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Captive At Her Enemy's Command
Heidi Rice


The man she loves to hate……is the only man she wants!Stranded in Italy, Katie Whittaker is horrified when sexy security billionaire Jared Caine rescues her. After humiliatingly rejecting innocent Katie years before, he’s as complicated and brooding as ever. To protect Katie, Jared demands that she stay at his luxury villa. But as sexual tension builds will the temptation finally to succumb to their burning attraction be too much to resist…?







The man she loves to hate

...is the only man she wants!

Stranded in Italy, Katie Whittaker is horrified when sexy security billionaire Jared Caine rescues her. After humiliatingly rejecting innocent Katie years before, he’s as complicated and brooding as ever. To protect Katie, Jared demands she stay at his luxury villa. But as sexual tension builds, will the temptation to finally succumb to their burning attraction be too much to resist?


USA TODAY bestselling author HEIDI RICE lives in London, England. She is married with two teenage sons—which gives her rather too much of an insight into the male psyche—and also works as a film journalist. She adores her job, which involves getting swept up in a world of high emotions, sensual excitement, funny, feisty women, sexy, tortured men and glamorous locations where laundry doesn’t exist. Once she turns off her computer she often does chores—usually involving laundry!


Also by Heidi Rice

Too Close for Comfort

One Night, So Pregnant!

Vows They Can’t Escape

The Virgin’s Shock Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Captive at Her Enemy’s Command

Heidi Rice






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07197-0

CAPTIVE AT HER ENEMY’S COMMAND

© 2018 Heidi Rice

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Rob, thanks for the trip to Capri.

Best inspiration ever!


Contents

Cover (#u0f1462c1-050f-509c-a58b-53be094090d9)

Back Cover Text (#u9781a86b-a040-52ae-a48c-d7f3b45bb8a4)

About the Author (#ub3630ee0-7810-5859-b4d6-4b2f20d45171)

Booklist (#ue8454c47-8d24-5063-ba3f-1d869b8b95c9)

Title Page (#u4815cc76-439c-56d8-b98e-960c9960d50f)

Copyright (#u3b5bc7ed-2176-5511-9773-669fd9bfce6d)

Dedication (#udbabd654-9563-5b9d-a13c-bfa2fa57a5c4)

PROLOGUE (#u0e655f33-c1ed-533c-847f-45ba00cb34cb)

CHAPTER ONE (#ud5cab552-997f-5ab7-a841-063855b56a6f)

CHAPTER TWO (#ucbf6acf6-44e2-58f8-9dcf-41a39458a0b9)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE (#u72167692-5632-593c-baad-6d5a05ab7e85)

THIS IS YOUR MOMENT. Don’t mess it up.

Katie Whittaker jammed her ear against the living room door, straining to hear Jared Caine’s voice through the wood as he talked on his cell phone. Her heartbeat thumped her throat in heavy staccato punches.

“Lloyd Whittaker’s arraignment hearing is tomorrow. I’ve got Danners and Ramirez escorting her to the courthouse to testify. She’s holding up okay. She’s not great at taking orders, but she’s pretty spunky for a kid whose old man beat up her sister right in front of her.”

A kid?

Heat exploded in her cheeks like a mushroom cloud—and her heart shrank in her chest.

She was nineteen. She wasn’t a kid. Not anymore. Not after what had happened two weeks ago.

A shudder reverberated down her spine at the memory of her sister Megan’s cries for help muffled by another door.

Don’t think about that now.

Megan was safe now in Italy with Dario De Rossi—the billionaire who had rescued her sister the night Lloyd Whittaker had gone rogue. The man Megan was going to marry.

Katie swallowed past the bubble of panic—and loneliness.

Megan deserved to be happy. Megan deserved to be the Whittaker sister having lots of hot sex on a private island in Italy with her handsome billionaire fiancé—because she’d stood up to their father, and taken the brunt of his anger, while Katie, as usual, had gotten off scot-free. Because, instead of busting down the door and saving Megan herself, Katie had run away and got Dario De Rossi to do the job for her.

Was that why Jared Caine—the security expert Dario had asked to look out for her—thought she was still a kid? Did he know what a coward she’d been?

Ever since their first meeting when Dario had introduced her to his friend Jared—and he’d clasped her fingers in a strong, unyielding grip that had sent five hundred volts of electrical energy zipping and zinging up her arm—she’d wanted him to like her. But everything she’d done to attract his attention, to get him to notice her, had backfired.

When she’d followed his instructions to the letter, he’d simply stopped coming around, leaving his men to watch over her. And, when she’d argued with his orders, instead of him realizing she was too old to be treated like a child he’d become even more detached, even more patronizing, listening patiently to all her concerns then telling her what to do anyway.

But tonight all that was going to change. She was going to show Jared she wasn’t that frightened kid who had run out on her own sister. She was going to show him the real Katie. Show him that she could be strong, smart and brave just like Megan. When she put her mind to it.

Panic wrestled with the mac and cheese she’d had for dinner.

All you have to do is show him who you really are.

She clasped the handle and willed herself to open the door.

“You know what you are, Katie? You’re just like your mother.”

Lloyd Whittaker’s oft-repeated observation whispered across her consciousness—insidious and destructive—and her fingers clenched on the polished glass handle.

It’s not true.

She was nothing like Alexis Whittaker. The woman who had let down everyone who loved her. Megan had told her as much over years and years, whenever Lloyd Whittaker had accused Katie of being reckless and stupid and shallow. And, anyway, they’d discovered two weeks ago that Lloyd Whittaker wasn’t even their biological father. He’d just pretended to be for years so he could steal money from their trust fund. So what did he know?

The latch clicked and Katie stepped into the room. The breath she’d been holding gushed out as Jared’s gaze rose from his cell phone. He stood in the window alcove, silhouetted by the street lamp outside, his tall, broad-shouldered frame on instant alert.

“Katherine? Is there a problem?” He tucked his cell phone into the back pocket of his pants. The intensity of his gaze as he studied her had warmth blooming in her stomach, and it gave her the courage to walk across the room.

She loved the way he looked at her, as if she was the only person he could see. The only person who mattered in that instant. No one had ever looked at her with that much concentration before. Not even Megan.

She forced herself to keep on going, her bare feet making no sound on the rug.

“Maybe,” she said, past lungs clamped in a vice.

“What is it?” She heard the concern. Need rolled through her and her heart pumped so fast she could hear it thundering in her ears.

He did care, behind that wall of detachment, that veneer of professionalism.

She didn’t stop until she reached the alcove—and stood close enough to him to absorb the harsh beauty of his rough-hewn features. She let her gaze drift over the intriguing scar which bisected his upper lip, the closely cropped US Marine-style hair, which made him look fierce enough to wipe out a Taliban stronghold single-handed, the sensual mouth that never quite cracked a smile and the defined muscles on his arms and shoulders stretching the seams of the tailored white shirt.

At five foot eight she had always felt too tall, but Jared Caine had to bend his head to meet her gaze. The evidence of his height sent the whisper of sensation shuddering downward. And the vice around her lungs tightened.

