And he was the cause of that upset.
Unaccustomed to experiencing feelings of guilt, Alessio strode towards the door, reminding himself that he’d merely told her the truth. And if it had been a painful truth, well, that was because she’d been deluding herself.
In the long term, he’d done her a favour.
She’d probably thank him.
So why was he wishing he could wind the clock back and been given an opportunity to keep his mouth shut?
Trying to dismiss the image of her white face and the distressed look in her eyes, Alessio strode to the door.
If she didn’t have the sense to know it was dangerous out there, then he was going to have to go and fetch her.
Immediately the strength of the wind stole the breath from his lungs and he wondered how someone as slight as Lindsay had managed to stay upright in the path of such a powerful force.
As he secured the door behind him he found himself wondering why she hadn’t turned back.
But he knew the answer to that. She hadn’t turned back because of him. She was either so angry with him she couldn’t bear to be within the same four walls, or else she was so upset by what he’d said that she needed to think.
Either way, she was putting herself in physical danger.
Black, deadly clouds had replaced perfect blue sky and Alessio glanced along the beach, searching for a solitary figure.
And then he saw her. Her arms were wrapped around her body and she was staring out to sea, apparently oblivious to the anger of the storm that was building. Her pale hair had broken loose from the clasp and for once she hadn’t bothered to pin it up again. As if to taunt her with that fact, the wind caught it and blew it wildly around her face and shoulders. She looked like a mermaid, contemplating a return to the sea. She also looked—fragile.
Alessio frowned. Fragile? He always thought of Lindsay Lockheart as composed and controlled. Even the night she’d been attacked on the streets of Rome, she’d been remarkably collected, more concerned about her sister than herself.
But she didn’t look composed or controlled. She looked—broken.
Swearing fluently in two different languages, he strode across to her, ready to blast her for taking such a stupid risk.
But as he drew closer he saw that her cheeks were wet and her eyes were glistening.
Maledizione—
Alessio executed an emergency stop, his natural inclination to retreat in the face of female emotion acting as a break. Given the choice, he would have preferred to do battle with ten storms than mop up tears.
He took a step backwards.
Obviously she wanted to be alone, he reasoned. If she’d wanted his company, she would have stayed in the cottage.
Convincing himself that what she needed most was some space and time to herself—after all, hadn’t she chosen to come out here alone?—he was about to retreat when another powerful gust of wind slammed into them and she lost her balance.
In one stride, Alessio was next to her. He closed his arms around her and braced his strong legs to support them both against the force of the wind. ‘Do you have a death wish? It isn’t safe out here!’ She felt impossibly fragile and he wondered why she hadn’t already been blown over.
He glared down at her, but his feelings of anger and exasperation dissolved in an instant as he registered her tortured expression. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
This was a different Lindsay. A desperately unsure, insecure Lindsay. There was no sign of the competent exterior that she presented to the world. She even looked different, for once oblivious to the fact that her hair was blowing loose around her face and the fact that she was dressed only in a swimming costume. She looked incredibly young.
Incredibly beautiful …
Engulfed by a sudden explosion of lust that was almost more powerful than the storm, Alessio contemplated slinging her over his shoulder and taking her back to the cottage for the type of one-on-one comfort he knew he was capable of delivering.
He was responsible for her upset and he was confident that he could fix it.
But then she lifted her eyes to his and she looked so vulnerable that for once he decided not to say what was on his mind.
Instead he dragged his gaze from the trembling curve of her soft mouth and tried to focus on something non sexual. Like the fact that they were both about to be blown to the outer reaches of the Caribbean. Torn between concern for her safety and guilt that he was the cause of her distress, he tried to haul her back up the path, but she refused to move. ‘We have to go inside.’
She looked at him blankly and exasperation mingled with concern because she was the most decisive woman he’d ever met and yet she was clearly incapable of making any sort of decision.
Tears glistened on her lashes and shadows flickered across her eyes. ‘What if you’re right?’ She had to raise her voice to be heard above the howl of the wind and he gritted his teeth.
There was a storm blowing and she wanted to talk?
‘I am right,’ Alessio assured her, confident that it was the right response regardless of the question. He slid his arm around her shoulders and urged her up the path. ‘We need to get inside. Now. Pronto. Before we find ourselves transported to the next island.’
‘No. I mean about Ruby.’ She stopped, her hand in her hair to prevent it from blowing wildly around her face. ‘What if you’re right about Ruby? What if the reason Ruby isn’t ringing me is because she thinks I’ll judge her? What if it is my fault? What if I’ve driven her away?’ Another powerful gust of wind almost knocked her off her feet and Alessio made a unilateral decision and scooped her into his arms.
She’ll thank me later, he thought as he strode back up the narrow, sandy path to the comparative safety of the cottage. Shouldering the door shut against the raging, angry storm, he lowered her gently to the floor.
‘Don’t leave the cottage again.’ His tone was sharper than he’d intended and when he saw the sheen in her eyes he cursed himself for not being more sympathetic. If he didn’t tread carefully she was going to dissolve in a sodden heap and that was the last thing he wanted or needed.
Resigned to the inevitable, he waited for her to collapse sobbing against his chest, but instead she turned away.
‘Just give me a minute.’
On unfamiliar territory, Alessio stared at her rigid shoulders, trying to work out what he was supposed to do next. Although he had plentiful experience of tearful women, he’d never been with one who didn’t want him to see her crying. And everything about her body language told him that Lindsay Lockheart was trying very hard not to let him see her crying.
Alessio hesitated, torn between the options of steering the conversation onto neutral ground and just dealing with the issue straight out.
Never one to avoid a problem, he tackled it head-on.
‘Apologies aren’t my speciality,’ he gritted, ‘but I think I owe you one. I was unsympathetic and my comments were far too personal—’
‘You don’t owe me an apology.’ She sounded stiff. Formal. And she still didn’t look at him. ‘You don’t have to apologise for being honest. I’m the one who was deluding myself.’ The only indication that she was still crying was the way she discreetly lifted her hand to wipe her face, but somehow that minimal gesture increased his feelings of guilt.
‘You obviously thought