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

by Jennifer Blake

  Guaio rolled to his back, twitching his rear end from side to side to hollow out his place of rest. Satisfied with its depth, he flopped to his side and closed his eyes.

  “Just like a guy,” Dana said with a laugh. “Fine. Go to sleep while I’m still talking to you.”

  The cat didn’t even open an eyelid. Turning away with a shake of her head, she moved into the bathroom. She thought she heard a noise a few minutes later, but decided it was probably Guaio jumping from the bed. She had picked up her brush to remove the tangles from her windblown hair when it came again.

  “What is it with you?” she scolded as she emerged from the bathroom. “Can’t I have a minute to … to myself?”

  Her voice died away as she saw Andrea standing in the door with one hand on the knob and the other holding a small tray set with of what appeared to be medical supplies. Heat burned across her cheekbones, creeping into her hairline.

  “Apparently not. Or at least not yet,” he said, his voice even as he answered her complaint.

  “I was talking to the cat.” She raked the brush through her hair since it gave her something to do other than stand there feeling ridiculous.

  “Were you? I could be wrong, but I don’t believe he is going to answer.”

  That was true enough. Guaio had rolled to his back again and was sound asleep with his feet sticking up in the air. “We were having a nice conversation before, but I suppose he had an exhausting day.”

  “He isn’t the only one. If you’ll let me look at these scratches of yours first, we’ll see about unwinding a bit.”

  She stepped forward with her hand outstretched. “Thanks, but I can take care of it.”

  “I would prefer to make certain there is no infection as I feel responsible. If you’ll remove your shirt—”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ve been tending my own cuts and scrapes for quite a while now.” She threw the hairbrush onto the bed and shook back her hair.

  “Bullet wounds and other minor injuries, I suppose. You just patch them up and keep working.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But these cuts and scrapes were in the line of duty?”

  She closed her eyes and then opened them again. “There’s no need for you to be concerned, okay? I know a simple scratch when I see it.”

  “So do I, which is why I’d like to take a look. We can stand here and argue all day, but I am not going away. It will be much simpler if you will just let me help you.”

  She couldn’t force him to leave, and something inside her prevented the screaming fit that might make him retreat. It went against the grain to give in, yet the marks on her shoulder burned and throbbed as if there might be something going on with them.

  What did it matter, anyway? It wasn’t as if she thought he had designs on her body, or would be inflamed by the sight of her bare shoulder or even her favorite peach-colored lace bra.

  The sooner this was over, the better. She could finally have a little privacy.

  “Oh, all right,” she snapped. Crossing her arms at her waist, she grabbed the bottom edge of his rust-colored T-shirt she wore and whipped it off over her head.

  His eyes widened a fraction, but he said not a word. His gaze moved slowly over her torso from her neck to her waist, scarcely pausing on the pale and soft yet resilient curves rising from their lace covering. It rested on her flat, taut abdomen before trailing down to where her jeans hugged her thighs.

  “Well?”

  She put as much bravado as she could scrape together into that single word, but it did nothing to prevent the flush that mottled her damnably fair skin. Shaking out the polo shirt, she spread it over her chest for cover, tucking the edges under her arms.

  “Well, indeed.”

  He swallowed, a clear movement in the strong column of his neck, before meeting her sardonic gaze. “If you will sit over there?”

  At least he hadn’t asked her to lie on the bed. That was one pitfall avoided.

  Dana sank into the chair and turned to the side so her injured shoulder could be reached. Tilting her head, she gathered her hair in one hand and held it out of the way.

  Andrea came forward, going to one knee beside the chair. He inspected her shoulder, touched it gently.

  His fingers were cool in contrast to the warmth of her skin. A shiver ran over Dana, prickling her arms and back with goose bumps. She willed them to subside while catching the inside of her bottom lip between her teeth.

  Such a light, impersonal touch had never affected her that way before. The scratches must be feverish already. That was it.

  He set the medical tray on a side table and selected a bottle and gauze pads. Seconds later, the pungent smell of some iodine-based wash rose around them.

  Dana’s breath hissed between her teeth as he swiped over the scratches.

  “Sorry,” he murmured without pausing in what he was doing. “It will only hurt for a second.”

  Her traitorous mind went skipping to another scenario where he might have said such a thing. What would it have been like to have him whisper those words against her ear in his velvety voice with its delectable trace of an accent? She could feel the nipples of her breasts contracting, and prayed it wasn’t noticeable under both bra and draped shirt. Or if it was, that he would attribute it to surprise, pain, chill—anything except its true cause.

  “It’s okay,” she said after a moment. “Just get on with it.”

