Janette Kenny - Bound by the Italian's Contract

She moved to the aisle, walking slowly and purposefully when part of her screamed to run from the vortex of emotions swirling inside her. But there was no escape from memories, she knew as she continued toward the attendant standing by the door.

The woman’s hungry gaze touched briefly on Caprice before devouring Luciano. The fact he always got that response from women didn’t surprise her. The sudden tension and annoyance bubbling up inside her did, catching her unaware.

A denial screamed inside her brain. She wasn’t jealous. She couldn’t be. She wouldn’t let herself be.

“Good evening, Mr. Duchelini,” the attendant said in a soft purr. “Your plane is ready. If there’s anything else I can do...”

“Grazie,” he said, and pressed several bills in her hand.

The woman loosed a throaty laugh that set Caprice’s teeth on edge. “If you ever need another assistant for your fleet, or anything else,” she added, stepping closer to him, “please let me know.”

“I will bear that in mind,” he said.

Caprice had no doubt that he would. There was never a shortage of willing, beautiful women in Luciano’s world.

She took a step away from the pair only to be caught by a strong yet gentle hand on her arm. Her gaze lifted to his, questioning.

“We must leave,” he said, his crushed-velvet voice warm against her ear.

She shivered, her breath catching in her throat. “Sure. Fine,” she managed to get out.

In moments he hustled her across the tarmac to the waiting jet. This gleaming plane dwarfed the local charter ones she’d taken with the ski team from one regional airport to another. The Duchelini jet was close in size to the spacious connection planes she’d taken on short jaunts between major terminals.

“She was hot for you,” she said.

“She was overtly forward and looking to feather her nest.”

“I’m sure you’re used to that,” she said, well remembering that he’d always had a bevy of beauties at his beck and call, many literally hanging on his strong arms.

“The falseness? Yes,” he said, his lip curling. “Women like that have their place, but I am done with them.”

Which meant what exactly? She chose not to pry because she knew the type of woman he referred to, and because it was none of her business or concern.

She followed him to the skirted ramp rising to a gleaming white jet, the belly and tail embellished with vibrant swaths of red and blue that faded into a muted spray of color. The la Duchi logo, the same one she’d seen brandished on the most elite skis and winter gear worldwide.

Her stomach clenched as she gripped the rail and ran up the steps, palm gliding up the cool metal. A whisper of chilled air greeted her at the top.

Fragmented memories of her childhood flickered before her like a black-and-white movie, faces and names of people long forgotten or barely known. Nannies, the score of men her mother had romanced and the array of beautiful people who had played with their set in that glamorous world.

Caprice recalled few details, but remembered one thing perfectly clearly. She’d always felt alone in her mother’s elite world.

Even now, there was loneliness deep in her.

The old uncertainty and fear closed in around her, holding her in the past. For a moment, she paused to take a breath and push those unpleasant memories from her mind.

She didn’t doubt going with Luciano was the right thing, nor did she hold any more qualms over their business deal. Still, a second’s hesitation needled over her skin, a last warning that the moment she stepped into the spacious Duchelini jet there would be no turning back.

“What is the matter now?” he asked, his breath warm on her nape, the press of his palm to her back, firm and hot, and stirring feelings in her that made her want so much more. Dangerous yearnings that she still hadn’t been able to quell yet.

She didn’t need the conflict of working closely with him. She was the professional here. She would find a way to cope.

“Nothing more than the initial shock of stepping into air-conditioning,” she said, slamming the door on her past and childish longings.

She’d expected the interior to reflect a masculine and sterile tone. But the rich burgundy and cream seating, glass-topped walnut tables and warm lighting gave the cabin a welcoming feel. Like coming home after a long, tiring trip.

“Then I’ll have Larissa bring you a wrap,” he said with a beckoning curl of his fingers, and a trim woman with a kind face appeared from behind a curved wooden divider midcabin with a gorgeous pale cream blanket draped over her arm. “The cabin gets quite cool when we reach cruising speed.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the offered wrap and moving to a plush swivel seat by the window.

Luciano strode to the stocked bar, his movements noticeably stiffer. Ice clinked in a glass, the sound loud in the spacious cabin.

“You should take something for the pain,” she said to his broad back.

“I intend to. Bunnahabhain on the rocks.”

“From Islay,” she said, remembering his preferred Scotch.

He saluted her with a heavy goblet half filled with the amber liquor. “Do you still drink it or have you adopted a different taste?”

The fact he remembered she’d drank it at all stunned her, but she hid it well, just like she hid the dark moments of her life. His accurate memory was nothing more than an attempt at polite conversation.

“I did once.” She couldn’t lie to him because games had never been her style, her one attempt having ended disastrously. “Actually, I haven’t tasted Scotch since Val d’Isère.”

He studied her, features tight and unreadable. “You enjoyed it.”

“At the time,” she said. But she’d enjoyed his company as well. Far too much.

The week before he’d swept the events, they’d talked of their future plans in life, sitting alone by a fire sharing a Scotch. He’d never spoken of his ex-wife and she’d never summoned up the courage to ask.

She hadn’t wished to sour his mood, immaturely sure they would finally cross the line between star athlete and volunteer. When he’d swept the events, she’d finally gotten the courage to kiss him with all the feelings bubbling in her heart.

And for a heartbeat he’d returned her affection. Then he’d cursed and pulled away from her, scowling, anger flaring like live embers in his eyes as he turned on a heel and stalked away from her.

Confusion and embarrassment had tumbled inside her like leaves caught in a wind. Rejection. Her first from a man, but far from the first time she’d been passed over.

Still, it had hurt and left her confused. When she’d finally gone after him, she’d found him lounging on a sofa in the bar with a beautiful woman in his arms, their lips locked together in a passionate kiss.

That’s when she’d run from him with one intention—finding a means to ease the heartbreak.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the question jarring her from the past.

“Nothing,” she said.

“You’re lying.”

She met his intense gaze with a spark of hostility. “I was thinking about the last time we shared a Scotch and how wretchedly it ended.”

The muscle along his jaw snapped taut, which only fueled her own annoyance. Then, as now, she’d meant nothing to him, which was fine by her.

“What happened that made it such a bad memory?” he asked.

“You rebuffed my congratulatory kiss,” she said, because that’s what had started it.

What had happened after that would forever haunt her. Her dark secret.

He snorted. “That was not what your kiss implied.”

“You can’t know that.” He couldn’t have known she’d been wearing her heart on her sleeve. That she’d slowly fallen for him.