Ultimate Temptation. Sara Craven
He added softly, ‘In spite of your temper, Lucia, you do not strike me as heartless.’
She said shakily, ‘That’s emotional blackmail.’
He shrugged. ‘You say you cannot be hired, and will not be bought. What else is left to me?’
She tried again. ‘But your sister may have other ideas.’
‘Fiammetta, as usual, will take the line of least resistance. And this is an emergency. They will be released from the clinic tomorrow morning, and will be coming straight here. I cannot allow them to find a scene of such devastation.’
‘And this is where I come in?’ Lucy’s tone was hollow.
‘Until tomorrow, when I can mobilise help from the estate, certainly.’ He gave her a measuring look. ‘If this had been a genuine rental, you would have been expected to keep the house clean and tidy, after all.’
She bit her lip. ‘I suppose so. But if all you want is a glorified housemaid-cum-nanny, why did you pretend—let me think...?’ She halted, vexed with herself for asking.
‘Because you were so ready to believe that I was just some—latter-day Casanova.’ The firm lips twisted slightly. ‘The temptation to confirm your worst fears became quite irresistible, believe me. But while you are in my employment and under my roof you are quite safe.’ He flicked a glance towards the tumbled bed. ‘Unless, of course, you insist.’
She was angrily aware that her face had warmed again. ‘I don’t,’ she said tersely.
‘Then I suggest you find yourself another room.’ Both his tone and smile were pleasant, and untinged by even a modicum of regret, which, oddly enough, seemed to increase her annoyance.
She met his gaze stonily. ‘So, if I agree to help out, you promise that will cancel all obligations between us?’
‘More than that,’ he said. ‘I will ensure you suffer no financial loss as a result of Moressi’s trickery.’
He paused. ‘You will also take with you, I hope, some unforgettable memories of Tuscany, as well as the undying gratitude of the Falconese,’ he added sardonically.
‘Naturally, that would be one of my main considerations.’ Her tone was sarcastic.
Giulio Falcone inclined his head gracefully. ‘I knew you would see things my way.’
‘Did you?’ Lucy gave him an assessing look. ‘Tell me, signore, are you related to the Medici by any chance?’
His mouth twitched. ‘Only on my mother’s side, signorina,’ he returned silkily. ‘Why do you ask?’
She shrugged. ‘I gather they were hard men to refuse in their day. And so are you, Count Falcone.’
‘Then don’t refuse me.’ He smiled at her, reminding her unnecessarily of the power of his attraction. ‘And I don’t use my title, unless I have to. Call me Giulio.’
Oh, no, she thought, the breath catching in her throat. That was an intimacy she didn’t need.
Aloud, she said, ‘I don’t know what to say—what to do...’
‘Then obey your instinct, columbina.’
Instinct was telling her to get out while she could. To put herself at the furthest, safest distance possible from this man. From his smile. From the charm that seemed to reach out to her like a caressing hand. From the sheer sexual charisma that turned the blood in her veins to warm honey. And which, she reminded herself, he seemed able to exercise at will.
Somehow, she heard herself say, ‘Very well, I’ll stay. But only till you can find someone else.’
‘Grazie, Lucia.’ His smile deepened, half-mocking, but wholly disturbing. ‘And now I suggest you change out of that dress—before I forget all my good resolutions.’
For one long moment, his eyes stripped her lazily and quite deliberately. Then he raised his hand to his lips, blew her an amused kiss, and walked out of the room.
Lucy watched the door close behind him, and said loudly and clearly from the bottom of her heart, ‘Bastard.’
Her first action, naturally, was to find another room. She chose one at the furthest end of the house from his, regardless of the fact that it was also the smallest.
Quite suitable for a servant’s quarters anyway, she told herself, swinging her case onto the narrow bed.
Her pulses still seemed to be behaving oddly. She couldn’t believe how easily she’d allowed herself to be wound up. How could she have thought, even for a moment, that someone like Count Giulio Falcone cherished even marginal designs on her?
The trouble was that at each of their prior encounters she’d been at some kind of disadvantage, which in turn had stopped her thinking rationally. That was the only explanation. And it provided a kind of marginal reassurance.
She still wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to stay, however, except that there didn’t seem to be much alternative. He was a wealthy and powerful man, who could probably be ruthless.
But it wouldn’t be for long, she appeased herself. No doubt his sister would find a replacement nanny from some domestic agency when she’d recovered from the shock of the accident. And then the whole incident would dwindle into a little adventure to be laughed over ruefully back in England. Although not with Nina and the others.
And now to get out of this damned dress.
Lucy twisted round, feeling for the zip and tugging it downwards, but nothing happened.
‘Oh, come on,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘You can’t be stuck.’
But the zip, apparently, had other ideas, and remained exactly where it was. With a sigh of frustration, Lucy decided she’d have to cut herself out.
She was searching for her nail scissors, when there was a peremptory rap on the door, and Giulio Falcone walked in.
‘So this is the sanctuary you have chosen.’ He glanced around. ‘A little cramped, don’t you think?’
‘I think it’s ideal,’ Lucy returned with a coolness she was far from feeling.
‘As you wish.’ He shrugged. ‘But why are you still not ready? I was going to show you where the clean linen is kept.’
‘Just give me general directions,’ Lucy said tersely. ‘I’ll find it myself.’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ She straightened, scissors in hand.
He surveyed them enigmatically. ‘If you need to defend yourself, the range of knives in the kitchen might serve you better.’
‘Nothing of the kind,’ Lucy said crossly. ‘My zip’s stuck, that’s all.’
‘Then allow me.’ He walked over to her, and turned her so that her back was to him.
She stiffened. ‘I can manage.’
‘Stand still.’
His breath was warm on her exposed skin as he bent closer to examine the erring metal strip.
‘A thread has been caught,’ he murmured. ‘I think I can free it.’
Lucy waited rigidly, trying not to flinch as his cool fingers slid under the edge of the dress and touched her back.
‘Don’t be so nervous,’ he chided softly, laughter in his voice. ‘This must be better than attacking yourself with scissors.’
Not, Lucy thought with gritted teeth, necessarily.
He was infinitely too close to her, in the exact situation she had wanted to avoid. In the wall mirror, she could see his intent dark face, his lips only a fraction