Captive in His Castle(19)

Drago’s taut voice revealed his frustration. He disliked public displays of affection and could not believe that he had kissed Jess on a gondola in the middle of Venice’s main waterway. At least the gondolier had discreetly averted his gaze, and when they drew up by the Palazzo d’Inverno he handed the man a large tip.

Jess walked ahead of Drago into the palazzo, her stiletto heels tapping on the marble floor, echoing the staccato beat of her heart.

He caught up with her as she reached the stairs. ‘What would you like to do for the rest of the evening? I have a selection of English DVDs if you want to watch a film.’

She tore her eyes from the sensual curve of his mouth that only a few moments ago had decimated her ability to think, and knew that she dared not spend another minute alone with him. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to go straight to bed.’

His sudden grin stole her breath. Without his usual arrogant expression he looked almost boyish and heart-stoppingly sexy.

‘Excellent idea,’ he murmured.

She flushed with mortification when she realised he had taken her words as an invitation, but her frantic, ‘I meant alone,’ was muffled against his shoulder as he scooped her into his arms and strode up the stairs. ‘Drago—we can’t,’ she whispered when he reached his suite of rooms and carried her through to the bedroom. ‘Last night was a mistake.’

He tumbled her onto the bed and came down on top of her so that she felt the hard proof of his arousal nudge her thigh. Threading his fingers through her hair, he stared into her eyes, the amusement fading from his.

‘Last night was inevitable from the moment we met,’ he said harshly.

It was the truth. She had taken one look at him and fallen in lust—not love, Jess quickly assured herself. No way would she risk her heart with him. But no other man had ever made her feel this way. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids—light, delicate kisses that melted the last vestiges of her resistance. His fingers tugged open the buttons running down the front of her dress and he gave a low murmur of approval when he pushed the material aside and discovered that she was not wearing a bra.

‘Bellisima,’ he said thickly as he cupped her small breasts in his hands and anointed one dusky peak and then the other with his lips.

She caught fire, arching her slender body to meet his mouth and eagerly helping him to remove her dress and knickers. This was not the time for words; their need was too urgent. Drago stripped with a clumsy haste that was strangely touching, and after taking a condom from the bedside drawer and sliding it over the proud jut of his arousal he moved over her.

Jess caught her breath as he entered her. He filled her, completed her, and she wrapped her legs around him and held on tightly to his shoulders as he possessed her with deep, measured strokes, driving her higher. As her body trembled with the exquisite ripples of orgasm her heart soared, and when Drago groaned with the power of his own release she felt a fierce tenderness and the strangest sense that their souls had joined.

The crowds of tourists in St Mark’s Square had thinned in the early evening and the restaurants became busier. Sitting beneath the striped awning of a café on the edge of the square, her elbow propped on the table and her hand cupping her chin, Jess had a clear view of the ornate and incredibly beautiful Basilica.

‘I think I’m in love,’ she murmured. Beside her she felt Drago stiffen, and when she glanced at him and saw his startled frown she laughed. ‘Not with you. With Venice.’

‘Ah.’ His relief was evident in his smile.

For some reason Jess felt a little pang of regret that he wanted nothing more from her than sex. Don’t be an idiot, she told herself sternly. She knew their affair was based purely on their physical attraction to one another. Their sex-life was amazing, but inevitably the fiery passion they shared would burn out.

‘At the weekend we can climb to the top of the Campanile again, if you like,’ he offered. ‘I know how much you enjoyed the views over the city. Or I’ll take you to see the Doge’s Palace. The interior is impressive, and filled with stunning artworks. And of course you can’t visit Venice without walking over the Bridge of Sighs.’

‘It’s such a romantic name. I wonder why it’s called that?’

‘The popular explanation is rather less romantic than the name suggests. The bridge used to lead to the state prison, and crossing it would often be a prisoner’s last view of Venice.’

