Kitabı oku: «Bound To The Billionaire: Captive in His Castle / In Petrakis's Power / The Count's Prize»
Bound to the
Billionaire
Captive in His Castle
Chantelle Shaw
In Petrakis’s Power
Maggie Cox
The Count’s Prize
Christina Hollis
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Captive in his Castle
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
In Petrakis’s Power
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Count’s Prize
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Copyright
Captive in His Castle
CHANTELLE SHAW lives on the Kent coast, five minutes from the sea, and does much of her thinking about the characters in her books while walking on the beach. She’s been an avid reader from an early age—her school-friends used to hide their books when she visited, but Chantelle would retreat into her own world and still writes stories in her head all the time. Chantelle has been blissfully married to her own tall, dark and very patient hero for over twenty years and has six children. She began to read Mills & Boon as a teenager, and throughout the years of being a stay-at-home mum to her brood found romantic fiction helped her to stay sane! She enjoys reading and writing about strong-willed, feisty women and even stronger-willed sexy heroes. Chantelle is at her happiest when writing. She is particularly inspired while cooking dinner, which unfortunately results in a lot of culinary disasters! She also loves gardening, walking and eating chocolate (followed by more walking!).
Catch up with Chantelle’s latest news on her website: www.chantelleshaw.com.
CHAPTER ONE
‘WHO THE HELL is Jess?’
Drago Cassari raked his fingers through the swathe of dark hair that had fallen forward onto his brow, concern and frustration etched onto his hard features as he stared at the motionless figure of his cousin lying in the bed in the intensive care unit. Angelo’s face was grey against the white sheets. Only the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was still clinging to life, aided by the various tubes attached to his body, while the machine next to the bed recorded his vital signs.
At least he was now breathing unaided, and three days after he had been pulled from the wreckage of his car and rushed to the Venice-Mestre hospital there were indications that he was beginning to regain consciousness. He had even muttered something. Just one word. A name.
‘Do you know who Angelo is referring to?’ Drago turned his gaze on the two women who were standing at the end of the bed, clinging to each other and weeping. ‘Is Jess a friend of Angelo’s?’
His aunt Dorotea gave a sob. ‘I don’t know what his involvement with her is. You know how strangely he has been behaving lately. He hardly ever answered his phone when I called him. But I did manage to speak to him a few days before…’ her voice shook ‘…before the accident, and he told me that he had given up his college course and was living with a woman called Jess Harper.’
‘Then perhaps she is his mistress.’ Drago was not overly surprised to hear that his cousin had dropped out of the business course he had been studying at a private London college. Angelo had been overindulged by his mother since his father’s death when he had been a young boy, and he shied away from anything that approached hard work. Rather more surprising was the news that he had been living with a woman in England. Angelo was painfully lacking in self-confidence with the opposite sex, but it sounded as though he had overcome his shyness.
‘Did he give you the address of where he was staying? I need to contact this woman and arrange for her to visit him.’ Drago glanced across the bed to the expert neurologist who was in charge of his cousin’s care. ‘Do you think there is a chance that the sound of her voice might rouse Angelo?’
‘It is possible,’ the doctor replied cautiously. ‘If your cousin has a close relationship with this woman then he might respond if she talks to him.’
Aunt Dorotea gave another sob. ‘I’m not sure it would be a good idea to bring her here. I am afraid she is a bad influence on Angelo.’
Drago frowned. ‘What do you mean? Surely if this Jess Harper can help to rouse him then it is imperative that she comes to Italy as soon as possible? Why do you think she is a bad influence?’
He controlled his impatience as his aunt collapsed onto a chair and wept so hard that her shoulders shook. His jaw clenched. He understood her agony. When he had first seen Angelo after he had undergone surgery to stem the bleed in his brain Drago had felt the acid burn of tears at the back of his throat. His cousin was just twenty-two, in many ways still a boy—although when he had been that age he had already become chairman of Cassa di Cassari, with a great weight of responsibility and expectation on his shoulders, he remembered. The deaths of his father and uncle, who had been killed in an avalanche while they were skiing, had thrust Drago into the cut-throat world of big business. He had also had to take care of his devastated mother and aunt, and he had assumed the role of a father figure to his then seven-year-old cousin.
Seeing Angelo like this tore at his insides. The waiting, the wondering if the young man would be left with permanent brain damage, was torture. Drago was a man of action, a man used to being in control of every situation, but for the past three days he had felt helpless. His aunt and his mother were distraught, and he wished he could comfort them and assure them that Angelo would recover. For the past fifteen years he had done his best to look after his family, and he hated the feeling that in this situation he was powerless. He had no magic wand to bring Angelo back to consciousness, but he had the name of a woman who might be able to help.
His mother was gently patting her sister-in-law’s shoulder. ‘Dorotea, you must tell Drago what Angelo has done, and why you are so worried about his involvement with the Englishwoman.’
Drago stared at his aunt. ‘What has he done?’
For a few moments she did not answer, but at last she choked back her sobs. ‘He has given this woman money…a lot of money. In fact all of the inheritance that his father left him,’ Aunt Dorotea said in wavering voice. ‘And that’s not all. Jess Harper has a criminal record.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘A week ago Maurio Rochas, who used to be in charge of Angelo’s trust fund and still acts as his financial adviser, phoned me. He was troubled because what he had to tell me was confidential information, but he felt I should know that Angelo had withdrawn his entire inheritance fund from the bank. When I spoke to Angelo I asked him what he had done with the money. He was very abrupt with me,’ Aunt Dorotea explained in a hurt voice. ‘It was most unlike him. But he finally admitted that he had lent his inheritance fund to this woman—Jess Harper—but he did not say why she needed the money, or when it would be repaid.’
Drago knew that the bulk of his cousin’s inheritance was tied up in shares and other investments, but Angelo still had a huge fortune available to him—which he had apparently handed over to a woman who had a criminal record. It was not surprising Aunt Dorotea was concerned.
‘Angelo was very cagey,’ she continued. ‘I felt he was hiding something from me. I was so worried that I phoned Maurio back to discuss the matter. Maurio admitted that out of concern for Angelo he had tried to find out more about this Englishwoman and had discovered that she was convicted of fraud some years ago.’
Drago swore softly and received a reproachful glance from his mother. Dio! He could not help feeling frustrated. Sometimes he wondered if his relatives would ever take charge of their own lives instead of relying on him to deal with their problems. He had encouraged his cousin to go to England to study, believing that it would do him good to be more independent. But it sounded as though Angelo had walked straight into trouble.
‘What has the damned idiot done?’ he muttered beneath his breath.
Unfortunately his aunt had excellent hearing.
‘How can you blame Angelo? Especially when his life hangs in the balance?’ she said tearfully. ‘Perhaps this Jess Harper told Angelo some sob story that he fell for. You know what a soft heart he has. He is young, and I admit a little naïve. But I’m sure you remember how you were conned by that Russian woman years ago, Drago. Although of course that situation was a lot worse, because your actions almost forced Cassa di Cassari into bankruptcy.’
Drago gritted his teeth at his aunt’s reminder of the most humiliating episode of his life. When he had been Angelo’s age his judgement had been compromised by a woman’s beautiful face and sexy body. He had fallen hard for the sensual promise in Natalia Yenka’s dark eyes, and he had persuaded the board members of Cassa di Cassari—the luxury homeware company that had been founded by his great-grandfather—to make a huge investment in the Russian woman’s business venture. But the venture had been a scam, and the catastrophic financial loss incurred by Cassa di Cassari had resulted in Drago only narrowly escaping a vote of no confidence from the board.
Since then he had worked hard to win back their support, and he was proud that under his leadership Cassa di Cassari had grown to be one of Italy’s highest-grossing businesses, with a global export market. At the recent AGM he had announced that the company would be floated on the stockmarket for a record opening share price that would raise several billion pounds. It had been Drago’s crowning moment—one that he had striven for with ruthless determination—but neither the board members nor his family knew of the personal sacrifices he had made in the pursuit of success, or of the emptiness inside him.
He shook his head as if to dismiss his thoughts, although dark memories of his past lingered in the shadows of his mind. Focusing his attention once more on his cousin, he felt a sharp pain, as if a knife blade had been thrust between his ribs. He did not think his aunt would cope if she lost her only son. This desperate waiting and hoping was intolerable, and if there was even the slightest chance that hearing the Englishwoman’s voice would bring Angelo back from the abyss then Drago was convinced that he must persuade her to come to the hospital.
‘Where are you going?’ his aunt asked tremulously as he swung away from the bed and strode across the room.
‘To find Jess Harper. And when I do you can be sure I will demand some answers,’ he replied grimly.
Struggling to carry her heavy toolbox and a bulging bag of groceries, Jess let herself into her flat and stooped to pick up the post from the doormat. There were two bills, and a letter which she recognised was from the bank. For a moment her heart lurched, before she remembered that her business account was no longer in the red and she did not have to worry about paying back a hefty overdraft. Old habits died hard, she thought ruefully. She wondered if the novelty of being financially solvent would ever wear off.
