Cipriani's Innocent Captive

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Don’t fit the mould?’ she heard herself parrot in a jerky voice, and Lucas appeared to give that some consideration before nodding.

  ‘Maria has been with me for a very long time,’ he said without a shade of discomfort. ‘She’s met many of my women over the years. I won’t deny that you have a certain appeal, but you’re not my type, and she’s savvy enough to know that. Whatever she thinks, it won’t be that you’re here for any reasons other than work. Indeed, I have occasionally used this as a work space with colleagues when I’ve needed extreme privacy in my transactions, so I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she puts that spin on your presence here.’ He tried and failed to think of the woman sitting opposite him in the capacity of work colleague.

  You have a certain appeal. Katy’s brain had clunked to a stop at that throwaway remark and was refusing to budge. Why did it make her feel so flustered; hadn’t she, two seconds ago, resolved not to let him get to her? She wanted to be as composed and collected as he was but she was all over the place.

  Why was that? Was it the unsettling circumstances that had thrown them together? Lucas was sexy and powerful, but he was still just a man, and male attention, in the wake of Duncan, left her cold. So why did half a sentence from a man who wasn’t interested in her make her skin prickle and tingle?

  She forced her brain to take a few steps forward and said faintly, ‘I didn’t realise men had a type.’ Which wasn’t what she had really wanted to say. What she had really wanted to say was ‘what’s your type?’

  Rich men were always in the tabloids with women dripping from their arms and clinging to them like limpets. Rich men led lives that were always under the microscope, because the public loved reading about the lifestyles of the rich and famous, but she couldn’t recall ever having seen Lucas Cipriani in any scandal sheets.

  ‘All men have a type,’ Lucas informed her. He had a type and he was clever enough to know why he had that particular type. As far as he was concerned, knowledge in that particular area was power. He would never fall victim to the type of manipulative women that his father had. He would always be in control of his emotional destiny. He had never had this sort of conversation with a woman in his life before, but then again his association with women ran along two tracks and only two. Either there was a sexual connection or else they were work associates.

  Katy was neither. Yes, she worked for him, but she was not his equal in any way, shape or form.

  And there was certainly no sexual connection there.

  On cue, he gazed away from her face to the small jut of her breasts and the slender fragility of her arms. She really was tiny. A strong wind would knock her off her feet. She was the sort of woman that men instinctively felt the need to protect.

  It seemed as good a time as any to remember just the sort of women he went for and, he told himself, keeping in the practical vein, to tell her, because, work or no work, aside from his chef there were only the two of them on board his yacht and he didn’t want her to start getting any ideas.

  She was a nobody suddenly plunged into a world of extreme luxury. He’d had sufficient experience over the years with women whose brains became scrambled in the presence of wealth.

  ‘Here’s my type,’ he murmured, refilling both their glasses and leaning towards her, noting the way she reflexively edged back, amused by it. ‘I don’t do clingy. I don’t do gold-diggers, airheads or any women who think that they can simper and preen their way to my bank balance—but, more than that, I don’t care for women who demand more than I am capable of giving them. I lead an extremely pressurised working life. When it comes to my private life, I like women to be soothing and compliant. I enjoy the company of high fliers, career women whose independence matches my own. They know the rules of my game and there are never any unpleasant misunderstandings.’

  He thought of the last woman in his life, a raven-haired beauty who was a leading light in the field of international law. In the end their mutually busy schedules had put paid to anything more than a six-month dalliance although, in fairness, he hadn’t wanted more. Even the most highly intelligent and ferociously independent woman had a sell-by date in his life.

  Katy was trying to imagine these high-flying, saintly paragons who didn’t demand and who were also soothing and compliant. ‘What would constitute them demanding more than you’re capable of giving them?’ she asked impulsively and Lucas frowned.

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘You said that you didn’t like women who demanded more than you were capable of giving them. Do you mean love and commitment?’

  ‘Nicely put,’ Lucas drawled. ‘Those two things are off the agenda. An intellectually challenging relationship—with, of course, ample doses of fun—is what I look for and, fortunately, the women I go out with are happy with the arrangement.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘How do I know what?’

  ‘That they’re happy. Maybe they really want more but they’re too scared to say that because you tell them that you don’t want a committed relationship.’

  ‘Maybe. Who knows? We’re getting into another one of those deep and meaningful conversations again.’ He stood up and stretched, flexing muscles that rippled under his hand-tailored clothes. ‘I’ve told you this,’ he said, leaning down, hands planted squarely on the table, ‘Because we’re here and I wouldn’t want any wow moments to go to your head.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You’re here because I need to keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t do anything that could jeopardise a deal I’ve been working on for the past year and a half,’ he said bluntly, although his voice wasn’t unkind. He was unwillingly fascinated by the way her face could transmit what she was thinking, like a shining beacon advertising the lay of the land. ‘I know you’re out of your comfort zone but I wouldn’t want you to get any ideas.’

