Her eyebrows launched up her forehead. “I’m not going back to New York,” she said, sounding adamant for a woman who looked as if she was about to collapse. But then the box she was holding slipped. She struggled to regain it, stumbled, and then yelped as her bare foot landed on a rock.

“Okay, this conversation’s over,” he said.

Stepping forward, he scooped her and the box into his arms.

She gasped and went rigid. “Put me down.” The angry glare infused the rest of her face with a shade of red to match her sunburn.

“Nope.” The spicy scent of lemon, sea salt and female sweat tightened the screaming tension in his gut as he marched up the track toward his car.

“What do you mean no? I... Oof!”

He dumped her unceremoniously into the passenger seat and slammed the door. After striding around the front of the muscle car, he climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

Placing his arm across the back of her seat, he began to reverse down the track, wincing when he heard the muffler bounce off another rock.

“I see you still get off on ordering women about,” she said, but the insult lacked heat.

He slipped his sunglasses on and ignored her. From their sparring matches five years ago, he knew her default position was mouthy and it was better not to engage.

Katherine Whittaker had always been a piece of work. But, if the tabloid press was to be believed, her behavior had gotten a whole lot worse in the years since her old man’s trial and their aborted kiss in her housekeeper’s Brooklyn apartment. She’d dropped off the radar for the past few months, but according to Dario that was only because she’d left Manhattan and had been bumming around Europe on her own, freaking her sister out. So, basically, Katherine Whittaker had just spent the last few months causing trouble incognito.

He backed onto the coast road, slotted the transmission into drive and hit the gas. He could feel her angry glare but didn’t trust himself to speak.

This woman had everything—a lavish home, a family who loved her and the smarts to make something of herself. Instead of which, she’d chosen to thumb her nose at it all and behave like a kid in a candy store for years, probably all on Dario’s dime.

“I don’t know where you think you’re taking me, but you can’t make me do anything,” she said.

He glanced across the console. Her tip-tilted eyes had gone squinty around the corners.

“I’m not nineteen years old anymore,” she added. “And I don’t take orders from anyone, least of all you.”

He turned back to the road, but not before he’d noticed the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the soft cotton of her tank top.

“You want to get out and walk some more?” he asked, calling her bluff.

She glared at him but then swung her face away.

I didn’t think so.

Her slim shoulders slumped against the seat—reminding him of the troubled nineteen-year-old with a big mouth and a crush on him he’d taken great pains to ignore, until she’d gotten under his guard for a few gut-wrenching seconds.

The dying sunlight caught the gold in her hair and made the sweat misting the slopes of her breasts glimmer. Reaction kicked him hard in the gut.

Sometime in the last five years, the gawky duckling with the smart and way too tempting mouth had turned into a long-legged and stunningly beautiful swan, even under the layer of dirt, sweat and animosity.

He punched the gas to pass a truck laden with fruit trees. The sooner he got rid of Katherine Whittaker, the better.

“Why are you even in Italy?” she murmured. “Please tell me you didn’t come all this way just to get in my face?”

He let the snotty comment go, because even the hostile tone couldn’t disguise the weary resignation.

“I’m staying on Capri until Monday,” he said. “The company’s running security for the press opening of the new Venus resort. Dario contacted me to coordinate the search when you texted Megan this morning.”

“How fortuitous,” she said, the bite of sarcasm dulled by fatigue.

Not that fortuitous, really. The Venus project was a major contract, but Jared hadn’t planned to attend the event in person—despite all the noise from his PR department about the great publicity it would generate in the European market if he showed up for the four-day press launch. But his plans had changed this morning when Dario’s call had come in from New York, interrupting him in Naples during a meeting where he’d been finalizing the takeover of a small tech-security firm.

The urgency in Dario’s voice had hit first, then the wave of shame at the mention of a girl he had tried very hard to forget in the last five years.

When he’d discovered that Katherine was missing on the Amalfi Coast somewhere, that her sister Megan was freaking out big time and that they hadn’t been able to contract her, Jared hadn’t hesitated.