On her way down the hall she glanced into Angelo’s room. It was still unusually tidy—which meant that he hadn’t come back. Jess frowned. It was three days since he had disappeared, and since then he hadn’t answered any of her calls. Should she be worried about him? He had probably moved on to another job, like so many of the casual labourers she employed did, she told herself.
But Angelo had been different from the other labourers who asked for work. Despite his assurances that he had experience as a decorator it had quickly become apparent that he did not know one end of a paintbrush from the other. Yet he was clearly intelligent and spoke perfect English, albeit with a strong foreign accent. He had explained that he was a homeless migrant. His gentle nature reminded Jess of her best friend Daniel, whom she had known at the children’s home, and perhaps that was why she had impulsively offered him the spare room in her flat until he got on his feet. Angelo had been touchingly grateful and it just wasn’t like him to leave without saying goodbye—especially as he had left his stuff, including his beloved guitar, behind.
Reporting him missing seemed like an overreaction, and although it was a long time since her troubled teenage years she still had an inherent mistrust of the police. But what if he’d had an accident and was lying in hospital with no one to visit him? Jess knew too well what it was like to feel utterly alone in the world, to know that no one cared.
If she hadn’t heard from him by tomorrow she would notify the police, she decided as she dumped the bag of groceries on the kitchen worktop and dug out the frozen ready meal she’d bought for dinner. She’d missed lunch. Owing to a mix-up with paint colours, the job she was working on was behind schedule—which was why Angelo’s disappearance was so inconvenient. He might not be the best painter in the world—in fact he was the worst she’d ever known—but to get the contract finished on time she needed all the help she could get.
The instructions on the box of pasta Bolognese said it cooked in six minutes. Jess’s stomach rumbled. Six minutes sounded like an eternity when she was starving. Taking a screwdriver from her pocket, she pierced the film lid and shoved the meal into the microwave. At least it gave her enough time for a much-needed shower. A glance in the mirror revealed that she had white emulsion in her hair from where she had been painting a ceiling.
Pulling off her boots, she headed for the bathroom, stripped off her dungarees and shirt and stepped into the shower cubicle. One day, when she could afford to buy her own flat, the first thing she would do would be to install a power shower, she thought as the ferocious jet of water washed away the dust and grime of a hard day’s work. For her birthday the previous week she had treated herself to a gorgeous luxury shower crème. The richly perfumed lather left her skin feeling satin-soft, and using a liberal amount of shampoo she managed to rinse the paint out of her hair.
Her team of workmen would tease her unmercifully if they found out that she had a girly side, she thought ruefully. Working in an all-male environment was tough, but so was Jess—her childhood had seen to that.
The sound of the doorbell was followed almost instantly by the ping of the microwave telling her that her food was ready. Pulling on her robe as the doorbell went again, she padded barefoot back to the kitchen. Why didn’t whoever was ringing the doorbell give up and go away? she wondered irritably. The microwave meal smelled unpleasantly of molten plastic, but she was too hungry to care. She peeled back the film covering and cursed as the escaping steam burnt her fingers. The doorbell rang for a third time—a long, strident peal that Jess could not ignore—and it suddenly occurred to her that maybe Angelo had come back.
Drago snatched his finger from the doorbell and uttered a curse. Clearly no one was at home. He had broken the speed limit driving from the airport to Hampstead, which was where, he had learned from his aunt’s lawyer, Jess Harper lived. According to Maurio Rochas the Englishwoman was a painter. Presumably she had a successful career to be able to afford to live in this attractive and affluent part of north-west London, Drago mused. He guessed that the Art Deco building had once been a magnificent house. It had been converted into six flats that must be highly sought after.
Maurio had not known any more information about the woman Angelo had been living with, and as yet the private investigator Drago had hired to run a check on her had not got back to him. But for now the question of why his cousin had given her money was unimportant. All that mattered was that he should persuade Jess Harper to visit Angelo. Hopefully the sound of her voice would rouse him from his unconscious state.
Where the hell was she? He wondered if she worked from a studio—maybe he could get the address from a neighbour. He did not have time to waste searching for her when Angelo’s condition remained critical. Frustration surged through him and he pressed the doorbell again, even though he knew it was pointless. He was exhausted after spending the past three days and nights at the hospital, snatching the odd half-hour’s sleep in the chair beside Angelo’s bed.
His eyes felt gritty and he rubbed his hand across them as images of his cousin flashed into his mind. Angelo had been a sensitive, serious little boy after his father’s death, and he had hero-worshipped Drago. It was only during the nightmare of the last few days, while Angelo hovered between life and death, that Drago had acknowledged how deeply he cared for the young man he had helped to bring up.
There was no point waiting around when it was clear that Jess Harper wasn’t here, he told himself. He was about to head back down the stairs when the door of the second-floor flat suddenly opened.
‘Oh!’ said a voice. ‘I thought you were someone else.’
Drago spun round, and as he stared at the figure standing in the doorway his breath seemed to rush from his body. He felt a strange sensation, as if his ribcage had been crushed in a vice. There had only been one other occasion in his life when he had been so blown away by a woman, and then he had been an impressionable twenty-two-year-old. Now he was thirty-seven, highly sexually experienced—and, if he was honest, somewhat jaded from a relentless diet of meaningless affairs. But for a few crazy seconds he felt like a hormone-fuelled youth again.
His nostrils flared and he gave his head a slight shake, utterly nonplussed by his reaction. He had met hundreds of beautiful women in his life, and bedded more of them than he cared to think about, but this woman quite literally took his breath away. His eyes were drawn to the front of her white towelling robe, which was gaping slightly to reveal the pale upper slopes of her breasts. The realisation that she was probably naked beneath the robe heated his blood, and every nerve-ending in his body prickled with fierce sexual awareness.
Swallowing hard, Drago studied the woman’s face. It was a perfect oval, and her delicate features looked as though they had been sculpted from fine porcelain. The high cheekbones gave her an elfin quality that was further accentuated by her slanting green eyes. Her long, damp, dark red hair contrasted starkly with her pale skin.
Something unfurled deep in his gut—a primitive hunger and an inexplicable sense of possessiveness that made him want to seize her in his arms and lay claim to her.
‘Can I help you?’
Her voice was soft, with a slight huskiness that made his heart jolt. He found himself hoping that his aunt’s lawyer had made a mistake with the address and this woman was not his cousin’s mistress. The idea of Angelo making love to her incited a feeling of violent jealousy in him.
He gave himself a mental shake, irritated by his body’s unwarranted response to her, and demanded abruptly, ‘Are you Jess Harper?’
Her green eyes narrowed. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘My name is Drago Cassari. I understand that my cousin Angelo has been living here with you.’
‘Cousin!’ She sounded genuinely shocked. ‘Angelo told me that he was alone and had no family.’
So he had the right address, and the right woman. Drago’s jaw tightened as he struggled to dismiss the image that had come into his mind of tracing the perfect cupid’s-bow shape of her lips with his tongue. As he walked towards her she retreated behind the half-open door and eyed him distrustfully.
‘I was unaware that Angelo had any relatives. Do you have proof that you are his cousin?’
Irritated by her suspicious tone, he withdrew his mobile phone from his jacket and accessed a photograph stored in the phone’s memory.
‘This is a picture of me with Angelo and his mother, taken six months ago when we attended the opening of the new Cassa di Cassari store in Milan,’ he explained, handing the phone to her.
She stared at the screen for several moments. ‘It’s definitely Angelo, although I’ve never seen him wearing a tuxedo before,’ she said slowly. ‘But…it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why he never mentioned his family.’
Drago did not think it strange that his cousin had kept details of his private life secret. The Cassaris were one of the wealthiest families in Italy and attracted huge media attention. Drago had been hounded by the paparazzi since he was a teenager. He had learned to choose his friends carefully, and had taught his cousin to do the same. Although if the information about Jess Harper having a criminal record was true, then perhaps Angelo had not been careful enough, he mused.
The confused expression on Jess Harper’s face was surprisingly convincing.
‘There’s a Cassa di Cassari department store in Oxford Street that sells the most beautiful but incredibly expensive bedlinen and other household furnishings.’ If she ever won the lottery, Jess had promised herself that she would shop exclusively at Cassa di Cassari. ‘It had never occurred to me until now that Angelo has the same name—Cassari. I suppose it’s just coincidence.’ She looked at the photo of the shop-opening again and her frown deepened. ‘I mean—Angelo can’t have any connection to a world-famous brand-name—can he?’
Could she really not know? Drago found it difficult to believe that she was unaware of Angelo’s identity.
‘Our great-grandfather founded Cassa di Cassari shortly after the First World War. After our fathers were killed in an accident I inherited a seventy per cent stake of the company. Angelo owns a thirty per cent share.’
