Picture of Innocence (5 page)

Against her better judgment, surprisingly Lucy did. Lorenzo was a superb dancer, she realised as they moved around the floor in perfect harmony. His hand on her back was firm and controlling, guiding her effortlessly to the music, and a long leg slid between hers as he spun her around. The only problem was her rapid pulse and the growing warmth spreading from her belly to every sensory nerve in her body. She glanced up at him, and her breath caught at the slumbering passion in the dark eyes that met hers.

She amended her earlier assessment. He certainly wasn’t old. He was a superbly fit, incredibly attractive man, and her mouth went dry as another part of her anatomy shockingly did the opposite. Her lips parted slightly, the tip of her tongue circling them. She wasn’t aware the music had stopped until Lorenzo briefly squeezed the hand he held against his chest and let it go.

He had damn near kissed Lucy on the dance floor, Lorenzo realised with a sense of shock, but she had given him plenty of provocation. Her sexy little body had moved against his with a sensuality that instantly aroused him. The scent of her, fresh and light, had filled his nostrils, and the soft silken smoothness of her skin beneath his palm, the gentle brush of her glorious hair against his hand on her back as they danced, had been a constant caress. Then she’d licked her lips, and he had been in imminent danger of embarrassing himself and her in front of everyone. He needed to get her alone.

Taking a step back, but keeping an arm lightly around her waist, he quipped, ‘I think you deliberately hide your light under a bushel, Lucy—you have great rhythm.’ And he was supremely confident he could induce her into being even more rhythmic in bed. Her fabulous body was made for sex. Looking down into the slightly dazed eyes of the woman curved in the crook of his arm, he added, ‘But now I think a glass of champagne and some fresh air is needed.’

‘Lorenzo?’

He heard his name called, but ignoring it, he attempted to steer Lucy away.

She looked over his shoulder. ‘I think the man at the
table behind you is trying to get your attention … ‘ she said, and he silently groaned.

‘Come have a drink with us, Lorenzo!’ the accented voice demanded.

L
ORENZO
recognised the voice, and good manners dictated it was a request he could not ignore. With his hand on Lucy’s waist, he reluctantly turned.

A moment later Lucy, with Lorenzo’s arm still around her waist and a glass of champagne in her hand, was being introduced to Aldo Lanza, the bridegroom’s uncle from Italy, his wife Teresa, their two sons and their wives, and four grandchildren.

‘Trust Lorenzo to grab the beautiful bridesmaid before anyone else had a chance,’ Aldo said as he kissed Lucy’s hand. Casting a knowing glance at the man holding her, he added, ‘Don’t be fooled by his easy charm—he can be a hard devil when you get to know him.’ And he winked.

‘I already gathered that,’ Lucy said with a grin, enjoying Aldo’s easy banter and putting her glass down on the table. ‘We have met before.’

‘Ah—you have visited Verona, perhaps? A beautiful city, no?’

‘Yes, I have, and the architecture
is
stunning. The arena is amazing, too, but I did not have much time to look around as I was there on business.’

‘Beautiful and clever. What line of business are you in?’ he asked.

‘Enough questions, Aldo,’ Lorenzo interrupted. ‘I’m sure Lucy does not want to discuss business at a wedding.’ He had introduced Lucy without mentioning her surname, thinking the less Aldo knew the better—because his wife Teresa was the biggest gossip in Verona.

‘No, really—I don’t mind,’ Lucy said swiftly. The arrogance of Lorenzo speaking on her behalf had touched a nerve. Her father and brother, much as she had loved them, had had a habit of doing the same. Which was partly the reason she had decided to move to Cornwall after her father’s death, although Damien had been nothing but encouraging about her setting up her own business in Looe.

‘I own an art and craft gallery here in the town. But I specialise in painting portraits, and was in Verona to deliver a completed commission to my client—a charming Italian lady. You may know her—the Contessa della Scala? In fact, I met Lorenzo in the foyer of her apartment block,’ she said, giving Lorenzo a saccharine-sweet smile, reminding him he was not always as invincible as he thought.

Lorenzo’s dark eyes narrowed angrily on her mocking green. It was the worst thing she could have said, given his recent appearance in the gossip columns. The Lanzas knew Olivia Paglia had an apartment in the same building.