He’d redirected a team of his men from the Venus project to kick-start the search, and then taken a helicopter to Sorrento.

He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel. He still didn’t know where that impulse had come from. Probably just his loyalty to Dario. It was true he’d never quite been able to forget Katherine Whittaker—and the desolation in her eyes after that aborted kiss—but he never got sentimental about women. Especially not women as troublesome as this one.

“How did you end up lost in Campania barefoot?” he asked, attempting to defuse the situation and get some answers. Although he suspected he already knew what had happened.

The Amalfi Coast was a mecca for billionaire property development and high-end tourism but, when you factored in the deprivation in Naples’ slums less than thirty miles away, opportunistic robberies weren’t uncommon.

“I’m not lost,” she said, snapping his olive branch in two. “I know where I am. And where I want to go. And it’s not back to New York.”

Yeah, it was. But he’d deal with the problem of getting her on a plane once they got to the airport. First he needed to swing by wherever she was staying so she could wash up and they could grab her luggage and travel documents.

Once she was on her way home, he’d follow up with the police on the investigation. Even if she hadn’t been hurt, he wanted the little bastards who had done this to her caught and prosecuted.

“So, where were you headed with no transport and no shoes?”

“Sorrento. If you could drop me there, that would be terrific. Then you can tell Dario you’ve done your bit.”

“Is that where you’re based? In Sorrento?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “Not exactly.”

He glanced at her. The rosé blush was heading for her hairline at an alarming rate.

“Then where’s the rest of your stuff?” he demanded.

“Probably half way to France by now on the back of my stolen Vespa, with my shoes.”

Jared’s fingers clenched on the wheel hard enough to leave an indent in the leather. “Please tell me that doesn’t include your passport,” he said.

The glare she sent him gave him the answer he didn’t want.

CHAPTER TWO

THE LAST OF the sunshine glinted off the convertible’s paintwork as it powered down the winding coast road and cast shadows over Jared Caine’s face, making him look even more forbidding than usual. The short, dark strands of his hair danced playfully in the breeze but did nothing to soften the line of his jaw—which he was clenching hard enough to crack a tooth.

His eyes were hidden behind the dark lenses of his designer sunglasses, but Katie didn’t need to look into them to know Jared Caine was angry about the latest turn of events and trying hard not to show it.

Join the club.

She looked back toward the horizon and slipped down in the seat until the car’s luxury leather upholstery cradled her. She closed her eyes, letting the well-oiled hum of the convertible’s engine drown out the deep hum in her abdomen—which had kicked off the minute Caine had stepped out of his car—and was not remotely significant.

Caine was a phenomenally good-looking guy—with a potent sexual charisma. Especially if you had a weakness for tough, take-charge, control-freaky types who demonstrated about as much empathy and sensitivity as the jagged rocks of Campania’s coastline. And apparently she did, especially when she was exhausted and traumatized and had just been mugged.

Luckily, she had previous experience of this reaction. She would get over it.

And at least he’d stopped trying to bully her into getting on a plane. She might have been able to get some grim satisfaction out of thwarting his plan but for the painful throbbing in her frontal lobe as she tried to get her head around the huge mess she was in.

The car phone buzzed loudly, making her head hurt even more.

“Hey, Dario,” Caine said, answering the call and then switching to speaker phone.

“Tell me you’ve found her, Jared?”

Katie’s heart somersaulted in her chest at the urgency in her brother-in-law’s voice and she straightened in her seat.

“I’ve got her here with me,” Caine replied. “Picked her up on a farm track five miles from Sorrento. We’re on speaker.”

Dario cursed in Italian. “Katie? Grazie Dio,” he murmured. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m good, Dario. Really, it wasn’t anything major. I got robbed, but they didn’t hurt me. I didn’t want you and Meg to worry.”

“Is she okay, Jared?” Dario asked, even though she’d already answered that question.