Jess sighed. ‘I feel guilty sightseeing when Angelo is stuck in hospital.’

‘You have visited him every day for the past few weeks, and I know how much he appreciates your company. Angelo would not begrudge you some free time,’ Drago insisted.

‘But I shouldn’t have free time. I should be at home, running my business.’ Jess chewed her bottom lip with her teeth—something she unconsciously did when she was anxious. ‘I know that when I phoned Mike he said everything is fine, and that he had secured a new contract for T&J Decorators to refurbish a commercial property, but I need to go back and take charge. My company means everything to me. It’s the only thing I’ve ever succeeded at,’ she admitted ruefully.

‘Once Angelo’s memory has returned you will be free to leave.’

Drago’s smile was full of easy charm but his tone was uncompromising, and Jess’s spirits plummeted with the realisation that he still suspected she had some involvement with his cousin’s missing inheritance fund. And in truth she was still his prisoner, for she never went anywhere without either him or his bodyguard Fico to accompany her. On a couple of occasions during the first week of her stay she had attempted to slip away from the bodyguard. It had crossed her mind that if she explained her situation to one of the nurses at the hospital they might help her. But none that she had met spoke English, Fico had followed her doggedly, and she still had the problem of no passport or money.

Jess pushed away the uncomfortable thought that she had not tried harder to leave Venice because she was captivated by her affair with Drago. His hunger for her showed no sign of abating. But aside from their mutual desire for one another a sense of companionship, even friendship, had unexpectedly developed between them. He had given her several guided tours of Venice, and Jess loved wandering around the city with him, exploring the narrow streets and the many charming piazzas. She visited Angelo every day while Drago was at work. Usually he met her at the hospital in the evening, and after spending some time with his cousin they would return to the palazzo or go for dinner at a restaurant—the Trattoria Marisa being their favourite place to eat.

‘How was Angelo today?’

‘He still has a bad headache.’ She frowned as her thoughts returned to Angelo. ‘It has lasted for three days now, and your aunt is very concerned.’

Dorotea had admitted as much. After spending endless days cooped up with her in the small hospital room Angelo’s mother had thawed slightly towards Jess, and had even thanked her for her efforts to help her son. Drago’s mother was also friendlier, but once or twice Jess had been aware of Luisa’s speculative glance, and she had a feeling that Luisa knew she was sleeping with her son.

‘I’ll speak to the consultant about him—’ Drago broke off and smiled at a small child who had toddled over from where his parents were sitting at a nearby table.

The little boy was about two years old, Jess estimated, and utterly adorable, with a halo of blond curls and big blue eyes. He seemed to be intrigued by Drago, and grinned as he waved the sticky ice-cream cone he was holding.

‘No, Josh!’ The child’s mother hurried over just as the toddler smeared ice-cream over Drago’s superbly tailored trousers. ‘I’m so sorry…’ she said in English.

Drago interrupted her frantic apology with a laugh. ‘Don’t worry. He’s an angelic-looking child,’ he said, in a soft tone that captured Jess’s attention.

‘He can be a little terror,’ the woman said ruefully. She glanced at Jess. ‘You know what they’re like at two—into everything.’

She nodded at the woman and smiled back, trying to ignore the knife-blade that sliced through her heart. What had Katie been like at two years old? she wondered. Had she been ‘into everything’? She would never know, and the reminder of all she had lost was an ache inside her that never went away.

The woman picked up the little boy and carried him back to her table. ‘Cute kid,’ Drago commented as he attempted to clean his trousers with a napkin.

‘I’ve noticed that Italians really seem to love children,’ Jess said musingly. ‘Have you never wanted to marry and have children?’

‘I’m happy with my life the way it is.’

Puzzled by the sudden curtness in his voice, Jess studied him curiously. ‘You were so gentle with that little boy. I think you would make a great father.’

‘Madonna! Can we drop the subject?’ he snapped. ‘My personal life is not up for discussion.’