Captive At Her Enemy's Command

She struggled to calm her breathing before her head exploded.

“This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman,” she said, attempting to appeal to his common sense before she gave herself an aneurysm. Fighting fire with fire didn’t work with Caine. She’d tried that once before when she’d been a teenager and it had been a disaster. “Which means I decide what I do. Not you. Or Dario. And I have no intention of going to Capri, with or without you. So you need to call him back and tell him.”

She’d rather gouge out her own eyeballs than go there during some huge PR event. Although the paparazzi and the press had probably forgotten all about her, she was not about to tempt fate. And going with Caine was out of the question. They didn’t like each other and there was the inappropriate hum to consider.

And, on top of all that, Capri was the one place in Europe she had never wanted to go—because her mother was buried somewhere on that island, after the car she’d been in with one of her many lovers had plunged off a cliff. Katie had been to Capri once before, as an eight-year-old, and the hazy memory of standing over a grave in the misty rain, her sister’s arm heavy on her shoulders and the caustic flash of camera bulbs blinding them both, was a blur of misery, emptiness and fear which she did not want to revisit.

The hollow pain in her stomach sunk into the floor of Caine’s convertible.

This trip was about getting away from her mother’s legacy—and the thoughtlessness Katie had inherited that could wreck lives if she didn’t get a handle on it—not following in the woman’s footsteps.

“I know you’re a grown woman,” he said, the growled acknowledgment setting off a new hum that made no sense at all, so she ignored it. “But you’re a grown woman with no money, no clothes, no means of transportation and no ID, which means you’re all out of options. You can’t even collect the money Megan’s planning to wire you.”

Tears of frustration stung the back of her eyes at his brutal assessment, the unfairness of the situation making her want to weep.

“Then lend me some money. I’ll pay you back, I swear.” She could hear the pathetic plea in her voice and hated herself for it. But what other choice did she have? He was right. She couldn’t survive with nothing. But why should everything she’d worked so hard to achieve in the last few months be ruined simply because she’d had the misfortune to get mugged?

“Admit it, you don’t want to babysit me anymore than I want to be babysat,” she continued. “If you could give me enough to sort myself out for a few days, I can contact Dario and explain everything. There’s no reason for you to even be involved.”

He didn’t say anything, his jaw still rigid. She thought she might have made progress. But, when he glanced her way, his gaze locked on her forehead and he swore.

She gripped the dash as the car swerved to the side of the road and stopped.

Her back thudded against the car door and she brushed the hair that had been lifted by the breeze back over her forehead. But when he took her elbow and tugged her toward him, she knew it was too late.

“Hold still,” he said. He brushed a fingertip over her forehead to lift her hair out the way, and studied the bruise for what felt like several hours.

Temper and something inscrutable swirled in the deep-blue depths before he held up three fingers. “How many?”

“Three.”

Folding two down, he tracked his index finger past her nose and back again. “Follow it.”

She did as she was told as her heart pummeled her ribs, and the stupid hum in the pit of her abdomen spiked. The intense look was one she remembered.

“Did you pass out when it happened?” he asked, his expression set in grim lines.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not an idiot,” she managed round the clump of cotton wool that seemed to be clogging her tonsils. “If I thought I had a concussion, I would have said something.”

One eyebrow cocked. “You should have said something, period. If you didn’t look so done in right now, I would be forced to revise my rule on spanking women.”

To her horror, even in the depths of her exhaustion a flare of heat crossed her buttocks. She stiffened and tugged her elbow out of his grasp.

What was wrong with her? How could she get some weird, prurient thrill out of being threatened with a spanking like an unruly kid?

“Then I guess I’d be forced to revise my rule on chopping off men’s arms,” she managed at last. But the comeback wasn’t one of her best, as hopelessness began to engulf her. Not only was she at Caine’s mercy, for tonight at least, she also appeared to be at the mercy of the wayward libido she thought she’d tamed five years ago.

She clasped her arms around her waist, rubbing the goose bumps which had risen on her flesh despite the warm evening air.

He took a bottle of water out of the glove box and dampened a wad of tissues. Tucking a finger under her chin, he lifted her face to hold the cold compress to the bump on her forehead.

Grasping her wrist, he lifted her hand to replace his. “Keep it pressed to the wound,” he said. The shuttered look he sent her made the churning in her stomach worse. Being pitied was hardly an improvement on being patronized.

