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Lucy nodded her head. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, and he turned and disappeared through the door to the hall. His ‘commando’ comment told her everything she needed to know. He had no respect for her at all … never had and never would.
She spotted a few pins on the floor and, picking them up, clipped back her hair. She took her jacket off the back of the sofa and slipped it on, fastened it with a slightly unsteady hand. She was still wearing her high-heeled sandals, and wished viciously she had stabbed him in the back with them five minutes ago.
Still trembling inside, she walked across to the window and looked down at the street below, drawing in a few deep, calming breaths. A steady flow of cars drove along the road, and the pavements were full of people of all ages—some single, some couples and families—all chattering and laughing, going about their daily life as she’d used to do.
So what had happened to her? Lorenzo had happened, and she didn’t know herself any more. Worse, she no longer liked herself. She had become one of those weak-willed women she normally pitied—a slave to her senses because of a man. In that moment Lucy knew she could not go on like this. She straightened her slender shoulders and folded her arms across her body, her mind made up. When this visit was over, so was her relationship with Lorenzo—whether he liked it or not. He could do his damnedest, but to save herself she could no longer afford to care.
In trying to be responsible and help other people she had given in to what amounted to blackmail. If she was brutally honest she had not fought very hard to avoid it, and in the process had lost all her self-respect.
She should have known from the start. She had tried before to be responsible for another, to help Damien, and it had ended in tragedy anyway. If Steadman’s closed and the development never took place, so be it—at least the town had the seven acres of land she had donated. As for the family home, she would do as the estate agent had suggested weeks ago, when he’d told her that after twelve years of neglect the house badly needed updating and with the smaller garden the best option now was to put it up for auction and sell it for whatever she could get in the current market. She would, and then hopefully she could keep the gallery—probably still mortgaged, but at least she would own it.
‘Coffee’s ready.’
She turned around. Lorenzo was placing a tray on the glass table and trying to nudge papers out of the way. He sank down on the sofa and, picking up the coffee pot, filled two cups, then glanced across at her. ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’
He didn’t even know that much about her, she thought bitterly, and it simply reinforced her decision to end things.
‘No, thanks. I need the bathroom—where is it?’
‘There is one off my bedroom—I’ll follow you through. Coffee in bed quite appeals,’ he said, with a smile that was a blatant invitation.
‘Not to me, it doesn’t,’ Lucy said coolly. ‘Just tell me where the bathroom is. After all, I am here to visit your mother, and it is bad manners to keep her waiting.’ She saw the flash of surprise in his eyes and watched them narrow, and felt a chill go through her.
Lorenzo was not accustomed to being denied, and his expression hardened as he looked at Lucy. She had pinned back her hair, replaced her jacket and fastened it, and was now standing stiffly, her arms folded in front of her, defiance in every line of her seductive body. He could make her do as he wanted—but suddenly he no longer had the stomach for it.
‘In the hall—second on the left.’ He gestured with his hand at the door he had just come through. Lucy was right. It was time they left.
He had shocked himself earlier, taking her without a second thought over the back of the sofa, totally out of control. This could not go on. The ice-cold anger and rage that had consumed him when he’d discovered Lucy had done a deal behind his back had cooled down, and he wasn’t proud of the way he had behaved.
With the benefit of hindsight he should have agreed with Lucy the day she’d come to his office—agreed to support the status quo, leaving the running of Steadman’s in the hands of the employee who had been dealing with it for the last five years. Instead he had let his anger over his brother’s death be stirred up by his lunch with Manuel and reacted badly. He had made his decision in anger instead of with his usual cool control. And getting involved with Lucy was another crazy mistake. In fact, he realised most of the summer had been one of crazy decisions on his part.
He was a normal, intelligent, healthy man, who enjoyed an active sex-life, but with Lucy he was in danger of allowing sex to take over his life to the detriment of his work and his leisure. He could not allow it to continue.
Since the day he had met her he had slept only one single night at his villa in Santa Margherita and only half a day sailing. And it was well over a month since he had been to New York. Instead he had spent most of his time in England, flying back and forth from Italy, and it had to stop. He still lusted after Lucy, but that was all it was—lust. Without conceit he knew that with his power and wealth he could take his pick of women, and occasionally had in the past. He would again.
His decision made, he rose to his feet and buttoned his shirt. The solution was simple: he just needed to get through the next three days, finish things with Lucy, then move on to a woman more his type who would not disturb the smooth running of his life.
His picked his jacket off the floor and slipped it on, then tightened his tie. When Lucy reappeared he moved towards her. ‘Ready to go?’
Lucy glanced at him. ‘Yes,’ she said, equally direct.
Taking her elbow, he ushered her out of the apartment and down onto the street. ‘Get in,’ Lorenzo said, holding open the passenger door of a low-slung, lethal-looking yellow sports car.
Lucy did, and quickly fastened the seat belt. She didn’t feel safe in this monster of a car, even when it was stationary. She glanced at Lorenzo as he slid into the driving seat and was about to ask what make the car was. But one look at the determined set of his jaw made her change her mind.
There was no other way to describe it—the man drove as if he had a death wish, Lucy thought. The countryside flashed past them in a whirl, and she caught her breath as the car swung around corners.
‘Do you have to drive so fast?’ she finally demanded.
He cast her a sidelong glance and said nothing, but she noticed he did slow down a little, and she could breathe easily again.
Her first glance of Lake Garda made her catch her breath again, and as Lorenzo drove along the one road that ran around the lake she was captivated by the small villages they passed. Eventually he guided the car between two stone towers that supported massive iron gates. The drive wound steeply up through a forest of trees and then veered right. Suddenly the forest ended, and Lucy simply stared in awe at the view before her.
The house was built in pale stone, beautifully proportioned, with circular turrets on all corners and with the forest as a backdrop. The gardens swooped down in lawns and terraces to the edge of the lake, where a wooden boat house was just visible by the trees. A small boat with its sails furled was tied up at the jetty. The overall view was idyllic, and incredible to her artistic eye. Someone had planned the garden skilfully. A pergola, a summerhouse and fountains were all strategically placed to draw the eye to a perfect flow of colour and symmetry.
‘Lucy?’
It was the first word Lorenzo had spoken since they’d left Verona, and she glanced at her wristwatch. Well over an hour ago. She realised he had stopped the car. She looked out of the window, her eyes widening in admiration on the portico, a graceful structure with elegant arches and roof supported by four columns.