“Why don’t you ever call me Katie?” she asked.

His gaze remained steady, the blue of his irises so deep and true in the light from the street, she felt herself drowning in them. Every inch of her skin prickled with reaction. The awareness of him was so strong, the muscles in her belly liquefied.

A muscle twitched in the stubble on his cheek. And his gaze flicked down.

A startling heat swept through her, driven by the five hundred volts she remembered from the only time she’d been able to touch him. But they weren’t touching now. The brushed cotton of her sleep T-shirt rasped across her nipples like sandpaper and tightened them into hard, rigid peaks.

She crossed her arms over her chest, mortified that she hadn’t worn a bra. Could he see the effect he was having on her? Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

He gave a sigh. “Go to bed, Katherine,” he said at last, his voice gruff.

“I don’t want to go to bed. I want to stay here with you,” she said, getting fixated on his lips and the white scar that bisected the bow on top. What would it feel like to kiss him? To have him kiss her back? Anticipation made her feel almost giddy.

“That’s not a good idea.” His voice was so husky now she could feel it rumble between her legs, reverberating in the spot she stroked in bed at night while she was thinking about him.

“Why not?” Her heart fluttered in her chest when his brows lowered. She could smell him, soap and musk. The tense muscle in his cheek jerked.

“I think you know why.”

It was all the encouragement she needed. He wasn’t looking at her as if she was a kid anymore. Endorphins careered through her system, obliterating every thought but one.

Just do it, already. Kiss him.

Rising on tiptoes, she flung her arms around his neck. Her tender breasts flattened against rigid muscles as she pressed her lips to his.

Peppermint-flavored breath brushed her burning cheeks as he grunted a curse word. But his labored breathing yanked at the sweet spot between her legs. Greedy for more, she licked at the scar, and scraped her fingernails through the soft bristles of hair at his nape. His lips opened and her tongue delved into the recesses of his mouth. Harsh and insistent, she gathered his taste like a starving person—the delicious tang of peppermint and desire.

Big hands grasped her waist as reaction shuddered through him. And his long fingers fisted in the thin cotton of her T-shirt. Fierce joy blossomed inside her as his tongue tangled with hers—dominant and demanding. The vicious heat throbbed, making the sweet spot swell.

But before she could grab hold of the euphoria, before she could bask in the hot glow, he reared back and ripped his mouth away.

“Damn it, Katherine. Stop it.” Grasping her wrists in an iron grip, he thrust her hands down and shoved her back.

His crystal-blue eyes were like chips of ice in that lean, masculine face. “What kind of a game do you think you’re playing?” The harsh words slashed through the euphoria like a machete.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I thought...”

“What? That I wanted you to kiss me?” The sharp tone sliced to the bone. “I don’t.”

She hunched her shoulders. Dragging her wrists free of his grip, she clasped her arms around her waist, trying to hold the agony of his rejection inside. Why did everyone always reject her in the end? Why had she always been so unworthy of love?

She wanted to disappear. To fold herself up so small no one could ever see her again. Especially when the one question she’d never been able to ask before burst out of her mouth.

“Why not?”

He thrust his fingers through his hair, looking tense, and more agitated than she had ever seen him. “Because you’re just a kid,” he said, but his voice had softened. “And I don’t kiss kids.”

She forced her face up, her humiliation beyond bearing.

He looked shocked and angry and a strangled laugh burst out of her mouth—the hysteria going some way to mask the hurt.

She had wanted to get a reaction out of Jared Caine, and now she had. Unfortunately, it was the wrong one.

His eyebrow shot up his forehead. “You think this is funny?” he snapped.

It wasn’t—in fact it was easily one of the least funny moments of her entire life—but she could never let him know that.

“I think it’s hilarious,” she lied as she shoved her chin out and stiffened her spine, adopting the pose she had used so often before when sassing Lloyd Whittaker to disguise the pain of his rejections.

“You spoiled brat.” Caine’s face hardened. “You try a stunt like that again and I’ll put you over my knee and spank you myself. I don’t care whose damn sister you are.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” she shot back. “You’re not even any good at it.”

It wasn’t true, of course. For that brief moment of bliss his lips had felt so firm, so sure, so perfect.

Swinging round, she raced out of the room and slammed the door.

But, as fast as she ran, she couldn’t escape the misery spreading through her like a virus.

Hitting her bed, she shoved her head under her pillow to muffle the wrenching sobs that poured out.

She didn’t want him to hear her crying.

But as the anguish slammed into her full force, it brought with it the cruel punch of memory. And the sounds of her father’s ranting—the words he’d shouted at Megan while he’d beat her sister with a belt.

“You’re just like her, both of you. No loyalty, no respect. Both little whores.”

Katie curled in on herself, trying to hold back the images which had tormented her for two long weeks.

But they played in her mind like a horror movie: Megan’s broken body curled on the floor, her arms flung over her head, the vivid welts on her shoulder blades accompanied by their father’s taunts and the sickening thud of leather hitting bone.

Katie gulped in breaths, the sobs so violent they wracked her whole body.

But the sweet spot between her legs still ached to be touched, her lips still felt tender and her cheeks still stung from the rasp of Caine’s jaw.

And the hideous truth kept repeating inside her head, over and over and over again.

Lloyd Whittaker had been wrong about Megan, punishing her for something their mother had done, but he had always been right about her.

And now Jared Caine knew it too.


CHAPTER ONE (#u72167692-5632-593c-baad-6d5a05ab7e85)

Five years later, the Amalfi Coast, Italy

PLEASE DON’T DIE...please don’t die.

Katie prayed for all she was worth, but the god of smartphone batteries wasn’t listening because the phone screen cut to black.

She whimpered and stopped walking—or rather hobbling—along the narrow farm road as it dawned on her that having had most of her worldly possessions snatched by a couple of teenage sneak thieves wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her today.

The sun had sunk another inch toward the horizon, lengthening the shadows over the landscape of lemon and orange groves perched on the hillside.

She had been blown away by the wonder of the view at dawn that morning when she’d ventured down the deserted track on her second-hand Vespa to find a secluded cove to paint. But anxiety rose like a wave to add to her exhaustion now. In an hour, two at the most, it would be pitch-dark. And she would be stranded miles from the nearest town with no transport, no money, no means of communication, no luggage—she peered down at her bare legs and feet, covered in a layer of dirt that reached her knees—and no shoes.

Resisting the urge to hurl the offending phone—which hadn’t had a signal for hours—onto the rocks below, she shoved it into the pocket of her shorts.

How ironic that three months ago when she’d first arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport from New York with nothing but a backpack, the beautiful mahogany box of art supplies Megan had given her and her passport, the whole point had been to travel light. To support herself and spend some time on her own. To prove to herself and everyone else that she could be more than a serial screw-up or microcelebrity click bait.

On her first night in Paris, in a little hostel near the Bastille, she’d been terrified, but over the weeks and months since, she’d started to find something in Europe she’d never had in the US. Anonymity and hard work had finally given her the time and space she needed to grow up.

