Janette Kenny - Bound by the Italian's Contract

He nodded and splashed Scotch into two heavy glasses. “You were very young, Caprice. Nineteen?”

“Twenty.” Barely.

“I did you a favor by walking away from you instead of taking you straight to my bed.”

How different her life might have been if he only had. What was done was done. She couldn’t change things now, but she could remember the lesson well.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said.

He nodded. Frowned. “Now that we’ve settled that, will you join me for a Scotch? Or would you prefer something else?”

“No. Scotch is fine,” she said as she took the heavy glass from him, the brush of their fingers jolting her again. This time she couldn’t hide her flush.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Something else is bothering you.”

“No. I’m just tired.” She took a sip and caught her breath as the slightly spiced heavy liquor warmed her tongue and throat. “I forgot how good this was.”

He smiled but kept his gaze on her, and the barely leashed energy pulsing between them had her tension strung high. “It will get better if you let it.”

She blinked, unsure if he meant the liquor, this tenuous rapport they struggled to hold on to, or something else, and chose to believe it was the former.

“Yes, I think it will, too,” she said, trying for a similar nonchalance.

“Count on it.” He finished his drink and poured another. Instead of taking himself off to a private location, he eased down into the chair across from her.

The rev of the jets increased and she felt the tiniest vibration just before the pilot’s voice filled the cabin, the sound far less tinny than in a commercial airliner. “Ready when you are, sir.”

“Get us home” was Luciano’s reply as he snapped his seat belt into place, the la Duchi logo on the custom gold buckle screaming of the quiet wealth that was spent on details.

The interior lights lowered to an intimate glow for take-off and the engines rumbled. She grabbed the burgundy strap and snapped her own belt into place, chancing another quick look at Luciano. His drawn features were more pronounced with his eyes pinched closed.

Concern welled inside her even stronger than before. He was obviously still in pain even after downing pain meds with two drinks that had likely packed a punch. At least the few mouthfuls she’d taken of her drink were making her head spin.

Even so, what he consumed hadn’t been enough to affect him in the least. He was hurting inside, and her training told her it wasn’t totally physical.

“What really happened that day on the mountain?” she asked, broaching the subject at last.

Silence roared over the monotone of the engines as the plane gained altitude, then leveled out, yet her stomach still felt suspended in midair. The details of that accident had been well hidden by the family. Why, she couldn’t guess, but it was obvious Luciano wasn’t eager to divulge anything.

“Luciano, I need to know everything in order to help Julian recover,” she said when she couldn’t stand the tense silence any longer. “There are psychological reasons as well as physical ones that impede recovery. If I can find a workaround for his internal obstacle, I stand a better chance of helping him.” And Luciano as well?

Two champion brothers on skis. One horrific accident that had changed both their lives. Only they knew what had happened.

A muscle, or maybe a nerve, pulled hard in his cheek, puckering his olive skin. “The media provided a plausible version of our rescue and injuries.”

She flinched, feeling the sting of his pain ricochet through her. Yes, she’d heard reports. Watched the news. Yet it was likely just what he’d said. A plausible version.

“Yes, I know where Julian and you were found, and I’m aware of the extent of his physical injures,” she said, having hung on every word of the reports with the hope that Julian and Luciano would have full recoveries. “Now I need to understand the scope of your brother’s psychological ones as well. The best place to start is knowing why two of the best skiers in the world chose to tackle one of the most hazardous runs in the Alps during less than hospitable conditions.”

Luc drove his fingers through his hair and swore. How the hell could he satisfy her curiosity about the accident without revealing too much of his own emotional wounds? “It is the way of brothers who have spent their lives competing with each other in everything.”

“There must be more to it than sibling rivalry.”

There was. Too much baggage. Too much guilt.

He tossed back his drink and grimaced, hesitant to bear his black soul to her. “Look, Julian is a Duchelini, second in line to a company that makes the best ski equipment in the world, youngest in a long line of Duchelini champions. It was a duty and privilege for him to compete in Alpine and win. Quitting was not an option.”

“It was his choice to make.”

“It was selfish, which is why Father froze his allowance,” he said. “He thought when the money stopped, Julian would abandon his reckless bent and focus on the team.”

“But that wasn’t the case,” she said, voice rising in question as she likely remembered how tensions had run high between the Duchelini brothers throughout the games.

“No. It was just the opposite, so Father charged me to intervene and get him back on track,” he said, feeling removed from himself now, as if he were talking about a stranger instead of himself. “Julian was the reckless one without ties or obligations while I accepted my duty and became a champion skier and suitably married man with a day-to-day hand in the family business.”

And perhaps he would have remained content in that role if his marriage hadn’t crumbled in his hands.

“Did you resent your role?” she asked calmly reminding him of counselors he’d seen to no avail.

If she only knew the details, Luc thought sourly. But she couldn’t and it wasn’t a subject he wished to go into great detail.

“I did after my ex-wife died,” he admitted, hungry for the punishment a free, grueling lifestyle promised.

She swallowed, going still. “You loved her.”

“Very much so.” He pressed his head against the seat, eyes closed as he allowed old memories and their pain to intrude. “With a bit of pressure, I was able to secure Julian a spot on the Italian ski team. But he didn’t care about Alpine. Extreme ski drove him. Challenged him.”

“Then why did he agree to participate in Alpine?”

“Father exerted his muscle,” Luc said. “Adding to the pressure, the sports world jumped on Julian’s natural ability, touting him as the faster and more daring Duchelini. It was a challenge few men could walk away from.”

“Was he really that good?” she asked.

“Better than good. Off the record, he beat me most of the time.” He fisted his hands on the chair, remembering how jealous he’d been of his brother’s bravado and skill. His freedom. “All champions know it is a matter of time before their records will be broken. I shattered my father’s records and Julian had the potential to best mine, but his heart remained in extreme ski, which is why he turned in such a poor performance at the World Cup.”

“Is that why Julian seemed so upset the day I left?”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his knuckles along his jawline, glaring at the ceiling as the jet leveled off at cruising altitude. “No. I realized he got a tremendous high from extreme skiing and told him I, too, was going to compete against him there. He threw a fit. Said I wasn’t prepared. That I hadn’t practiced the quicksilver moves needed to attempt the extreme ski.”

She wet her lips, eyes narrowed and breathing shallow, looking vulnerable, pensive, concerned. That last one got him in the gut like a blow.