inside her.
Then she remembered his comment on Monday night. The only time his brain stopped working and planning was in a moment of intense sexual relief … The only time he stopped despising her … And then she knew she didn’t care what proof he thought he had. She had suffered enough pain to last a lifetime because of him.
Her eyes filled with moisture; in a house full of people she had never felt so alone in her life.
Turning, she buried her face in the pillow and gave way to grief for all those she had loved and lost, letting the tears fall. For her mother, her father, her brother—but most of all for the love she had never had and never would have from Lorenzo.
LORENZO had watched Lucy ascend the stairs. He had been watching her all evening. It was crazy, he knew, and he had to stop. Even if she had not been the sister of a man he despised she was still not for him. She was too young. Paolo was nearer her age, but he’d had some nerve, trying to put his arm around her. For a second he had wanted to knock the cheeky young devil down.
He glanced around the room. The crowd was thinning fast—time to do his duty as host and see them all out. He was not a lover of parties at the best of times—especially in his home—but at least his mother had enjoyed herself.
Gianni was on hand to round up the stragglers, and an hour later only the doctor was still in the lounge, as he was staying the night.
He glanced around the empty hall and saw again in his mind’s eye Lucy descending the stairs earlier, a vision in silver and white. Damn it! She was in his head again. She had been in his head for the best part of three months, and it had to stop. He had to forget her exquisite little body was curled up in bed a few metres above his head, despite the frustration coursing through him. The woman was driving him mad. The sooner he could stick her on the plane in the morning and forget he’d ever known her the better.
With the last guest gone, he strode into the salon. He was too tense to sleep, and spotted the doctor still seated on a sofa. He shrugged off his jacket and pulled off the bow-tie, crossing to the drinks cabinet and pouring cognac into two glasses. He handed one to the doctor and sat down in a chair opposite.
‘Brilliant party, my boy.’
Lorenzo agreed, and automatically asked him about his mother’s health.
‘Nothing to worry about. Her blood pressure is fine, and Anna is better than she has been in years. Lucy has given her a new lease on life. You as well, Lorenzo, I shouldn’t wonder. You are a very lucky man.’ He beamed at him, sipping his glass of cognac, more than slightly drunk. ‘That young woman of yours is a true gem—beautiful and talented, with a heart as big as a lion, loving and compassionate … maybe too compassionate for her own good. If I had been her doctor I don’t think I’d have advised a teenager to do it.’
‘Do what?’ Lorenzo asked, draining his glass. He placed it on the low table and reclined back in his chair. Had Lucy had an abortion? he wondered cynically, knowing how the doctor felt about such a procedure, being deeply religious.
‘Why—give one of her kidneys to her brother, of course.’
A rushing noise filled Lorenzo’s head. The colour leached from his face, and he sat up straight and stared at the doctor with horrified eyes. ‘Lucy did what? When?’ he demanded in a hoarse voice.
‘Surely you must know? When her brother returned to England—after the climbing accident. Apparently the Swiss clinic he spent a day in said he was naturally a bit exhausted, but fine, and discharged him. A couple of weeks later his own doctor and local hospital weren’t much better, and three months later he ended up in the Hospital for Tropical Diseases in London. They finally diagnosed him as having a rare disease, probably picked up in South America at the beginning of the year, that attacked the kidneys. The only solution was a transplant. Lucy was a perfect match—not that it did much good. She told me her brother died last year.’
‘Lucy … ‘ Lorenzo groaned her name as the enormity of what she had done hit him. ‘Will she be all right?’ he asked, terrified of the answer.
‘Yes, she is fine—very fit. One kidney is almost as good as two. I got her blood results this morning. No food poisoning—nothing wrong at all. Probably, as she said, the wine and too much rich food. She is a very sensible girl, who rarely drinks and watches what she eats. I think Anna was hoping Lucy might be pregnant, but she isn’t—and she is not on the pill, either. Doesn’t believe in putting anything in her body that is not necessary to her health—very wise.’ He suddenly stopped and added belatedly, ‘But I should not have told you—doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.’ Rising to his feet, he said, ‘Time I went to bed. Goodnight, Lorenzo.’
But Lorenzo didn’t hear. He was fighting to breathe, his heart pounding in his chest as the full weight of what the doctor had revealed exploded in his mind. Lucy—his Lucy—with the laughing eyes and the brilliant smile. It would kill him if anything happened to her. And in that instant he knew he loved her—probably had from the day she’d walked into his office and he had kissed her.
A host of other memories flooded though his mind: their first night together, when he’d carried her upstairs and she’d given herself to him so willingly. For the first time in his life he’d lost control. He should have known then he loved her.
He remembered kissing the scar at the base of her spine and asking her how she’d got it the second night they were together—when, after the first rush of passion, they had made long, slow love … caressing, exploring and having fun together. She had said it was just a cut, and, so engrossed in what she was doing to him by then, he’d never queried her answer. Later that night he had delivered a cruel cut of his own, and he couldn’t bear to think how brutal he had been.
He had actually accused her brother of manslaughter and ended their weekend affair with a ruthlessness as insulting to her as it was shaming to him. Groaning, he buried his head in his hands.
Lucy was never going to forgive him—how could she? He was the staid, arrogant banker she’d called him, who thought he was always right. She had tried to tell him this afternoon, when he’d shoved his so-called proof at her. She had accused him of seeing things in black and white and suggested her brother might have been weakened or passed out. But had he listened? No.
Lorenzo had no idea how long he sat there with every day of the last few months he’d spent with Lucy replaying in his mind—every word, every action. He had read somewhere that love was a kind of madness and, given the crazy way he had behaved since he’d met Lucy, he could believe it.
Finally he got to his feet, and with a steely glint of determination in his eyes walked upstairs. He hesitated for a second outside her bedroom, then opened the door and walked in.
He crossed to the bedside and stared down at where she lay on her back, her beautiful face illuminated by the bedside light, her eyes closed peacefully in sleep. His conscience told him the way he had behaved towards her was despicable and he should leave now. Let her go home as planned, and get on with her life without him. But he was not that altruistic. What he wanted he fought tooth and nail to get—and he wanted her with a passion, a depth of love, he had never imagined possible. Just the thought of never seeing her again tore him apart. She stirred slightly.
‘Lucy.’ He said her name and sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Lucy.’ he said again, and raised his hand to rest it on her shoulder.
Somewhere in her dreams Lucy heard Lorenzo call her name, and her eyelashes fluttered. She moaned a soft, low sound—'Lorenzo … ‘ Her lips parting in the beginning of a smile. Then she heard it again, louder, and blinked. ‘Lorenzo?’ she repeated, and felt his touch. She opened her eyes. This was no dream—he was sitting on her bed. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, knocking his hand away and scrambling back against the pillows, tugging the coverlet to her neck and suddenly very aware of her naked state.
‘I