  Comprehension came in an angry rush...although, a little voice whispered treacherously in her head, hadn’t she been looking at him? Had he spotted that and decided to nip any awkwardness in the bud by putting down ‘no trespass’ signs? She wasn’t his type and he was gently but firmly telling her not to start thinking that she might be. ‘You’re right.’ Katy sat back and folded her arms. ‘I am out of my comfort zone and I am impressed. Who wouldn’t be? But it takes more than a big boat with lots of fancy gadgets to suddenly turn its owner into someone I could ever be attracted to.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘Yes, it is. I know my place and I’m perfectly happy there. You asked me why do I continue to work in a school? Because I enjoy giving back. I only work for your company, Mr Cipriani, because the pay enables me to afford my rent. If I could somehow be paid more as a teacher, then I would ditch your job in a heartbeat.’ Katy thought that, at the rate she was going, she wouldn’t have to ditch his job because it would be ditching her. ‘You don’t have to warn me off you and you don’t have to be afraid that I’m going to start suddenly wanting to have a big boat like this of my own...’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, it’s a yacht, not a boat.’ And the guy who had overseen its unique construction and charged mightily for the privilege would be incandescent at her condescending referral to it as a boat. Although, Lucas thought, his lips twitching as he fought off a grin, it would certainly be worth seeing. The man, if memory served him right, had embodied all the worst traits of someone happy to suck up to the rich while stamping down hard on the poor.

  Katy shrugged. ‘You know what I mean. At any rate, Mr Cipriani, you don’t want to be stuck here with me and I don’t want to be stuck here with you either.’

  ‘Lucas.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I think it’s appropriate that we move onto first names. The name is Lucas.’

  Flustered, Katy stared at him. ‘I wouldn’t feel right calling you by your first name,’ she muttered, bright red. ‘You’re my boss.’

  ‘I’ll break the ice. Are you hungry, Katy? Maria will have prepared food and she
will be unreasonably insulted if we don’t eat what she has cooked. I’ll call her up to serve us, after which she’ll show you to your quarters.’

  ‘Call her up?’

  ‘The food won’t magically appear on our plates.’

  ‘I don’t feel comfortable being waited on as though I’m royalty,’ Katy told him honestly. ‘If you direct me, I’m sure I can do whatever needs doing.’

  ‘You’re not the hired help, Katy.’

  Katy shivered at the use of her name. It felt...intimate. She resolved to avoid calling him by his name unless absolutely necessary: perhaps if she fell overboard and was in the process of drowning. Even then she knew she would be tempted to stick to Mr Cipriani.

  ‘That’s not the point.’ She stood up and looked at him, waiting to be directed, then she realised that he genuinely had no idea in which direction he should point her. She clicked her tongue and began rustling through the drawers, being nosy in the fridge before finding casserole dishes in the oven.

  She could feel his dark, watchful eyes following her every movement, but she was relieved that he hadn’t decided to fetch Maria, because this was taking away some of her jitters. Instead of sitting in front of him, perspiring with nerves and with nowhere to rest her eyes except on him, which was the least restful place they could ever land, busying herself like this at least occupied her, and it gave her time to get her thoughts together and forgive herself for behaving out of character.

  It was understandable. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been doing her job and going through all the usual daily routines. Suddenly she’d been thrown blindfolded into the deep end of a swimming pool and it was only natural for her to flounder before she found her footing.

  She could learn something from this because, after Duncan, being kind to herself had come hard. She had blamed herself for her misjudgements. How could she have gone so wrong when she had spent a lifetime being so careful and knowing just what she wanted? She had spent months beating herself up for her mistake in not spotting the kind of man he had been. She had been raised by two loving parents who had instilled the right values in her, so how had she been sucked into a relationship with a man who had no values at all?

  So here she was, acting out of character and going all hot and cold in the company of a man she had just met five seconds ago. It didn’t mean anything and she wasn’t going to beat herself up over it. There was nothing wrong with her. It was all a very natural reaction to unforeseen circumstances.

  Watching her, Lucas thought that this was just the sort of domestic scene he had spent a lifetime avoiding. He also thought that, despite what he had said about his high-flying career women wanting no more than he was willing to give them, many of them had tentatively broached the subject of a relationship that would be more than simply a series of fun one-night stands. He had always shot those makings of uncomfortable conversations down in flames. But looking at the way Katy was pottering in this kitchen, making herself at home, he fancied that many an ex would have been thrilled to do the same.

  ‘I like cooking,’ she told him, bringing the food to the table and guilt-tripping him into giving her a hand because, as he had pointed out with spot-on accuracy, she wasn’t the hired help. ‘It’s not just because it feels wrong to summon Maria here to do what I could easily do, but I honestly enjoy playing around with food. This smells wonderful. Is she a qualified chef?’

  ‘She’s an experienced one,’ Lucas murmured.

  ‘Tell me where we’re anchored,’ Katy encouraged. ‘I noticed an island. How big is it? Do you have a house there?’

  ‘The island is big enough for essentials and, although there is some tourism, it’s very exclusive, which is the beauty of the place. And, yes, I have a villa there. In fact, I had planned on spending a little time there on my own, working flat-out on finalising my deal without interruptions, but plans changed.’