Drago’s eyes narrowed when Jess Harper made a startled sound. Either she really had not known the true extent of his cousin’s wealth or she was a good actress. Perhaps she was wishing she had ‘borrowed’ more money from Angelo, he thought cynically. But for now the question of how she had got her hands on Angelo’s inheritance fund wasn’t important. He simply wanted to get her to Italy as quickly as possible. There would be time for questions once his cousin had regained consciousness.
She thrust his phone at him. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on, or why Angelo lied to me, but he isn’t here. He left a couple of days ago without saying where he was going and I have no idea where he is. I’m afraid I can’t help you.’
She began to close the door, but with lightning reaction Drago jammed his foot in the doorway.
‘He’s in hospital, fighting for his life.’
Jess froze. Her anger and incomprehension that Angelo had not been honest with her faded and she felt as if an ice cube had slithered down her spine. She was shocked to hear that he had a family and dumbstruck by the revelation that he was connected to the famous Cassa di Cassari luxury Italian homeware brand. The whole thing was unbelievable, and if it wasn’t for the photo of him on Drago Cassari’s phone she would have assumed it was a case of mistaken identity. But the news that Angelo was in hospital was more shocking than anything.
‘Why…? I mean, is he ill?’ She felt guilty that she had not reported Angelo missing. He was a nice guy, and she should have realised that he would not have moved out of her flat without saying goodbye.
‘He was in a car accident. He suffered a serious head injury and has been unconscious for three days.’
Drago Cassari spoke in a controlled voice, but when Jess looked closely at him she saw lines of strain around his eyes.
She felt sick as she pictured Angelo the last time she had seen him, the evening before he had disappeared. She had cooked dinner—only omelettes, which was all her limited culinary skills could manage—and he had been flatteringly appreciative and afterwards helped with the washing up. She had been surprised to find he was gone the following morning, but she had assumed he was used to being alone, just as she was, and hadn’t thought to inform her he was going away. As the days had passed she had started to worry, though—independent as he was, he was still young.
Drago Cassari’s voice cut into her thoughts. ‘I’ve come to ask if you will visit him in hospital. The longer he remains unconscious the more chance there is that he will have permanent brain damage.’
‘He’s that seriously hurt?’ Jess swallowed as she imagined Angelo injured and unconscious. A memory flashed into her mind of seeing Daniel in Intensive Care after he had been knocked off his push-bike by a speeding car. He had looked so peaceful, as if he was asleep, but the nurse had said he was only being kept alive by the machine that was breathing for him and that he was showing no signs of brain activity. Jess had understood that Daniel was seriously injured but she hadn’t expected him to die. He had only been sixteen. Even eight years later, thinking about it brought a lump to her throat.
Could Angelo die? The thought was too awful to contemplate, but from his cousin’s grave expression it was clearly a possibility.
‘Of course I’ll visit him,’ she said huskily. She had no idea why Angelo had told her he was alone and destitute, but the mystery of why he had lied wasn’t important when his life was at risk.
She stared at the man who said he was Angelo’s cousin and saw a faint resemblance between the two men. Both had olive skin and dark, almost black hair. But, unlike Angelo’s untidy curls, Drago Cassari’s hair was straight and sleek, cut short to reveal the chiselled bone structure of his features. And whilst Angelo could be described as boyishly attractive, with his soulful eyes and gentle smile, his older cousin was the most striking, lethally sexy man Jess had ever met.
His face was cruelly beautiful—hard and angular, with slashing cheekbones and eyes the colour of ebony beneath heavy brows. His jaw was square and his mouth unsmiling, yet the curve of his lips was innately sensual. Jess could not stop staring at his mouth—could not prevent herself from wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by him. She knew without understanding how she knew that his lips would be firm and he would demand total capitulation to his mastery.
Her wayward thoughts were so unexpected that she almost gasped out loud. Her gaze was drawn upwards to his eyes and she saw something flicker in their inky-dark depths that evoked a curious dragging ache deep in her pelvis. Shaken, she looked away from him and snatched a breath.
‘Of course I’ll come to the hospital,’ she repeated. ‘I’ll just get some clothes on.’
As the words left her mouth she became acutely conscious that she was naked beneath her bathrobe. She stiffened as Drago Cassari subjected her to an intent scrutiny. She had the feeling that he was mentally stripping her, and she clutched the edges of the robe together, hoping he could not guess how fast her heart was beating.
The glitter in his dark eyes warned her that he was fully aware of his effect on her. She felt herself blush and wondered why she was behaving so strangely. She worked in an all-male environment and was regarded as ‘one of the lads’ by her team of workmen. Only once in her life had she been sexually attracted to a man, and the experience had left her with emotional scars that would never completely heal. Since then she had been too busy with her job to have time for relationships—and maybe too scared, she acknowledged honestly. She did not respond to men on a sexual level, and she was shocked by her reaction to a stranger—even if he was the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on.
Drago Cassari wasn’t a stranger; he was Angelo’s cousin, she reminded herself. She felt ashamed for indulging in inappropriate thoughts about him when Angelo was in a critical condition. Taking a deep breath, she ignored the unsettling thought that she did not want to be alone with a man who exuded such raw sexual magnetism and pulled the door open fully to allow him to enter her flat.
‘Do you want to come in and wait? It’ll only take me a minute to change.’
‘Thank you.’ He stepped through the doorway and instantly seemed to dominate the narrow hall. He must be several inches over six feet tall, Jess estimated. The fact that he was dressed entirely in black—jeans, shirt and leather jacket—accentuated his height and powerful physique. Standing so close to him, she caught the sensual musk of his aftershave, and she felt a tingling sensation in her nipples as they hardened and rubbed against the towelling robe.
Horrified that she seemed powerless to control her reaction to him, she led the way down the hall and ushered him into the sitting room. ‘If you would like to wait in here, I won’t be long.’
‘While you are getting ready I’ll call the hospital for an update on Angelo’s condition.’ He glanced up from his phone. ‘I hope your passport is valid.’
Halfway out of the room, Jess paused and gave him a bemused look. ‘Why do I need my passport to visit a hospital? Where is Angelo, anyway? The Royal Free Hospital is the closest to here.’ She hesitated. ‘But I don’t know where the accident happened. Was it locally?’
Drago had walked across the spacious sitting room to stand by the window. The view of the leafy suburb of Hampstead was charming. Glancing around the room, he was impressed with the excellent quality of the décor and furnishings, which reinforced his opinion that Jess Harper must have a lucrative career to be able to afford this stylish apartment.
He turned his head and it seemed to Jess his black eyes bored into her very soul. ‘It happened in Italy,’ he said flatly. ‘On the highway between the airport and Venice. I assume Angelo was coming home, but he never made it. He’s being cared for at a hospital in Mestre, which is on the mainland of Venice.’
His phone buzzed and he looked down at the screen. ‘I’ve had a message to say that my plane has been refuelled. Can you be ready to leave for the airport in five minutes?’
CHAPTER TWO
‘AIRPORT!’ AS THE meaning of Drago Cassari’s words slowly sank in Jess shook her head. ‘I can’t go to Venice!’
In a minute she would wake up and find she’d been having a crazy dream, she thought dazedly. Maybe the six double-shot espressos she’d drunk during the day instead of eating a proper lunch were causing her to have strange hallucinations—because this could not be happening.
‘Don’t you care about Angelo? I thought you had a close relationship with him.’
Drago’s harsh voice broke the silence, forcing Jess to accept that he was not a figment of her imagination.
‘Of course I care that he’s hurt,’ she said quickly. ‘But I wouldn’t say that we have a close relationship, exactly. I’ve only known him since he started working for me about two months ago.’
‘He worked for you?’ It was Drago’s turn to look puzzled. ‘What kind of work? I was informed that you are a painter.’ Into his mind flashed a startling image of his cousin posing for her. ‘Did Angelo model for you?’
‘Hardly,’ Jess said drily. Crossing the room, she took a business card from the desk and handed it to him. ‘I paint houses, Mr Cassari, not masterpieces.’
The card read ‘T&J Decorators’ and gave a phone number and a website address. Drago glanced at it and then looked back Jess, struck once again by her petite stature and fragile build. The notion that she was a manual labourer was ridiculous.
‘Do you mean you are an interior designer for this decorating company? Or do you deal with office administration? I find it hard to believe that you actually paint walls for a living.’
Jess was irritated by the note of disdain she was sure she heard in his voice. ‘I do some general decorating, but as a matter of fact I’m a trained chippie—a carpenter,’ she explained when he frowned. ‘I also act as site foreman and make sure that my workmen finish their contracts on time and follow safety procedures.’
His black brows lifted. ‘It seems an unusual career choice for a woman.’