She’d made new friends—waiting tables in a brasserie in the Marais, making beds in a hotel near St Mark’s Square and hiking thirty miles on the Camino Real—but in the last month she had started to really appreciate her own company. She’d even managed to start earning real cash doing watercolor landscapes she posted each week to a gallery in Florence.

She hefted the box under her arm, which had begun to feel as if it weighed several tons about a mile and ten thousand blisters ago. At least she still had her paints.

But she’d discovered today she had a lot to learn about personal safety and not being an easy mark. If only she’d been less absorbed in her watercolor of the cove and more alert when Pinky and Perky had appeared from nowhere, maybe they wouldn’t have managed to hot-wire her scooter, wrestle her pack off her and then disappear in a cloud of dust and victorious whoops in the space of approximately twenty-five seconds.

How come I always have to learn everything the hard way?

She forced herself to keep going, even though her feet hurt from tiptoeing over the rocky path and her head was pounding as if someone had sideswiped her with her own pack. Probably because they had.

She tested the knot forming on her forehead with her fingertips.

If she ever caught up with Pinky and Perky, she was going to stab them both through the heart with a well-sharpened artist’s pencil. And then roast them like bacon.

The hum of an engine cut into her barbeque fantasies and a low-slung car appeared ahead of her, driving past the ruins of an old farmhouse. Or rather bouncing toward her on the uneven track.

Her breath gushed out, the wave of relief so extreme she felt nauseous. Maybe she could hitch a ride to Sorrento.

The sleek convertible was brand new and expensive. Apprehension cut off her optimism. What was this guy doing destroying his suspension on a farm track?

She brushed her hair over the bruising on her forehead and gripped the box in her arms, prepared to use it as a lethal weapon if her rescuer turned out to have the same moral compass as Pinky and Perky.

The car stopped a few yards ahead and a man stepped out. With the sun sinking, it was hard to make out more than a silhouette. But her heartbeat began to kick her ribs like a carthorse as he strolled toward her. His stride, leisurely and yet filled with purpose, looked familiar. And not in a good way.

Jared Caine? How the hell...?

The man stopped in front of her and his head dipped, as if he were checking her over.

The hum that started low in her abdomen was also disturbingly familiar.

It can’t be Caine. I must be hallucinating. Or seriously concussed. Or both.

“Hello, Katherine.” The deep voice, curt and businesslike, hauled her back to one of the lowest points in her life—even lower than this one, and that was saying something.

“What are you doing here?” she managed, still hoping she’d conjured him up from the depths of her sunstroke.

But then the shifting sunset glinted off the dark waves of his hair—no longer subdued by the buzz cut of five years ago—and cast a golden glow over his rugged features for the first time. A jolt of awareness hit her insides like a lightning strike, frying the tight knots of tension in her gut.

“Rescuing you,” he said, with only the barest hint of sarcasm. “Now, get in the car before you fall on your face.”

* * *

Jared Caine watched the horrified shock widen Katherine Whittaker’s emerald-green eyes as he searched her slender frame for any signs of injury.

She looked grubby and tired but otherwise okay—the sight of him more distressing than whatever had happened to have her sending her sister a garbled text about being in a spot of trouble hours ago.

It looked like more than a spot to him.

He forced himself to take a deep breath.

You’ve found her. She’s okay. Now all you have to do is get her on a plane back to New York and you can forget about her again.

The tension which had been grinding in the pit of his stomach since noon—and during the long hours of the afternoon, as he and a team of his men had combed the five square miles to where his IT guys had managed to triangulate her phone signal—began to ease. At least he’d found her before dark.

“I don’t need rescuing,” she said, her dazed expression hardening with animosity.

The fist which had been tightening around his throat for the last twenty minutes as he watched the sun head for the horizon thumped his larynx with a one-two punch.

“You’re kidding, right?” His gaze drifted over her, taking in the butt-hugging cut-offs, the dusty shirt, the tank top showing the subtle curve of her breasts, the filthy feet which... Where the heck were her shoes?

She planted one fist on her hip, the other one clinging to a carved wooden box that looked almost as heavy as she was. “No, I’m not kidding.”

She puffed with indignation, but the sweat-soaked hair stuck to her forehead stayed firmly in place. Unfortunately it did nothing to disguise her high cheekbones, the full, mobile mouth or the sunburnt patch on her nose. Or the exhaustion shadowing her mermaid-green eyes.

“I’m good,” she said, her arms tightening on the wooden box and her chin jutting out. “I don’t know how you found me, but you can just unfind me again. Okay?”

“No, that’s not okay.”

Frustration and extreme irritation twisted his insides.

It was a reaction he recognized. From the last time Dario had asked him to ride herd on his kid sister-in-law—and the single heartbeat of madness when he’d reacted without thinking to the sharp, spicy taste of that mouth.

“I’m not unfinding you,” he said. “And I’m not leaving you here. Dario wants you on a flight back to New York as soon as you’re found.”

Her eyebrows launched up her forehead. “I’m not going back to New York,” she said, sounding adamant for a woman who looked as if she was about to collapse. But then the box she was holding slipped. She struggled to regain it, stumbled, and then yelped as her bare foot landed on a rock.

“Okay, this conversation’s over,” he said.

Stepping forward, he scooped her and the box into his arms.

She gasped and went rigid. “Put me down.” The angry glare infused the rest of her face with a shade of red to match her sunburn.

“Nope.” The spicy scent of lemon, sea salt and female sweat tightened the screaming tension in his gut as he marched up the track toward his car.

“What do you mean no? I... Oof!”

He dumped her unceremoniously into the passenger seat and slammed the door. After striding around the front of the muscle car, he climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

Placing his arm across the back of her seat, he began to reverse down the track, wincing when he heard the muffler bounce off another rock.

“I see you still get off on ordering women about,” she said, but the insult lacked heat.

He slipped his sunglasses on and ignored her. From their sparring matches five years ago, he knew her default position was mouthy and it was better not to engage.

Katherine Whittaker had always been a piece of work. But, if the tabloid press was to be believed, her behavior had gotten a whole lot worse in the years since her old man’s trial and their aborted kiss in her housekeeper’s Brooklyn apartment. She’d dropped off the radar for the past few months, but according to Dario that was only because she’d left Manhattan and had been bumming around Europe on her own, freaking her sister out. So, basically, Katherine Whittaker had just spent the last few months causing trouble incognito.

He backed onto the coast road, slotted the transmission into drive and hit the gas. He could feel her angry glare but didn’t trust himself to speak.

This woman had everything—a lavish home, a family who loved her and the smarts to make something of herself. Instead of which, she’d chosen to thumb her nose at it all and behave like a kid in a candy store for years, probably all on Dario’s dime.

“I don’t know where you think you’re taking me, but you can’t make me do anything,” she said.

He glanced across the console. Her tip-tilted eyes had gone squinty around the corners.

