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She didn’t exactly jump at his suggestion of visiting Murano and his cousin’s glass factory. The glass that formed her mother’s addiction was not something that held her fascination—she’d seen enough of it at Lily’s palazzo to last a lifetime. And it wasn’t as if she needed a reminder of how her mother had been manoeuvred into debt—yes, because she was feeding a compulsion of her own making—but also by probably two of the best in the business.
After all, who else to feed a glass-infatuated woman’s habit but a financier who wanted to steal her house out from under her and his cousin, the man who owned the factory and who supplied her fix?
What worried her more, she reflected as she tied back her hair and swiped gloss over her lips, was spending time with Luca—time when they were not making love. It was one thing to share his bed and his nights—that had been the deal she’d made. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to share his days. Because she needed time alone. Time to think. Time to regroup.
Time to put into perspective their love-making, to bundle it up in a box marked meaningless and shove it under the bed until the next night.
It was harder to do than she’d thought. Harder to separate the passionate Luca from the hated. Harder to hold herself together, even when she was coming apart.
No, she didn’t need to be reminded in the daylight hours of the tender caress as he’d stroked her skin or the way he’d turned her molten with one flick of his clever tongue. She needed the lid put on that box and put on firmly and for it to be all tied up tight.
But he’d insisted. Why? To rub her nose deeper in her mother’s mess by taking her to the scene of the crime? Surely he knew better now than to think that she cared enough about Lily’s foolishness for that.
So he’d insisted and she’d relented. Besides, the weather was sunny, the skies clear blue, and she’d found a gorgeous floral print sundress that was just begging to be worn. Why shouldn’t she see something of Venice while she was here?
And if Luca could put up with her daylight company for a few hours, she could hardly confess that she was afraid to do the same. She would just have to work harder to keep a lid on that box.
And when all was said and done, what was she afraid of, anyway? Actually liking the man? There was no chance of that, not after all the things he’d done.
Luca was in his study making calls when she emerged, so she pulled out her laptop and curled into a chair to try to finish the email to her father. He would be wondering what was happening over here and when she was planning on coming home. She was wondering how best to tell him without having him launch himself halfway around the world brandishing a shotgun to save his daughter from the clutches of the evil Luca.
She smiled at the thought as she pounded on the space bar, trying to imagine him in Venice, surrounded by water, practically living on top of the water. He’d taken her to the beach for a holiday once, when she was ten. A wide, sandy beach framed by rocky cliffs and wild waves and an endless, endless sea. He hadn’t stopped staring at the sea for days, and when she asked what he was looking for, he’d just shaken his head and muttered, ‘All that water.’
A bubble of sadness rose up unbidden to sully the memory and she felt a familiar pang of loss. And then the space bar stuck again and she wrote a line of jibberish and she cursed, distracted. The damn key was getting worse. No question about it.
‘You look good enough to eat.’
Her mouth went dry. She swallowed, suddenly reminded of another time, another feast, the lid well and truly ripped from the box.
Was he thinking about last night too?
She took her time closing her laptop, wishing away the burning in her cheeks. She didn’t dare meet his eyes. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘I’m not surprised. Is that a computer or a brick you’re banging away on?’
‘It’s all right,’ she said, putting it down, happy to talk about anything other than the reason for her blushing. ‘It does the job. Most of the time. It’s just seen better days, that’s all.’
He came closer, picked it up and tested its weight with one hand before discovering he needed two. ‘It’s seen better centuries.’
‘It’s fine,’ she said, even though it weighed a ton and was so slow it was good for little more than the occasional email.
He grunted and put it down. ‘The driver’s here, if you’re ready.’
Beyond the crowded canals of Venice, the driver opened up the engines. The sleek timber craft’s nose leapt clear of the water, the boat skipping over the surface of the lagoon in a rush of power.
