Captive in His Castle

by Chantelle Shaw

  Jess glared at Drago. ‘You are wrong about me,’ she said fiercely. ‘And when Angelo wakes up and tells you where his money is I’ll expect an apology from you.’

  His coldly arrogant expression did not soften. ‘I’m not wrong about your criminal record. It is an undeniable fact that you were convicted of fraud, and in light of that I think my suspicion that you know what has happened to my cousin’s inheritance is understandable.’

  ‘I was seventeen, for God’s sake, and very naïve.’ Jess bit her lip. ‘I was set up and I didn’t understand that I was committing a crime.’

  ‘Set up by whom?’

  The rank disbelief in Drago’s tone made Jess’s heart sink. She had no chance of convincing him of her innocence when she had been found guilty by a jury, she acknowledged bleakly. The injustice of what had happened still burned inside her. But at the same time as the court case seven years ago, she had had to make a monumental decision that had left her feeling numb and strangely distanced from other events in her life.

  ‘Explain what you mean about being set up,’ Drago demanded.

  ‘What’s the point?’ She tore her eyes from his hard-boned face, hating the way her body responded to him. ‘You have already judged me. The only person who can exonerate me is Angelo.’

  The strident ring of his phone made them both jump. Drago frowned when he saw the hospital consultant’s number flash on the caller display, and he quickly answered. After a terse conversation in Italian he ended the call and stared across the table at Jess.

  ‘Angelo has just regained consciousness—and he has asked for you.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEY WERE MET at the door of the intensive care unit by a smartly dressed woman whom Drago hurriedly introduced as his mother. Luisa Cassari subjected Jess to a sharp stare, which became speculative as she turned her gaze on her son.

  ‘I thought the new Cassari clothing range wasn’t going to be launched in stores until May, but I see Miss Harper is already wearing pieces from the collection.’

  Drago met his mother’s enquiry coolly. ‘It was necessary to provide Jess with something to wear after she lost all her belongings.’

  Her brows rose as she glanced back at Jess. ‘How did you lose your things?’

  ‘Um…I fell into the canal.’ Jess felt her face burning. ‘It’s a long story,’ she mumbled.

  ‘And an intriguing one, I’m sure.’

  There followed a rapid conversation in Italian between mother and son, and Jess was surprised to see that Drago looked faintly uncomfortable.

  ‘We should be concentrating on Angelo,’ he told his mother, reverting back to English and speaking in a firm tone that caused Luisa to compress her lips. But she made no further comment as Drago placed his hand on Jess’s shoulder and pushed her towards the bed.

  Aunt Dorotea was gripping Angelo’s hand while tears streamed down her face.

  Drago spoke to the doctor who was standing nearby. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘He came round a few minutes ago and asked for his mother. He was lucid, and the signs are good that he is emerging from the coma.’ The doctor looked at Jess. ‘He also murmured your name. I think it would help if he heard your voice.’

  Supremely conscious that everyone in the room was watching her, Jess leaned over the bed and said softly, ‘Hi, Angelo. It’s great to have you back.’

  His eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. ‘Jess?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s me.’ Tears clogged her throat so that her voiced emerged as a croaky whisper. She felt weak with relief that Angelo was back from the brink.

  His eyes had closed, but now they opened again. ‘What happened to me?’

  After darting a questioning glance at the doctor, Jess said gently, ‘You had a car accident. Do you remember?’

  Angelo’s brow furrowed. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I needed to tell Drago something…but I don’t remember what it was.’ He focused unsteadily on Jess and managed a faint smile. ‘I know that we are friends.’ His smile faded. ‘But I don’t remember how I know you. I don’t remember anything…except that I had to see Drago urgently.’

  ‘I’m here,’ Drago said gruffly, struggling to control his emotions. ‘Take it easy, Angelo. I’m sure your memory will come back soon.’

  Angelo turned his head on the pillow and smiled at his mother. ‘Ciao, Mamma.’

