Captive in his Castle

‘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.’