She was tempted to tell him that very few careers were available to someone who had flunked school and failed to gain any academic qualifications. She would have loved to train to be an interior designer, but most people working in the industry had an art degree, and she had more chance of flying to the moon than going to university.
‘And you’re saying that you employed Angelo as a decorator?’ Now Drago’s tone was sceptical. ‘Why would he choose to work as a labourer when he belongs to one of the wealthiest families in Italy?’
‘You tell me.’ The situation was growing more bizarre by the minute, Jess thought. ‘I took him on because I was short of staff. To be honest he was pretty hopeless at decorating, but he said he had no money and nowhere to live and I felt sorry for him. I told him he could stay with me until he could afford to rent his own place.’
Drago’s expression became blatantly cynical. ‘Why would you do that for someone you barely knew?’
‘Because I know what it’s like to reach rock-bottom.’ Unbeknown to Jess her eyes darkened to deep jade as she recalled the despair she had once felt. There had been a time when she had felt she had nothing to live for—until her wonderful foster-parents had given her a home and a future.
She had sensed despair in Angelo and had wanted to help him as she had been helped by Margaret and Ted Robbins. But now she felt a fool. Why had he made up all that stuff about being poor and homeless when, according to Drago Cassari, Angelo came from a wealthy family?
She stared at Angelo’s cousin, her mind reeling. ‘How do you know about me?’ she demanded, unsettled by his statement that he had been given information about her. It almost sounded as though he had asked someone to investigate her. The situation was so unreal that anything seemed possible.
He gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘Angelo spoke about you to his mother, and obviously he gave her the address of where he was living in London.
‘Oh…yes, I suppose he would have done.’
Drago studied Jess Harper speculatively for a few moments. He had no intention of revealing that he knew Angelo had given her money. He did not understand what was going on, and until he had more facts he did not want to give away too much. He checked his watch. ‘We need to be going.’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t go with you.’ Jess bit her lip. She felt terrible about Angelo, but disappearing off to Italy simply wasn’t an option. ‘I have a business to run—we’re behind schedule on our current contract and I can’t—’
‘He spoke your name.’ Drago cut her off in a driven voice. His accent was suddenly very pronounced, as if he was struggling to control his emotions. ‘This morning Angelo roused very briefly and he asked for you.’
He walked towards her, his midnight-dark eyes never leaving her face. ‘You might be his best hope of recovery. Hearing your voice might be the key that will release him from his prison and bring him back to his family.’
Jess swallowed. ‘Mr Cassari…’
‘Drago,’ he said huskily. ‘You are Angelo’s friend, so I think we should dispense with formalities.’
He halted in front of her and Jess had to tilt her head to look up at his face. She felt overwhelmed by his height and sheer physical presence. Her heart slammed against her ribs when he laid a finger lightly across her lips to prevent her from speaking.
‘Please, Jess. Angelo needs you. I need you to come with me. I think of him as my brother, even my son—for since his father died I have tried to be a father to him.’
Dear heaven, how could she refuse such a heartfelt entreaty? The raw emotion in Drago’s voice made Jess’s heart ache. Only a few days ago she had listened to Angelo playing his guitar, but now he was fighting for his life. She thought of Daniel, who had never regained consciousness. Surely if there was a chance she could help Angelo she must try?
Her common sense argued that she would be crazy to agree to go away with a man she had never met before, but she was haunted by the image of Daniel the last time she had seen him. He had died a few hours after her visit. She hadn’t been allowed to attend his funeral—the head of the care home had decided it would be too upsetting—and so she had never had a chance to say goodbye.
‘All right,’ she said shakily. ‘I’ll come. But I need to make some phone calls and arrange for someone to cover for me at work.’
Mike could take over as foreman while she was away. She trusted him, and knew he would push her team of decorators to get the contract finished. Thoughts raced through Jess’s head. She was fiercely proud of T&J Decorators and hated the thought of leaving it even for a few days. Like most businesses in the construction industry, the company had suffered because of the economic recession, but thankfully the windfall of money she had recently received meant that T&J was now financially stable—as long as she kept working hard and securing new contracts.
‘I can only be away for a couple of days,’ she warned.
She glanced at Drago and felt a tiny flicker of unease when she found him watching her intently. He was so big and imposing, and there was a faintly predatory expression in his eyes that made her think of a lethal jungle cat preparing to make a kill—and she was the prey. But when she blinked and refocused on him she cursed herself for being over-imaginative. His smile was dangerously attractive but the only thing she had to worry about was her unexpected reaction to him.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured in the husky accent that sent a shiver across her skin. ‘I hope that Angelo will respond when he hears your voice. When it is time for you to leave Italy I will arrange for you be flown home on my plane.’
Once the matter of Angelo’s missing inheritance fund had been resolved, Drago thought to himself. As Jess stepped away from him his eyes were drawn to the deep vee of her robe, which revealed the curve of her breasts, and he felt a sharp stab of desire in his gut as he imagined untying the belt around her slender waist and sliding his hand inside the towelling folds. The glimpse of her body evoked a picture in his mind of her lying beneath him, her milky-pale thighs entwined with his darker olive-toned limbs. Light and dark, soft and hard, fiery Latin male and cool English rose.
He met her startled gaze and was intrigued to see soft colour stain her cheeks. The mysterious alchemy of sexual attraction was impossible to explain, he mused. He recognised that she felt it as fiercely as he did, and under different circumstances he would have wasted no time in bedding her. But the circumstances could not be more wrong. His cousin was critically injured and, for all her apparent concern for Angelo, Jess Harper had a lot of explaining to do. For now, Drago was prepared to keep an open mind, but he could not risk his judgement being undermined by indulging in fantasies of her naked in his arms.
The sound of her voice dragged him from his uncomfortable thoughts. ‘I’ll get dressed, and if you don’t mind quickly have my dinner,’ she said as she hurried over to the door. ‘I haven’t eaten all day. It was ready when you arrived and it will only take a couple of seconds to reheat.’
‘Santa Madonna! You mean that terrible smell is your evening meal?’ Drago was genuinely horrified. ‘I thought you had problems with the drains.’
Jess felt a spurt of annoyance at his arrogant tone. There had been plenty of times in the past when she hadn’t been able to afford to buy even the cheapest supermarket budget food, and even though she now had money she was careful with it. She doubted Drago Cassari had ever known what it felt like to be so hungry that you felt sick, or so cold that your bones ached, as she had often been as a child.
‘I take it you don’t often dine on microwave meals?’ she said drily.
His eyes narrowed at her sarcastic tone. ‘Nor do I ever intend to. There’s no time for you to eat now. We’ll have dinner on the plane. Please hurry,’ he added impatiently. ‘While you are wasting time Angelo’s condition may be worsening.’
By the time they landed at Marco Polo airport Jess was under no illusion about what kind of man Drago Cassari was. Powerful, compelling and utterly self-assured, he took control of every situation with quiet authority, and she’d noticed that everyone around him, from the airport staff to the crew on his private jet, treated him with a deference few men could command.
Maybe it was his wealth that set him apart from ordinary people and gave him an air of suave sophistication. She guessed he must be well-off. Let’s face it, how many people had she ever met who owned their own plane? she thought wryly. When they had boarded his jet a uniformed steward had ushered her over to one of the opulent leather sofas in the cabin and offered her a glass of champagne. During the flight the dinner they had been served had been exquisite—the sort of food she imagined you would expect at a five-star restaurant. She felt as though she had entered a different world where she had no place, but in which Drago was completely at home.
Now, as they walked through the airport foyer, she was conscious that her jeans were scruffy and her tee shirt, which had shrunk in the wash, revealed a strip of bare midriff when she moved. In contrast, Drago looked as if he had stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine, with his designer clothes and stunning good looks. The shadow of dark stubble on his jaw added to his potent sex appeal, and as he strode slightly ahead of her Jess noticed the interested glances he attracted from virtually every female he passed.
He was talking into his phone, which had been clamped to his ear for most of the flight from England, and although he spoke in Italian she guessed from his lowered brows that he was not happy. A cold hand of fear gripped her heart as she wondered if Angelo’s condition was worse. Please, God, don’t let him die, she offered up in silent prayer. Twenty-two was too young for anyone to leave this world—especially someone as sweet and gentle as Angelo. They had become good friends while they had been flatmates. But she was still reeling from the discovery that he came from a wealthy family and was related to this formidable man who had now halted in front of the airport doors and was waiting for her to catch up with him.
‘Were you talking to someone at the hospital? Has something happened with Angelo?’ she asked anxiously.
‘There’s no change,’ Drago replied curtly.
He wondered if the concern in Jess’s voice was genuine or whether she was simply adept at fooling people. During the flight he had tried to think about her objectively, bearing in mind that all he knew about her so far was that she had a criminal record and had either begged, borrowed or stolen a fortune from his cousin. But to his intense irritation he had been distracted by his physical reaction to her, and had found himself admiring her hair—which, now that it had dried, reminded him of the colour of autumn leaves: a glorious mixture of red, copper and gold, which rippled down her back and shimmered like raw silk.
