Picture of Innocence(55)

He crossed to the bedside and stared down at where she lay on her back, her beautiful face illuminated by the bedside light, her eyes closed peacefully in sleep. His conscience told him the way he had behaved towards her was despicable and he should leave now. Let her go home as planned, and get on with her life without him. But he was not that altruistic. What he wanted he fought tooth and nail to get—and he wanted her with a passion, a depth of love, he had never imagined possible. Just the thought of never seeing her again tore him apart. She stirred slightly.

‘Lucy.’ He said her name and sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Lucy.’ he said again, and raised his hand to rest it on her shoulder.

Somewhere in her dreams Lucy heard Lorenzo call her name, and her eyelashes fluttered. She moaned a soft, low sound—'Lorenzo … ‘ Her lips parting in the beginning of a smile. Then she heard it again, louder, and blinked. ‘Lorenzo?’ she repeated, and felt his touch. She opened her eyes. This was no dream—he was sitting on her bed. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, knocking his hand away and scrambling back against the pillows, tugging the coverlet to her neck and suddenly very aware of her naked state.

‘I had to see you—to talk to you—make sure—’

‘Are you out of your mind?’ she cried. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

‘Yes—out of my mind with loving you.’

Loving her.

Her green eyes opened wide. She had to be still dreaming. But, no—Lorenzo was there, larger than life, minus his jacket, his shirt open at the neck. His black hair looked as if he had run his hands through it a hundred times, and his face was grey, but it was the pain in his eyes that shocked her most.

‘You look more like a man on death row than a man in love,’ she tried to joke. She could not—would not—believe what he had said.

‘Oh, Lucy,’ he groaned. ‘I might as well be if you don’t believe me. I love you—it is not a joke.’ And, reaching out, he curved his hands around her shoulders. ‘The only joke is on me, for not realising sooner,’ he said, staring down at her with haunted eyes. ‘Dio, I hope I am not too late.’

Lucy hung on to the coverlet as if her life depended on it and looked at him. This was a Lorenzo she had never seen before. Gone was the hard, emotionless man. She could see the desperation in his eyes, feel it in the unsteady hands that held her, and she could feel herself weakening, beginning to believe him … Her pulses were beating erratically beneath her skin, her heart pounding.

‘I have sat downstairs for ages, wondering how to explain my actions … the appalling way I have behaved towards you since the day we met … and the only explanation I have is because I love you.’

Her heart squeezed inside her. ‘That has to be the dumbest reason I have ever heard for declaring you love someone.’ She wanted to believe him, but with a cynicism she had never had until she’d met him she said, ‘What is this? Some ploy to get a farewell lay? Well, you are wasting your time. I know exactly how contemptuous you think I am—a promiscuous, greedy woman who can’t help herself around men and who you can pay off. But you’re wrong.’

She was angry—at herself for her body’s instant response to his closeness, and at Lorenzo for doing this to her now, when she had finally resigned herself to their parting.

‘I only ever had sex once in my life before you. As for your paying me off—that convoluted deal was all your doing. All I ever asked from you was for you to vote with me and not sell your shares to save my family firm. I ended up blackmailed into your bed. So excuse me if I don’t believe you love me. Just leave me alone. I am packed and ready go.’ And then she added, ‘Try Olivia. I’m sure she will oblige—probably already has, according to rumour.’

He looked stunned. ‘Rumour is completely unfounded. My relationship with Olivia Paglia is strictly business, and I will sue anyone who dares repeat it.’ He sounded genuinely affronted. ‘How the hell did you find out about the rumours?’

‘I met you coming out of her apartment building, remember? The Contessa told me.’

‘I thought better of the Contessa—she is not known as a gossip,’ he said, and she saw disillusion in his dark eyes.

‘In fairness,’ Lucy began, ‘the Contessa did not believe them—and now I think you should leave.’

Suddenly he pushed her back against the pillows and leaned over her, his face only inches away. She heard the heavy pounding of his heart—or was it hers?

‘Damn it, Lucy, I don’t care what you heard. I can’t leave you alone, and you are not going anywhere. I know I don’t deserve you, but I love you—I want you and I need you.’ he stated, staring into her eyes and seeing the darkening pupils. ‘Though you don’t love me, you do want me,’ he said, with some of his usual arrogance returning.