Captive in His Castle(11)

Dear heaven. She drew an audible breath. Where had her shocking thoughts come from? She darted a glance at him and her heart missed a beat when she saw the predatory hunger in his eyes. The realisation that she had not imagined the sexual chemistry between them was frankly terrifying.

‘No way am I going to sleep with you,’ she said jerkily. ‘Was that why you wanted me to drink brandy—to make me more amenable?’

‘Amenable!’ Drago gave a harsh laugh. ‘I swear you don’t know the meaning of the word.’

He did not know what angered him most—her accusation that he had planned to seduce her or the fear he glimpsed in her eyes. Dio, she made him feel like a monster, when in fact he’d had the patience of a saint tonight.

‘For your information, I have never had to get a woman drunk to persuade her to sleep with me.’

His gaze narrowed on her flushed face. She looked a whole lot better than she had when he had pulled her from the canal: no longer a drowned rat but a red-haired sexpot with her soft lips slightly parted and the swift rise and fall of her breasts betraying her agitation. But it was not fear that made the pulse at the base of her neck beat erratically—he knew women too well, and he recognised the subtle signals her body was sending him.

‘I would not need to ply you with alcohol to get you into bed, would I, cara?’ he taunted softly. ‘From your response when I kissed you earlier I got the impression that I could take you any time I liked.’ Ignoring her fierce denial, he continued ruthlessly, ‘But someone with a conviction for fraud is not my ideal mistress. I have no intention of sharing a bed with you. The only reason I suggested you should sleep here is because you stripped the sheets from your bed to use in your juvenile escape attempt, and I’m not going to disturb the housemaid and ask her to prepare another bed for you. I’ll sleep in my dressing room for what’s left of tonight.’

As he strode past Jess on his way to his dressing room her dumbstruck expression awarded Drago some satisfaction. She was the craziest, most irritating woman he had ever met, he assured himself. But when he stretched out on the sofa bed sleep eluded him despite his tiredness, and his body ached with sexual frustration as he remembered how soft her lips had felt beneath his.

The sound of someone calling her name dragged Jess from a deep sleep, and she was vaguely aware of something lightly brushing her face. She blinked blearily as Drago’s hard-boned face filled her vision, and she was instantly awake and acutely aware of him.

God, he was gorgeous, she thought ruefully. His casual clothes of yesterday had been replaced with a dark suit and crisp white shirt that contrasted starkly with his olive-toned skin. He had evidently shaved, for his jaw was smooth and she inhaled the subtle scent of sandalwood cologne.

His sensual mouth was unsmiling, and as her memory of all the previous day’s events returned a sense of dread gripped her. ‘Is there any news about Angelo?’

‘His condition is unchanged,’ he informed her in a clipped tone. ‘When you’ve got up and had something to eat we’ll go to the hospital. I still believe you are the best hope of rousing him.’

With an effort Drago moved away from the bed before he gave in to temptation and joined Jess between the sheets. She reminded him of a sleepy kitten, curled up beneath the covers, her tawny hair spread across the pillows and her cat-like green eyes watching him from beneath long silky lashes.

He had woken earlier, feeling better for a few hours’ uninterrupted sleep, and more in control of himself. He’d hardly been able to believe that he had allowed a skinny redhead with an attitude problem to provoke him into losing his cool. But when he had leaned across the bed, intending to wake Jess, he had been riveted by her beautiful face. Unable to resist, he had run his finger lightly down her sleep-flushed cheek and discovered that her skin was as velvet-soft as a peach. Her lips had been slightly parted, and he’d felt a fierce longing to cover them with his own.

Cursing silently, he walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains to allow the bright April sunshine to flood the room. ‘From now on you will sleep in the bedroom adjacent to mine. It does not have a balcony, so I’m afraid you won’t be able to try another escape trick,’ he said sardonically. ‘I have also arranged for some clothes to be delivered for you as yours are at the bottom of the canal.’