  He did that all right, scrubbing over the scratches with thorough care. To aid that effort, he closed his other hand around her upper arm, holding her steady. His grasp was warm and sure, not at all tight, and yet inescapable. The sad thing was she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.

  It was excruciating, trying to ignore what he was doing, waiting to see what he would do next. She needed something, anything, to counteract the wildly inappropriate feelings inside her.

  “When are the police arriving?” she asked in strained tones.

  He flicked a glance at her set face before returning his attention to his job. “They aren’t.”

  “Even after someone shot at us? That makes no sense!”

  “We weren’t hit and the boat is long gone. There’s no proof shots was fired, no way to identify the shooter. I could ask for the guardia costiera to patrol the waters around the island or hire guards for the villa, but to what end? My own people can do the job just as well, maybe better.”

  “What, there are no laws against vigilante tactics in Italy?” Her police training, policeman’s attitude, sparked that question.

  “The concept originated in America, I believe. Even there, a man is permitted some leeway in protecting his home and property. And I would remind you that I own the island.”

  He was so calmly logical. It was one of the most irritating things about him. “You don’t think it might be useful to file a report in case you or someone else is forced to shoot an intruder?”

  “Maybe.” He met her gaze an instant before looking back to her shoulder. “But any official account would likely be in the hands of some tabloid by dark. My sister would not be happy to have the details of her divorce discussed over the breakfast tables of Europe.”

  “Oh, well, better to be dead than the subject of gossip,” she said in brittle disparagement.

  “Some perceive it so.” He set aside the gauze squares he’d been using and opened a package that seemed to hold a large adhesive bandage. He squeezed a generous amount of some ointment on it, and then placed it carefully on her shoulder.

  “Considering how many people on the island know about what took place, it can’t be long before the world hears about it.”

  “They will not betray family matters. More than that, they know there is a problem, not its cause.”

  “No? Then who do they think the gunman was after?”

  He only looked at her, his expression grave.

  “Well—” she began then stopped. “No. No way.”

  He returned his hooded gaze to w
hat he was doing. “You were there. It makes sense.”

  “Not to me, it doesn’t!”

  “All right, it makes sense for now, until I can get to the bottom of this affair between Bella and Rico.”

  “That’s all very well, but in the meantime, your sister isn’t the one in danger.”

  “She isn’t,” he said as he pressed the edges of the bandage down with the firm, even pressure of his fingertips. “Not yet.”

  She tipped her head to peer into his face, disturbed by something in his voice. “But you believe she might be?”

  “It seems possible? That’s if it was Rico who sent the thugs we’ve dealt with so far.”

  “All the more reason to go to the police.”

  He shifted a shoulder. “Unlike you, my faith in the ability of the police to keep any of us safe is limited.”

  “You think you can do better. But what if you are wrong?”

  He didn’t answer. Gathering up the trash he’d caused but leaving the tray of supplies, he got to his feet. “Does that feel better now?”

  “Actually it does. Thank you.”

  “Glad to be of service.” His smile was rueful before he spoke again. “I thought, perhaps, to have a swim. You might join me, but it would be better if the bandage remains dry. You could sit on the terrace, enjoy a drink and watch the sun go down.”

  “You don’t have to entertain me.”

  “But I do,” he corrected instantly. “I am your host, therefore it’s my duty.”

  “Oh, your duty. And here I was thinking you just wanted to keep an eye on me.”

  A smile curled one corner of his mouth. “That too. Will you come?”

  She was tired of sparring with him, tired of strife and the constant need to assert her independence. She was tired, period. Yet if she remained here, she would soon be as sound asleep as Guaio. And that would not do.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll be there in a second.”

  He watched her for a long assessing moment. Then he reached to catch hold of the shirt she held against her, tugging it from her grasp. Turning it right side out, he gathered it in his hands and slipped the neck over her head, holding it as she found the sleeves and pushed her arms into them.

  The backs of his fingers brushed the curves of her breasts as he lowered the hem. She stilled, and then leaned away from him, pulling the shirt into place as quickly as possible. When that was done, she met his gaze, her own steady as she waited to see what he might do next.

  The heat of his gaze darkened his eyes to a green so deep it was almost black. “I could,” he said quietly, “kiss it and make it well.”

  The idea was far too enticing for comfort, particularly as she had no idea where he meant to place this kiss. She lifted her chin. “I’m sure it will be fine without that.”

  “Too bad.” His gaze rested on her face a moment longer before he turned away. He moved to the door, then, holding it open for her.

  He meant to wait for her, leaving her no time to pull what was left of her composure around her. Dana turned and dragged Guaio from his comfortable place on her bed. He meowed in protest, hanging boneless in her arms.

  She paid no attention. Holding the cat in front of her like a shield, she marched from the room.