Caine’s all-seeing gaze swept over her, assessing her condition again, the way he had when he’d first stepped out of his car. And the hum went haywire.

She pressed her hand to her head, mindful of the graze hiding behind her hair which she didn’t want either Caine or Dario to know about, because it would just give the two of them more excuses to treat her like a five-year-old.

“Other than sore feet, yes,” he said after the disturbingly thorough examination. “Just shaken up.”

“I’m sitting right here, Dario,” she pointed out, trying not to lose her cool, while being reminded of being nineteen years old again and having both Dario and Caine decide that they knew what was best for her.

The spurt of indignation died though when she heard Megan’s muffled voice and then her sister came on the line. “Katie, thank God you’re okay. I’ve been worried sick ever since we got your text and I couldn’t get through to you.”

Guilt swept through Katie at the distressed tone.

“The phone lost service right after I texted you,” Katie said, regretting sending the panicked plea in the moments after the robbery even more. Megan would have been frantic and it was all her fault, as usual. “Really, Megan, I’m fine,” she repeated. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Where are you now?” her sister asked.

“With Caine, in his car.”

Hopefully heading for Sorrento.

“We can wire you some money. How much do you need?” Megan cut back in.

Katie wanted desperately to refuse the offer, especially with Caine listening in. He’d once called her a spoiled brat and in her debilitated state the old insult felt fresh.

“Two hundred euros would be terrific,” she said. It would be just enough to stay in a hostel for a couple of nights, contact her insurance company to replenish her wardrobe and get painting. Once she’d done a few watercolors she could set up a pitch in Piazza Tasso. Sorrento’s main square was the perfect place for her to sell her work, with its arty vibe and the never-ending stream of tourists. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I—”

“Don’t be silly. That’s not enough. Let us wire you five thousand.” Megan interrupted her again, sounding desperate. “You need to pay for a plane ticket home.”

“I’m not coming home, Meg,” Katie said, trying not to sound defensive or, worse, ungrateful. But she knew she had to remain firm.

She wasn’t ready to go back. Not yet.

“You’re not?” Megan sounded devastated. “Even after this?”

“I’ll be back soon. I promise,” she said, mindful of their audience. She could feel Caine listening from across the car and judging.

Not to mention Dario, who she would bet was scowling at the phone right now, not happy about the way she was upsetting his wife.

“You’ve been away for months now,” Megan came back. “I can’t bear for...” The line crackled and Katie’s guilt began to choke her. Was Megan crying?

The hollow space in the pit of her belly got larger.

The muffled sounds finally silenced. Then a door shut and Dario’s voice came over the phone. “Megan is resting now,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Is she okay?” Katie asked, the guilt all but crippling her. She’d known Megan would worry, but she hadn’t realized she’d worry this much. Megan was usually so practical and calm. “I’m so sorry to have caused—”

“Don’t say that if it isn’t true, sorellina,” Dario cut in, using the endearment that had meant so much to Katie when he’d first started using it a few years ago.

Little sister.

“You say you are sorry for causing Megan this distress, but it is a simple matter to solve the problem.” Her brother-in-law’s usually flawless English had become disjointed, a sure sign he was holding on to his temper with an effort. “All you need to do is come home.”

“I can’t do that, Dario, please understand.” Inadequacy twisted in her stomach, making unhappy bedfellows with the guilt.

Why does this have to be so hard?

She sounded immature and selfish, even to her own ears. But the thought of returning to New York had the inadequacy clawing at her throat, the way it had so often since the night of Whittaker’s attack. She couldn’t go back until she had more to show for her trip than some great anecdotes and a half-hearted show of independence.

The money she’d made over the last two months with her artwork was all gone, probably paying for a major Pinky and Perky party somewhere. The chances of getting it back were slim to none. She couldn’t return to New York without it because she’d be right back where she started, with Dario and Megan bankrolling her and all her screw-ups.

She couldn’t tell Dario and Megan about the money she’d lost, though, because they’d offer to replace it, not realizing that it wasn’t the money that mattered so much as the fact she’d earned it herself.