  Aunt Dorotea promptly burst into tears again, and as she leaned across the bed to kiss her son Drago indicated that Jess should step back.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask him about his inheritance money?’ she demanded in a fierce whisper, while the doctor and nursing staff crowded around the bed.

  ‘He’s hardly in a fit state. You heard what he said. He doesn’t remember anything at the moment. I need to have a word with the doctor about Angelo’s memory loss.’

  Drago followed the consultant out of the room, and when he returned a few minutes later his expression was grim. Angelo had fallen into a peaceful sleep, and Drago spoke in a low voice.

  ‘The consultant says that amnesia after a head injury is fairly common, but he can’t predict how long it will last. There are some other issues that he is more concerned about—particularly the serious break to Angelo’s left leg, which will require surgery.’ His aunt gasped, and he put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Try not to worry,’ he told her gently. ‘The doctor says he will be fine, and he is sure that in time his memory will return. A brain scan will tell us more. But for now we must be patient, and not excite or upset Angelo in any way that could hinder his recovery.’

  He looked at Jess as he made this last statement, the hard expression in his black eyes warning her not to say anything until they had moved away from Angelo’s bedside. Holding open the door, he waited for her to precede him out into the corridor.

  ‘The consultant believes you could be the key to Angelo regaining his memory,’ he told her. ‘The fact that he remembers you, but not the accident, means that the amnesia is patchy, and if you keep talking to him you may jog his memory into returning fully.’

  But until his memory did return she was still under suspicion from Drago and the other members of Angelo’s family, who believed she had persuaded him to give her a fortune, Jess realised heavily. ‘It could take days, or even weeks before he regains his memory.’ A note of panic crept into her voice. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to stay in Venice indefinitely.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I expect,’ Drago said coolly. ‘Angelo’s mind is trapped at a point in time when he believes you are his friend. When his memory eventually returns he may be able to explain why he told his mother that he gave you his inheritance fund and the truth of the matter will be revealed. But until then you will stay at the Palazzo d’Inverno as my guest.’

  ‘As your prisoner, you mean,’ she said angrily. ‘Guests aren’t usually locked in their room. Much as I want to help, I can’t abandon my business.’ She felt bad about leaving Angelo, but her team of workmen relied on her. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to go back to London.’

  Drago’s dark brows lifted in the arrogant expression Jess was becoming familiar with. ‘How do you intend to do that without a passport or money?’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to go to the British Embassy and report that I’ve lost my passport.’ In truth she did not have a clue how she was going to get home, but she did not want him to guess she was worried.

  ‘You don’t even have money to pay for a taxi to the airport, much less an air ticket to London,’ he pointed out. ‘You should be grateful that I have offered you somewhere to stay.’

  The mockery in his voice ignited Jess’s temper. ‘Grateful? I’d rather take my chances in a pit of rattlesnakes than stay with you.’ Her voice rose as she forgot that they were standing outside Angelo’s room, within earshot of Drago’s mother and aunt, not to mention half a dozen medical staff. Fury flashed in her green eyes. ‘You are a dictatorial, egotistical—’ She broke off and gave a startled gasp when his arm shot around her
waist and he dragged her hard up against him. Too late she realised that she had pushed him beyond the limits of his patience.

  ‘And you have viper’s tongue,’ Drago growled, before he silenced her by bringing his mouth down on hers in a punishing kiss designed to prove his dominance.

  Determined not to respond, Jess clamped her lips together, but her senses were swamped by the tantalising scent of his aftershave and the feel of his smooth cheek brushing against hers. His warm breath filled her mouth as he teased her lips apart with his tongue, probing insistently until with a low moan she sank against him, a prisoner to his masterful passion. But he was as much a slave to the explosive sexual chemistry that burned like a white-hot flame between them as she was, she realised, when he cupped her bottom and pulled her into the cradle of his thighs, so that she was intensely aware of his powerful erection.