Suddenly Lucy was aware of a pause in the conversation, and she wondered if she had gone too far. Then Aldo said something in Italian to his wife, and Teresa frowned. Looking at Lorenzo, she spoke equally swiftly.

Lucy looked on in amazement as the conversation became animated between the three, with much waving
of hands. She barely caught a sentence, but was enthralled by Lorenzo’s deep husky voice—and then she heard Aldo repeat the words ‘Contessa della Scala’ and all eyes turned on her.

‘You know the Contessa della Scala well? ‘ Teresa asked in English.

‘I wouldn’t say well, but I have met her couple of times and spoken to her on the phone. She is a lovely lady, and a delight to talk to.’

‘Oh, so clever and
bella signorina … ‘
Teresa switched back into Italian, and the conversation went right over Lucy’s head again.

Lorenzo’s hand slowly tightened around Lucy’s waist. He thought he had covered well by telling them they had met a couple of times and he had known Lucy for a while—which wasn’t an outright lie. But then he’d had to field a dozen questions about his ‘artist friend’ and he’d realised he actually knew next to nothing about Lucy and had jumped to the assumption she did nothing. He also realised he had made an even bigger fool of himself than he had imagined, presuming Lucy had come to Verona specifically to see him about the Steadman deal when her main priority had obviously been her own business.

The chatter that had broken out at her comment and Lorenzo’s fingers biting into her waist surprised Lucy. His dark head was bent towards her, and he spoke softly against her ear.

‘You could have told me you are an artist, Lucy.’

His warm breath and the way he said her name did funny things to her tummy, and she wriggled out of his hold just as James appeared and saved her from answering.

‘I see you have met the Italian side of my family,
Lucy—and now it is my turn to dance with the bridesmaid, according to my wife Samantha.’ He said
wife
with such pride Lucy smiled. And, glad of the reprieve from Lorenzo’s constant presence, she let James lead her on to the floor.

‘They can be a bit overwhelming
en masse,
and Sam thought you might need rescuing.’

‘Not really—they all seem charming, if a little intimidating.’

She danced with James, and then threw herself into circulating and lost count of the number of men she danced with. With relief she accepted when Samantha asked her to accompany her back to the house and help her get changed into her honeymoon outfit. Her wedding dress, though fabulous, was killing her, she said, and as Lucy had stitched her into it in the first place, when a seam had split, she knew just what she meant.

Half an hour later she lined up with most of the guests along the drive as Samantha and James drove away in his treasured vintage green e-type Jaguar sports car.

Waving with one hand, Lucy wiped a few tears of joy for her friend from her cheek with the other.

‘Proof positive of my suspicion that you are a hopeless romantic.’ A long arm wrapped around her waist and she was spun round against a hard male body. ‘Here—use this.’ Lorenzo handed her a pristine white handkerchief.

‘It’s not necessary.’ She placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself free of his hold. ‘But thank you,’ she said politely.

She had been carefully avoiding him for ages, and if their eyes had met accidentally she had quickly glanced away. But she hadn’t been able to help noticing he’d had
no shortage of dance partners all night. Not that she had been looking! And now he had caught up with her.

Lorenzo slipped the hanky in his jacket pocket and, taking her hand in his, said, ‘Walk with me, Lucy. I don’t feel like returning to the party just yet, and as Samantha’s friend you must know these gardens well. You can lead me around.’

In more ways than one, Lorenzo acknowledged wryly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so physically attracted to a woman he’d had to make a determined effort to prevent his body betraying him every time he looked at her.

Lucy was about to refuse when suddenly she remembered he had held out some hope for Steadman Industrial Plastics and agreed. Maybe she could talk to him sensibly and get him to agree to keep the factory open. The only slight problem with that idea was she simply had to look at Lorenzo for every sensible thought in her head to vanish. And the warmth of his hand holding hers seemed so right, so natural, she had no desire or will to break free.

They strolled down to where the garden ended at the cliff-edge, and looked out over the sea. The sun was just beginning to set over the far side of the bay.

‘Do you realise the twenty-first of June is the longest and lightest day of the year in the northern hemisphere—the ideal day for a wedding? And at midnight there is going to be a magnificent fireworks display.’ She was babbling, but Lorenzo made her nervous—and a lot of other things she wasn’t ready to face just yet.

