Captive of Kadar

by Trish Morey

  ‘Maledizione!’ he cursed aloud and strode after her, his legs brushing against the lavender which tumbled from the borders, raising the scent. Just being in the garden, with its proud display of flowers, made him remember the time he’d looked after his sister while she’d recovered from a car accident. It was a memory that wouldn’t help at all right now.

  As he neared the open back door he heard Charlie’s frustrated growl. He didn’t knock, didn’t pause. He just walked straight in. He wasn’t going to be dismissed so easily.

  This woman had stubbornly refused her brother’s requests to go to Italy and see the car they’d been working on and it had angered him. Then, after the accident, he’d offered his support, but he’d never expected her rejection or her cold and furious denial of his existence.

  With her arms locked rigidly tight, she leant on the kitchen table, her head lowered in despair. She spun round to face him. ‘How dare you?’ Hot angry words hurtled across the small space to him, but he stood tall, despite the low beams of the old cottage, and took her anger.

  ‘I dare because I promised Sebastian that I would.’ He moved nearer to the small table, nearer to her, until only a pulled-out chair, left as if recently vacated, separated them.

  ‘I’m sure Seb would not have made anyone promise to come and hassle me like this.’ He watched as her full lips clamped shut on further words and he felt the strangest desire to kiss those lips, to taste her rage and frustration, to draw it from her and replace it with hot desire.

  ‘Hassle?’ He frowned at her and saw her green eyes widen, liking the swirling brown within their depths, reminding him of autumn.

  ‘Yes, hassle. Hound. Harass. Call it what you like, but he wouldn’t have wanted that.’ Her words were short and sharp. Irritation made her breathing shallow and fast. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly beneath her T-shirt, snagging his attention as lustful hormones raced to places he just didn’t need them going right now.

  ‘He made me promise to bring you to Italy and involve you in the launch.’ His words were sharper than he’d intended, but then he’d never expected to meet a woman who unleashed such a cocktail of fury and fire within him. She was not at all the sweet and happy girl Sebastian had told him about; she was sexy and passionately angry.

  ‘He what?’ She pushed the chair under the old pine table and moved closer to him.

  Not a good idea, not when his body was reacting so wildly to her sexy curves. He wanted to drag the damn chair back out, keep the barrier between them. Maybe then he’d be able to think about the reason he’d come here instead of this long neglected need for a woman’s body.

  ‘The car is due to be launched. I want you there.’ The words rushed out and he had the strangest sensation that she was depleting his control, weaving some kind of spell around him.

  ‘You want me there?’ Her voice raised an octave and he blinked hard, then realised how it had sounded to her. A little pang of conscience surged forwards but he pushed it back. Clearly she held him responsible for that night and he couldn’t sully her memories with the truth. Not after the promise he’d made.

  ‘Sebastian wanted you there.’ What was the matter with him? This woman wasn’t at all what he’d expected. She didn’t look glamorous and the idea that she had, until recently, been living a luxury lifestyle didn’t seem remotely possible.

  Why did this ordinary and plain version of Charlotte Warrington, tousled and unkempt from the garden, arouse him so instantly? He couldn’t process thought coherently, his body flooding with lust, demanding satisfaction.

  She shook her head. ‘No, he wouldn’t have asked that. But then he wouldn’t have been killed if it wasn’t for you and your stupid car.’

  ‘You know he lived for cars, for the thrill of speed. It was what he did, what he was good at.’ Sandro pushed back the image of the accident, shelving the terror of all that had unfolded minutes after the crash, which had proved, within hours, to be fatal. He could relate to her pain, sympathise with her grief, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t allow her to apportion the blame to him.

  He’d kept the truth from the world and the gossip-hungry media, out of respect for the young driver who’d quickly become his friend. Now it was time to carry out Seb’s final request. He’d wanted his sister at the launch, wanted her stamp of approval on the car, and that was what Seb would have—whatever it took.

