The Amalfitano's Bold Abduction (The Italian Billionaires Collection)

by Jennifer Blake

  Was the danger as clear to her as it seemed to him? It must have been, for she leaped away from her small car that sat almost against the rock guard wall, sprinting toward his Lamborghini. For an instant, Andrea thought she would be run down, but she slid into the open space on the far side of the heavy, low-slung vehicle.

  The black sedan swerved to avoid the Lamborghini’s back bumper, but skidded, fishtailing on the rain-slicked road. There was a dull thud and the shriek of metal on metal. An instant later, the sedan straightened and sped away, passing the line of cars and the bus that was just moving off before rounding the fog-shrouded curve on two wheels. Its engine roared as it was gunned, and then hummed away into the distance.

  “Signorina! Are you all right? You are not hurt?” His voice rasped in his throat, the words harsh with strain. He reached with both hands to catch the American’s forearms and draw her toward him from behind his car. His heart thudded against his ribs with such force he felt winded with it.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped. “But that crazy person hit my car!”

  “It doesn’t matter as long as you are safe.” His relief was so great he hardly knew what he was saying.

  “It may not matter to you, but it’s a rental and I’ll be liable for—”

  She stopped with her lips parted and her eyes round with shock. Andrea turned his head to follow her gaze. He felt his own mouth fall open.

  The nearest fender of her car was as crumpled and broken as cheap plastic. Yet that was not the worst of it. The force of the blow had slammed the light vehicle into the old stone wall that acted as a guard rail. The wall had broken apart, falling away down the cliff. Fully a third of the car’s weight was now suspended over the edge, wavering up and down in thin air.

  The woman at his side exclaimed and took a quick step toward the driver’s side door.

  “Wait!” Andrea shot out a hand to catch her arm, holding her in place.

  She resisted only a second then was still. They stood transfixed as gravity increased the car’s downward motion.

  It reached the tipping point. Rock grated against metal as it began to slide.

  The vehicle plunged over the edge, crashing down, tumbling with the clatter of breaking glass. Dull thuds sounded once, twice as it fell. A horrendous crash roared upward, echoing around them.

  The sounds stopped.

  Together, Andrea and the woman stepped to what was left of the stone barrier. The rental car lay below them, a ruined and crumpled heap on the rocks beside the sea.

  Chapter 2

  The word that sprang to Dana’s lips was profane but soul-satisfying. She usually avoided borrowing from the vocabulary of her male co-workers since it made her too much like them. But there were times when nothing else worked.

  “Certo, for sure,” the Italian beside her said with feeling.

  His arm wrapped around her waist as if he felt she needed the support. Maybe she did. Her knees felt a little unhinged, though it was hard to say whether that was from watching everything she owned on this side of the ocean disappear or the heat and power of the Italian’s body as it pressed against her hip and thigh.

  It was hard to think. She was so far out of her comfort zone, much less her country and jurisdiction, that nothing made real sense.

  “What should I do?” She moistened her dry lips. “I-I suppose I should notify the police.”

  “There is no time. We must go.”

  “Go? But I can’t do that.” She lifted a hand toward her face, and was startled to encounter the softness of fur. The cat was still firmly in place, its claws hooked into her T-shirt sleeve and its tail flicking back and forth in something less than feline calm.

  “But we must.”

  “I have to report the accident. Then I need to call the rental company, maybe my insurance company and—and someone to bring up the car. But my cell phone is—is down there.” She pulled her gaze away from the heap of metal at the base of the cliff, glanced up at the man who still held her. “I don’t suppose—”

  “You cannot stay here in the rain. Come with me and I will make these calls for you, explain everything to those you must contact.”

  She lifted a brow. “Will you, now?”

  “All this will take time, much time. My home is not far away. It can be arranged, perhaps, for the police to come to you, also the rental agent. It will be convenient as they may require an interview with me at the same time.”

  “You?”

  “I am a witness to what took place.”

  He was right on that point, still she frowned and shook her head. “That’s very kind, but I don’t know you. Frankly, I see no reason why you would bother.”

  “I am Andrea Tonello. And you are?”

  Dana gave him her name with some reluctance. The rain had strengthened, and she was getting wetter by the second. The cat around her neck was becoming agitated, too, more than likely disturbed by the rain as well as the strain in their voices.

  What the Italian suggested made sense, and yet something seemed not quite right about it, something beyond the prospect of getting into a car with a strange man in a foreign country. Everything she’d ever read about women being kidnapped for sex trafficking crowded her brain until she felt a little sick with it.

  “You will be quite safe, I assure you,” Andrea Tonello said, his face serious. “My housekeeper will be there. She will make an espresso for us while we wait, or anything else you desire.”

  He was moving as he talked, urging her around to the passenger door of the Lamborghini. He glanced ahead toward the blind curve, as he opened it. His hand at her back was firm, almost pressing her inside, even as it sent shivers of awareness up and down her spine.

  “Where I come from, it’s a crime to leave the scene of an accident,” she said, resisting the final step that would take her inside the car.

  “This is hardly the same thing. Please believe me when I say all will be well.”

  “You’ll see to it, I suppose.”