He noted how her fashionable skinny jeans emphasised her slender figure and her long-sleeved tee shirt clung to her small breasts. With a rucksack over one shoulder and a guitar hanging from the other she looked as if she was going to a pop festival rather than to visit a hospital. Her clothes were totally inappropriate, he thought irritably, and he was certain she wasn’t wearing a bra—although her breasts were pert enough that she did not need to.
Trying to ignore the flare of heat in his groin, he said, ‘I’ve just heard from the head of my security team that the press have got wind of the accident. Probably one of the hospital staff tipped them off,’ he growled angrily. ‘The paparazzi are hanging around the hospital, and they must have heard that my plane just landed because there’s a mob of reporters waiting outside the airport. Stick close to me. I’ll make sure no one hassles you,’ he reassured her when he saw her startled expression. ‘My car is on its way to pick us up, and Fico, my bodyguard, will clear a path for us.’
‘You have a bodyguard?’ she said faintly.
He shrugged, drawing Jess’s attention to his broad shoulders and a muscular physique that indicated he followed a punishing workout regime.
‘I can take care of myself, but it’s sensible to take precautions. I am well-known in Italy, and there have been a couple of kidnap attempts in the past. Many criminal gangs would love to get hold of me and demand a billion-pound ransom,’ he told her.
He did not seem unduly worried, and looked amused when she could not disguise her shock at his revelation that he was a billionaire.
‘It’s amazing what some people will do for money,’ he murmured sardonically.
It was dark outside, but through the glass doors Jess could see a large crowd of shadowy figures moving around. ‘Let me take your bag,’ Drago ordered, lifting her rucksack from her shoulders. He looked surprised when he felt how light it was. ‘There can’t be much in here. I told you to bring clothes for a few days, in case Angelo doesn’t immediately respond to your voice.’
It was only natural that he was concerned for his cousin, but jeez, he was bossy! Jess lifted her chin. ‘I’ve brought everything I own that isn’t covered in paint. I don’t have many clothes.’
‘Or any that fit properly, seemingly,’ he drawled as he raked his eyes over her too-small tee shirt and lingered on her breasts.
To her horror Jess felt her nipples harden, and knew they must be clearly visible beneath her clingy top. She wished she had made a better search for one of the few bras she possessed, which had inconveniently disappeared from her underwear drawer. She rarely wore a bra because she felt more comfortable working without one, but she had not bargained on her body’s embarrassing reaction to Drago. Against her will her gaze was drawn to his, and her heart jolted against her ribs when she saw the unmistakable glint of sexual awareness in his black eyes.
This could not be happening, she thought dazedly. A few hours ago it had just been an ordinary day—until a darkly handsome stranger had turned up at her flat. Now she had been whisked to Italy on a private jet to visit Angelo, who was not the penniless migrant he had led her to believe but a member of the hugely wealthy Cassari family. Even more disturbing was the way she reacted to Angelo’s cousin. She hated how her body responded to Drago’s virile masculinity. Not since she had dated Sebastian Loxley had she felt so unsettled by a man. The memory of her one brief love affair—although it could hardly be called that, because Seb had never loved her—served as a stark reminder of why she needed to ignore her dangerous attraction to Drago.
He was watching her from beneath hooded eyelids that hid his expression, so that she had no idea what he was thinking. Just then the door behind him opened, and as he turned his attention to the thickset man who appeared Jess released her breath on a shaky sigh.
The man spoke to Drago in rapid Italian. He replied in the same language and then glanced back at Jess. ‘The car is outside. Let’s get this over with,’ he growled.
To Jess’s shock he gripped her arm and pulled her close to his side. She was intensely conscious of his hard body pressed against hers, and the sensual musk of his aftershave swamped her senses. But then he opened the door and she was blinded by an explosion of bright flashing lights.
Despite the efforts of the bodyguard the reporters closed in on them like a pack of wolves, and a cacophony of voices shouting words she did not understand bombarded her ears. It seemed like a lifetime until they reached the black limousine waiting with its engine already running.
Drago pulled open the car door. ‘Get in and we’ll soon be away from this madness.’ He swore when he saw her struggling to climb inside with the guitar still strapped to her back. ‘Madonna! Was it necessary to bring this with you?’ he muttered as he tugged the strap over her shoulder. He pushed her into the seat and thrust the guitar onto her lap before sliding into the car after her. ‘Are you expecting Angelo to wake at the sound of your strumming? I think you must have watched too many romantic films.’
‘Hearing music might rouse him,’ Jess snapped, infuriated by his sarcasm. ‘The guitar isn’t mine; it’s Angelo’s. I thought he would like to have it with him when he regains consciousness. You must know how much his guitar means to him?’
‘I didn’t know he could play an instrument,’ Drago said bluntly.
‘But he plays all the time, and he’s a brilliant guitarist. He told me his dream is to play professionally.’ She stared at him. ‘How come you know so little about your cousin? You say you think of him as a brother, but you don’t seem to know the first thing about him.’
Drago was annoyed by the implied criticism in her voice. ‘Just because I was unaware of his hobby does not mean I’m not close to him.’
Jess shook her head. ‘It’s not just a hobby. Music is Angelo’s passion.’
The limousine was now streaking along the highway, but the sound of the engine was barely discernible inside the car. The privacy glass separated them from the driver and bodyguard who were sitting in the front, and enclosed them in the rear in a dark, silent space that was shattered by Jess’s fervent outburst. She tensed when Drago turned his head and subjected her to a slow appraisal.
‘Passion?’ he murmured, in the deep, accented voice that caressed her senses like rough velvet.
The word seemed to hover in the air between them. Jess’s mouth felt dry and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue as a shocking image flashed into her mind of Drago pushing her back against the leather seat and covering her mouth with his. It was utterly crazy, but she longed for him to kiss her with the heated passion she sensed burned within him. She pictured him running his hands over her body and sliding them beneath her tee shirt to caress her breasts and stroke her nipples that were as hard as pebbles from her erotic thoughts.
She shuddered, acutely conscious of the flood of heat between her legs. Dear heaven, what was happening to her? Even worse, he knew the effect he was having on her. The unnerving predatory expression that she had told herself she had imagined back at her flat had returned to his eyes, and she could almost taste the sexual tension simmering in the air between them.
Drago shrugged. ‘I admit I did not know of Angelo’s interest in music. What about you—are you a musician too?’
‘No. Angelo taught me to play a couple of tunes on the guitar, but I’m not very good.’
He trapped her gaze and his voice took on a husky quality that caused the tiny hairs on Jess’s body to stand on end.
‘So—what is your passion, Jess?’
She swallowed, and searched her mind desperately for something to say—some way to break the spell he seemed to have cast on her. ‘I…I make things from wood…sculptures and ornate carvings. I suppose you could say that is my passion. I love the feel of wood—its smoothness and the fact that it feels alive when I shape it. It’s very tactile, and I love creating sculptures that invite people to touch them, stroke their polished surfaces—’
She broke off abruptly, embarrassed by her enthusiasm. Drago could not possibly understand how she poured all the painful emotions that were locked up inside her into her sculptures. Of all the wonderful things that Ted, her foster-father, had done for her, teaching her how to work with wood meant the most to her, because he had given her a way to express herself and unlocked an artistic talent that had given her a sense of self-worth.
She was relieved when Drago’s phone rang. While he took the call she stared out of the window and watched the street lamps flash past in a blur as the car sped along the highway. A few minutes later the imposing modern building of the Venice-Mestre Hospital came into view. As they approached Jess saw dozens more reporters crowded around the entrance, and when the limousine halted outside the front doors camera flashbulbs lit up the interior of the car, throwing Drago’s stern features into sharp relief.
‘Do the press always hound you like this?’ she asked him. She felt nervous about leaving the car, even with the reassuring presence of his huge bodyguard.
‘The paparazzi often follow me—they have a relentless fascination with my love-life,’ he said drily. ‘But I will not allow them to upset my aunt and mother. I’ll issue a statement about Angelo’s accident in the morning and ask for my family to be given privacy while his condition remains critical. Hopefully that will make a few of them back off.’
When the driver opened the door Drago climbed out of the car first and turned to offer Jess his hand. The sound of loud, unintelligible voices hit her ears, and she instinctively ducked her head to avoid the flashlights. The crowd of reporters pushed forward and she stumbled—would have fallen but for the arm that Drago snaked around her waist. Half carrying her, he hurried her through the main doors of the hospital while the reporters were prevented from entering by several security guards.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, glancing at her tense face.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ No way was Jess going to admit that being in close proximity to his hard body had made her heart race. As she followed Drago along a corridor her heart began to pound for a different reason. She hated hospitals—hated the frightening clinical atmosphere and the smell of disinfectant that were such a painful reminder not only of Daniel, but of her own brief stay on a hospital ward when she was seventeen.