She didn’t like the man. He was arrogant and rude, and a staid, boring banker was not high on her checklist of what she looked for in a man. Then again, she had never found
any
man who ticked her boxes … In
fact after her one attempt at sex she had decided she was probably frigid and could happily stay celibate. But somehow Lorenzo Zanelli had the power to drive her senseless with only a kiss. She had dated a few men, but none had turned her legs to jelly the way Lorenzo did by simply holding her, and it frightened her.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were an artist when we met?’

‘You never asked.’

‘I did ask why you were at the Contessa’s—you could have told me then.’

‘I could—but as you had just tried to have me thrown out of the building and called me a plump, brainless, badly dressed and mousy woman the day before, I didn’t think you deserved an answer.’

‘I’m sorry. I want to apologise for that day in my office. My comment was totally uncalled-for. I had a picture of you in my mind from the first time I saw you at my brother’s apartment in London. You were a schoolgirl in a baggy sweater and pigtails, and I didn’t really look past that.’

‘I
thought
there was something familiar about you!’ Lucy exclaimed, a long-forgotten memory surfacing of a big, dark frowning man in a dark suit once arriving at Antonio’s apartment as she was leaving.

‘Yes, well—now I know my view of you was totally false,’ he said, with a self-derisory smile. ‘But you caught me on a really bad day. My business lunch had gone on for far longer than it should have and I was badly delayed. I was running hopelessly late—unheard of for me. I’m not usually so.’

‘Insufferably arrogant? Opinionated? Superior?’ she offered cheekily. ‘I may not be a whiz with numbers,
like you, but when it comes to physical figures I am really good.’

One look at her walking down the aisle of the church had told Lorenzo
that,
but he bit back the sexual innuendo that sprang to mind. ‘I really am sorry for my boorish behaviour.’ He gently squeezed her hand. ‘Please can we forget our first meeting and begin again?’

It was the
please
that did it. His apology sounded genuine, and Lucy glanced back up at him and was lost in the warmth of the sincerity in his deep brown eyes. ‘Yes, okay,’ she agreed, and suddenly shivered.

‘Here—take my jacket,’ Lorenzo offered, letting go of her hand to open his jacket.

‘No, really—I’m fine.’

His lips twisted in a slow smile and, catching her hand again, lacing his fingers through hers, he cradled her hand on his chest. His other arm encircled her waist to pull her pliant body into the warmth of his. ‘Then let me warm you.’

His dark head bent, and Lucy knew he was going to kiss her. When his lips brushed lightly against hers she felt her heart turn over. Never in her life had she experienced the dizzying sensations swirling around inside her that his kiss evoked. Her lips parted beneath his and the subtle invasion of his tongue into the moist heat of her mouth had her closing her eyes. Her free hand reached up to clasp his broad shoulders and cling as he folded her closer still. The blood bubbled in her veins and she was wildly, gloriously aware of sensations she had never experienced before. When she felt his hand stroking up her spine, finding her bare back under the tumbling mass of her hair, she trembled.

‘Ah, Lucy!’ He sighed, and broke the kiss, his dark eyes gleaming down into hers. He dropped soft kisses
on her brow, her glowing cheeks, and then bent his dark head to say huskily against her ear, ‘This is the time, but not the place. I think—’

Lucy never did hear what he thought, as they were once more interrupted by the booming voice of Aldo Lanza, calling out his name.

‘I think I could kill that man,’ Lorenzo ground out, but straightening up, held her lightly against his side as he responded.

The rest of the evening took on a dream-like quality. At Aldo’s insistence they rejoined his party in the marquee. Lorenzo swirled her around the dance floor in his arms and she felt as if she was floating on air. Between dances he told her he had an apartment in Verona and one in New York, and he split his time between the two. His mother lived in the family home on Lake Garda, and he visited as often as work allowed. Apparently she suffered from angina and was quite frail. Lucy told him about art college in London and starting her business here in Looe, and how much she loved being her own boss.

For Lucy the night took on a magic all of its own as Lorenzo, holding her to his side, took her to gather with all the other guests in the garden to watch the fireworks display on the stroke of midnight.