“My launch is docked at the Marina Grande,” he said, mentioning Sorrento’s main port. “I’ll call ahead and get a doctor to meet us there, so they can check out your head before we leave Sorrento.”

“That’s overkill. It’s only a graze.” And she hadn’t actually agreed to go to Capri with him. But the thought of having that argument again felt overwhelming—seeing as she could hardly string a coherent sentence together.

He sent her a quelling look and she knew she wasn’t going to win this argument either. “How did it happen?” he asked.

“The battle for my pack got a little out of hand.”

Temper flashed in his eyes, disconcerting her, because it didn’t appear to be aimed at her. For once. “How many of them were there?”

“Two, but they were just teenagers. I don’t think they meant to hurt me.”

“So what? They did,” he said. “I want a description. I’ll file a report with the local cops and brief my team on Capri. Those little bastards need to be caught and punished.”

There he went, assuming she was going to Capri with him again... But her objections remained locked in her throat, beaten into submission by the low fury in his tone and the news he was going to get his men to help find her muggers. The wobbly sensation it caused in her tummy had to be exhaustion.

She didn’t want an avenging angel any more than she wanted a white knight. And especially not one like Jared Caine whose control-freak tendencies were only slightly less disturbing than his ability to make her insides vibrate as if she were plugged into an electric socket.

He shifted into gear and pulled back onto the road. The sun was setting, adding a vivid glow to the stunning landscape as they approached Sorrento. Colorful terracotta houses perched precariously over the vivid blue of the Mediterranean, punctuated by orange groves and trellises of grape vines. A train decorated with colorful graffiti rattled past on the hillside above them.

After calling his PA to arrange a doctor to meet them at the port, and coaxing a surprisingly detailed description of Pinky and Perky out of Katie, Caine contacted the local police force on speaker phone to report the crime. She let her mind drift as she listened to him talk to the dispatcher in Italian, the lyrical language making his deep voice sound even more compelling. She’d only been in Italy a month, and her Italian was still patchy, but his accent sounded perfect. Why was she not surprised? Was there nothing the man didn’t excel at?

The dying sunlight cast the angles of Caine’s face into sharp relief. No wonder she’d had such a crush on him as a nineteen-year-old—the man was scarily gorgeous with a confidence most women would find irresistible. But not her, she told herself, determined to believe it.

He finished the call as they entered the city’s narrow streets, and she forced herself to make one last-ditch attempt to salvage her pride and self-respect, not to mention her sanity. Because four days on Capri with him was liable to threaten all three.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just lend me some money and let me stay here?” she asked. “I really don’t need a keeper. Whatever Dario thinks.”

He took his sunglasses off as the twilight descended and sent her a level look. “Not gonna happen, so give it up,” he said with a determination that dashed her last hope. “And, just for the record, Dario’s not the only one who thinks you need a keeper.”

She huffed out a breath. She should have been upset by the high-handed comment. But she was now officially too tired and too miserable to care. Her head was throbbing, her feet hurt and her nose was beginning to sting from what felt like third-degree sunburn. And then there was the blasted hum to consider, which was making her giddy.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a bully?” she muttered.

“Frequently,” he said, then a strange thing happened. The sensual line of his lips lifted on one side drawing her attention to the scar on his top lip. She might have missed the movement, because it was there one second and gone the next. But even that tiny flicker—the infinitesimal crack in the controlled facade—had a devastating effect on her equilibrium as the hum plunged.

Her face heated, the atmosphere suddenly too close, too intimate, despite the salty breeze as they took the road down to Marina Grande.

Lights glittered on the cliff top as Sorrento woke up for the night, the Palladian splendor of the Hotel Excelsior Vittoria beaming down on the harbor like a reigning queen. But the view wasn’t anywhere near as breathtaking as the barest hint of a smile on Jared Caine’s lips.

Had she ever seen him smile before? She couldn’t have. Because that crooked half-smile—rare and rusty—was a secret weapon in the man’s arsenal she had been unaware of. As if he didn’t already have enough weapons at his disposable.

“Just so you know, I make a terrible house guest,” she added, not happy that he’d managed to get the upper hand so easily. “I always leave the top off the toothpaste and I never put anything away. You’re going to hate having me there.”

“Our villa has two bathrooms,” he replied as he took a left past the main port at the bottom of the cliff road. “And staff to clean up after you. I’ll manage.”

