Summer Surrender: Capelli's Captive Virgin / Italian Boss, Proud Miss Prim / The Italian's One-Night Love-Child

Her eyes closed. He smelt fantastic and her senses swirled dangerously, sucking her down. Telling herself that it was just the champagne, she stepped backwards and would have fallen over the coiled rope if he hadn’t reached out and steadied her.

Instinctively she put a hand on his shoulder, feeling rock-hard muscle under her fingers. He’s strong, she thought dizzily—really strong.

For a moment she just stood there, her body sending out signals that she was desperate to ignore.

Then, without warning, he released her. ‘Are you wearing a swimming costume under that outfit?’

‘Yes.’ Her mouth was dry, her heart thumping and her mind—her mind was in a mess.

‘Then I suggest that a dip in cold water might do us both good.’ Without waiting for her response, he stripped off his shirt and shorts, poised for a moment on the edge of the boat before executing a perfect dive into the sun-dappled water.

Suddenly dizzy, Lindsay realised that it had actually been quite a while since she’d taken a breath. To be precise, since the moment he’d stripped off his shirt exposing powerful shoulders and bronzed skin.

No wonder women chased him, she thought weakly, watching as he emerged from the depths of the water, the water streaming from his dark hair as he wiped a hand over his face to clear his vision.

‘Come on, Lindsay.’

She looked at him with something close to desperation. Joining him in the water somehow seemed symbolic. If she jumped—if she made that leap—’The boat might drift.’

‘The boat is fine. If you don’t come in, I’ll come and get you.’

Slowly, she wriggled out of her shorts and tee shirt. It was hot, she told herself, and her costume was perfectly decent. It didn’t enter her head to follow him into the water head-first. Instead she walked to the end of the boat and gingerly picked her way down the ladder, holding tightly, pausing slightly as she registered the depth of the water beneath her.

‘Typical Lindsay,’ Alessio drawled, ‘never one to jump if she can hold on to a ladder.’

Ignoring the amusement in his tone, she forced herself to let go of the ladder.

The cool, smooth water closed over her heated body and for a moment she felt small and insignificant, with nothing but ocean beneath and around her.

‘This feels a bit weird.’ Disconcerted, she glanced down and gasped as a shoal of blue fish darted beneath them. ‘Oh, my goodness—’

‘Blue Tang. The diving in this area is spectacular.’

Feeling a bit foolish, she swam a little closer to him. ‘Are there sharks?’

His eyes focused on something over her shoulder and the laughter faded from his face. ‘Ah—it seems that there are,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t move, Lindsay, he’s probably just being nosy—’

With a horrified gasp, she clutched at his shoulders and, too late, saw the wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘Oh—I hate you. I hate you! That was an awful thing to do.’

‘There are no sharks.’ His hand curved around her waist. ‘The reef stops them swimming this close to the land.’

‘It does feel slightly menacing, having all that water beneath you,’ she confessed, not brushing his hand away quite so quickly as she would have done had they been on dry land. ‘It’s beautiful. And—weird,’ she admitted, ‘not being able to touch the bottom.’

‘You haven’t swum off a boat before?’

‘I don’t generally find the opportunity during my working day.’

He gave a slow smile. ‘You need to rethink your working day, tesoro. Life is to be lived, not just survived.’ His hand was still on her back—large, warm, strong.

‘I like my life.’

‘That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing. Stay there, I’ll fetch you a snorkel.’ He swam away from her, hauled himself back onto the boat with athletic ease and returned moments later with two masks in his hand. ‘Try this.’ Ignoring her protests, he adjusted the mask and eased it over her head. ‘Put your head in the water and see if it leaks.’

After a moment of hesitation she decided that it would be safer just to follow his orders for once, and dutifully held her breath and put her face in the water.

An amazingly beautiful and varied underwater world stretched out beneath her and when she finally had to lift her head to breathe, she was smiling. ‘All right. Just this once I’m willing to concede that you’re right about something. I love it.’

He showed her how to breathe through the tube and how to dive down and clear it. Then he swam off and left her to get used to it by herself.

She experimented, becoming more and more adventurous and delighted by the brightly coloured fish she saw darting in shoals beneath her. When she finally stopped swimming and lifted her head, she saw Alessio taking the boat onto the beach.

She swam to the shore, removed her mask and snorkel and walked towards him. The white sand was silky soft under her feet, the sun blazing down on her head and shoulders.

‘I’ve packed us some provisions.’ He hauled some baskets out of the boat and handed her one. ‘This island is very pretty. Worth exploring.’ He dragged the boat farther up the beach, away from the lick of the sea.

Then he pulled out a cool box and a rug and strolled farther up the beach towards the palm trees. ‘Your pale English skin will need the shade.’

Unlike him, she thought ruefully, scanning his golden brown shoulders and bronzed back as he casually threw the rug onto the sand. He had the sort of skin that turned brown in an instant.

He lay on his back on the rug and closed his eyes. ‘An hour,’ he murmured. ‘We’ll spend an hour here and then we’ll sail back to Kingfisher Cay.’

She sat down, leaving a respectable distance between the two of them. ‘How did you find this place?’

‘I was sailing one day and came across it. I bought it.’

‘Retail therapy, Alessio?’

Eyes still closed, he smiled. ‘I had a wild idea that I might build a villa for myself on it one day. I like the fact that it’s relatively inaccessible. The way the land curves means that it isn’t visible from any other island. No photographers with long lenses. I like my privacy.’

‘Is that why you don’t allow cameras on Kingfisher Cay?’

‘Yes. I want the guests to know that they’re truly on holiday.’

‘So are you going to build yourself a house here?’

‘Maybe. At the moment we only use it for privileged guests who want a deserted island experience.’

‘How did you find Kingfisher Cay?’ Suddenly curious, she frowned down at him. ‘I mean, you’re Italian.’

‘Sicilian.’ His tone a shade cooler, he raised himself up on his elbows. ‘I’m Sicilian.’

And he looks Sicilian, she thought desperately, with those strands of blue-black hair flopping over his bronzed forehead. He looked dark and dangerous and—’All right, you’re Sicilian—’ she spoke quickly ‘—but why the Caribbean? You have your own islands in Italy.’

‘No one would sell me Sicily.’ His eyes gleamed with sardonic humour and she found herself laughing too, although a tiny part of her wondered whether perhaps he wasn’t joking.

‘Do you have to own everything?’

‘If you’re asking if I’m a possessive man—’ he gave a slow, expressive shrug of his broad shoulders ‘Sì. If I want something, then, yes, I have to own it.’ His eyes lingered on her face and she shivered, suddenly agonisingly aware that it was just the two of them on a deserted island.