Chantelle Shaw - Captive in his Castle

‘It’s amazing what some people will do for money,’ he murmured sardonically.

It was dark outside, but through the glass doors Jess could see a large crowd of shadowy figures moving around. ‘Let me take your bag,’ Drago ordered, lifting her rucksack from her shoulders. He looked surprised when he felt how light it was. ‘There can’t be much in here. I told you to bring clothes for a few days, in case Angelo doesn’t immediately respond to your voice.’

It was only natural that he was concerned for his cousin, but jeez , he was bossy! Jess lifted her chin. ‘I’ve brought everything I own that isn’t covered in paint. I don’t have many clothes.’

‘Or any that fit properly, seemingly,’ he drawled as he raked his eyes over her too-small tee shirt and lingered on her breasts.

To her horror Jess felt her nipples harden, and knew they must be clearly visible beneath her clingy top. She wished she had made a better search for one of the few bras she possessed, which had inconveniently disappeared from her underwear drawer. She rarely wore a bra because she felt more comfortable working without one, but she had not bargained on her body’s embarrassing reaction to Drago. Against her will her gaze was drawn to his, and her heart jolted against her ribs when she saw the unmistakable glint of sexual awareness in his black eyes.

This could not be happening, she thought dazedly. A few hours ago it had just been an ordinary day—until a darkly handsome stranger had turned up at her flat. Now she had been whisked to Italy on a private jet to visit Angelo, who was not the penniless migrant he had led her to believe but a member of the hugely wealthy Cassari family. Even more disturbing was the way she reacted to Angelo’s cousin. She hated how her body responded to Drago’s virile masculinity. Not since she had dated Sebastian Loxley had she felt so unsettled by a man. The memory of her one brief love affair—although it could hardly be called that, because Seb had never loved her—served as a stark reminder of why she needed to ignore her dangerous attraction to Drago.

He was watching her from beneath hooded eyelids that hid his expression, so that she had no idea what he was thinking. Just then the door behind him opened, and as he turned his attention to the thickset man who appeared Jess released her breath on a shaky sigh.

The man spoke to Drago in rapid Italian. He replied in the same language and then glanced back at Jess. ‘The car is outside. Let’s get this over with,’ he growled.

To Jess’s shock he gripped her arm and pulled her close to his side. She was intensely conscious of his hard body pressed against hers, and the sensual musk of his aftershave swamped her senses. But then he opened the door and she was blinded by an explosion of bright flashing lights.

Despite the efforts of the bodyguard the reporters closed in on them like a pack of wolves, and a cacophony of voices shouting words she did not understand bombarded her ears. It seemed like a lifetime until they reached the black limousine waiting with its engine already running.

Drago pulled open the car door. ‘Get in and we’ll soon be away from this madness.’ He swore when he saw her struggling to climb inside with the guitar still strapped to her back. ‘ Madonna! Was it necessary to bring this with you?’ he muttered as he tugged the strap over her shoulder. He pushed her into the seat and thrust the guitar onto her lap before sliding into the car after her. ‘Are you expecting Angelo to wake at the sound of your strumming? I think you must have watched too many romantic films.’

‘Hearing music might rouse him,’ Jess snapped, infuriated by his sarcasm. ‘The guitar isn’t mine; it’s Angelo’s. I thought he would like to have it with him when he regains consciousness. You must know how much his guitar means to him?’

‘I didn’t know he could play an instrument,’ Drago said bluntly.

‘But he plays all the time, and he’s a brilliant guitarist. He told me his dream is to play professionally.’ She stared at him. ‘How come you know so little about your cousin? You say you think of him as a brother, but you don’t seem to know the first thing about him.’

Drago was annoyed by the implied criticism in her voice. ‘Just because I was unaware of his hobby does not mean I’m not close to him.’

Jess shook her head. ‘It’s not just a hobby. Music is Angelo’s passion.’

The limousine was now streaking along the highway, but the sound of the engine was barely discernible inside the car. The privacy glass separated them from the driver and bodyguard who were sitting in the front, and enclosed them in the rear in a dark, silent space that was shattered by Jess’s fervent outburst. She tensed when Drago turned his head and subjected her to a slow appraisal.

‘Passion?’ he murmured, in the deep, accented voice that caressed her senses like rough velvet.

The word seemed to hover in the air between them. Jess’s mouth felt dry and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue as a shocking image flashed into her mind of Drago pushing her back against the leather seat and covering her mouth with his. It was utterly crazy, but she longed for him to kiss her with the heated passion she sensed burned within him. She pictured him running his hands over her body and sliding them beneath her tee shirt to caress her breasts and stroke her nipples that were as hard as pebbles from her erotic thoughts.

She shuddered, acutely conscious of the flood of heat between her legs. Dear heaven, what was happening to her? Even worse, he knew the effect he was having on her. The unnerving predatory expression that she had told herself she had imagined back at her flat had returned to his eyes, and she could almost taste the sexual tension simmering in the air between them.

Drago shrugged. ‘I admit I did not know of Angelo’s interest in music. What about you—are you a musician too?’

‘No. Angelo taught me to play a couple of tunes on the guitar, but I’m not very good.’

He trapped her gaze and his voice took on a husky quality that caused the tiny hairs on Jess’s body to stand on end.

‘So—what is your passion, Jess?’

She swallowed, and searched her mind desperately for something to say—some way to break the spell he seemed to have cast on her. ‘I…I make things from wood…sculptures and ornate carvings. I suppose you could say that is my passion. I love the feel of wood—its smoothness and the fact that it feels alive when I shape it. It’s very tactile, and I love creating sculptures that invite people to touch them, stroke their polished surfaces—’

She broke off abruptly, embarrassed by her enthusiasm. Drago could not possibly understand how she poured all the painful emotions that were locked up inside her into her sculptures. Of all the wonderful things that Ted, her foster-father, had done for her, teaching her how to work with wood meant the most to her, because he had given her a way to express herself and unlocked an artistic talent that had given her a sense of self-worth.

She was relieved when Drago’s phone rang. While he took the call she stared out of the window and watched the street lamps flash past in a blur as the car sped along the highway. A few minutes later the imposing modern building of the Venice-Mestre Hospital came into view. As they approached Jess saw dozens more reporters crowded around the entrance, and when the limousine halted outside the front doors camera flashbulbs lit up the interior of the car, throwing Drago’s stern features into sharp relief.

‘Do the press always hound you like this?’ she asked him. She felt nervous about leaving the car, even with the reassuring presence of his huge bodyguard.