  “Just as you say,” he agreed.

  There was such smooth assurance in his voice she almost believed him, might have if he had not been so determined to take her away. “I can’t let you do that, really,” she said as she unwound her feline neck warmer. “Here, take your cat. If you’ll just make that call to the police for me, I’ll stay here until everything is settled.”

  He made no move to accept Guaio. Instead, he tipped his head as if listening as he turned his gaze back toward the curve ahead. Dana grew aware of the low roar of an oncoming engine.

  “Mi dispiace, I am sorry.”

  Abruptly, she was half lifted, half shoved into the vehicle. The door slammed behind her.

  Dana landed on her shoulder with a squalling, indignant cat in her face. By the time she shoved upright, disentangled her T-shirt from the cat’s sharp claws and faced forward, Andrea had flung into the driver’s seat. He fired the Lamborghini into a powerful, grumbling readiness. Shoving it into gear, he skimmed out of the line of traffic.

  The vehicle accelerated with dizzying leaps of speed that pressed her back into the passenger seat. They flew past one car, two, and then skidded around the curve on the back bumper of the tourist bus that had been first in line. Speeding out of the turn, they surged ahead of the bus and onto a straightaway.

  Coming toward them at break-neck speed was a black sedan with the forms of two men inside. Dana, clinging to the dash with both hands, whipped her head around as it sped past. She recognized the shattered headlamp that was a souvenir of the impact that had pushed her rental over the cliff.

  “That’s the car that hit mine!” she cried, swinging toward the man beside her. “The driver must be coming back to see about the accident.”

  “He’s coming back for something,” he said, his gaze flicking toward his rear view mirror for an instant.

  “We have to go back.”

  “Do we, indeed? Even if hitting your car was no accident?”

  She stared at him while the a
ir left her lungs. “What are you saying? Why would that happen? I don’t know a single soul in Italy except the friends I’m supposed to meet.”

  His face turned grim. “You know me now. Or it may look as if you do. You know Guaio.”

  “What does that mean?” She glanced at the cat that had wound up in the area behind the front seats as she paused for an answer. When he made none, she took a deep breath, let it out in a rush. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I want no part of it. If you’ll just take me to a police station—”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why in hell not?”

  She’d been as patient as she knew how to be, but this was too much. It didn’t matter if he was as handsome as Apollo himself; she wasn’t ready to die with him when his Lamborghini took a flying leap off this winding excuse for a highway as her poor little rental car had done.

  “No time,” he answered, and veered off the road onto a half hidden driveway without slackening speed an iota.

  Vines and tree limbs whipped past so close Dana ducked instinctively. The road twisted and turned, snaking ever upward. Andrea worked the stick shift, his movements smooth and perfectly coordinated as he took switchbacks as if they were no more taxing than a Sunday drive.

  Dana did not want to admire that ease and expertise, yet it was impossible to ignore it. She’d taken driver’s courses, knew how difficult it was to maintain control under these conditions. That didn’t make her mind any easier.

  “Where are we going?” she demanded with her voice as even as she could make it. “And what are you going to do? I’d like answers, and I’d like them now.”

  He gave her the merest flash of his green eyes. “We are going to my home, as I said before. Once there, I will call the police, also as I said before.”

  Why did she not believe him?

  She should, no doubt. He didn’t appear to be a criminal type. His car shouted money. His jeans might be comfortably worn but had started life in some designer’s atelier. She wouldn’t be surprised if his shoes had been handmade. His hair had been trimmed by an expert, and he wore a ring on the middle finger of his right hand that had the look of 24-karat antique gold and carried the bas relief of a sailing ship. His manner was upper class with the distinct whiff of tasteful wealth.

  Yet something about his manner swung the needle on her professional crap detector.

  It was a crying shame, it really was. Suzanne and Caryn had laughed and joked about finding Italian heartthrobs on the Amalfi Coast, one for each of them. They’d toasted the idea in champagne on the night before the other two left Atlanta. Her friends would have loved meeting Andrea if only to look at him in all his Oh-My-God handsome, macho Italian perfection.

  Italian heartthrob indeed.

  Well, all right. Maybe it was possible. Maybe she was wrong. Andrea could be the genuine article and she was being suspicious for nothing. She would wait and see. But heaven help the man if he tried anything.

  Dana reached for the cat that was trying to creep into her lap from the back of the Lamborghini. She wrapped her arms around the soft and comforting warmth of his body, holding him against her.

  Animals had always responded to her for some reason. Her brothers swore it was because she identified with them and had no fear, though she didn’t buy that entirely. Still it seemed a good sign that Guaio not only allowed her to hold him close, but reached to rub his face along her chin.

  The house, or rather the mansion, appeared ahead of them as the long driveway-like road ended. Like an eagle’s nest high on a green plateau, it overlooked the wide, endless vista of the sea above the surrounding treetops. It was modern in style, with sweeping lines, acres of glass, and a serene lack of interest in making an impression. If there was a pool, tennis court, putting green or any of the other trappings of an indolent lifestyle, they were not evident. The only sign of anything out of the ordinary was the helipad below the house and the sleek black and silver helicopter that squatted upon it.

