She’d have to move. Start again.
She couldn’t afford to let Bruno catch her. The air thickened, pressing down on her as black spots danced before her eyes.
Her grandfather would be furious at the way she’d deserted her marriage when he’d aimed to build on that to stake a place for himself in the society that had rejected him for so long. His rage would be monumental, and his vengeance didn’t bear thinking about.
If she continued to flat-share with Jo she would put her friend at risk too.
Ida put her fingertips to her forehead, her pulse beating so hard at her temples she felt sick.
For four years she’d managed, just, to keep her head above water. She’d stayed safe, found a home and work. She’d even added to her slim savings in the hopes of eventually moving to the countryside, once she had enough money to start again.
Now her hopes were shattered. With Bruno on her trail, she had to leave immediately and start somewhere new. Where would she go? Where would she be safe?
‘Talk to me, Ida.’
It should feel odd, sharing information with this man, but for some reason it didn’t. ‘He works for my grandfather.’
‘I remember his face. Your grandfather’s bodyguard.’
‘That’s part of his role.’
Thug. Stand-over man. Enforcer. Gaoler. Bruno was adaptable.
She shivered and Cesare again tightened his hold. Strange that now his touch didn’t feel like imprisonment but protection.
But then, there was nothing like the fear of imminent violence to clarify your priorities. She didn’t like Cesare Brunetti but she didn’t fear him.
Cesare felt the shivers course through her slender body.
‘You’re scared.’
Which made the tight tug of material at his crotch an embarrassment. He shouldn’t lust after a woman who was shivering with fear, no matter how good she felt against his body.
‘He’s not a nice man.’
The way she said it made his nape tingle. Beneath her calm tone was an unmistakeable thread of terror.
‘Is it him you’re scared of or your grandfather?’
Her head tipped back so that her face turned up to his. He saw shimmering ruby lips. Thick make-up and exaggerated lashes that earlier had made her eyes look slumbrous and heavy. Now as he met those pale mint-green eyes he read not defiance or indignation but distress.
His pulse stuttered in shock.
Because his overwhelming impulse was to shelter her.
Closely followed by the urge to settle his mouth over those plush lips and delve deep, to see if she tasted as honey-sweet as he remembered from their kiss in the church.
Had the appalling London weather shorted his brain?
‘Does it matter?’
Technically, no. Except something had changed tonight. From the moment Cesare had discovered Ida in that dingy club everything had become complicated. His response to her wasn’t what he’d anticipated.
Now he’d discovered another mystery.
There was something between Ida and her grandfather that he needed to understand because bringing down Fausto Calogero was his top priority. Anything concerning the old devil was vital information.
Then there was the mystery of Ida herself. What was she hiding? Why, after what she’d done, did he respond so viscerally to her?