A nurse met them at the door of the intensive care ward, and while Drago spoke to her Jess struggled against a rising sense of panic. All her life she had learned to block out unhappy experiences—and there had been plenty of those during her childhood, both before and after she had gone into care—but being in the hospital brought back agonising memories that she had never been able to bury. She did not want to think about Daniel. And she did not dare think about Katie. Opening that particular Pandora’s box was simply too painful.
Her instincts screamed at her to turn and run from the ward. But it was too late. Drago had halted and was opening a door which she saw led into a small private room. She glimpsed a figure lying on a bed surrounded by machinery which beeped and flashed sporadically.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t disturb Angelo now,’ she said shakily. ‘It’s nearly midnight. Do the staff mind us being here outside of visiting hours?’
‘Of course not.’ Drago’s dark brows rose in surprise. ‘We can come whenever we want. Until this morning when I flew to London I hadn’t left the ward since Angelo was admitted. As for disturbing him—that is the point of bringing you here,’ he said sardonically. He glanced at her and frowned when he saw that her face was so white that the golden freckles on her nose and cheeks stood out. ‘Did the reporters upset you? Why are you so pale?’
Jess fought the nauseous sensation that swept over her. ‘I don’t like hospitals,’ she muttered.
‘Does anyone?’ Impatience crept into Drago’s voice. His jaw tightened.
The past days he had spent at the hospital had evoked painful memories that would always haunt him. It had been a long time ago, he reminded himself. Life had moved on. He was thankful that Vittoria had found happiness with the man she had eventually married, and now she had a child. God knew she deserved to be happy after everything that had happened, the way he had let her down…
With an effort he forced his mind from the past and concentrated on the woman at his side. ‘I can assure you that my aunt would rather not be here, keeping a vigil at her son’s bedside.’ He hesitated and deliberately lowered his voice so that only Jess could hear him. ‘Angelo’s mother is understandably distraught. You must forgive her if she is a little…abrupt.’
Jess did not understand what Drago meant, but there was no time to query his curious statement as he ushered her into the room. As she nervously approached the bed a horrible sense of dread and déjà-vu filled her. Angelo looked very different without his wild curls half-hiding his face. His skull was covered in bandages and his skin and lips were deathly pale. He reminded her of a waxwork figure: perfect in detail but lifeless, just as Daniel had been.
Hot tears suddenly burned her eyes. She rarely cried; experience had taught her that it was a pointless exercise. But for once she could not control her emotions. It seemed so cruel that a young man in the prime of his life might never open his eyes again or smile at the people he loved.
A movement from the other side of the room made Jess turn her head, and she saw a woman whom she guessed from her strained face and red-rimmed eyes to be Angelo’s mother.
Overwhelmed by an instinctive need to express her sympathy, Jess murmured, ‘I’m so sorry about Angelo.’
The woman stared at her, and then spoke to Drago in a torrent of Italian. Jess could not understand a word, but she sensed that her presence was not welcome. Remembering Drago’s warning that his aunt was distraught, she wondered if she should leave and come back to visit Angelo later, but as she turned towards the door Drago placed a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her forward.
‘Aunt Dorotea, Jess has come to talk to Angelo in the hope that he will respond to her voice.’ He looked steadily at his aunt. ‘I’m sure you appreciate that she has rushed from England to visit him.’
His aunt continued to stare at Jess, with no hint of welcome on her rather haughty face. But then she said sharply, ‘You are my son’s girlfriend?’
‘I am his friend,’ Jess corrected her.
‘So you are not his mistress?’
‘No.’ Jess frowned, puzzled by Angelo’s mother’s distinctly unfriendly attitude. She glanced questioningly at Drago. ‘I could come back another time, if you think it would be better.’
He shook his head. ‘I brought you here to talk to Angelo. Your name is the only word he has uttered, so perhaps he will respond to you.’ He looked at his aunt. ‘I want you to go home for a few hours. Fico is waiting to take you. You need to get some rest and have something to eat. You will not be any help to Angelo if you collapse,’ he added, countering his aunt’s attempt to argue.
Despite her obvious reluctance to leave her son, his Aunt Dorotea nodded as if she was used to her nephew taking charge. ‘You will call me if there is any change?’
Drago’s voice softened. ‘Of course.’
He escorted his aunt from the room, leaving Jess alone with Angelo. She sat by the bed, watching him, just as she had done with Daniel when one of the care workers from the home had taken her to visit him. Angelo looked so young and defenceless. It was agonising to think that he might not survive. Her throat ached, but she swallowed her tears and leaned closer to take hold of his hand. It felt warm, and that filled her with hope.
‘Hi, Angelo…’ she said huskily. ‘What have you done to yourself?’ It was difficult to know what to say, but after a moment’s hesitation she continued, ‘The guys missed you when you didn’t show up for work. Gaz said you make the best tea. We’ve nearly finished the Connaught Road job. I’ve just got to fit new skirting boards.’
She felt comfortable talking about work and kept up a flow of chatter, although her heart sank when Angelo did not make any kind of response.
A slight sound from behind her alerted her to the fact that Drago had come back to the room and was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Immediately Jess felt self-conscious. ‘My coming here hasn’t done any good,’ she told him flatly. ‘He hasn’t shown the slightest flicker of reaction.’
‘We can’t expect a miracle. All we can do is keep trying.’ Drago walked over to the bed and stared at his cousin’s motionless form. He knew it was stupid to feel disappointed that Angelo had shown no sign he had heard Jess. He had put too much faith in her. But, Dio, he was desperate—and he had hoped for a miracle, he acknowledged heavily.
‘I overheard some of what you were saying to him,’ he said abruptly. ‘I admit I still find it hard to imagine that are you a decorator. You don’t look the type to do manual work.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’
Studying her slender figure, Drago was tempted to disagree. She seemed more upset by seeing Angelo than he had expected. Her delicate features looked almost pinched, and earlier he had watched her blinking back tears. Her eyes looked huge in her pale face and there was a vulnerability about her that was unexpected.
If it wasn’t for the phone call he had received a few minutes ago from the private investigator he might have been taken in by her. But the confirmation that she was a petty crook who had been found guilty of fraud a few years ago increased his suspicion that she had used some underhand and possibly illegal means to get her grubby hands on his cousin’s inheritance fund. If necessary he was prepared to use equally underhanded methods to get the money back, Drago thought grimly.
CHAPTER THREE
JESS DRAGGED HER eyes from Drago, wishing she did not find him so unnerving. He had removed his leather jacket and she could not help noticing how his black silk shirt moulded his broad chest and clung to the ridges of his abdominal muscles. The contrast between his strong, powerful body and his cousin’s unconscious form emphasised the seriousness of Angelo’s condition.
She leaned closer to the bed and touched Angelo’s hand, which lay limply on top of the sheet. ‘I’ll carry on talking and perhaps I’ll get through to him.’
‘I think it’s unlikely anything will happen tonight,’ Drago said roughly.
He could not explain the fierce objection he felt to the sight of Jess holding his cousin’s hand. She had denied that they were lovers, but who knew what methods she had used to persuade Angelo to give her his inheritance fund? He had brought her to the hospital in the hope that Angelo would respond to her voice, but after hearing the information the private investigator had dug up about her he was impatient to demand some answers.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was past midnight. He could not remember the last time he had slept and his brain ached.
‘I’ve arranged for a nurse to sit with Angelo for the rest of the night. You will come home with me, so that you can sleep, and we’ll return in the morning and try talking to him again.’
Jess stiffened. She disliked being in a hospital, with all the memories it evoked, but it was preferable to accompanying Drago to his home. The prospect of being alone with him made her heart lurch—although he might have a family, her mind pointed out.
‘Are you married?’ she asked abruptly. The speculative look he gave her made her feel uncomfortable, and she flushed.
‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘I just thought it wouldn’t be fair to disturb your wife—and children if you have any.’
‘Well, I don’t.’ His voice was suddenly terse.
‘Even so, I don’t mind staying here. I’ll sleep in the chair if I need to. Or I could find a hotel. There must be a hotel near to the hospital.’ Hopefully a budget one that wasn’t too expensive, Jess thought to herself.
Drago shook his head. ‘I have already asked my housekeeper to prepare a room for you.’ Seeing that she wanted to continue the argument, he said in a softer tone, ‘You are not going to reject my hospitality, are you, Jess? Having rushed you to Italy, the least I can do is offer you somewhere comfortable to stay.’
This was a man used to having his own way, Jess realised. Behind his persuasive smile and his sexy voice that brought her skin out in goosebumps she sensed an iron will. But in truth she was so tired that she could barely think straight. She had got up at six that morning—yesterday morning—she amended when she glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that she had been up for nearly nineteen hours. The idea of walking around a strange town looking for a hotel did not appeal.