“I’m not nineteen years old anymore,” she added. “And I don’t take orders from anyone, least of all you.”

He turned back to the road, but not before he’d noticed the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the soft cotton of her tank top.

“You want to get out and walk some more?” he asked, calling her bluff.

She glared at him but then swung her face away.

I didn’t think so.

Her slim shoulders slumped against the seat—reminding him of the troubled nineteen-year-old with a big mouth and a crush on him he’d taken great pains to ignore, until she’d gotten under his guard for a few gut-wrenching seconds.

The dying sunlight caught the gold in her hair and made the sweat misting the slopes of her breasts glimmer. Reaction kicked him hard in the gut.

Sometime in the last five years, the gawky duckling with the smart and way too tempting mouth had turned into a long-legged and stunningly beautiful swan, even under the layer of dirt, sweat and animosity.

He punched the gas to pass a truck laden with fruit trees. The sooner he got rid of Katherine Whittaker, the better.

“Why are you even in Italy?” she murmured. “Please tell me you didn’t come all this way just to get in my face?”

He let the snotty comment go, because even the hostile tone couldn’t disguise the weary resignation.

“I’m staying on Capri until Monday,” he said. “The company’s running security for the press opening of the new Venus resort. Dario contacted me to coordinate the search when you texted Megan this morning.”

“How fortuitous,” she said, the bite of sarcasm dulled by fatigue.

Not that fortuitous, really. The Venus project was a major contract, but Jared hadn’t planned to attend the event in person—despite all the noise from his PR department about the great publicity it would generate in the European market if he showed up for the four-day press launch. But his plans had changed this morning when Dario’s call had come in from New York, interrupting him in Naples during a meeting where he’d been finalizing the takeover of a small tech-security firm.

The urgency in Dario’s voice had hit first, then the wave of shame at the mention of a girl he had tried very hard to forget in the last five years.

When he’d discovered that Katherine was missing on the Amalfi Coast somewhere, that her sister Megan was freaking out big time and that they hadn’t been able to contract her, Jared hadn’t hesitated.

He’d redirected a team of his men from the Venus project to kick-start the search, and then taken a helicopter to Sorrento.

He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel. He still didn’t know where that impulse had come from. Probably just his loyalty to Dario. It was true he’d never quite been able to forget Katherine Whittaker—and the desolation in her eyes after that aborted kiss—but he never got sentimental about women. Especially not women as troublesome as this one.

“How did you end up lost in Campania barefoot?” he asked, attempting to defuse the situation and get some answers. Although he suspected he already knew what had happened.

The Amalfi Coast was a mecca for billionaire property development and high-end tourism but, when you factored in the deprivation in Naples’ slums less than thirty miles away, opportunistic robberies weren’t uncommon.

“I’m not lost,” she said, snapping his olive branch in two. “I know where I am. And where I want to go. And it’s not back to New York.”

Yeah, it was. But he’d deal with the problem of getting her on a plane once they got to the airport. First he needed to swing by wherever she was staying so she could wash up and they could grab her luggage and travel documents.

Once she was on her way home, he’d follow up with the police on the investigation. Even if she hadn’t been hurt, he wanted the little bastards who had done this to her caught and prosecuted.

“So, where were you headed with no transport and no shoes?”

“Sorrento. If you could drop me there, that would be terrific. Then you can tell Dario you’ve done your bit.”

“Is that where you’re based? In Sorrento?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “Not exactly.”

He glanced at her. The rosé blush was heading for her hairline at an alarming rate.

“Then where’s the rest of your stuff?” he demanded.

“Probably half way to France by now on the back of my stolen Vespa, with my shoes.”

Jared’s fingers clenched on the wheel hard enough to leave an indent in the leather. “Please tell me that doesn’t include your passport,” he said.

The glare she sent him gave him the answer he didn’t want.


CHAPTER TWO (#u72167692-5632-593c-baad-6d5a05ab7e85)

THE LAST OF the sunshine glinted off the convertible’s paintwork as it powered down the winding coast road and cast shadows over Jared Caine’s face, making him look even more forbidding than usual. The short, dark strands of his hair danced playfully in the breeze but did nothing to soften the line of his jaw—which he was clenching hard enough to crack a tooth.

His eyes were hidden behind the dark lenses of his designer sunglasses, but Katie didn’t need to look into them to know Jared Caine was angry about the latest turn of events and trying hard not to show it.

Join the club.

She looked back toward the horizon and slipped down in the seat until the car’s luxury leather upholstery cradled her. She closed her eyes, letting the well-oiled hum of the convertible’s engine drown out the deep hum in her abdomen—which had kicked off the minute Caine had stepped out of his car—and was not remotely significant.

Caine was a phenomenally good-looking guy—with a potent sexual charisma. Especially if you had a weakness for tough, take-charge, control-freaky types who demonstrated about as much empathy and sensitivity as the jagged rocks of Campania’s coastline. And apparently she did, especially when she was exhausted and traumatized and had just been mugged.

Luckily, she had previous experience of this reaction. She would get over it.

And at least he’d stopped trying to bully her into getting on a plane. She might have been able to get some grim satisfaction out of thwarting his plan but for the painful throbbing in her frontal lobe as she tried to get her head around the huge mess she was in.

The car phone buzzed loudly, making her head hurt even more.

“Hey, Dario,” Caine said, answering the call and then switching to speaker phone.

“Tell me you’ve found her, Jared?”

Katie’s heart somersaulted in her chest at the urgency in her brother-in-law’s voice and she straightened in her seat.

“I’ve got her here with me,” Caine replied. “Picked her up on a farm track five miles from Sorrento. We’re on speaker.”

Dario cursed in Italian. “Katie? Grazie Dio,” he murmured. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m good, Dario. Really, it wasn’t anything major. I got robbed, but they didn’t hurt me. I didn’t want you and Meg to worry.”

“Is she okay, Jared?” Dario asked, even though she’d already answered that question.

Caine’s all-seeing gaze swept over her, assessing her condition again, the way he had when he’d first stepped out of his car. And the hum went haywire.

She pressed her hand to her head, mindful of the graze hiding behind her hair which she didn’t want either Caine or Dario to know about, because it would just give the two of them more excuses to treat her like a five-year-old.

“Other than sore feet, yes,” he said after the disturbingly thorough examination. “Just shaken up.”

“I’m sitting right here, Dario,” she pointed out, trying not to lose her cool, while being reminded of being nineteen years old again and having both Dario and Caine decide that they knew what was best for her.

The spurt of indignation died though when she heard Megan’s muffled voice and then her sister came on the line. “Katie, thank God you’re okay. I’ve been worried sick ever since we got your text and I couldn’t get through to you.”

Guilt swept through Katie at the distressed tone.

“The phone lost service right after I texted you,” Katie said, regretting sending the panicked plea in the moments after the robbery even more. Megan would have been frantic and it was all her fault, as usual. “Really, Megan, I’m fine,” she repeated. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Where are you now?” her sister asked.

“With Caine, in his car.”

Hopefully heading for Sorrento.