  His breathing was ragged when he finally tore his mouth from hers, and the savage glitter in his eyes echoed the harshness of his voice. ‘Madonna, I think you must be a witch. You are driving me crazy.’ His lip curled with self-disgust. ‘My cousin has serious injuries, the extent of which are not fully known, yet all I can think about is how goddamned beautiful you are and how badly I want you.’

  Jess was shaken to hear him admit he was attracted to her. But rather than feeling triumphant that a man as gorgeous and sexy as Drago desired her she was afraid of where their mutual awareness might lead, and terrified that she would be unable to resist him if he kissed her again.

  ‘Let me go,’ she pleaded huskily. ‘If you help me get to England I’ll repay you the cost of my flight, and I promise I’ll come back to visit Angelo.’

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight until I find out what happened to my cousin’s inheritance.’

  The door to Angelo’s room suddenly opened, making them spring apart. But not quickly enough to escape Drago’s mother’s keen scrutiny. Jess’s mouth felt swollen and her breasts ached with a sweet heaviness. A glance downwards revealed that her nipples were plainly visible, jutting beneath the fine material of her blouse. She hastily crossed her arms in front of her, blushing furiously when Luisa stared at her and then at her son.

  ‘Angelo would like to see you,’ she said to Jess. ‘If you are not busy?’ she added, in a tone as dry as a desert.

  ‘I’ll come and sit with him,’ she mumbled. She felt humiliated by the look of disdain in Luisa Cassari’s eyes, but Drago seemed indifferent to his mother’s disapproval. He was reading a message he had received on his phone and then glanced briefly at Jess.

  ‘I need to go to the office for a couple of hours. When you have spent some time with Angelo my bodyguard will take you back to the palazzo.’

  As he spoke the stocky man who had met them at the airport the previous day walked down the corridor towards them. Fico planted himself outside Angelo’s room and crossed his arms over his massive chest.

  ‘He doesn’t speak a word of English,’ Drago murmured. ‘And he is under strict orders to escort you from the hospital straight to my house.’

  Anger surged through her. ‘In other words he’s my jailer?’

  He gave a laconic shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. I’ll see you at dinner tonight.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ Jess muttered sarcastically. As she turned away from him and marched into Angelo’s room she was unaware of a flare of amusement and grudging admiration in Drago’s eyes.

  Much later that night, Drago strode through the Palazzo d’Inverno, his solitary footsteps echoing hollowly on the marble staircase. It was not the first time he had instructed the household staff not to wait up for him, nor the first time he had missed dinner because he’d had to deal with a crisis at work.

  No doubt Jess would have been glad of his absence this evening, he mused. She had already left the hospital with Fico by the time he had arrived to visit his cousin and meet with Angelo’s medical team. The young man’s injuries were serious, and he faced a long road back to recovery, but thank God he had not suffered brain damage. The brain scan had revealed severe bruising, and there was the worry of his memory loss, but there was every reason to hope that the amnesia would be short-lived. Once Angelo’s memory had returned hopefully he would shed some light on the matter of his missing inheritance fund and confirm if he had given the money to Jess—something she strenuously denied.

  Madonna! How had she crept into his mind again? Drago asked himself angrily. He had accused her of being a witch. Perhaps she really was a sorceress and had cast a spell on him? Even during the emergency board meeting he’d chaired to discuss a problem that had arisen with a new project in China he had struggled to keep his thoughts from wandering to the sassy, sexy redhead who was currently a guest or a prisoner at his home, depending on your viewpoint.

  Jess had made her feelings very clear, he thought wryly. She had antagonised him until he had kissed her, but when she had kissed him back his anger had turned to scorching desire. For the rest of the day he had been able to taste her on his lips, and the lingering scent of her perfume still tormented him. Guilt assailed him that Jess dominated his thoughts, but he was relieved to know for certain that she and his cousin were not lovers. Angelo had given him a curious look when Drago had asked him about his relationship with Jess, but had explained that they were simply friends.