‘All right,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll stay at your house for the rest of the night. Thank you.’
‘Good.’ Drago felt a spurt of satisfaction. Until he knew the truth about Jess Harper he wanted to know her whereabouts every second of the day and night, and while she was staying at his home she would be in his control.
They left the hospital by a back door to avoid the reporters still congregated at the main entrance. Jess leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes as the car sped away. Reaction to the events of the past few hours was setting in, and part of her still wondered if she was going to wake up and find her life was back to normal.
She must have dozed and woke with a start at the sound of Drago’s voice.
‘Wake up. We’ve crossed the bridge and we’re about to swap the car for a boat.’
She was startled. Her lashes flew upwards and she saw that they had arrived at a marina.
‘There are no roads on the islands that make up the historical city of Venice,’ Drago explained as he led the way along a jetty and jumped aboard a motorboat.
Jess viewed the gap between the jetty and the boat nervously, having no wish to miss her footing and fall into the water. But as she hesitated Drago clamped his hands around her waist and lifted her down onto the deck. The brief contact with his body sent a tremor through her, but she assured herself that she was simply reacting to the cool night air after the stifling warmth of the car.
He must have noticed her shiver, because he pulled off his jacket and handed it to her, saying roughly, ‘Here—put this round you.’
Not wanting to appear ungrateful, she draped the jacket over her shoulders. The leather was as soft as butter, and the silk lining still retained the heat from his body and the scent of his aftershave. Oh, hell, Jess thought ruefully, feeling her heart rate accelerate in response to his potent masculinity. He started the boat’s engine and as they moved away from the jetty her sense of apprehension grew. It had been a mistake to come to Italy with Drago, and an even greater mistake to have allowed him to talk her into agreeing to stay at his home, but bar diving over the side and swimming back to shore she had no choice but to go with him.
Her thoughts were distracted by the breathtaking sight of Venice in the moonlight. The Grand Canal wound through the city like a long black ribbon dappled with silver moonbeams, while the water at its edges reflected the golden lights streaming from the windows of the houses that lined the two banks.
‘What a beautiful building,’ Jess murmured as the boat drew steadily towards a vast, elegant house which had four tiers of arched windows and several balconies. ‘It looks like a medieval palace.’
‘That’s exactly what it is. It was built in the early fifteenth century by one of my ancestors and has belonged to the Cassari family since then.’
‘You’re kidding—right?’ Her smile faded when she realised Drago was serious.
‘The name Palazzo d’Inverno means Winter Palace—so named because traditionally the family lived here during the winter and spring, but spent the hot summer months at a house in the Italian Alps.’ Drago steered the boat alongside a wooden jetty and looped a rope around a bollard before jumping out. ‘Give me your hand,’ he ordered.
It was a fair leap onto the jetty so Jess reluctantly obeyed, feeling a tingling sensation like an electrical shock shoot up her arm when his fingers closed around hers.
‘Does Angelo live here?’ she asked, staring up at the magnificent house rather than meet Drago’s far too knowing gaze.
‘He has an apartment in one of the wings, and my mother and aunt have accommodation in another wing.’
Jess fell silent as she followed Drago along the stone walkway that ran beside this part of the canal. He led her up a flight of steps and through a huge, ornately carved front door. ‘I told the staff not to wait up,’ he explained as he ushered her into the quiet house. ‘They are all fond of Angelo and the past few days have been a strain for everyone.’
The entrance hall was vast, and their footsteps rang on the marble floor and on the sweeping staircase that wound up through the centre of the house.
‘This is your room,’ Drago announced at last, stopping at the far end of a long corridor. He opened the door and Jess could not restrain a startled gasp as she walked past him. The proportions of the room were breathtaking, and as she lifted her eyes to the ceiling high above she was amazed to see that it had been decorated with a series of frescoes depicting plump cherubs and figures that she guessed were characters from Roman mythology.
‘Thank heavens I don’t work as a decorator in Venice,’ she murmured. ‘How on earth did anyone get up there to paint such exquisite artwork?’
The bed was covered in a cobalt blue satin bedspread, and the floor-length curtains were made of the same rich material. Walking across the plush cream velvet carpet to the window, she stared down at the canal below and watched a gondola decorated with lanterns glide past.
‘I don’t understand why Angelo let me think he had no money or family,’ she said flatly. ‘Was it some kind of joke to him?’ She felt angry and hurt that Angelo had played her for a fool, but she was more furious that she had allowed herself to be duped. God, if she had learned anything from Seb surely it was never to trust anyone.
‘It doesn’t make sense to me, either.’
Alerted by a curious nuance in Drago’s tone, Jess spun round and found that he had come up silently behind her. Once again she was struck by his height and muscular physique, and as she lifted her eyes to his face she felt a flicker of unease at his grim expression.
‘I can think of no possible reason why he would have made up a story that he was destitute,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘My cousin is inherently honest. But I suspect that you are a liar, Jess Harper.’
‘Excuse me?’ She wondered if she had heard him correctly. At the hospital, when he had persuaded her to stay at his house, he had exerted an easy charm, but there was no hint of friendliness now in eyes that were as hard as shards of obsidian. ‘I’m not a liar,’ she said angrily.
‘In that case I assume you will tell me the truth about why you persuaded my cousin to give you a million pounds?’
Jess’s jaw dropped. ‘Angelo never gave me anything,’ she stammered. ‘In London he didn’t have a penny, and if I hadn’t paid for his food he would have starved.’ She pushed her hair back from her face with a trembling hand, feeling that she was sinking ever deeper into a nightmare. ‘This is crazy. I don’t understand anything. Why do you think Angelo gave me money—let alone such an incredible amount?’
‘Because he told his mother he had done so,’ Drago said coolly. ‘My aunt was concerned when she learned from Angelo’s financial adviser that he had withdrawn his entire inheritance fund from the bank. She asked him what he had done with the money and he said he had given it to you.’
Jess drew a sharp breath. ‘But he didn’t, I swear. I know nothing about any money.’
Drago’s eyes narrowed. He had expected her to deny it, but he was surprised by how convincing she sounded. Did he want to believe her because he was intrigued by her fey beauty? taunted a voice inside his head.
Dismissing the unwelcome thought, he said harshly, ‘I think you do. I also think you were fully aware of Angelo’s identity. I admit the situation is not clear to me yet, but I’m convinced that you somehow conned him into giving you a fortune. I don’t know how you did it, but I intend to find out—and I warn you that I will use every means available to me to make sure you repay the money.’
‘This is outrageous,’ Jess snapped, anger rapidly replacing her disbelief at Drago’s shocking accusation. ‘I don’t have to listen to this…this fantasy story you’ve concocted.’ She swung away from him and hurried over to the door, but his next words halted her in her tracks.
‘It’s not a fantasy that you were convicted of fraud a few years ago, is it?’
Shock ricocheted through Jess and the blood drained from her face. She did not hear Drago’s footsteps on the thick carpet, and she flinched when he caught hold of her arm and jerked her round to face him.
‘The private investigator I hired to look into your background found evidence of your criminal record, so don’t waste your time denying it.’
She shivered at the coldness in his black eyes. ‘It wasn’t what it seems,’ she muttered.
He ignored her and continued ruthlessly, ‘You were found guilty. It was only because you were seventeen at the time you committed the offence that you were ordered to carry out community service rather than receive a custodial sentence.’
Shame swept through Jess, even though she had nothing to feel ashamed of. The fraud charge had been a mistake, but no one had believed her. The evidence had been stacked against her—Seb had made sure of it, she thought bitterly. She had been found guilty of a crime she had unwittingly committed, set up by the man she had loved and who had told her he loved her.
The arrogant expression on Drago’s face made her wish she could crawl away and hide. She cringed when she recalled how she’d thought she had sensed a sexual chemistry between them. Now she knew that he had been watching her so closely because he believed she was a common criminal, not because he was attracted to her.
‘I know nothing about Angelo’s missing money,’ she insisted. ‘It isn’t fair to accuse me just because of something that happened years ago.’
To her surprise, Drago nodded. ‘You’re right—it’s not up to me to find out the truth. That’s the job of the police. And I am sure that when I hand you over to them tomorrow they will quickly establish whether you are innocent or guilty.’ His brows rose at the sound of her swiftly indrawn breath. ‘Now, why does the mention of the police cause you to look so worried, I wonder?’ he drawled.
‘It doesn’t,’ Jess lied.
She had nothing to hide, but the memory of when she had been arrested and the claustrophobic terror she had felt when she had been locked in a police cell made her tremble. On the rough estate where she had spent her early childhood the police had been mistrusted by many people, including her father, and she had grown up with an intrinsic wariness of authority.
Drago strolled over to the door. ‘Well, you’ve got a few hours to come up with an explanation about Angelo’s missing inheritance fund. Buonanotte, Jess. I’d try to get some sleep if I were you. You’re going to need your wits about you tomorrow.’
