A Night In His Arms: Captive in the Spotlight / Meddling with a Millionaire / How to Seduce a Billionaire. Annie West

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      His body tightened from chest to groin as adrenalin surged. His pulse thudded. Physical awareness saturated him and he cursed under his breath.

      Hunger for Lucy Knight was not to be contemplated.

      Yet the hectic drumming in his blood didn’t abate.

      As if sensing him, she turned her head. ‘You! What are you doing here?’ She spun to face him, legs planted wide and hands clenched at her sides, a model of aggressive challenge.

      Except for the robe’s gaping neckline and the flutter of cotton around bare thighs that highlighted her femininity.

      Domenico reminded himself he liked his women accommodating. Soft and pliant. Warrior queens with lofty chins and defiance in every sinew held no appeal.

      Till now.

      His body’s wayward response angered him and guilt pricked. This woman had destroyed Sandro.

      ‘This is my property. Or had you forgotten?’

      ‘You implied I’d be here alone.’

      ‘Did I? Are you sure?’ Of course she wasn’t. He’d chosen his words carefully. Even to his enemies, Domenico didn’t lie. Seeing her skittishness, he’d deliberately neglected to mention he’d arrive here today. ‘I fail to see what my travel plans have to do with you.’

      He waited for her to splutter her indignation. But she merely surveyed him through slitted eyes. He sensed she drew her defences tight, preparing for battle.

      Was she like this with everyone or just him?

      ‘You came to make sure I don’t steal the silver.’ The sarcastic jibe almost hid her curiously flat tone. Yet he heard that hint of suppressed emotion, as if she was genuinely disappointed.

      As if what he thought mattered.

      Domenico frowned, instinct and intellect warring. He knew what she was, yet when he looked at her he felt...

      Abruptly she pulled her robe in tight, as if only now realising the loose front revealed the shadow of her cleavage. Methodically she knotted the belt, all the while holding his gaze. Why did it feel as if she were putting on armour, rather than merely covering herself?

      Did she know, with the light behind her, the wrap revealed rather than concealed her curves? Was it a deliberate ploy to distract him?

      His voice was harsh. ‘I leave it to my security staff to watch for thieves.’

      Did she flinch? He remembered her rosy flush in court when evidence had been presented about the jewellery she’d either been given or had stolen from Sandro.

      No sign of a blush now.

      ‘What do you want?’ Her insolence made his hackles rise.

      It was on the tip of his tongue to deny he wanted anything, but pragmatism beat pride. He was here for one reason only and the sooner he fixed it the sooner he could put Lucy Knight firmly in the past.

      ‘I do have some business to discuss with you but—’

      ‘Ha! I knew it!’ She folded her arms and Domenico had to force his gaze above the plump swell of her breasts, accentuated by the gesture.

      ‘Knew what?’ To his chagrin he’d missed something. He who never missed a nuance of any business negotiation.

      ‘That it was too good to be true.’ Her lip curled. ‘No one gives anything for nothing. Especially you.’ Her gaze flicked him from head to toe as if she read his body’s charged response to her. His skin drew tight. Fury spilled and pooled. At her dismissive tone. At himself for the spark of arousal he couldn’t douse.

      ‘You’re here, aren’t you? Safe from the media?’

      ‘But at what price?’ She stepped close, eyes flaring wide as if she felt it too, the simmer of charged awareness, palpable as a caress against overheated flesh. ‘There are strings attached to this deal, aren’t there? A price I have to pay?’

      Domenico looked down his nose with all the hauteur six centuries of aristocratic breeding could provide. No one doubted his honour. Ever.

      ‘I’m a man of my word.’ He let that sink in. ‘I offered you sanctuary and you have it. There are no strings.’

      Yet if she hadn’t been so stressed yesterday she’d have made sure of that before agreeing to his offer.

      Domenico muffled a sliver of guilt that he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability. The stakes were too high, the trouble she could cause too severe for him to have second thoughts.

      Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose. ‘I’m free to leave?’

      Domenico stepped back and gestured to the boats moored in the bay. ‘I will even provide the transport.’

      He wished she’d take him up on the offer. Yes, he wanted more from her but instinct warned him to be rid of her. He didn’t relish the discordant tumble of his reactions to her. There was nothing logical or ordered about them. She made him feel...things he thought long dead.

      Her eyes bored into his, as if she sought the very heart of him. ‘But you want me out of the limelight.’

      ‘Of course.’ He shrugged. ‘But I’m not keeping you prisoner. There are laws in this country.’

      Her breath hissed and she stiffened, reading his implication. That one of them at least was honest and law-abiding.

      Her mouth tightened but otherwise her face was blank. So much for vulnerability. Lucy Knight was as tough as nails.

      ‘If you’re staying...’ He looked at her expectantly but she said nothing. ‘We can discuss business when you’re dressed.’ He glanced at his watch. Eleven o’clock. ‘Shall we say midday?’

      ‘Why delay? I’d rather know what you want now.’

      She spoke as if he hid something painful from her. He almost laughed at the idea. Once he made his offer she’d be eager enough.

      ‘You’re hardly dressed for business.’

      She stuck her hands on her hips, her pose challenging and provocative. ‘You’d be more comfortable if I wore a suit? Why can’t you tell me now?’ Again those delicate eyebrows rose, as if she silently laughed at him.

      Something snapped inside.

      He stalked across till he stood close enough to inhale the scent of soap and fragrant female flesh. Close enough to hook an arm round her and haul her flush against him if he chose. Instead he kept his hands clenched at his sides.

      She refused to shift. Even though she had to tip her head back to look at him, exposing her slim throat. Heat twisted in his belly, part unwilling admiration at her nerve, part implacable fury.

      His gaze held hers as his pulse thumped once, twice, three times. The artery at her throat flickered rapidly and she swallowed. Yet she didn’t look away.

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