“We can wire you some money. How much do you need?” Megan cut back in.

Katie wanted desperately to refuse the offer, especially with Caine listening in. He’d once called her a spoiled brat and in her debilitated state the old insult felt fresh.

“Two hundred euros would be terrific,” she said. It would be just enough to stay in a hostel for a couple of nights, contact her insurance company to replenish her wardrobe and get painting. Once she’d done a few watercolors she could set up a pitch in Piazza Tasso. Sorrento’s main square was the perfect place for her to sell her work, with its arty vibe and the never-ending stream of tourists. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I—”

“Don’t be silly. That’s not enough. Let us wire you five thousand.” Megan interrupted her again, sounding desperate. “You need to pay for a plane ticket home.”

“I’m not coming home, Meg,” Katie said, trying not to sound defensive or, worse, ungrateful. But she knew she had to remain firm.

She wasn’t ready to go back. Not yet.

“You’re not?” Megan sounded devastated. “Even after this?”

“I’ll be back soon. I promise,” she said, mindful of their audience. She could feel Caine listening from across the car and judging.

Not to mention Dario, who she would bet was scowling at the phone right now, not happy about the way she was upsetting his wife.

“You’ve been away for months now,” Megan came back. “I can’t bear for...” The line crackled and Katie’s guilt began to choke her. Was Megan crying?

The hollow space in the pit of her belly got larger.

The muffled sounds finally silenced. Then a door shut and Dario’s voice came over the phone. “Megan is resting now,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Is she okay?” Katie asked, the guilt all but crippling her. She’d known Megan would worry, but she hadn’t realized she’d worry this much. Megan was usually so practical and calm. “I’m so sorry to have caused—”

“Don’t say that if it isn’t true, sorellina,” Dario cut in, using the endearment that had meant so much to Katie when he’d first started using it a few years ago.

Little sister.

“You say you are sorry for causing Megan this distress, but it is a simple matter to solve the problem.” Her brother-in-law’s usually flawless English had become disjointed, a sure sign he was holding on to his temper with an effort. “All you need to do is come home.”

“I can’t do that, Dario, please understand.” Inadequacy twisted in her stomach, making unhappy bedfellows with the guilt.

Why does this have to be so hard?

She sounded immature and selfish, even to her own ears. But the thought of returning to New York had the inadequacy clawing at her throat, the way it had so often since the night of Whittaker’s attack. She couldn’t go back until she had more to show for her trip than some great anecdotes and a half-hearted show of independence.

The money she’d made over the last two months with her artwork was all gone, probably paying for a major Pinky and Perky party somewhere. The chances of getting it back were slim to none. She couldn’t return to New York without it because she’d be right back where she started, with Dario and Megan bankrolling her and all her screw-ups.

She couldn’t tell Dario and Megan about the money she’d lost, though, because they’d offer to replace it, not realizing that it wasn’t the money that mattered so much as the fact she’d earned it herself.

“And when will you be ready?” Dario asked. “How much longer do you intend to punish your sister this way?”

“I’m not trying to punish Megan,” she said, the weariness starting to weigh her down. Dario was someone she had always wanted to impress, because he had been the one to save Megan when she had failed. “This isn’t about her. It’s about me.”

“Yes, I understand, it is always about you,” Dario replied, the sharp tone unlike him. Dario rarely if ever showed his frustration.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said. “And I’m really sorry I contacted you with this. I shouldn’t have done that, I should have—”

“No, Katie, don’t say this. We are glad you contacted us,” he said, but she could hear the weary sigh down the phone line—and felt like even more of a fraud.

Dario was always so certain. So successful. And so was Megan. They knew what they wanted and had set out to get it together. They’d had a few wobbles along the way. But they’d worked through them and succeeded and built an incredible life for themselves.

But what they had never understood was that she wasn’t like them. She had none of Megan’s steadiness or certainty and none of Dario’s drive or ambition. And she simply wasn’t cut out for long-term relationships. Heck, she’d never even gotten to third base with any of the guys she’d dated over the years—the fear of being subsumed, having her own personality swallowed up by someone else’s, always so much greater than the lure of sexual intimacy.

That she was still a virgin at twenty-four years old spoke for itself. She didn’t consider it a choice or a flaw, so much as an essential means of survival. She had to find herself first, really get to know who she was and what she wanted, before she could consider risking that fragile identity by blending it with another.

And, if she ever did find the right guy, it would never be a guy like Dario. As much as she loved him as a brother, marrying someone like him, falling in love with someone like him, would be an unmitigated disaster.

The way Megan and Dario looked at each other sometimes when they thought no one was watching, the way they touched each other—all those small, insignificant, secret touches that demonstrated not just their off-the-charts sexual chemistry but also how much they loved and respected each other—had always scared Katie. How could anyone trust another person that much? Enough to rely on them absolutely?

She couldn’t do that—she knew she couldn’t. But living so close to Megan and her family, watching Dario and Megan with their two adorable kids, Izzy and Arturo, had become a double-edged sword.

She loved being part of a solid, secure unit that wasn’t just her and her sister anymore. But, on the other hand, seeing how happy, how complete, Megan, Dario and their kids were together made her feel like an intruder. The dark cloud on their bright horizon who could contribute nothing to the whole but could only take.

The tabloid stories of her dancing on tables, or getting arrested during a midnight swim in Central Park Lake, or losing her modeling contract because she had famously decided to chop all her hair off on a whim had hurt Megan and Dario and the kids as much as they’d hurt her.

Which was exactly why she’d jumped ship and headed to Europe where her celebrity profile was non-existent. The anonymity had been glorious. But, more than that, having to survive on her own had been liberating in ways she couldn’t even have imagined.

She’d learned some important stuff about herself. Not least of which was that she could enjoy life, do adventurous, exciting stuff, without being reckless or stupid. Or dragging her family through the mud.

She’d discovered that after four and a half years of screw-ups and embarrassing tabloid headlines, after four and a half years of citations and fines as a result of a string of dumb stunts and thoughtless acts, and after four and a half years of failing to make anything like a decent living she could break that cycle. She could live on her own terms without compromising the happiness of others.

But New Improved Katie was still a work in progress. And today she was at a crossroads, her fledging independence being tested thanks to Pinky and Perky. But this time she couldn’t take the easy road.

Getting Dario to understand why she didn’t want his help was going to be an uphill battle, though. Not one she needed right now when she felt as if she were about to dissolve into Caine’s upholstery.

“I am glad you contacted us,” Dario reiterated. “But you must understand now that you are safer here, with your family, than wandering around Europe on your own,” he continued, the no-nonsense tone one she was sure he used on his employees. “You must fly home tonight. And we will figure this out together.”

But it’s not your problem, it’s mine, she wanted to scream. But the words were locked in her throat, trapped behind the boulder of guilt. How could she make Megan and him see that their love was stifling her ability to solve her own problems and not empowering her without hurting them even more?

“Dario, that’s not going to happen, man,” Caine’s gruff voice sliced through Katie’s anxiety. “She can’t fly anywhere for a while.”

