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.