  He didn’t dwell on that. He talked, instead, about the island and then, as soon as he was finished eating, he stood up and took his plate to the sink. Katy followed his lead, noticing that his little foray into domesticity didn’t last long, because he remained by the sink, leaning against it with his arms folded. She couldn’t help but be amused. Just like the perplexed frown when he had first entered the kitchen, his obvious lack of interest in anything domestic was something that came across as ridiculously macho yet curiously endearing. If a man like Lucas Cipriani could ever be endearing, she thought drily.

  ‘You can leave that,’ was his contribution. ‘Maria will take care of it in the morning.’

  Katy paused and looked up at him with a half-smile. Looking down at her, he had an insane urge to...to what?

  She had a mouth that was lush, soft and ripe for kissing. Full, pink lips that settled into a natural, sexy pout. He wondered whether they were the same colour as her nipples, and he inhaled sharply because bringing her here was one thing, but getting ideas into his head about what she might feel like was another.

  ‘I’ll show you to your cabin,’ he said abruptly, heading off without waiting while she hurriedly stacked the plates into the sink before tripping along behind him.

  Let this be a lesson in not overstepping the mark, she thought firmly. They’d had some light conversation, as per his ground rules, but it would help to remember that they weren’t pals and his tolerance levels when it came to polite chit chat would only go so far. Right now, he’d used up his day’s quota, judging from the sprint in his step as he headed away from the kitchen.

  ‘Have you brought swimsuits?’ he threw over his shoulder.

  ‘No.’ She didn’t even know what had happened to her bag.

  Maria, as it turned out, had taken it and delivered it to the cabin she had been assigned. Lucas pushed open the door and Katy stood for a few seconds, looking at the luxurious bedroom suite, complete with a proper king-sized bed and a view of the blue ocean, visible through trendy oversized port holes. Lucas showed her a door that opened out onto a balcony and she followed him and stood outside in a setting that was impossibly romantic. Balmy air blew gently through her hair and, looking down, she saw dark waves slapping lazily against the side of the yacht. She was so conscious of him leaning against the railing next to her that she could scarcely breathe.

  ‘In that case, there’s an ample supply of laundered swimsuits and other items of clothing in the walk-in wardrobe in the cabin alongside yours. Feel free to help yourself.’

  ‘Why would that be?’

  ‘People forget things. Maria digs her heels in at throwing them out. I’ve stopped trying to convince her.’ He raked his fingers through his hair and watched as she half-opened her mouth, and that intensely physical charge rushed through him again.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You have the freedom of my yacht. I’ll work while I’m here and the time will fly past, just as long as we don’t get in one another’s way...’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LUCAS LOOKED AT the document he had been editing for half an hour, only to realise that he had hardly moved past the first two lines.

  At this point in time, and after three days of enforced isolation on his yacht, he should have been powering through the intense backlog of work he had brought with him. Instead, he had been wasting time thinking about the woman sharing his space on his yacht.

  Frustrated, he stood up, strolled towards the window and stared out, frowning, at a panoramic view of open sea. Every shade of blue and turquoise combined, in the distance, into a dark-blue line where the sea met the skyline. At a little after three, it was still very hot and very still, with almost no breeze at all rippling the glassy surface of the water.

  He’d looked at this very skyline a hundred times in the past, stared through this very window of his office on the lower deck, and had never been tempted to leave it for the paradise beckoning outside. He’d never been good at relaxing, and indeed had often found himself succumbing to it more through necessity than anything else. Sitting around in the sun doing nothing was a waste
of valuable time, as far as he was concerned; and on the few occasions he had been on weekend breaks with a woman he had found himself enduring the time spent playing tourist with a certain amount of barely concealed impatience.

  He was a workaholic and the joys of doing nothing held zero appeal for him.

  Yet, he was finding it difficult to concentrate. If he had noticed Katy’s delicate, ridiculous prettiness on day one, and thought he could studiously file it away as something he wasn’t going to allow to distract him, then he’d made a big mistake because the effect she was having on him was increasing with every second spent in her company.

  He’d done his best to limit the time they were together. He’d reminded himself that, were it not for an unfortunate series of events, the woman wouldn’t even be on his yacht now, but for all his well-constructed, logical reasons for avoiding her his body remained stubbornly recalcitrant.

  Perversely, the more uptight he felt in her company, the more relaxed she seemed to be in his.

  Since when had the natural order of things been rearranged? For the first time in his life, he wasn’t calling the shots, and that was what was responsible for his lack of focus.

  Being stuck on the yacht with Katy had made him realise that the sassy, independent career women he dated had not been as challenging as he had always liked to think they were. They’d all been as subservient and eager to please as any vacuous airhead keen to burn a hole in his bank account. In contrast, Katy didn’t seem to have a single filter when it came to telling him what she thought about...anything and everything.

  So far, he had been regaled with her opinions on money, including his own. She had scoffed at the foolishness of racing towards power and status, without bothering to hide the fact that he was top of her list as a shining example of someone leading the race. She had quizzed him on what he did in his spare time, and demanded to know whether he ever did anything that was actually ordinary. She seemed to think that his lack of knowledge of the layout of his own private yacht’s kitchen was a shocking crime against humanity, and had then opined that there was such a thing as more money than sense.