“And when will you be ready?” Dario asked. “How much longer do you intend to punish your sister this way?”

“I’m not trying to punish Megan,” she said, the weariness starting to weigh her down. Dario was someone she had always wanted to impress, because he had been the one to save Megan when she had failed. “This isn’t about her. It’s about me.”

“Yes, I understand, it is always about you,” Dario replied, the sharp tone unlike him. Dario rarely if ever showed his frustration.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said. “And I’m really sorry I contacted you with this. I shouldn’t have done that, I should have—”

“No, Katie, don’t say this. We are glad you contacted us,” he said, but she could hear the weary sigh down the phone line—and felt like even more of a fraud.

Dario was always so certain. So successful. And so was Megan. They knew what they wanted and had set out to get it together. They’d had a few wobbles along the way. But they’d worked through them and succeeded and built an incredible life for themselves.

But what they had never understood was that she wasn’t like them. She had none of Megan’s steadiness or certainty and none of Dario’s drive or ambition. And she simply wasn’t cut out for long-term relationships. Heck, she’d never even gotten to third base with any of the guys she’d dated over the years—the fear of being subsumed, having her own personality swallowed up by someone else’s, always so much greater than the lure of sexual intimacy.

That she was still a virgin at twenty-four years old spoke for itself. She didn’t consider it a choice or a flaw, so much as an essential means of survival. She had to find herself first, really get to know who she was and what she wanted, before she could consider risking that fragile identity by blending it with another.

And, if she ever did find the right guy, it would never be a guy like Dario. As much as she loved him as a brother, marrying someone like him, falling in love with someone like him, would be an unmitigated disaster.

The way Megan and Dario looked at each other sometimes when they thought no one was watching, the way they touched each other—all those small, insignificant, secret touches that demonstrated not just their off-the-charts sexual chemistry but also how much they loved and respected each other—had always scared Katie. How could anyone trust another person that much? Enough to rely on them absolutely?

She couldn’t do that—she knew she couldn’t. But living so close to Megan and her family, watching Dario and Megan with their two adorable kids, Izzy and Arturo, had become a double-edged sword.

She loved being part of a solid, secure unit that wasn’t just her and her sister anymore. But, on the other hand, seeing how happy, how complete, Megan, Dario and their kids were together made her feel like an intruder. The dark cloud on their bright horizon who could contribute nothing to the whole but could only take.

The tabloid stories of her dancing on tables, or getting arrested during a midnight swim in Central Park Lake, or losing her modeling contract because she had famously decided to chop all her hair off on a whim had hurt Megan and Dario and the kids as much as they’d hurt her.

Which was exactly why she’d jumped ship and headed to Europe where her celebrity profile was non-existent. The anonymity had been glorious. But, more than that, having to survive on her own had been liberating in ways she couldn’t even have imagined.

She’d learned some important stuff about herself. Not least of which was that she could enjoy life, do adventurous, exciting stuff, without being reckless or stupid. Or dragging her family through the mud.

She’d discovered that after four and a half years of screw-ups and embarrassing tabloid headlines, after four and a half years of citations and fines as a result of a string of dumb stunts and thoughtless acts, and after four and a half years of failing to make anything like a decent living she could break that cycle. She could live on her own terms without compromising the happiness of others.

But New Improved Katie was still a work in progress. And today she was at a crossroads, her fledging independence being tested thanks to Pinky and Perky. But this time she couldn’t take the easy road.

Getting Dario to understand why she didn’t want his help was going to be an uphill battle, though. Not one she needed right now when she felt as if she were about to dissolve into Caine’s upholstery.

“I am glad you contacted us,” Dario reiterated. “But you must understand now that you are safer here, with your family, than wandering around Europe on your own,” he continued, the no-nonsense tone one she was sure he used on his employees. “You must fly home tonight. And we will figure this out together.”