Jess stared at the door as he closed it behind him, feeling another jolt of shock when she heard a key turn in the lock. ‘Hey!’ Disbelief turned to anger as she tried the handle and found that it wouldn’t move. She hammered on the solid oak. ‘Let me out of here. You have no right to imprison me.’
‘My cousin’s missing a million pounds gives me every right’ came the curt reply. ‘By the way, you can make as much noise as you like—no one will hear you. My room is at the other end of the hall, and the staff quarters are on the other side of the house.’
If this was a crazy dream it would be helpful if she could wake up now, before she attempted her daring escape plan, Jess thought some twenty minutes later. But as she stood on the balcony outside her room the whisper of the cool night breeze on her face and the faint lapping sound of the water in the canal were very real. It was fortunate that her room was on the second storey of the house rather than the top floor, but the canal path below still looked a long way down and she almost lost her nerve.
But the prospect of being questioned by the police and having to try to convince them that she knew nothing about Angelo’s missing money filled her with dread. Drago clearly thought she had conned his cousin out of his inheritance fund, and because of her criminal record the police were likely to share his suspicions. The only person who could clear her name was Angelo, but until he regained consciousness she once again stood accused of something she had not done.
The image of Drago’s haughty expression flashed into her mind. How dared he imprison her in his house? Her spurt of temper steadied her nerves, and after checking that the sheets she had stripped from the bed and knotted together were tied securely to the balcony she climbed over the balustrade and began to inch down the makeshift rope. Thankfully it took her weight.
It was lucky she was so agile and had a head for heights. In her job she was used to climbing up and down scaffolding, but when she looked down and saw how far away the ground was she felt sick with terror. Deciding not to glance down again, she continued her cautious journey, buoyed by the thought that Drago Cassari was in for one hell of a surprise in the morning.
‘Leaving us so soon, Miss Harper?’ a familiar voice enquired smoothly.
Giving a startled cry, Jess lost her grip and fell. She closed her eyes, waiting to feel the impact of her body hitting the stone path, but instead two hands roughly grabbed hold of her and her fall was cushioned by Drago’s broad chest.
‘Santa Madonna! You crazy fool,’ he growled as he set her on her feet, fury blazing in his eyes as she swayed unsteadily.
Jess was so shocked she could not speak, but Drago had no problem voicing his feelings.
‘You could have been killed.’ He glanced up at the balcony above them and shuddered. ‘I can only assume you do know more than you’ve admitted about Angelo’s missing money as you were prepared to risk your life trying to get away from me.’
‘I refuse to be held against my will by an amateur sleuth who has made a totally unfounded accusation against me,’ Jess snapped.
Now that she was safely on the ground she could see how dangerous her escape attempt had been, and she felt sick when she imagined how badly injured she might have been if she had fallen. But it was Drago’s fault that she had been forced to take such a risk. Her temper sizzled.
‘I came to Italy because I wanted to try to help Angelo, but if you think I’m going to stick around and take your accusations and insults you’d better think again,’ she said hotly. ‘Instead of hounding me you should be asking yourself why your cousin seemed so worried and unhappy while he was in London. I could tell that something was troubling him, but he didn’t confide in me—or in you, apparently. So much for your assertion that you think of him as your brother—it seems to me that you didn’t think about him enough, because if you had you would have known that something was wrong.’
Drago’s face darkened. ‘You know nothing about my relationship with my cousin,’ he growled.
He was infuriated by her criticism, but part of his anger was fuelled by guilt that there was some truth in what Jess said. He had been so busy running Cassa di Cassari, and he had assumed that Angelo was doing well at college in London. It had been a relief to relinquish some of the responsibility he felt for his family, and although his aunt had been upset that Angelo hardly ever phoned home Drago had felt glad that his cousin was becoming independent. He’d had no idea that the young man had been unhappy—but he only had Jess’s word on his cousin’s state of mind, he thought grimly. And he didn’t have any faith in the word of a woman who had been convicted of fraud.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded when she jerked away from him and swung her rucksack onto her back.
‘Home.’ Shaking back her glorious Titian hair, she flashed him a glittering glance from her green eyes. ‘I’ve decided to forgo the pleasure of your hospitality,’ she said with heavy irony. ‘Just point me in the direction of the nearest airport and I’ll be on my way.’
‘The hell you will. You said you would stay until Angelo regained consciousness,’ Drago reminded her.
‘That was before I realised what an arrogant bully you are.’
Jess’s voice rose, drawing the attention of a group of people who were walking across a nearby bridge over the canal. They were Americans, Drago realised when he overheard one of them speak in a distinctive accent. Many of the thousands of tourists who visited Venice each year preferred to come in the spring, to avoid the heat and the crowds who packed St Mark’s Square in the summer months.
He saw Jess glance at the people, and caught the flash of relief on her face as she realised they spoke English. It was easy to read her mind. She had proved when she had climbed down from the balcony that she was surprisingly resourceful and determined. There was only one way Drago could think of to stop her from creating a scene, and before she had time to comprehend his intention he pulled her into his arms and lowered his head, muffling her startled cry with his lips.
As he had expected she instantly stiffened, and he winced when her clenched fist made sharp contact with his ribs. He should have known from her vibrant hair and flashing green eyes that she was a hellcat, he thought ruefully. But the feel of her lithe body squirming against his as she struggled to escape from his grasp heated his blood and fired up his pride. He wasn’t used to women resisting him. Most women he met were a little too keen for him to take them to bed—which perhaps explained his recent restlessness as he searched for an elusive something that he did not even understand. It was a long time since he had felt the thrill of the chase or had to persuade a woman to kiss him back, but Jess had clamped her lips together in a tight line and the challenge of drawing a response from her was too strong to resist.
She had accused Drago of being a bully, but she had not expected him to prove it by kissing her against her will, Jess thought bitterly. She was furious that he had chosen to use his superior size and strength to control her. He was holding her so tightly that she could not move and was unable to jab her fist into him again. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, and the feel of his warm body through his silk shirt, together with the slight friction created as she struggled to pull herself free, was making her nipples feel hot and hard.
Dear heaven, what was happening to her? When had her determination to get away from him changed to desire? One minute she had been resisting him with all her strength, but now a curious lassitude was stealing through her and her body was sinking into him, her soft curves melting against the hardness of his thighs.
Her mouth felt bruised from his savage assault, but the nature of the kiss was changing. His lips were no longer demanding her submission but gently coaxing a response from her that she found impossible to deny. His warm breath filled her mouth as she parted her lips, and she tasted him when he dipped his tongue into her moist interior. His gentleness was unexpected and utterly beguiling. Sexual desire was something she had been sure she would never experience again, but as Drago cupped her bottom and pulled her so close that her pelvis was in direct contact with the hard ridge of his arousal straining beneath his jeans liquid heat coursed through her veins. With a soft moan Jess slid her hands to his shoulders and kissed him with the fiery passion that had lain dormant inside her for so long.
‘You see, honey, I told you they were just having a lovers’ tiff.’
The voice of one of the American tourists broke the silence. His companions’ laughter faded with the sound of their footsteps as they continued on their way. But the comment hurtled Jess back to reality and with a low cry she tore her mouth from Drago’s. To her relief he let her go, and she had a feeling that he was as shocked as she was by the chemistry that had exploded between them. He raked a hand through his dark hair, sweeping it back from his brow, and the moonlight slanting across his face struck the sharp lines of his cheekbones and revealed his tense expression.
‘That shouldn’t have happened,’ he said harshly.
Inexplicably, Jess felt hurt by his words. Of course the kiss had been a mistake, a moment of madness, but by pointing it out he made her feel cheap, and the self-disgust she had heard in his voice was a shameful reminder of his low opinion of her.
She wished she could think of something sarcastic to say, but she had never been clever with words. Drago was staring at her as if he couldn’t believe he had kissed her, and the disdainful curl of his lip was the final humiliation. She had to leave—now, before she felt any worse. She was furious with herself for responding to his kiss with such shameful enthusiasm.
The path running beside the canal did not continue past the end of the palazzo, and the American tourists had now had to retrace their steps back across the bridge. That meant the bridge was her only route of escape. But as she headed towards it Drago stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
‘Come back to the house,’ he ordered.
‘You must be kidding.’ Frantic to get away from him, she ran out along the jetty to where his boat was moored, realising as she did so how stupid the action was. She didn’t know how to start the boat. As she glanced over her shoulder and saw him following she knew she was trapped. ‘Leave me alone.’ She held out a hand to ward him off.
‘Dio, I’m not going to hurt you.’ Drago’s voice grew sharp. ‘Jess—be careful!’
But his words were too late. In the dark, she hadn’t realised how close she was to the end of the jetty, and with a cry she slipped and plunged into the inky depths of the canal.
Ücretsiz ön izlemeyi tamamladınız.
