Sure, Darcy, when was the last time a male treated you like a sex object? Venice. She shivered. Instantly she re¬membered that passionate kiss out on the balcony high above the Grand Canal, how that fierce sizzle of electric excitement in her veins had felt that very first time. Excitement as dangerously addictive as a narcotic drug. And tonight she had experienced that same wild hunger all over again...
A hot, liquid sensation assailing the very crux of her body, Darcy bit her lower lip and loathed her weak, wanton physical self. But no wonder she had been shaken up ear¬lier. No wonder she had briefly imagined more than a su¬perficial resemblance of looks and nationality between Luca and her daughter's father. But there was no mystery. Her own shatteringly powerful response to both men had been the sole source of similarity.
The bathroom door opened, heralding Luca's return,
'Darcy...get into the bed,' Luca instructed very drily.
Darcy ignored the invitation, terrified that he might sense her attraction to him if she got any closer. 'I never really thanked you properly for tonight,' she said instead, eager to change the subject. 'You were a class act.'
'Grazie... would you like a brandy?'
'No, thanks.'
After the chink of glass, she heard the blankets being trailed back, the creak as the divan gave under his weight. The light went out.
'You know, when I said you'd make a great gigolo, I was really trying to pay you a compliment,' she advanced warily.
'I'll bear that in mind.'
Emboldened by that apparent new tolerance, Darcy re¬laxed. 'I suppose I owe you an explanation about a few things...' In the darkness, she grimaced, but she felt that he had earned greater honesty.
'When I was a child, Fielding's Folly paid for itself. But Margo liked to live well and my father took out a mortgage rather than reduce their outgoings. I only found out about the mortgage a couple of years ago, when the Folly needed roof repairs and the estate couldn't afford to pay for them.'
'Wasn't your stepmother prepared to help?'
'No. In fact Margo tried to persuade my father to sell up. I was really scared she might wear him down,' she confided. 'That was when we had a bit of good luck for a change. I had a piece of antique jewellery valued and we ended up selling that instead—'
'A piece of jewellery?' Luca interposed with silken soft¬ness.
'A ring. My father had forgotten it even existed, but that ring fetched a really tidy sum,' Darcy shared with quiet pride.
'Fancy that,' Luca drawled, and the dark timbre of his deep-pitched accented voice slid down her spine in the most curiously enervating fashion. 'Did you sell it on the open market?'
In the darkness, Darcy turned over restively. 'No, it was a private sale. I assumed the estate was secure then. I didn't realise how serious things really were until my father died. He never confided in me. But you have to understand that there is nothing I wouldn't do to keep the Folly in the family.'
'I understand that perfectly.'
Darcy licked at her taut lower lip. 'So when my wealthy godmother died a few months ago, I was really hoping that she would leave me some money.
'Nothing more natural,' Luca conceded encouragingly.
'There were three of us...three god-daughters. Myself, Maxie and Polly,' Darcy enumerated heavily. 'But when the will was read, we all got a shock. Nancy left us a share of her estate, but only on condition that we each marry within the year.'
'How extraordinary...'
'So that's why I needed you...to inherit.' The hardness of the floor was starting to make its presence felt through the layers of both carpet and quilt. Shifting from one slender unpadded hip to the other with increased discomfort, Darcy added uneasily, 'I suppose you think that's rather calculating and greedy of me...?'
'No, I think you are very brave to take me on trust,' Luca delivered gently.
Darcy smiled, relieved by the assurance and encouraged. "This floor is kind of hard...' she admitted finally.
'And you're being such a jolly good sport about it,' Luca remarked slumberously from the comfort of the bed. 'I re¬ally admire that quality in a woman.'
'Do you?' Darcy whispered in surprise.
'But of course. You're so delightfully democratic! No feminine sulks or pleas for special treatment,' Luca pointed out approvingly.
'You lost the toss and you took it on the chin just like a man would.'
Darcy nodded slowly. 'I guess I did.'
It didn't seem quite the moment to suggest that he took the floor instead. But a helpless little kernel of inner warmth blossomed at his praise. He mightn't fancy her but he seemed to at least respect her.
'Buona notte, Darcy.'
'Goodnight, Luca.'
Darcy woke with a start to find Luca standing over her fully dressed. She blinked in confusion. He looked so impossibly tall, dark and handsome.
"The Land Rover's outside,' he imparted.
'Outside...how?' She sat up, hugging the quilt and striv¬ing not to wince as every aching muscle she possessed shrieked complaint.