Chantelle Shaw - Captive in his Castle

‘I can only be away for a couple of days,’ she warned.

She glanced at Drago and felt a tiny flicker of unease when she found him watching her intently. He was so big and imposing, and there was a faintly predatory expression in his eyes that made her think of a lethal jungle cat preparing to make a kill—and she was the prey. But when she blinked and refocused on him she cursed herself for being over-imaginative. His smile was dangerously attractive but the only thing she had to worry about was her unexpected reaction to him.

‘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.