Katie blinked, surprised not just by Caine’s intervention but that he seemed to be on her side. A strange warmth spread through her to add to the inappropriate hum. Of course she didn’t need his help, but she was exhausted enough to appreciate it, especially from someone who had always batted for Team Dario.

“Why not?” Dario asked, sounding frustrated.

“Because the muggers stole her passport.”

The realization that Caine’s defection was about pragmatism, rather than a newfound respect for her, dampened Katie’s warm glow a little.

She shook off the prickle of disappointment. She didn’t care what Caine’s motives were, he’d just provided her with the perfect get-out clause—which if she hadn’t been so exhausted she would have figured out herself.

“That’s true, Dario,” she chipped in. “I’m stuck here until I can get a new one.” And replace everything else she’d lost, which would take her a month at least. Possibly more.

“Can you organize a new passport, Jared?” Dario said, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Sure.”

“How long will it take?” Dario asked.

“Hey, wait a minute, I can...” Katie tried to interrupt but the men were already on a testosterone roll.

“I’ll find out. I’ll get my PA to contact the British consulate in Naples. My guess is, it’ll be quicker than trying to get her a US one.”

Katie’s mind reeled. How did Jared Caine know she had dual nationality? She’d spent the years until her mother’s death in a British boarding school, and her accent had always been a mid-Atlantic hybrid—her upbringing a mix of two cultures divided by a common language. But since her late teens she’d always thought of herself as more American than British, unlike Megan. How exactly was this any of Jared Caine’s business, though?

“You are in Capri for the next few days, yes?” Dario asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then she must stay with you, until the passport is ready. And you can bring her home? Is that okay?”

What the...?

Katie’s tired mind stalled. For several precious seconds she was so shocked by Dario’s high-handed assumption, no sound would come out of her mouth.

Caine paused, his jaw hardening to granite again. And Katie felt the horror and humiliation that had taken her by the throat begin to ease.

Don’t freak out. No way will Caine agree to this.

Dario was being a jerk, but his heart was in the right place. Dario’s I’m-the-boss-of-you gene had always been hyperactive, or he never would have whisked Meg off to Isadora after the assault and insisted on marrying her when he’d found out she was pregnant. And, if anything, since he had become a dad Dario’s take-charge gene had gone into overdrive because there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect his children or his wife. And he’d always considered Katie part of that equation, even before he’d married Megan. Which was exactly how she’d ended up with Caine as a minder five years ago.

But Dario didn’t know what had happened between her and his best friend while he and Megan had been in Isadora. She had certainly never told either Megan or him about that humiliating kiss. And she was sure Caine hadn’t said anything to Dario, either, or Megan would have mentioned it.

The men were as close as brothers, but she’d never been able to get out of Megan what their history was. All she knew was that Caine seemed to owe Dario some kind of debt. But, whatever the debt was, it couldn’t possibly be enough to make him agree to be her babysitter again.

“Of course it’s not a problem.” Caine’s reply shocked Katie into silence again. “She can come to Capri with me until I fly back in four days—I’ll make sure she has a passport by then.”

“Great,” Dario said. “That’s settled.”

“Are you completely mad?” Katie blurted out at the same time, finally relocating her voice.

“Katie?” Dario asked, obviously confused. “What is the matter?”

“I’ve got this, Dario. Gotta sign off—we’re coming to a tunnel. Speak soon.” Jared fired a glare at her as he disconnected the call with no tunnel in sight.

Adrenaline surged through her veins, her outrage overtaking her exhaustion. “Why did you tell him that?” she yelped. “This is none of your business.”

“It is now,” he said, the bunched muscle in his jaw working overtime. He didn’t look any happier at the prospect than she did.

She struggled to calm her breathing before her head exploded.

“This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman,” she said, attempting to appeal to his common sense before she gave herself an aneurysm. Fighting fire with fire didn’t work with Caine. She’d tried that once before when she’d been a teenager and it had been a disaster. “Which means I decide what I do. Not you. Or Dario. And I have no intention of going to Capri, with or without you. So you need to call him back and tell him.”

She’d rather gouge out her own eyeballs than go there during some huge PR event. Although the paparazzi and the press had probably forgotten all about her, she was not about to tempt fate. And going with Caine was out of the question. They didn’t like each other and there was the inappropriate hum to consider.

And, on top of all that, Capri was the one place in Europe she had never wanted to go—because her mother was buried somewhere on that island, after the car she’d been in with one of her many lovers had plunged off a cliff. Katie had been to Capri once before, as an eight-year-old, and the hazy memory of standing over a grave in the misty rain, her sister’s arm heavy on her shoulders and the caustic flash of camera bulbs blinding them both, was a blur of misery, emptiness and fear which she did not want to revisit.

The hollow pain in her stomach sunk into the floor of Caine’s convertible.

This trip was about getting away from her mother’s legacy—and the thoughtlessness Katie had inherited that could wreck lives if she didn’t get a handle on it—not following in the woman’s footsteps.

“I know you’re a grown woman,” he said, the growled acknowledgment setting off a new hum that made no sense at all, so she ignored it. “But you’re a grown woman with no money, no clothes, no means of transportation and no ID, which means you’re all out of options. You can’t even collect the money Megan’s planning to wire you.”

Tears of frustration stung the back of her eyes at his brutal assessment, the unfairness of the situation making her want to weep.

“Then lend me some money. I’ll pay you back, I swear.” She could hear the pathetic plea in her voice and hated herself for it. But what other choice did she have? He was right. She couldn’t survive with nothing. But why should everything she’d worked so hard to achieve in the last few months be ruined simply because she’d had the misfortune to get mugged?

“Admit it, you don’t want to babysit me anymore than I want to be babysat,” she continued. “If you could give me enough to sort myself out for a few days, I can contact Dario and explain everything. There’s no reason for you to even be involved.”

He didn’t say anything, his jaw still rigid. She thought she might have made progress. But, when he glanced her way, his gaze locked on her forehead and he swore.

She gripped the dash as the car swerved to the side of the road and stopped.

Her back thudded against the car door and she brushed the hair that had been lifted by the breeze back over her forehead. But when he took her elbow and tugged her toward him, she knew it was too late.

“Hold still,” he said. He brushed a fingertip over her forehead to lift her hair out the way, and studied the bruise for what felt like several hours.

Temper and something inscrutable swirled in the deep-blue depths before he held up three fingers. “How many?”

“Three.”

Folding two down, he tracked his index finger past her nose and back again. “Follow it.”

She did as she was told as her heart pummeled her ribs, and the stupid hum in the pit of her abdomen spiked. The intense look was one she remembered.

“Did you pass out when it happened?” he asked, his expression set in grim lines.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not an idiot,” she managed round the clump of cotton wool that seemed to be clogging her tonsils. “If I thought I had a concussion, I would have said something.”

One eyebrow cocked. “You should have said something, period. If you didn’t look so done in right now, I would be forced to revise my rule on spanking women.”