Our villa? So they were going to be sharing a villa.

The hum became a deep primal buzz.

They drove past the concrete dock where passengers were boarding the evening ferry to Ischia. He slowed the car to a crawl to inch past a couple of waterfront restaurants already filled with tourists watching the last of the sunset. The pungent scent of raw fish and garlic wafted past as they approached rows of fishing boats, leisure dinghies and small yachts bobbing on the water. The car edged to a stop at the very end of the waterfront where a private dock protruded out into the bay. A huge motor launch stood at the end of the floating wooden platform, the stainless-steel stanchions gleaming red in the fading sunlight.

He braked and got out of the car. Reaching into the back, he lifted out her art box and hefted it under his arm. The sunset shone on his onyx hair as he came round to open her door. “How are the feet?” he asked. “Do you need me to carry you on board?”

“No. My feet are fine.” Give or take a million and one blisters.

She stepped out of the car, struggling not to flinch as her tortured soles connected with the worn wood of the dock. But she’d rather walk across hot coals than give him another excuse to scoop her up again. Being in such close proximity to that broad, heavily muscled chest and his disconcertingly delicious scent would increase the disturbing buzz.

She took her time making her way toward the boat, far too aware of his powerful presence beside her, waiting to step in again if she stumbled. She couldn’t help the sigh of relief, though, when she was able to lean on the guardrail of the gangplank.

A young man, wearing a peaked cap greeted them on deck and took her art box from Jared, after introducing himself as Matteo, the launch’s pilot. He had a brief conversation with Jared. From her smattering of Italian, she gathered Dr. Chialini would be arriving shortly, but was based in Sorrento so couldn’t travel with them to Capri.

Jared seemed to want to argue the point.

“It’s okay. I really don’t need a doctor anyway,” she interrupted in English. But as both men swung toward her she made the mistake of letting go of the guardrail.

The boat swayed slightly and her knees gave way as blood rushed to her aching head with startling speed.

Hard hands grasped her upper arms, catching her before she could hit the deck.

A rough, urgent curse beckoned her back from toppling into the abyss.

She locked her knees as Caine’s fingers pressed into her biceps.

“Why didn’t you say you were feeling faint?”

“I’m just tired,” she said, but the earthquake which had started in her legs was still sending aftershocks through her body.

“You’re shaking,” he said, his tone raw. The rough calluses on his palm sent ripples of sensation sizzling across her skin. Then suddenly she was weightless.

Her breath got trapped in her lungs as she ingested a lungful of his scent, the subtle hint of salt, soap and man. She was too close to him.

Close enough to detect the scar again which had once fascinated her through the shadow of stubble. Close enough to see the silver shards in the cool blue of his irises.

Her heartbeat slammed into her throat.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice sounding far away. “I told you, I can walk.”

He glanced at her, the muscle in his cheek flexing. “Shut up, Katherine.”

She wanted to insist he put her down, but she couldn’t find the strength to do anything, her limbs so numb she felt as if they weren’t her own. He crossed the deck in a few strides, then took the steps down into a cabin with her held securely in his arms. The flex of his biceps felt hard against her back, the wall of his chest solid against her cheek. Her pulse jumped and jived.

The luxury interior was furnished with deep leather couches built into the hull. Large portholes afforded a view of the edge of the dock and the sea beyond, the full moon lifting over the horizon as the last of the sun fled.

Caine deposited her on the couch. “Do you feel nauseous?”

“No, I’m okay, really.”

Before they could argue the point, the good Dr. Chialini appeared. Caine hovered throughout the examination, firing off questions to the doctor in Italian as the poor woman tried to do her job. Katie held her tongue and did as she was told. If he got his caveman act out of his system, maybe he’d back off.

After declaring Katie concussion-free, and giving her a dose of painkillers for her headache, the doctor cleaned Katie’s feet. She found only a few small cuts and abrasions, which she dabbed with antiseptic cream and covered with plasters.

“Keep the cuts clean, and wear soft shoes or go barefoot if they are too sore,” she said in her perfect English as she packed her black case.

Not a problem, Katie thought wryly, seeing as I don’t actually have any shoes.

Caine continued to quiz the doctor as he left the cabin with her. Katie could hear them talking as they went up on deck together but was way too tired to decipher what was being said.

She stretched out on the couch, watching the lights on the headland as the voices drifted into silence, followed by the rumble of the boat’s engine.

