An Inheritance of Shame(29)

He stared at her incredulously. ‘Then I’ll hire a driver. I’ll buy a new villa—you can choose it yourself.’

She shook her head. It wasn’t just the villa that was cold; it was the man himself. She didn’t know this man any more. She might have had the most incredible, intimate sex with him last night, but this morning he was again a stranger.

A stranger who still could only see what he wanted from her and the most expedient way to get it. Forget asking her out. Forget even a normal, caring conversation. Even now, when he was trying to be thoughtful, clearly expecting her to be pleased with these tawdry suggestions. He had no consideration of her feelings at all, and he didn’t even realise it.

Everything in her aching, Lucia rose from the table. ‘I need to go to work.’

‘I told you, they’re not expecting you,’ Angelo snapped. He rose from the table, braced his hands on it. His body was taut with emotion, with anger, his mouth a compressed line, his eyes narrowed. ‘Lucia, I can see I’m saying all the wrong things. I swear to you, I am not trying to make you angry.’

Which somehow made it worse. He didn’t even realise how awful, how offensive, his suggestions were. ‘I know you’re not, Angelo,’ she said wearily, and turned away.

He smacked the table with the palm of his hand, rattling the dishes, the crack of his palm echoing through the still air. ‘Dio, don’t walk away from me! I’m not done talking to you!’

She stiffened at the autocratic bark of his voice. ‘I’m done,’ she said flatly. ‘And unless you intend to order me not to work as my employer, we have nothing more to say here.’

He stared at her, his eyes flashing with fury, his body tight with suppressed rage, and then on leaden legs Lucia turned and walked back into the house and then out the front door.

Angelo watched Lucia walk away from him in a kind of dazed incredulity. He had not expected this. He still couldn’t believe it was happening. She was actually rejecting him.

He drove his fingers through his hair, swore under his breath. What was wrong with the woman? He was offering her so much more than she’d ever had before, so much more than she’d ever had with him. He’d spent most of last night awake with her in his arms, trying to think through his own feelings. His own desires. After what they had shared, he knew he wasn’t ready to walk away. He didn’t think she was either. So he came up with a solution—a solution to give her everything she’d ever wanted—and she refused him?

She was mad.

No, he realised suddenly, the insight causing him to tense, she wasn’t. She was angry, because he hadn’t offered her everything she’d ever wanted. If he had, she surely would have accepted it. So what more did she want?

Swearing again, he strode from the veranda. It took him all of two minutes to ascertain that she’d actually left the villa. Considering the house was miles from so much as a petrol station and she must have known it, the choice to leave on foot was beyond absurd.

Angelo threw open the door of the villa and saw Lucia trudging down the dusty drive. ‘Lucia!’ he shouted, exasperated with her, with himself, with how this whole morning had unravelled. He’d been looking forward to spending the day in bed, or perhaps again in the shower. He’d been anticipating her incredulous, wondering smile when he’d told her he wasn’t walking away.

Instead she was walking away…was that what she wanted? Was this actually some kind of revenge? God only knew he understood about wanting revenge, yet he could hardly believe it of Lucia.

‘Lucia!’ he shouted again, and she stilled. Her head came up, her shoulders stiffened and slowly she turned around. ‘You cannot walk to Palermo from here,’ he called, trying to sound reasonable. ‘If you insist on going into work, then let me at least drive you.’

She folded her arms, didn’t move. ‘Fine,’ she called back flatly.

Realising she was simply going to stand there and wait, Angelo swore again under his breath and went back into the house. He pulled on a pair of jeans and leather loafers, grabbed his car keys and headed out. Lucia was waiting by the passenger door of his Porsche, her expression completely unreadable.

Was this the same woman who had cried in his arms last night, both with sorrow and joy, who had told him about their daughter, who had brought him more physical pleasure than he’d had in years…or even ever?

She looked like a stranger. And she acted like a stranger as she slid into the passenger seat and kept her face turned to the window as he started the car.