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‘Of course, my dear. Where are my manners? I was so overcome … ‘
‘Hush, Mother.’ Lorenzo rose to his feet. ‘I’ll show Lucy to her room.’ And, slipping an arm around her waist, he led her to the door. His mother smiled on benignly.
As soon as they were in the hall Lucy shrugged out of his hold. ‘No audience now,’ she sniped.
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Follow me.’
She did—up the elegant staircase to where Lorenzo turned right around the galleried landing to the front of the house, then along a corridor. He opened the second door on the left.
‘My mother has the master suite next door, so you will be perfectly safe.’
Safe from what or who? Lucy wondered, and followed Lorenzo into the room. She gasped. The décor was all ivory and gold—the bed covered in the finest ivory satin and lace. Next to the fireplace was a chaise-longue, and a beautiful occasional table inlaid with hand-painted roses and humming birds. The whole effect was very feminine.
‘The bathroom and dressing room are through there.’ Lorenzo indicated a door at the opposite end. ‘I believe the maid has unpacked your clothes. If there is anything else you need you have only to ring.’
She actually felt like wringing his neck. He was standing there so cool, so remote, when only hours ago he’d been ripping off her briefs. No—best not to go there.
‘What I really need is a cup of tea and a sandwich. Apart from that tiny cake I’ve had nothing to eat since I left home this morning, and I’m starving.’
‘Surely you were offered lunch on the flight? It was all arranged.’
‘I was offered lunch, but I refused because I got the impression the dashing young flight attendant was offering more.’
‘What?’ The polite mask had slipped to one of outrage. ‘You should hav
e told me—I will dismiss him immediately.’
‘No—not on my account. His attitude is not surprising, really. He is probably used to flying loose women out to wherever you happen to be,’ she said scathingly, and saw his jaw tighten, a flash of anger in his dark eyes.
Quickly stepping past him, she headed for the bathroom. She heard the bedroom door slam behind her and wasn’t surprised.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE bathroom, like the rest of the house, was perfect. All pale marble, with a big raised bath and a very modern double shower. The vanity unit contained every possible bathroom accessory known to a man—and, she noted, her own modest toilet bag.
Spying a shower cap, she could not resist. She pulled it over her hair and picked up a top designer shower gel. Stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the shower and turned the water on, relishing the soothing spray as she used the heavenly scented gel to wash her body.
Finally she stepped out of the shower and, picking a large white towel off the pile stacked on a shelf, dried herself. Taking another one, she wrapped it sarong-style around her body. Then she took her hairbrush from her toilet bag and brushed her hair.
Lucy walked back into the bedroom feeling refreshed, and saw a tray holding tea and sandwiches on the table by the chaise-longue. Lorenzo had done as she’d asked, but she had no doubt the maid had delivered them. She flopped down on the chaise-longue and poured a cup of tea, then ate an Italian-style sandwich made with crusty bread and filled with cheese, tomato and something spicy Lucy didn’t recognise. It was delicious.
* * *
‘Lucy? Lucy.’
Lorenzo didn’t want to touch her—he was hard just looking at her. She was stretched out on the chaiselongue asleep, her hair tumbled over her shoulders and with one arm above her head, the other across her stomach. A towel that was wrapped around her had slipped to reveal one rose-tipped creamy breast. She was enough to tempt a saint. Yet in sleep, with her long lashes curled against her cheek, she had a look of innocence about her that twisted something inside him.
Slowly Lucy opened her eyes and yawned. She saw the tray with the tea and sandwiches, and realised she must have dozed off.
‘Good—you are awake at last.’
At the sound of Lorenzo’s voice she glanced up. He had changed into another suit, she noted—then she saw where his eyes rested and blushed scarlet. Quickly she sat up, pulling the towel over her chest.
He looked down at her, his dark eyes mocking. ‘Nothing I have not seen before … But that is not what I came for. Dinner is at eight—you have half an hour to get ready. Before I go I should warn you my mother has arranged a party for Wednesday evening—she wants to introduce you to her friends. So you will not be able to leave until Thursday.’
‘Well, you can just unarrange it,’ Lucy said, knotting the towel firmly under her arm. She stood up, feeling vulnerable wearing just a towel when Lorenzo towered over her, his virile masculinity evident in every line of his long lean body, undisguised by the conventional dark suit he wore. With her temper and shamefully her pulse rising at the sight of him, she added, ‘You will have to—because I told Elaine I would be back by Wednesday night at the latest and she is taking Thursday morning off.’
‘I knew nothing about the party until this evening. If I had I would have discouraged my mother. The whole point of this visit was to get you out of her life, not more involved.’ Even as he said it Lorenzo realised it had been a crazy idea in the first place. What had he been thinking of? One glance at Lucy wearing a towel and he had his answer. She addled his brain without even trying, and the solution was to keep out of her way.