To her horror, even in the depths of her exhaustion a flare of heat crossed her buttocks. She stiffened and tugged her elbow out of his grasp.

What was wrong with her? How could she get some weird, prurient thrill out of being threatened with a spanking like an unruly kid?

“Then I guess I’d be forced to revise my rule on chopping off men’s arms,” she managed at last. But the comeback wasn’t one of her best, as hopelessness began to engulf her. Not only was she at Caine’s mercy, for tonight at least, she also appeared to be at the mercy of the wayward libido she thought she’d tamed five years ago.

She clasped her arms around her waist, rubbing the goose bumps which had risen on her flesh despite the warm evening air.

He took a bottle of water out of the glove box and dampened a wad of tissues. Tucking a finger under her chin, he lifted her face to hold the cold compress to the bump on her forehead.

Grasping her wrist, he lifted her hand to replace his. “Keep it pressed to the wound,” he said. The shuttered look he sent her made the churning in her stomach worse. Being pitied was hardly an improvement on being patronized.

“My launch is docked at the Marina Grande,” he said, mentioning Sorrento’s main port. “I’ll call ahead and get a doctor to meet us there, so they can check out your head before we leave Sorrento.”

“That’s overkill. It’s only a graze.” And she hadn’t actually agreed to go to Capri with him. But the thought of having that argument again felt overwhelming—seeing as she could hardly string a coherent sentence together.

He sent her a quelling look and she knew she wasn’t going to win this argument either. “How did it happen?” he asked.

“The battle for my pack got a little out of hand.”

Temper flashed in his eyes, disconcerting her, because it didn’t appear to be aimed at her. For once. “How many of them were there?”

“Two, but they were just teenagers. I don’t think they meant to hurt me.”

“So what? They did,” he said. “I want a description. I’ll file a report with the local cops and brief my team on Capri. Those little bastards need to be caught and punished.”

There he went, assuming she was going to Capri with him again... But her objections remained locked in her throat, beaten into submission by the low fury in his tone and the news he was going to get his men to help find her muggers. The wobbly sensation it caused in her tummy had to be exhaustion.

She didn’t want an avenging angel any more than she wanted a white knight. And especially not one like Jared Caine whose control-freak tendencies were only slightly less disturbing than his ability to make her insides vibrate as if she were plugged into an electric socket.

He shifted into gear and pulled back onto the road. The sun was setting, adding a vivid glow to the stunning landscape as they approached Sorrento. Colorful terracotta houses perched precariously over the vivid blue of the Mediterranean, punctuated by orange groves and trellises of grape vines. A train decorated with colorful graffiti rattled past on the hillside above them.

After calling his PA to arrange a doctor to meet them at the port, and coaxing a surprisingly detailed description of Pinky and Perky out of Katie, Caine contacted the local police force on speaker phone to report the crime. She let her mind drift as she listened to him talk to the dispatcher in Italian, the lyrical language making his deep voice sound even more compelling. She’d only been in Italy a month, and her Italian was still patchy, but his accent sounded perfect. Why was she not surprised? Was there nothing the man didn’t excel at?

The dying sunlight cast the angles of Caine’s face into sharp relief. No wonder she’d had such a crush on him as a nineteen-year-old—the man was scarily gorgeous with a confidence most women would find irresistible. But not her, she told herself, determined to believe it.

He finished the call as they entered the city’s narrow streets, and she forced herself to make one last-ditch attempt to salvage her pride and self-respect, not to mention her sanity. Because four days on Capri with him was liable to threaten all three.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just lend me some money and let me stay here?” she asked. “I really don’t need a keeper. Whatever Dario thinks.”

He took his sunglasses off as the twilight descended and sent her a level look. “Not gonna happen, so give it up,” he said with a determination that dashed her last hope. “And, just for the record, Dario’s not the only one who thinks you need a keeper.”

She huffed out a breath. She should have been upset by the high-handed comment. But she was now officially too tired and too miserable to care. Her head was throbbing, her feet hurt and her nose was beginning to sting from what felt like third-degree sunburn. And then there was the blasted hum to consider, which was making her giddy.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a bully?” she muttered.

“Frequently,” he said, then a strange thing happened. The sensual line of his lips lifted on one side drawing her attention to the scar on his top lip. She might have missed the movement, because it was there one second and gone the next. But even that tiny flicker—the infinitesimal crack in the controlled facade—had a devastating effect on her equilibrium as the hum plunged.

Her face heated, the atmosphere suddenly too close, too intimate, despite the salty breeze as they took the road down to Marina Grande.

Lights glittered on the cliff top as Sorrento woke up for the night, the Palladian splendor of the Hotel Excelsior Vittoria beaming down on the harbor like a reigning queen. But the view wasn’t anywhere near as breathtaking as the barest hint of a smile on Jared Caine’s lips.

Had she ever seen him smile before? She couldn’t have. Because that crooked half-smile—rare and rusty—was a secret weapon in the man’s arsenal she had been unaware of. As if he didn’t already have enough weapons at his disposable.

“Just so you know, I make a terrible house guest,” she added, not happy that he’d managed to get the upper hand so easily. “I always leave the top off the toothpaste and I never put anything away. You’re going to hate having me there.”

“Our villa has two bathrooms,” he replied as he took a left past the main port at the bottom of the cliff road. “And staff to clean up after you. I’ll manage.”

Our villa? So they were going to be sharing a villa.

The hum became a deep primal buzz.

They drove past the concrete dock where passengers were boarding the evening ferry to Ischia. He slowed the car to a crawl to inch past a couple of waterfront restaurants already filled with tourists watching the last of the sunset. The pungent scent of raw fish and garlic wafted past as they approached rows of fishing boats, leisure dinghies and small yachts bobbing on the water. The car edged to a stop at the very end of the waterfront where a private dock protruded out into the bay. A huge motor launch stood at the end of the floating wooden platform, the stainless-steel stanchions gleaming red in the fading sunlight.

He braked and got out of the car. Reaching into the back, he lifted out her art box and hefted it under his arm. The sunset shone on his onyx hair as he came round to open her door. “How are the feet?” he asked. “Do you need me to carry you on board?”

“No. My feet are fine.” Give or take a million and one blisters.

She stepped out of the car, struggling not to flinch as her tortured soles connected with the worn wood of the dock. But she’d rather walk across hot coals than give him another excuse to scoop her up again. Being in such close proximity to that broad, heavily muscled chest and his disconcertingly delicious scent would increase the disturbing buzz.

She took her time making her way toward the boat, far too aware of his powerful presence beside her, waiting to step in again if she stumbled. She couldn’t help the sigh of relief, though, when she was able to lean on the guardrail of the gangplank.

A young man, wearing a peaked cap greeted them on deck and took her art box from Jared, after introducing himself as Matteo, the launch’s pilot. He had a brief conversation with Jared. From her smattering of Italian, she gathered Dr. Chialini would be arriving shortly, but was based in Sorrento so couldn’t travel with them to Capri.

Jared seemed to want to argue the point.

