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‘Shall we go somewhere even more private?’ she said softly. ‘More intimate...’
* * *
Vicenzu stared at her in silence, a pulse beating in his throat, her voice replaying inside his head.
Intimate.
He felt his belly flip over.
Intimate.
The word brushed against his skin. It made him think of subdued lighting, soft laughter and naked bodies.
His own body turned to granite as she bit her lip.
‘Imma, are you sure?’ Holding her gaze, he softened his voice. ‘I know my reputation, and I don’t want you to think that’s why I’m here.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think that.’
She was staring up at him, her face expressionless, but he could hear the nervous edge in her voice and knew she was trying to sound calmer than she felt.
It was understandable. Given how protective Buscetta was about his daughters, it was unlikely she did this kind of thing very often—and certainly not under her overcontrolling father’s nose. Clearly being here, in her father’s lair, was spooking her.
Her cheeks were flushed and her dark hair was coming undone from the knot at her neck. He studied her face, lost momentarily in the delicacy of her features and the flame in her eyes. He felt his pulse accelerate. He could do this, but he needed to take charge, keep it light—not let her beauty get in the way of what was really happening here.
‘I’m happy to wait, cara. Well, maybe happy is pushing it.’ He grimaced. ‘Obviously I’d be in a lot of pain—’
She laughed then, and for a moment he almost forgot why he was there. It was such a lovely sound. All he could think about was how to make her laugh again.
But then he blanked his mind as she stood up, pulling him to his feet.
* * *
‘I might just freshen up.’
She seemed more nervous now they were in her bedroom, and he kissed her softly on the mouth.
‘Good idea. I’ll wait here. Take all the time you need.’
Actually, he was the one fighting for time. He needed to put some distance between himself and Imma otherwise...
As the door closed he began unbuttoning his shirt, and then, frowning, he pulled out his wallet. He was checking he had condoms when he noticed he had a notification on his phone. It was a voicemail from Ciro.
‘Vicenzu, it’s me... Look, I can’t do this for much longer. I’ve fulfilled my part. She’s going to sign the house over to me today. You need to get your side done, and quickly. Whatever it takes to get the business back, do it. Because I don’t know how much longer I can keep the pretence up.’
He thought about the edge to Imma’s voice.
Then he pictured his mother sitting alone at the wedding.
Taking back his father’s business and their family home would go a long way towards making her smile again. And it would wipe the smile off Buscetta’s face at the same time.
He knew what his mother would say. That two wrongs didn’t make a right.
His jaw tightened. No, they didn’t. On this occasion two wrongs would make two rights.
Hearing the door to the bathroom open, he texted Ciro quickly, then tossed his phone onto a chair. Composing his face, he looked up—and his breath stalled in his throat.
Imma was standing in the doorway, her long dark hair hanging loose over her shoulders.