  The view of the house was perfectly clear, she realized after a moment. Raindrops were no longer speckling the windshield. The fog had lifted as well, or else they had driven above it. Even as she noticed, Andrea reached to flick the wipers to their off position.

  Iron gates opened at the touch of a transmitter to allow entry to the estate. Substantial but simple in style, they closed behind them. Twisting to watch them, Dana felt an unpleasant sense of being confined.

  “How long do you suppose this will take?” she asked as she faced forward again. “I have friends expecting me.”

  “Do you? Where is this?”

  She told him, glad of the excuse to make it clear she would be missed if she didn’t turn up.

  He did not look at her as he sent the car along a circular drive. “You should call them, I expect. It may be several hours before everything is settled.”

  “My cell was in my purse, and my purse in the car, if you’ll remember.”

  “Certo,” he said in laconic reply. “You are free to use my phone to call anyone you wish, though the signal is better inside the house.” He paused. “I would guess all else of value was in this purse? Your wallet, passport and return air ticket, perhaps?”

  “Good guess.” As hard as it was to believe, everything she had, including every stitch of clothing she had packed for the trip, was at the bottom of that cliff. All she had was what she was wearing. “You think they will be able to recover anything?”

  He eased to a stop where the drive widened into a small court before the mansion’s front entrance. “Let us hope. It will not be easy, as you may imagine, so could take considerable time.”

  “How much time is ‘considerable’?”

  “A day or two, perhaps more. Who can say?”

  She had no patience with such an easy-going attitude, not when it was her personal belongings scattered over rocks several feet down a sheer cliff. “The towing company should be able to make a guess.”

  “But they can’t begin until the police investigation is complete.”

  “What is there to investigate? My rental was side-swiped and went through the barrier. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Except that it happened while someone was trying to run you down.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  It wasn’t something Dana wanted to think about, mainly because it made no sense. No one knew who she was or had any idea she would be at that particular place at that time. And yet it had seemed the car aimed straight for her and poor Guaio. The cat had thought so, too, judging from the claw marks she could feel gouged into one shoulder.

  “I know what I saw,” Andrea answered as he swung open the door and got out.

  It was an instant before she realized he was moving around to get her door. All manners aside, the last thing she needed was to have to put her hand in his or touch him in any way; physical contact was far too disturbing. She shoved her own door open and slid out, rising to her feet with Guaio held against her.

  Andrea’s shrug was so small she might have missed it if she had not been expecting it. Still, he indicated with a polite gesture that she should precede him up the wide stone steps that led to the front entrance.

  It opened as they approached. A short, rotund woman with graying hair and a sweet smile stepped back to allow them to enter. Andrea spoke to her in rapid Italian before turning to Dana.

  “I have asked Maria, the housekeeper I mentioned, to show you upstairs and find something dry for you to wear so you may be more comfortable. Come down when you are ready. I’ll make the necessary phone calls, and then join you in the sitting room over there.”

  Dana glanced toward the room he indicated, an enormous, light-filled expanse on the front of the house with a bountiful sea view and at least four different conversational groupings done in shades of gray-blue and ochre. At least she should have no trouble finding such a huge room again, Dana thought. She nodded her understanding before turning to follow the housekeeper.

>   The shirt Maria found her was a rust-red polo. Maria appeared to consider the color a nice foil for the auburn of Dana’s hair, judging from her smile and gentle tug on her ponytail. Dana refused the offer of more as her jeans and sneakers were damp but not really wet. She was happy to be left alone with the shirt, even if she did feel just a bit deserted as Guaio struggled out of her arms and followed the housekeeper from the room.

  The bedroom to which she had been shown was apparently designed for guests, being elegantly upscale but with nothing personal about it. She availed herself of the connecting bath, hardly pausing for proper appreciation of its marble fittings, mirrored walls and other amenities. She did remove the band that held her hair and finger comb the wayward strands, but that was it. The sooner she was out of Andrea Tonello’s home and on her way again, the better she would like it.

  She winced as she pulled off her T-shirt. It had stuck to the claw marks on her shoulder. They began bleeding again as she pulled the fabric away. She washed them as well as she could, and then pressed her damp shirt to them. At least the rust-red of the shirt she’d been given would help disguise any blood spots.

  The polo shirt, when she pulled it on, looked like a sleep shirt on her. Obviously borrowed from her host’s closet, the sleeves came to her elbows and the hem struck her well below her hips. It was incredibly soft, however, and beautifully made with no sign whatever of a manufacturer’s tag or designer’s logo.

  It did have a personal identification tag.

  Whoever heard of having knit polo shirts made to order? Dana, spreading the tail of it as she turned this way and that in front of a full-length mirror, shook her head. If anything more was required to let her know she was out of her league with Andrea Tonello, this was it.

  He had changed also; she saw that at once as she entered the sitting room. Gone was the cream sweater he’d worn earlier. In its place was a shirt in clear green that fit without a single wrinkle. He stood relaxed at the window, staring out at the watery sunlight brought by the clearing weather. He held a small cup of espresso in one hand while the other was shoved into the pocket of a pair of gray slacks in a way that drew attention to the rear view.