“It’s okay. I really don’t need a doctor anyway,” she interrupted in English. But as both men swung toward her she made the mistake of letting go of the guardrail.

The boat swayed slightly and her knees gave way as blood rushed to her aching head with startling speed.

Hard hands grasped her upper arms, catching her before she could hit the deck.

A rough, urgent curse beckoned her back from toppling into the abyss.

She locked her knees as Caine’s fingers pressed into her biceps.

“Why didn’t you say you were feeling faint?”

“I’m just tired,” she said, but the earthquake which had started in her legs was still sending aftershocks through her body.

“You’re shaking,” he said, his tone raw. The rough calluses on his palm sent ripples of sensation sizzling across her skin. Then suddenly she was weightless.

Her breath got trapped in her lungs as she ingested a lungful of his scent, the subtle hint of salt, soap and man. She was too close to him.

Close enough to detect the scar again which had once fascinated her through the shadow of stubble. Close enough to see the silver shards in the cool blue of his irises.

Her heartbeat slammed into her throat.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice sounding far away. “I told you, I can walk.”

He glanced at her, the muscle in his cheek flexing. “Shut up, Katherine.”

She wanted to insist he put her down, but she couldn’t find the strength to do anything, her limbs so numb she felt as if they weren’t her own. He crossed the deck in a few strides, then took the steps down into a cabin with her held securely in his arms. The flex of his biceps felt hard against her back, the wall of his chest solid against her cheek. Her pulse jumped and jived.

The luxury interior was furnished with deep leather couches built into the hull. Large portholes afforded a view of the edge of the dock and the sea beyond, the full moon lifting over the horizon as the last of the sun fled.

Caine deposited her on the couch. “Do you feel nauseous?”

“No, I’m okay, really.”

Before they could argue the point, the good Dr. Chialini appeared. Caine hovered throughout the examination, firing off questions to the doctor in Italian as the poor woman tried to do her job. Katie held her tongue and did as she was told. If he got his caveman act out of his system, maybe he’d back off.

After declaring Katie concussion-free, and giving her a dose of painkillers for her headache, the doctor cleaned Katie’s feet. She found only a few small cuts and abrasions, which she dabbed with antiseptic cream and covered with plasters.

“Keep the cuts clean, and wear soft shoes or go barefoot if they are too sore,” she said in her perfect English as she packed her black case.

Not a problem, Katie thought wryly, seeing as I don’t actually have any shoes.

Caine continued to quiz the doctor as he left the cabin with her. Katie could hear them talking as they went up on deck together but was way too tired to decipher what was being said.

She stretched out on the couch, watching the lights on the headland as the voices drifted into silence, followed by the rumble of the boat’s engine.

Next stop, Capri. The site of one of my worst memories. And four days spent in Jared Caine’s overwhelming company.

She listened to the waves slapping against the hull, felt the kick of movement as the boat peeled away from the dock, and breathed in the scene of new leather and sea air.

Caine would probably be back in a minute to micromanage her. She closed her eyes. Well, he couldn’t bully her if she was comatose.

The salty breeze coming from the deck ruffled the short hairs on her arms as her limbs became weightless. She floated, buoyed by the bone-deep fatigue which had been lurking at the edges of her consciousness for hours. But as the gentle sway of the boat lulled her into a deep, drugging sleep, the buzz refused to fade.

* * *

“I’ll need some clothes,” Jared spoke into his cell phone as he stood in the entrance to the cabin and watched Katherine sleep.

She’d curled up on the couch like a child, her hands under one cheek, her bare feet tucked under her butt.

“Do you know what size your guest is, Mr. Caine?”

Jared frowned, his gaze absorbing the long, coltish line of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath the grubby tank top. “No. Bring a selection.”

“We could hire a stylist—arrange for them to come to your villa tomorrow morning and fit her for a new wardrobe,” the resort concierge suggested helpfully.

“Great. Whatever,” he said, not wanting to think about her slim frame and how it had felt so fragile in his arms.

“Will she be attending events with you?” the concierge asked.

He considered the question for a moment. “What events, exactly?”

He hated PR junkets. The original plan had been to fly in from Naples at the end of the weekend for one night and then head back to New York. But because of the woman curled up in front of him—who didn’t look like she had a care in the world—he was going to be stuck on Capri for four days at least. Possibly more, if it took longer to get her a replacement passport.

“We have the investors’ ball tomorrow,” the concierge began. “Then the press picnic on Saturday afternoon and the gala on Sunday. There are a number of other events that the resort would love you to attend too, if you’re not too busy with the security teams.”

The truth was the security teams didn’t need his oversight, but he planned to give it to them anyway, so he could spend as little time as possible going stir-crazy in a luxury villa he was being forced to share with his house guest.

The trickle of unease worked its way down his spine at the thought of having to share a villa with anyone. After living on the street—his crib being anything from a hotly contested doorway on the Upper West Side to a patch of turf in Harlem over a subway grate—his creature comforts were important to him, and he insisted on complete privacy.

He didn’t share bed space or any other space. Especially not overnight.

He swallowed past the ripple of anxiety. And the pulse of heat.

He wasn’t going to be sharing a bed with Katherine, just a villa. Luckily he’d booked a two-bed, because there’d been no other availability. But she would be in another room. And would no doubt want to avail herself of the resort’s spa and leisure activities. Plus, the soundproofing in his room would be sufficient if... His jaw tensed. He wasn’t going to have any episodes. He hadn’t had any in months.

Even so, frustration twisted in his gut to tangle with the unwelcome swell of heat.

He should have said no to Dario’s request. He didn’t like the volatility of his attraction to this woman, especially as it made no sense. But he could never say no to Dario, because he owed the guy everything.

Katie mumbled in her sleep as the boat hit a swell.

“Signore Caine, do you want me to list the other events we have scheduled?” the concierge prompted on the other end of the line.

“Put me down for the ball,” he said. If he was going to be here, he might as well make a couple of appearances. “Otherwise, make my excuses.”

“Will Ms. Whittaker be attending with you?” the concierge asked.

He frowned, suppressing his kneejerk desire to say no.

The less time he spent with Katherine, the easier it would be for them both. But, as he watched her sleeping, it occurred to him that sometimes the easy option wasn’t the smart option.

Perhaps he should rope her into the circus too. Given her aptitude for PR stunts, she’d enjoy the press attention—and it might stop her from getting up to mischief. He didn’t trust her not to run off if left too much to her own devices.

Whatever happened, he was delivering her to Dario in New York as promised. And entertaining her in public was a lot less dangerous than entertaining her in private.

“Yeah, Ms. Whittaker will attend the ball with me.”

“Wonderful, Signore Caine, I’ll add you both to the guest lists.”

Ending his call with the concierge, he headed back on deck.

But, as he let the sea spray mist his face, it didn’t do a lot to cool the heat flowing through his veins.

He would have been quite happy never to see Katherine Whittaker again in this lifetime. And now he was going to be stuck with her for several days. He didn’t like it one bit.




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