  ‘It is also how he died.’ Sadness deflated her voice and he saw her shoulders drop. Was she going to cry? Panic sluiced over him.

  As she composed herself, his gaze scanned the small country kitchen, typically English and not at all the sort of thing he’d imagined her living in. Herbs hung drying from a beam and various fresh versions adorned the windowsill. Nestled among them, in a small frame, was a photo of Sebastian and Charlie.

  He reached for it and saw her gaze dart from him to the photo, but she said nothing as he picked it up and looked at the picture. Instead of being drawn to his friend, he looked at the image of the woman who now stood close to him. A woman he knew through the media but had never met. The same woman who was now having a strange effect on him—or was that just his conscience?

  From the photo her eyes shone with happiness, her deliciously full lips spread into a smile. She was leaning against a sports car, her brother, his arms wrapped protectively around her, pulled her close, equally happy.

  ‘Rome. Two years ago,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper, and he sensed her move closer to him, felt the heat radiating from her body. ‘Before he became embroiled in your project and forgot about us.’

  He took a deep breath in, inhaling her scent, something light and floral, like jasmine, mixed with an earthy scent from her time just spent in the garden. Carefully he replaced the photo on the windowsill, ignoring the barb of accusation in her last words. That was not a discussion for now. ‘You are alike.’

  ‘Were.’

  That one word ratcheted up his guilt, the same guilt he’d told himself again and again he shouldn’t carry and, finally, he’d thought he’d convinced himself. He should have known that coming here, facing this woman wouldn’t be easy. That it would only increase the self-apportioned guilt instead of lessen it. The fact that he still kept Seb’s darkest secret from everyone didn’t help.

  He looked down at her as she stood at his side and when she looked up, her mossy green eyes so sad, so vulnerable, his chest tightened, almost crushing him with a need to chase away that sadness, to put that happy smile back on her sexy lips once again.

  ‘It’s what he wanted, Charlotte,’ he said softly, unable to break the eye contact.

  ‘Charlie. Nobody calls me Charlotte. Except my mother,’ she whispered. The kind of sexy whisper he was used to hearing from a woman after passionate sex. Inside his body, heady desire erupted as he imagined her lying in his bed, whispering with contentment.

  ‘Charlie,’ he repeated as wild need pumped through his veins. He really should stop his mind wandering to the subject of sex. He was in danger of complicating this mission beyond all proportions. She was the one woman he shouldn’t want, couldn’t desire. ‘Seb did want you there.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Her voice, still a throaty whisper, tugged at his male desires as they rampaged ever wilder.

  ‘You can,’ he said and, without thinking, he reached out and stroked the back of his fingers down her face. Her skin was soft and warm. Her breath hitched audibly and her eyes darkened in a message as old as time itself.

  Slowly she shook her head in denial, moving her cheek against his fingers, and he clenched his jaw against the sensation, reminding himself he didn’t mix business with pleasure and this had always been about business—and concealing his friend’s downfall.

  He thought again of the recent conversation with her father, of the assurances he’d made to him, binding him deeper into the promise Seb had extracted from him as his
life had ebbed away.

  ‘Your father thinks you should.’

  It was as if an explosion had happened. As if a firework had gone off between them. She jumped back from him, the chair scratching the tiled floor noisily, her eyes flashing accusation at him.

  ‘My father?’ Her voice, laden with shock, crashed into his thoughts, bringing his mind well and truly back into focus. ‘You’ve spoken to my father?’

  * * *

  Charlie was numb with shock. How dare he speak to her father? And why had her father not mentioned it? Why hadn’t he warned her Alessandro Roselli, owner of one of Italy’s biggest car manufacturers, was looking for her, wanting her to do something he knew she couldn’t face yet? She’d only seen her father yesterday. He should have told her.

