Janette Kenny - Bound by the Italian's Contract

Bound by business…

Physiotherapist Caprice Tregore steels herself as she prepares to meet the man she had vowed never to see again. She needs his help, and she can only guess at what the captivating Luciano will demand in return. But the years have changed her, and she’s no longer the naive innocent he once knew….

Branded by passion?

Luciano Duchelini needs Caprice to insure his brother’s recovery. But two months in her company shows that the tantalizing attraction he turned his back on years before is still there, and this time he’s determined to satisfy his every desire…regardless of the cost.

For seven years she’d pulled herself into a shell. She was sick and tired of hiding, of jumping at shadows. She wanted to confront life again.

All she had to do was reach for what she wanted most. Right now.

Caprice turned in his embrace. “What if I said I’d changed my mind?” she asked.

Luciano pulled back, eyes searching, assessing. “That’s the shock of surviving danger talking.”

“You don’t feel it too?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “I feel it,” she said, breathless. “I want you. Need you now. What more can I say?”

“Nothing. In the end you will expect more than that. An affair, commitment.”

She shook her head. “Not anymore. No ties. No promises.”

His eyes narrowed, and his hopes and desires soared. “You want my financial backing and sex?”

“Yes. We are bound together by a contract—there’s no changing that. But when the job is finished so are we.”

“Of course…” he replied, his eyes dark and unreadable.

For as long as JANETTE KENNY can remember, plots and characters have taken up residence in her head. Her parents, both voracious readers, read her the classics when she was a child. That gave birth to a deep love of literature, and allowed her to travel to exotic locales—those found between the covers of books. Janette’s artist mother encouraged her yen to write. As an adolescent she began creating cartoons featuring her dad as the hero, with plots that focused on the misadventures on their family farm, and she stuffed them in the nightly newspaper for him to find. To her frustration, her sketches paled in comparison with her captions.

Though she dabbled with articles, she didn’t fully embrace her dream to write novels until years later, when she was a busy cosmetologist making a name for herself in her own salon. That was when she decided to write the type of stories she’d been reading—romances.

Once the writing bug bit, an incurable passion consumed her to create stories and people them. Still, it was seven more years and that many novels before she saw her first historical romance published. Now that she’s also writing contemporary romances for Mills & Boon® she finally knows that a full-time career in writing is closer to reality.

Janette shares her home and free time with a chowshepherd mix pup she rescued from the pound, who aspires to be a lap dog. She invites you to visit her website at www.jankenny.comand she loves to hear from readers—e-mail her at janette@jankenny.com

Bound by the Italian’s Contract

Janette Kenny

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Nick, my hero, my best friend.

You encouraged me to spread my wings and soar again.

I love you—yesterday, today and forever!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EXTRACT

CHAPTER ONE

CAPRICE TREGORE WRAPPED her confidence around her like a protective cloak and strode into The Corbett, Aspen’s newest five-star hotel, which a Russian billionaire had built one year ago to cater to the rich and famous. She surveyed the interior, her senses in overdrive.

It was a breathtaking, palatial design of marble pillars, gleaming granite floors and exquisite tapestries dressing massive walls. This lavish and elite winter hotspot was exactly what she had pointedly avoided the past seven years. If she didn’t desperately need help, she wouldn’t be setting foot in this playground for the rich and famous now.

She quickly circled the three-tiered castle fountain that dominated the center of the expansive lobby and scanned the myriad seating nooks tucked here and there for the handsome Italian she’d come here to meet. With rising annoyance, she realized not one man resembled him. Was he late? Had he stood her up?

“Punctual as always, Miss Tregore?”

That deep voice rumbling behind her, flavored with a distinct Italian accent, sent an electric shiver zinging through her. That was the last reaction she wanted this playboy to incite in her and she wouldn’t tolerate another second of it!

“Punctuality is one of the cardinal business virtues,” she said stiffly as she turned to face him with a professional smile she’d perfected.

For one second it threatened to slip as she stared into his riveting blue eyes framed in a face surely reserved for an archangel. Or the devil?

God knew either could apply to Luciano Duchelini. That reminder stiffened her spine and her resolve.

“A Don Marquis quotation, but you left the rest off,” he said, not one iota of amusement ringing in that velvety voice that she’d once found incredibly attractive. “Always insist on it in your subordinates.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you were—”

“It doesn’t matter. I watched you walk in five minutes ago,” he said. “Your promptness is an asset.”

That he knew exactly when she’d walked in the door spoke volumes. So did the fact he’d remained a bit hidden, making her seem the one a bit late and harried.

Not the impression she wanted to impart.

The Luciano she’d known had always run five to ten minutes late. It was a control thing and she’d accounted for it by arriving exactly on time. But he’d been here waiting.

That was a huge surprise. And a miscalculation on her part.

Seven years ago Luciano had been the world champion on the slopes, winning more gold medals than any Alpine skier before him, besting even his acclaimed father. The only things he was ever on time for were competitions.

It had been proven no man could beat him on the slopes. Rumors had flown that his ex-wife had captured his heart and taken it with her to her grave. That he no longer cared what anyone thought of him. That he lived for the moment, in sport and pleasure.

That no woman could reach the heart of the man.

Yet once she’d foolishly fallen for the champion, beset by a strong teenage crush. He was her idol. Her coach.

Her friend. Or so she’d thought.

He’d used her friendship, her naïveté, just as he’d done with his lovers. She’d hated him then for hurting her, and hated herself now because she knew better than to trust his type.

He was a celebrated playboy. Life had been a game to him and he’d played it to the hilt. He laughed. He partied. He took nothing seriously.

Not her. She’d assumed the role of a reckless flirt one time in her life. A stupid act of retaliation that she’d regretted every day since. That one horrific incident convinced her that she wasn’t a player in that world.