Next stop, Capri. The site of one of my worst memories. And four days spent in Jared Caine’s overwhelming company.

She listened to the waves slapping against the hull, felt the kick of movement as the boat peeled away from the dock, and breathed in the scene of new leather and sea air.

Caine would probably be back in a minute to micromanage her. She closed her eyes. Well, he couldn’t bully her if she was comatose.

The salty breeze coming from the deck ruffled the short hairs on her arms as her limbs became weightless. She floated, buoyed by the bone-deep fatigue which had been lurking at the edges of her consciousness for hours. But as the gentle sway of the boat lulled her into a deep, drugging sleep, the buzz refused to fade.

* * *

“I’ll need some clothes,” Jared spoke into his cell phone as he stood in the entrance to the cabin and watched Katherine sleep.

She’d curled up on the couch like a child, her hands under one cheek, her bare feet tucked under her butt.

“Do you know what size your guest is, Mr. Caine?”

Jared frowned, his gaze absorbing the long, coltish line of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath the grubby tank top. “No. Bring a selection.”

“We could hire a stylist—arrange for them to come to your villa tomorrow morning and fit her for a new wardrobe,” the resort concierge suggested helpfully.

“Great. Whatever,” he said, not wanting to think about her slim frame and how it had felt so fragile in his arms.

“Will she be attending events with you?” the concierge asked.

He considered the question for a moment. “What events, exactly?”

He hated PR junkets. The original plan had been to fly in from Naples at the end of the weekend for one night and then head back to New York. But because of the woman curled up in front of him—who didn’t look like she had a care in the world—he was going to be stuck on Capri for four days at least. Possibly more, if it took longer to get her a replacement passport.

“We have the investors’ ball tomorrow,” the concierge began. “Then the press picnic on Saturday afternoon and the gala on Sunday. There are a number of other events that the resort would love you to attend too, if you’re not too busy with the security teams.”

The truth was the security teams didn’t need his oversight, but he planned to give it to them anyway, so he could spend as little time as possible going stir-crazy in a luxury villa he was being forced to share with his house guest.

The trickle of unease worked its way down his spine at the thought of having to share a villa with anyone. After living on the street—his crib being anything from a hotly contested doorway on the Upper West Side to a patch of turf in Harlem over a subway grate—his creature comforts were important to him, and he insisted on complete privacy.

He didn’t share bed space or any other space. Especially not overnight.

He swallowed past the ripple of anxiety. And the pulse of heat.

He wasn’t going to be sharing a bed with Katherine, just a villa. Luckily he’d booked a two-bed, because there’d been no other availability. But she would be in another room. And would no doubt want to avail herself of the resort’s spa and leisure activities. Plus, the soundproofing in his room would be sufficient if... His jaw tensed. He wasn’t going to have any episodes. He hadn’t had any in months.

Even so, frustration twisted in his gut to tangle with the unwelcome swell of heat.

He should have said no to Dario’s request. He didn’t like the volatility of his attraction to this woman, especially as it made no sense. But he could never say no to Dario, because he owed the guy everything.

Katie mumbled in her sleep as the boat hit a swell.

“Signore Caine, do you want me to list the other events we have scheduled?” the concierge prompted on the other end of the line.

“Put me down for the ball,” he said. If he was going to be here, he might as well make a couple of appearances. “Otherwise, make my excuses.”

“Will Ms. Whittaker be attending with you?” the concierge asked.

He frowned, suppressing his kneejerk desire to say no.

The less time he spent with Katherine, the easier it would be for them both. But, as he watched her sleeping, it occurred to him that sometimes the easy option wasn’t the smart option.

Perhaps he should rope her into the circus too. Given her aptitude for PR stunts, she’d enjoy the press attention—and it might stop her from getting up to mischief. He didn’t trust her not to run off if left too much to her own devices.

Whatever happened, he was delivering her to Dario in New York as promised. And entertaining her in public was a lot less dangerous than entertaining her in private.

“Yeah, Ms. Whittaker will attend the ball with me.”

“Wonderful, Signore Caine, I’ll add you both to the guest lists.”

Ending his call with the concierge, he headed back on deck.

But, as he let the sea spray mist his face, it didn’t do a lot to cool the heat flowing through his veins.

He would have been quite happy never to see Katherine Whittaker again in this lifetime. And now he was going to be stuck with her for several days. He didn’t like it one bit.

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