Free Bartering Her Innocence by Trish Morey Page B

would be hungry.’
    It’s so long since I’ve eaten , she wanted to add. ‘That looks perfect,’ she said, because the contents of the tray looked more than adequate, but also because clearly somewhere along the line she’d been promoted to something a little higher than something that the cat had dragged in.
    ‘Where is the signore —Luca, I mean?’ as the man swept rich vermillion curtain after rich vermillion curtain open, splashing light into the room with every broad sweep of his hands.
    ‘Signore Barbarigo is of course, at his offices at the Banca d’Barbarigo.’
    ‘Of course,’ she said, but the sound came out wrong. She hadn’t meant to sound disappointed. She’d meant to sound relieved. Hadn’t she? It wasn’t as if she expected him to hang around and wait until she woke up. After all, he’d got what he wanted, hadn’t he? And he knew she wasn’t going anywhere for at least a month. He knew where to find her when he wanted her.
    The thought rankled, even though she’d known what she was letting herself in for.
    ‘If there is nothing else?’
    The valet was standing at the door, ready to take his leave. ‘Actually there is.’ She felt herself colour when she remembered where she’d left them. ‘I can’t seem to find my clothes.’
    ‘The clothes you were wearing last night?’
    And left scattered indecorously across the study floor? He didn’t have to finish the sentence so she chose to answer it with another question. ‘And my bag. I couldn’t find it.’
    He showed her into an adjoining dressing room and pushed against a panel in a stuccoed wall that she’d assumed was just a wall, revealing a closet secreted behind. And there, tucked away, was her pack, with yesterday’s clothes folded neatly on a shelf. ‘Your clothes have been laundered and pressed. Unfortunately the brassiere could not be saved.’
    ‘Never mind,’ she said too brightly, secretly mortified as she remembered the snap and tear when Luca had all but wrenched it from her, while Luca’s valet seemed not to blink an eyelid at the carnage.
    ‘The rest of your wardrobe should be here shortly.’
    She frowned, searching for meaning. ‘But I left nothing at my mother’s.’
    ‘The signore has organised a delivery for you. I am expecting it at any time.’
    A delivery? To replace one plain old bra that had seen better days? He needn’t have bothered, she thought, rummaging in her pack after the valet had departed. It wasn’t as if she travelled without a spare.
    Half an hour later she emerged from the bathroom wearing a floral miniskirt that she loved for the way it flirted around her legs and a cool knitted top and found the delivery man had been. Or men, plural, because it must have taken an entire team to cart the lot filling the dressing room wardrobe.
    A veritable boutique was waiting for her, dresses of all descriptions, from day dresses to cocktail dresses to ball gowns. She flicked through the rack, many of the items still in transparent protective sleeves, along with racks of shoes—one pair for every outfit, by the look of it—and the drawers filled with lingerie of every imaginable colour.
    And not a T-shirt bra in sight.
    So much for imagining Luca wanted to replace her bra. He wanted to replace her entire wardrobe. She almost laughed. Almost. Because it was ridiculous.
    Not to mention unnecessary.
    More than that. It was downright insulting.
    She pulled open the bedroom door and called for the valet. Who the hell did Luca Barbarigo think he was?
    * * *
    She was writing an email to her father on her clunky old laptop, pounding at the space bar that only worked when it wanted to, when the double doors to the living room opened. She didn’t have to turn her head to know it was Luca. The way her heart jumped and her skin prickled was enough to tell her that. And the way heated memories of last night and a certain desk jumped to centre stage in her mind, she was grateful to have something to focus on so