hadn’t occupied the Villa Dante long enough to create the kind of mess that had to be scoured away.

Her own room—his room, she corrected herself tersely—she left until last. She stood outside for a long moment, oddly reluctant to proceed. Then, steeling herself, she pushed open the door.

The room was safely empty, and, apart from the unmade bed, tidier than the others. She felt obscurely glad of that.

The long window was open to the night, and some faint current of air made the drapes billow into the room.

She walked over to the window, intending to close it, and paused, staring up at the star-sprinkled velvet of the sky.

People said that one’s fate was written in the stars, she remembered wryly. But she could see no pattern, no rhyme or reason for what had befallen her over the past twenty-four hours in those chilly, far-off specks of light.

The moon, on the other hand, looked close enough to touch, spilling silver light like a swathe of satin across the distant hillside.

‘Skin like moonlight...’ The words seemed to echo and re-echo in her mind. Her hand lifted slowly, and touched the curve of her breast.

For a moment, she was still, then she wrenched herself back to earth with a faint shiver, aware as never before of the silence of the encircling night. In daylight, the Villa Dante’s quiet isolation had been something to prize. But in darkness it only served as an unwanted reminder of her vulnerability...

Suppressing another shiver, she pulled the window shut and secured the latch. And, as she did so, she saw reflected in the glass a shadow moving in the room behind her.

The cry of alarm choked in her throat as she swung round, the precariously balanced armful of bedding sliding to the floor, spilling sheets and pillowcases at her feet.

‘You’re very nervous.’ Giulio Falcone was totally at ease, even faintly amused as he walked forward from the doorway.

‘Can you wonder?’ Lucy said crossly, her heart thudding as she bent to retrieve the linen. ‘I wish you wouldn’t creep up behind me like that.’