  ‘What exactly have you spoken about with my father?’ She kept her words firm, her fingers curled around the back of the chair as if the pine would anchor her, keep her thoughts focused and in control. Just moments ago she’d wondered what his kiss would be like, had revelled in the soft caress of his fingers like a star-struck teenager. What had she been thinking? ‘You had no right.’

  ‘I contacted him to ask if I could visit, to invite you to be at the launch. Your father knows it is what Seb wanted.’ He folded his arms across his broad chest and leant against a kitchen unit, his eyes never breaking contact with hers.

  For the second time that morning her shoulders sagged in defeat. She pressed her fingertips to her temples and closed her eyes briefly. Hopefully, when she opened them he wouldn’t be watching so intently, so knowingly.

  But it didn’t make any difference. Those bronze-flecked eyes, which strangely felt so familiar, now bored into her. Right into the very heart of her, as if probing for every secret she’d ever hidden.

  She dropped her hands and gripped onto the back of the chair again. ‘You had no right to speak to my father. He doesn’t need to be reminded of what we’ve lost and I’m more than capable of deciding for myself if I want to see you or not or if I want to be involved in the launch.’

  ‘And do you?’ He raised his brows and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. The same lips she’d just imagined kissing her.

  Did she what? Focus, Charlie. Her mind scrabbled to regain rational thought. She didn’t know what she wanted except not to allow this man, this prime specimen of raw maleness, to know how unsure and undecided she was.

  ‘I certainly didn’t want to see you.’ She raised her chin and injected calm control into her voice. ‘If you recall, I asked you to leave. I don’t want any part of the motor racing world any more.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve hidden yourself away in the depths of the English countryside?’

  The curiosity in his voice was barely disguised and the question came rapidly on the heels of the confusion he’d caused just by being here. She found it difficult to think about such things, but this man’s presence was making it harder still.

  ‘I withdrew from the frenzy of the media out of respect for my brother. I’m not hiding,’ she said, aware of the curt tone of her voice. ‘I couldn’t continue to be on camera, promoting the team, not after Seb died.’

  ‘Do you think he’d want you to stay that way?’

  As he leant against the kitchen unit, unable to help herself, her gaze flickered to his hips and strong thighs. A sizzle of sexual awareness shimmied over her. Why did she have to find this man, of all men, so undeniably attractive?

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘The cottage is very nice, but a woman like you shouldn’t be ensconced here for ever.’

  She looked back into his face, taking in the slant of his nose and the sensual curve of his lips. He looked directly into her eyes, almost knocking the breath from her body with the intensity.

  Was he right? Would Seb want her to be involved? Then his last words finally registered in her mind. ‘What do you mean—a woman like me?’

  He walked around the table, appearing confined within the small kitchen. A room she’d never thought of as so compact, not until Alessandro Roselli had walked into it. He stopped at the opposite side of the table and she was thankful to have something more substantial between them.

  ‘You live life in the fast lane—or did.’ His accent had turned into a sexy drawl and his eyes raked over her. Again she was conscious of her casual and slightly grubby clothes.

  ‘Well, now I don’t and I have no intention of going back to it. Nothing you—or my father—can say will change my mind.’

  ‘“Look after my little Charlie. She’d like you.”’ He spoke firmly and she knew exactly who he was quoting. Only Seb called her ‘little Charlie’.

  He pulled out another chair and sat down. He was taking root, making it very clear he wasn’t leaving any time soon, but his words unsettled her. She could almost hear Seb saying them.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ She folded her arms across her chest, trying to deflect his scrutiny, but she remembered the phone calls from Seb. He’d always tried to get her to date again, insisting that not all men were as heartless as her former fiancé. ‘He would never say that.’

  Absently, he reached out and pulled last night’s local paper towards him. He looked as if he belonged in her home, in her kitchen. He looked comfortable.

  ‘It is true, cara.’

  ‘Charlotte to you.’ Her previous thoughts linked in too easily with his term of endearment and it unnerved her. She wished she’d never invited him to use ‘Charlie’.

