Picture of Innocence(32)

‘You already have, Lucy—me. I told you once before it was my way or no way. You obviously didn’t listen.’

She didn’t bother to answer. There was no point.

She turned back to the till, suddenly bone-weary, all the fight draining out of her, and mechanically finished cashing up. She locked the till and with the money in her hand walked past Lorenzo and upstairs to her apartment. She went straight to the bookcase that held the safe and put the cash inside, aware that he had followed her but helpless to do anything about it.

‘Not much of a safe,’ Lorenzo said as she locked it and, straightening up, turned back towards him.

Lucy drove him crazy. He had felt his body react the moment he’d walked in the door and seen her wearing a pair of denim shorts and a red open-necked shirt. Try as he might to control himself, seeing Lucy bending over the damn safe had almost crippled him. She had caused him more trouble than any woman he had ever known, had got under his skin for far too long, and yet he still lusted after her. He could not leave her alone, and now he was no longer going to try.

‘It suits me,’ Lucy responded. The security or otherwise of her house was the least of her problems under the circumstances. The immediate threat to her safety being Lorenzo. ‘Take a seat. I’ll get you some tea or coffee—I have nothing stronger.’

‘Wait,’ Lorenzo snapped and, grasping her shoulders, yanked her hard against him.

She looked up at him, and her eyes widened when they met his. What she saw in the black depths made her shiver with fear—she hoped it was fear … She tried to struggle free, but with insulting ease a strong arm swept around her back and his hand grasped her waist, holding her tight as his long fingers threaded through her hair to grip the back of her head in the palm of his hand.

A shocked gasp escaped her as she caught a glimpse of the naked desire in his dark eyes, then his mouth crashed down on hers. She raised her hands to push him away, but it was a useless gesture. His chest was as hard as marble—but a lot warmer, she realised without wanting to. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All she could do was feel as he kissed her with a demanding passion that ignited a spark deep in her belly.

Suddenly it burst into flame and her traitorous body was suffused with heat. Involuntarily she parted her lips to the hungry demand of his, her hands stroking over his chest and her body swaying into his in willing surrender. It had been so long, too long, and she could deny it no longer. She wanted Lorenzo—wanted him totally.

He lifted his head and stepped back. His hands fell from her and she was free.

‘The chemistry is still there, as electric as ever, and that is all I needed to know.’ She heard his deep voice as if from a distance—heard the hint of mockery as he added, ‘I’ll have that coffee now.’

Shamed by her body’s betrayal, she closed her eyes for a moment as the heat drained out of her. When she opened them she looked at Lorenzo. His expression was hard and uncompromising. She was tempted to ask him why he was really here, but she didn’t really want to know the answer because she had a horrible suspicion she would not like it.

‘Okay,’ she murmured, too shaken to argue, and, turning on her heel, she headed for the kitchen.

Making the coffee gave her a chance to recover from the body shock that had made her melt in his arms. She tried to tell herself her resistance was low because she was tired and Lorenzo had caught her off guard, it would never happen again, but not with any great conviction.

She returned to the living room five minutes later, a mug of instant coffee in each hand. Lorenzo had removed his jacket and tie and opened the top few buttons of his shirt. He was lounging back on her one and only sofa, looking as if he owned the place.

He glanced at her as she walked towards him, and reached out to take the coffee mug in his hand without saying a word.

It occurred to Lucy that tipping it over his head might give her some satisfaction, but resisted the urge and handed it to him. Her impulsive ideas had got her into more than enough trouble over the years, but her leap into property development had to be the biggest doozy yet. If only the bank had not been quite so briskly efficient in giving her a mortgage on this place. If only she had not been so quick to transfer the cash to the partnership to secure the development deal. Then it wouldn’t be so bad.

If only were the saddest words in the world.

She crossed to sit down in a battered old Art Decostyle chair she had been going to re-cover for ages but never got round to, and, taking a sip of her coffee, glanced around her home. But for how much longer?

Lorenzo was right about the factory. It only just about broke even, and after the taxes were paid there was little or no profit. So basically the only income she had was from the gallery, which barely covered the two mortgages she’d have to pay until she sold the house in Dessington. Any delay in selling and she’d very quickly go bust, she knew.