  The chef had left a platter of cold meats and salad in the fridge for him. Drago carried his supper up to his room, his footsteps slowing as he walked past Jess’s bedroom and saw light filtering beneath the door. Ignoring the temptation to check if she was awake, he carried on into his suite of rooms, flicked on the TV and forced himself to eat even though he had no appetite—at least not for food, he acknowledged, aware of a tightening sensation in his groin as an image of Jess lying naked on his bed flooded his mind.

  Muttering a curse, he put down the plate and headed into the en suite bathroom, hoping that a shower would help to relieve his tension.

  Jess felt too wound up to sleep. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling which, like in the first room she had occupied, before her ill-fated attempt to climb down from the balcony, was decorated with elaborate artwork. But even though the fresco depicting the goddess Aphrodite was beautiful she was bored with studying it—just as she was bored with watching television when all the programmes were in Italian.

  Her mind returned to wondering why Drago had not returned to the palazzo for dinner. Not that she had wanted to spend time with him, and she certainly hadn’t changed into a gorgeous green silk dress from the Cassa di Cassari collection because she had hoped to impress him, but she had felt strangely lonely sitting on her own at the huge polished dining table. And that really did not make sense, because after growing up in the children’s home constantly surrounded by other kids she liked her own company.

  Drago had probably gone to visit a girlfriend. It was inconceivable that a man as devastatingly handsome and sexy as he was did not have a lover—or maybe more than one. Good luck to them, she thought as she sat up and thumped her pillows. Any woman who took him on would have to cope with his arrogant and bossy nature.

  A sudden crash, followed by a shout, shattered the silence. The sounds had been loud, even through the walls that separated her room from Drago’s, and the deathly quiet that followed seemed ominous to Jess’s overactive imagination. Curiosity got the better of her and she slid out of bed.

  The door to Drago’s suite was shut. She knocked, but received no answer, and after a moment’s hesitation she turned the handle and found that the door was unlocked. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet as she crossed the sitting room. The door leading to his bedroom was ajar, and as she cautiously peeped round it she inhaled an overwhelmingly strong scent of aftershave.

  Just then he emerged from the en suite bathroom, and the sight of his blood-soaked chest caused her to give a sharp cry.

  ‘Santa Madre!’ He stopped dead, clearly shocked to see her. ‘What are you doing, flitti
ng around the house as noiselessly as a wraith?’

  ‘I heard a crash…’ Jess could not tear her eyes from what she now realised was a blood-stained towel wrapped around the hand that he was holding against his chest. ‘What have you done?’

  He glanced down at his front and said wryly, ‘It’s not as bad as it looks. I cut my hand on some glass and it’s made a bloody mess—literally. I knocked a bottle of cologne into the sink and then compounded my clumsiness by trying to pick up the shards of glass. The damned cut won’t stop bleeding. Can you look in the bathroom cabinet for a bandage?’ He gave her an intent look when she hesitated. ‘Does the sight of blood bother you?’

  No way was Jess going to admit that it was not the blood that bothered her but the sight of Drago’s naked, olive-skinned chest as he shrugged off his stained shirt. Her gaze was drawn to the hard ridges of his abdominal muscles, and followed the path of wiry black hair that arrowed down his torso and disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers.

  She swallowed, and replied in a faintly strained voice, ‘No. When I was a kid I regularly used to patch my dad up after he’d had some accident or other while he was drunk. Once he fell through a neighbour’s greenhouse and was cut to ribbons.’

  Drago frowned. ‘How old were you when that happened?’

  She shrugged. ‘Eight or so. Sit down while I dress the wound,’ she bade him, when she had followed him into the bathroom and found a medical box in the cupboard.

  He sat on the edge of the bath and unwound the towel to reveal a deep cut across his palm. ‘I’ve kept pressure on it and elevated my hand. The bleeding seems to be easing.’

  ‘I don’t think it needs stitching,’ Jess said after she had inspected the wound. ‘You’re lucky.’

  ‘Sì.’ He could not disguise the weariness in his voice. ‘I don’t fancy another trip to the hospital tonight.’

  She threw him a quick look. ‘Is that where you’ve been? I wondered why you weren’t at dinner.’