Come with me. The words were in slashing black ink on a page from a notebook. I can get you away from this. Youâll be safe.
Lucyâs head jerked up.
âSafe?â With him?
Domenico nodded. âYes.â
Around them journalists craned to hear. One tried to snatch the note from Lucyâs hand. She crumpled it in her fist. He couldnât want to help her. Yet she wasnât fool enough to think she could stay here. Trouble was brewing and sheâd be at the centre of it.
Still she hesitated. This close, Lucy was aware of the strength in those broad shoulders, in that tall frame and his square olive-skinned hands. Once that blatant male power had left her breathless. Now it threatened.
He leaned forward. She stiffened as his whispered words caressed her cheek.
âWord of a Volpe.â
She knew he was proud. Haughty. Loyal. A powerful man. A dangerously clever one. But everything sheâd readâand sheâd read plentyâindicated he was a man of his word. He wouldnât sully his ancient family name or his pride by lying.
She hoped.
ANNIE WEST has devoted her life to an intensive study of tall, dark, charismatic heroes who cause the best kind of trouble in the lives of their heroines. As a sideline sheâs also researched dream-worthy locations for romanceâfrom bustling, vibrant cities to desert encampments and fairytale castles. Itâs hard work, but she loves a challenge. Annie lives with her family at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australiaâs east coast. She loves to hear from readers and you can contact her at www.annie-west.com or at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
Recent titles by the same author:
DEFYING HER DESERT DUTY
UNDONE BY HIS TOUCH GIRL IN THE BEDOUIN TENT PRINCE OF SCANDAL
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
FOR FIVE GRIM years Lucy had imagined her first day of freedom. A sky the pure blue of Italian summer. The scent of citrus in the warm air and the sound of birds.
Instead she inhaled a familiar aroma. Bricks, concrete and cold steel should have no scent. Yet mixed with despair and commercial strength detergent, they created a perfume called âInstitutionâ. It had filled her nostrils for years.
Lucy repressed a shudder of fear, her stomach cramping.
What if there had been a mistake? What if the huge metal door before her remained firmly shut?
Panic welled at the thought of returning to her cell. To come so close then have freedom denied would finally destroy her.
The guard punched in the release code. Lucy moved close, her bag in one clammy hand, her heart in her mouth. Finally the door opened and she stepped through.
Exhaust fumes instead of citrus. Lowering grey skies instead of blue. The roar of cars rather than birdsong.
She didnât care. She was free!
She closed her eyes, savouring this moment sheâd dreamed of since the terror engulfed her.
She was free to do as she chose. Free to try taking up the threads of her life. Sheâd take a cheap flight to London and a night to regroup before finishing the trip to Devon. A night somewhere quiet, with a comfortable bed and unlimited hot water.
The door clanged shut and her eyes snapped open.
A noise made her turn. Further along, by the main entrance, a crowd stirred. A crowd with cameras and microphones that blared âPressâ.
Ice scudded down Lucyâs spine as she stepped briskly in the opposite direction.
Sheâd barely begun walking when the hubbub erupted: running feet, shouts, the roar of a motorbike.
âLucy! Lucy Knight!â Even through the blood pounding in her ears and the confusion of so many people yelling at once, there was no mistaking the hunger in those voices. It was as if the horde had been starved and the scent of fresh blood sent them into a frenzy.
Lucy quickened her pace but a motorbike cut off her escape. The passenger snapped off shot after shot of her stunned face before she could gather herself.
By that time the leaders of the pack had surrounded her, clamouring close and thrusting microphones in her face. It was all she could do not to give in to panic and run. After the isolation sheâd known the eager crush was terrifying.
âHow does it feel, Lucy?â
âWhat are your plans?â
âHave you anything to say to our viewers, Lucy? Or to the Volpe family?â
The bedlam of shouted questions eased a fraction at mention of the Volpe family. Lucy sucked in a shocked breath as cameras clicked and whirred in her face, disorienting her.
She should have expected this. Why hadnât she?
Because it was five years ago. Old news.
Because sheâd expected the furore to die down.
What more did they want? Theyâd already taken so much.
If only sheâd accepted the embassyâs offer to spirit her to the airport. Foolishly sheâd been determined to rely on no one. Five years ago British officials hadnât been able to save her from the grinding wheels of Italian justice. Sheâd stopped expecting help from there, or anywhere.