Jess decided not to point out that she considered it entirely his fault she had lost all her belongings. He had not mentioned his threat of the previous night to hand her over to the police and she deemed it better not to antagonise him. Once Angelo had regained consciousness and explained that he had not given her his inheritance money Drago would owe her a grovelling apology, but for now, bearing in mind that she did not have a passport, she realised she had no choice but to remain in Venice with him.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘If you give me the bill for the clothes I will, of course, pay you what I owe.’

She sounded genuine, and she looked so goddamned innocent. Drago’s eyes narrowed. Were his suspicions about her wrong? How could they be when the evidence was stacked against her? Angelo had told Aunt Dorotea he had given Jess his inheritance fund, and the private investigator had confirmed that she had a criminal record for fraud. She might look as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth but he was not fooled by her, he assured himself.

‘It isn’t necessary for you to pay for them. The clothes belong to me.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Well, either I’m going to look pretty silly, wearing clothes designed for a six-foot man, or you’re a cross-dresser.’

For a few seconds Drago could think of nothing to say in response to her startling statement, but then his lips twitched and he threw back his head and laughed. ‘I promise you I don’t have a penchant for dressing up in women’s clothes and stiletto heels.’

He watched Jess’s mouth curve into a smile and realised she had been teasing him. It was a novelty. He was not used to women with a sense of humour; most of the women he knew took themselves far too seriously. It felt strange to laugh, he mused. Even before Angelo’s accident there had rarely seemed anything to laugh about recently. The responsibility of running a business empire and taking care of his family weighed heavily on him. Although he made time to play squash and work out in his private gym, and he enjoyed an active sex life with numerous mistresses, his life was dictated by work and duty and he could not remember the last time anyone had made him smile.

‘The clothes are from the Cassa di Cassari collection,’ he explained. ‘Clothing is a new venture that the company is expanding into, and we have employed the top Italian fashion designer Torre Umberto. The new line won’t be available in the shops until next month, but Torre has sent some samples over for you to wear.’

His phone rang, breaking the curious connection he had briefly felt with Jess. He headed a global business empire which demanded his constant attention. He was distracted enough, worrying about his cousin, and he definitely did not have time to be distracted by a sassy redhead whose sweet smile made his guts ache, Drago reminded himself.

‘When you’re ready, the maid will show you the way to the dining room,’ he told her abruptly before he headed out of the door.

They had been at the hospital for hours, but still Angelo showed no sign of regaining consciousness. Jess stood up from her chair next to the bed, needing to stretch her legs. The small room felt claustrophobic, and although the blind at the window was pulled down the bright sunshine beating against the glass increased the stifling atmosphere.

As she walked over to the water dispenser and filled a plastic cup she was aware of two pairs of eyes following her. Angelo’s mother was no friendlier today than she had been last night and had not spoken a word to her. The poor woman was devastated, Jess reminded herself. But she also knew that the vibes of distrust from Drago’s aunt were due to her belief that Jess had conned her son out of his inheritance fund. When Angelo woke up he was going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do, she thought heavily.

Dorotea turned her attention back to her son, but Jess was conscious that Drago’s gaze was still focused on her, and she self-consciously ran a hand over the cream jersey-silk skirt that she had discovered, along with a selection of other outfits, in the wardrobe of her room at the Palazzo d’Inverno.

The last time she had worn a skirt had been years ago, on one of the rare occasions when she had attended school, she thought wryly. She lived in jeans or work overalls, and she felt overdressed in the skirt and the delicate white blouse she had teamed with it. The tan leather belt around her waist matched the three-inch stiletto-heeled shoes. The elegant outfit had called for her to try to tame her thick hair, and she had swept it up into a loose knot on top of her head.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror before she had left her bedroom, she had been stunned by the transformation. She had always thought of her body as shapeless and too thin, but the beautifully designed skirt suited her slim figure, and the blouse was cleverly cut so that her small bust looked fuller. For the first time in years—since she was seventeen, in fact, and had worn a new dress to go out to dinner with her boss, Sebastian Loxley—she felt like an attractive woman. The glitter of sexual awareness in Drago’s eyes when she had walked into the dining room at the palazzo had sent a thrill of feminine pride through her. He had not commented on her appearance, but she had been aware of him glancing at her several times as they had eaten breakfast—just as she was aware of him watching her now.