But it’s not your problem, it’s mine, she wanted to scream. But the words were locked in her throat, trapped behind the boulder of guilt. How could she make Megan and him see that their love was stifling her ability to solve her own problems and not empowering her without hurting them even more?

“Dario, that’s not going to happen, man,” Caine’s gruff voice sliced through Katie’s anxiety. “She can’t fly anywhere for a while.”

Katie blinked, surprised not just by Caine’s intervention but that he seemed to be on her side. A strange warmth spread through her to add to the inappropriate hum. Of course she didn’t need his help, but she was exhausted enough to appreciate it, especially from someone who had always batted for Team Dario.

“Why not?” Dario asked, sounding frustrated.

“Because the muggers stole her passport.”

The realization that Caine’s defection was about pragmatism, rather than a newfound respect for her, dampened Katie’s warm glow a little.

She shook off the prickle of disappointment. She didn’t care what Caine’s motives were, he’d just provided her with the perfect get-out clause—which if she hadn’t been so exhausted she would have figured out herself.

“That’s true, Dario,” she chipped in. “I’m stuck here until I can get a new one.” And replace everything else she’d lost, which would take her a month at least. Possibly more.

“Can you organize a new passport, Jared?” Dario said, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Sure.”

“How long will it take?” Dario asked.

“Hey, wait a minute, I can...” Katie tried to interrupt but the men were already on a testosterone roll.

“I’ll find out. I’ll get my PA to contact the British consulate in Naples. My guess is, it’ll be quicker than trying to get her a US one.”

Katie’s mind reeled. How did Jared Caine know she had dual nationality? She’d spent the years until her mother’s death in a British boarding school, and her accent had always been a mid-Atlantic hybrid—her upbringing a mix of two cultures divided by a common language. But since her late teens she’d always thought of herself as more American than British, unlike Megan. How exactly was this any of Jared Caine’s business, though?

“You are in Capri for the next few days, yes?” Dario asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then she must stay with you, until the passport is ready. And you can bring her home? Is that okay?”

What the...?

Katie’s tired mind stalled. For several precious seconds she was so shocked by Dario’s high-handed assumption, no sound would come out of her mouth.

Caine paused, his jaw hardening to granite again. And Katie felt the horror and humiliation that had taken her by the throat begin to ease.

Don’t freak out. No way will Caine agree to this.

Dario was being a jerk, but his heart was in the right place. Dario’s I’m-the-boss-of-you gene had always been hyperactive, or he never would have whisked Meg off to Isadora after the assault and insisted on marrying her when he’d found out she was pregnant. And, if anything, since he had become a dad Dario’s take-charge gene had gone into overdrive because there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect his children or his wife. And he’d always considered Katie part of that equation, even before he’d married Megan. Which was exactly how she’d ended up with Caine as a minder five years ago.

But Dario didn’t know what had happened between her and his best friend while he and Megan had been in Isadora. She had certainly never told either Megan or him about that humiliating kiss. And she was sure Caine hadn’t said anything to Dario, either, or Megan would have mentioned it.

The men were as close as brothers, but she’d never been able to get out of Megan what their history was. All she knew was that Caine seemed to owe Dario some kind of debt. But, whatever the debt was, it couldn’t possibly be enough to make him agree to be her babysitter again.

“Of course it’s not a problem.” Caine’s reply shocked Katie into silence again. “She can come to Capri with me until I fly back in four days—I’ll make sure she has a passport by then.”

“Great,” Dario said. “That’s settled.”

“Are you completely mad?” Katie blurted out at the same time, finally relocating her voice.

“Katie?” Dario asked, obviously confused. “What is the matter?”

“I’ve got this, Dario. Gotta sign off—we’re coming to a tunnel. Speak soon.” Jared fired a glare at her as he disconnected the call with no tunnel in sight.

Adrenaline surged through her veins, her outrage overtaking her exhaustion. “Why did you tell him that?” she yelped. “This is none of your business.”

“It is now,” he said, the bunched muscle in his jaw working overtime. He didn’t look any happier at the prospect than she did.

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