An Inheritance of Shame(12)

But this cold indifference in her eyes—it chilled him. Reminded him of Carlo Corretti’s uncaring stare when he’d confronted the man who had fathered him with the hard truth of his identity.

All you were meant to be was a stain on the sheets.

He couldn’t stand for Lucia to look at him that way, as if he didn’t matter. Didn’t exist.

‘I didn’t order any towels,’ he said again, wondering if she had possibly used it as an excuse to see him. But no—she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. With anyone else.

‘It must have been a mistake,’ Lucia said stiffly. ‘I’ll go.’

She turned and started down the hall, and some insane impulse had Angelo springing forward, reaching for her wrist. ‘No—’

She stilled, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist. ‘Angelo,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Don’t.’

He could feel the pulse in her wrist hammering hard, and it gratified him. Underneath that cold indifference she felt something. Just as he did. ‘Don’t what?’ he asked softly.

‘Don’t do this,’ she said helplessly. ‘What happened between us is over. I know that. It’s fine.’

‘It is not fine.’

She turned back to him, genuine confusion clouding her eyes to a stormy grey. ‘Why? Why do you ever care what I think or feel?’

‘Because—’ He heard his voice rise in frustration. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because when I finally fall asleep at night I dream of your eyes, your mouth, your softness. What would it take to stop thinking about this woman? To get her out of his head completely?

Lucia’s gaze swept over him and then she angled her head away, hiding her face. Her eyes. ‘I must go.’ She turned towards the lift, extended one hand towards the button.

Without thinking about what he was doing Angelo lunged forward, trapped her hand with his against the panel of buttons. ‘Don’t.’

She stilled, and he realised how close he was to her, his body pressing hers against the wall next to the lift. He could feel the heat coming off her lithe, athletic frame, and also the awareness. It coiled and snapped between them like a live wire, an attraction he’d felt—and surrendered to—all those years before. An attraction he still felt now—and with a thrill of satisfaction he knew she felt it too. It wasn’t over.

He lowered his head so his lips brushed the dark softness of her hair, inhaled the clean, warm scent of her.

‘Lucia,’ he murmured, and he felt her tense even more.

‘Let me go, Angelo.’ Her voice trembled and broke on the note of his name and he felt a savage surge of triumph at knowing how affected she was. How attracted.

His lips brushed her hair again and with one hand he drew her own away from the lift button. A shudder wracked her body at his touch, and Angelo felt another thrill surge through him at her blatant response.

He laced his fingers with her own and put his other hand on her shoulder, gently turning her around so her back was against the lift, her body towards him.

He pressed against her and although she remained tense he could still feel her response, her body arching helplessly towards his. This was what he’d wanted all along, he acknowledged with a sudden, primal certainty. This was what he couldn’t forget. What he wouldn’t forget.

And this was how he would finally exorcise himself of her.

She’d lowered her head, her hair sliding in front of her face. He tucked a tendril behind her ear.

‘Don’t—’ she whispered, but the single word ended on a shudder of longing.

‘Don’t what?’ Angelo asked huskily. ‘Don’t touch you, or don’t stop?’ He trailed his fingers down her cheek, let his thumb caress the intoxicating fullness of her lips. Another shudder, and he felt the answering ache inside him. She was so soft. Lips, hair, the curve of her cheek. ‘Don’t kiss you?’ he murmured, and then he did.

Her lips were as sweet and warm as he remembered, and after only a second’s pause they parted beneath his own. He swept his tongue into her mouth’s softness, his hands sliding from her shoulders to her waist and then to her hips, pulling her closer to him, fitting her against his arousal.

Her hands came up to his shoulders, her fingers curling around as she responded to his kiss, her tongue meeting his, her mouth and body accepting him as they had before.

Triumph and something far deeper and needier surged through him. How had he ever lived without this? Without her?