  ‘Charlotte...’ he said, so slowly, so sexily he caressed each syllable. Heat speared through her body. She stood rigid, trying to ignore the heavy pulse of desire scorching through her. What the heck was the matter with her?

  Maybe she’d been out of the fast lane, as he’d called it, for too long. Should she believe him, that Seb had wanted her involved? Not that she’d ever admit it to him, but those words could well have been spoken by her brother.

  ‘What exactly did my father say?’ She had to divert his attention. She couldn’t stand here any longer whilst his gaze ravished her. It was too unnerving.

  He looked up at her, the paper forgotten, and the heat level within her rose higher still. She swallowed hard. Her brother had been right. She did like him, but purely on a primal level. It was just lust, nothing more. Something she would get over and she could do without that particular complication at the moment.

  ‘He said,’ he taunted her, his brows lifting a little too suggestively, ‘that it was time you got back in the driving seat.’

  His words hung heavy in the air. Words which were true. Hadn’t her father said exactly that to her only a few weeks ago?

  ‘I wasn’t aware there was more to you than the glamorous façade you’ve always displayed on camera—that you’d been taught to drive high-powered cars.’ He watched her intently and she had the distinct impression he was trying to irritate her, push her into accepting that her brother had wanted her to be involved.

  She thought of her job promoting Seb’s team, following them to every racetrack in the world and being interviewed by the press. It was a jet set lifestyle, one she’d enjoyed and had been good at. She’d got there by working her way up from the very bottom and had learnt all there was to know about cars and driving. Despite the glamorous image she portrayed to the world whilst on camera, she’d always felt safer, less exposed when she was doing what she really loved. Working on the cars and driving them—something her mother had been set against.

  Was it time to stop hiding away and be part of that life again? She pondered the question, aware of his gaze on her, watching and taking in every move.

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ she flirted, shocking herself by doing so. What was she doing? She never flirted. It only ever caused trouble. She knew that better than most and had seen it many times in her line of work. Light-hearted flirting always led to more. H
er mother had fallen victim to it, leaving her and Seb as teenagers whilst she pursued her latest love interest.

  He raised a brow, his eyes sparking with sexy mischief, doing untold things to her pulse rate. It had to stop. She couldn’t stand here any longer beneath his scrutiny. She’d melt.

  ‘I hope I get to find out.’ His voice was almost a drawl, making her stomach clench.

  ‘Coffee?’ Diversion tactics were certainly required and coffee was the first thing to come to her mind.

  * * *

  ‘Sì, grazie.’ The effect she was having made him slip automatically into Italian. Coffee was the last thing he wanted. Even a good cup of espresso wouldn’t distract him from the fire in his body.

  She looked at him, her tongue sliding unconsciously over her lips, and he almost groaned with the effort of staying seated at the table when all he could do was watch her. Desiring a woman dressed in elegant evening wear was normal, but the way he wanted this casual and rumpled version of Charlie was totally new and unexpected. It was also extremely inconvenient.

  He watched as she moved around the kitchen, taking in her curves as she turned her back to him to prepare the coffee. He liked the way her jeans clung to her thighs, accentuating the shape of her bottom. Her scruffy T-shirt couldn’t quite hide the indent of her waist, just as it hadn’t hidden the swell of her breasts from his hungry eyes moments ago.

  She turned and passed over a mug of instant coffee, then sat at the table. Inwardly he grimaced. Not what he was used to, but if it meant he had time to convince her to at least be present at the launch then he would have to put up with it.

  He took a sip, watching as she blew gently on hers, almost mesmerised by her lips. He had to rein in his libido. She was an attractive woman and in any other circumstances he would have wanted more—much more, at least long enough for the fire of lust to burn lower. But he had to remember she was Sebastian’s sister and, out of respect for his friend’s memory, she was off limits. He shouldn’t have allowed his attraction to show, shouldn’t have lit the fuse of attraction.