  Chapter 5

  Andrea saw to it Dana was supplied with a chilled limoncello as she lay back on the chaise lounge with a stack of glossy magazines beside her. Something to soothe her nerves after what had happened must be beneficial.

  She might not seem particularly stressed, but that was because she held everything inside her, he thought. Small things gave her away, a catch in her voice, a hint of fire in her eyes, the ripple of goose bumps she could not control. Whatever had happened to her, whatever she might feel, was his fault entirely. The least he could do was try to remedy it.

  And if he needed more than one mildly alcoholic limoncello to soothe his irritation, this was not a problem. Tommaso would bring them until told to stop.

  It wasn’t just the threat from the men in the boat that annoyed him. He was also appalled by his own actions. What had possessed him to go to her room? It was something more than a need to see the damage Guaio had caused, though that had been real enough. His urge to be close to her, to touch her had been just as strong.

  Yes, she was naturally a little distant. Yes, it bothered him, and yes, he had an Italian’s instinct to move deeper into her private space than might be comfortable for her as an American. Regardless, he should have known it could not be forced. Any man who got inside Dana’s guard would have to coax her to open up to him. Rushing her would only cause her defenses to shut down tight.

  And yet, how long did he have for that persuasion? He could not keep her here forever.

  Per Dio, but she was so beautifully formed, with lovely curves added to the muscular firmness of her body, so tender beneath the toughness of her spirit. The contrast fascinated him.

  He had been in her company barely a day and she was already driving him mad. He had not been so uncontrollably aroused by a woman since he was a teenager walking around half-crazed by testosterone and fantasies of female nakedness. It was as amazing as it was disturbing.

  He drank one limoncello while changing into his usual black speedo in the pool house. Wearing a terrycloth robe over it that would serve as a towel, he carried a second ceramic cup of the tart, sweet drink with him as he returned to where he had left Dana.

  She was still on the chaise lounge. Seeing her there, he breathed a little easier. Though he thought she was beginning to accept that it would be unwise as well as difficult to leave the island, he wouldn’t put it past her to try.

  The heat of the day was waning as the sun slipped down the sky, but it was still quite warm. Dana appeared far from comfortable in her jeans and his heavy shirt. That was before he noticed the cat lying at her side.

  Guaio could not be removed without considerable trouble, and would no doubt return the first chance he got. The other problem he could solve with ease.

  Andrea dropped down on the chaise next to hers and took out his cell phone from his robe pocket. “What are you favorite colors?” he asked with brisk efficiency. “Greens? Shades of blue? Peach-pink, perhaps?”

  It was wrong of him to bring up the last, but he couldn’t help it. The memory of her lace bra that was almost flesh-colored, also the tender curves it hugged, was too fresh. Besides, he was becoming addicted to watching her blush. He wondered if she realized the soft color not only appeared on her face and ears, but on her throat and even her breasts. He also wondered how far it descended, though unsure he would ever discover the answer.

  “I like all colors,” she said warily, “except maybe orange.”

  “Bene, this makes it simple.” Finding the number he wanted in his contacts, he thumbed it in.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling the boutique in Positano that is my sister’s favorite when she’s here on holiday. You have nothing to wear except the clothes you have on. This will not do.”

  “I’d have plenty of clothes if I could get my suitcase back.”

  “A process that will take time. I must see to your well-being now.”

  “My well-being is fine. Besides, you might ask if I want anything else to wear before arranging my life for me.”

  He met the coolness in her eyes as he the listened to the phone ring on the other end. “Signorina Marsden,” he said in the most polite tones he could manage, “would you care to have something more comfortable to wear, or would you rather live in what you have on—which I would guess you have been wearing for most of two days and a night now. This rather warm ensemble can be laundered, during which time I will gladly share my wardrobe. Or you may treat the island as your personal nude beach. I don’t mind either way.”

  She gave him a dark look as color surged into her face once more. “Yes, all right, since you put it that way. But I can still buy my own.”

  “With what if I may ask? Unless you have a cr
edit card tucked into your pocket?”

  “No, but I can certainly pay you back. And I can make my own choices, thank you very much.”

  He held her determined gaze until a tinny voice in his ear snagged his attention.

  “Pronto,” he said into the phone. “Un momento, per favore.” Without another syllable, he handed it to Dana.

  She took it gingerly, slipping it under her hair to hold it to her ear before she spoke. Her face changed.

  Andrea could hear the metallic rattle of Italian she could not understand. Strangely enough, the look of defeat that seeped into her face gave him no pleasure whatever.

  Dana shoved the phone back at him. He took it with grave courtesy.

  “Mi dispiace, I’m sorry, cara. Tell me what you want and the sizes you need, and I will translate.”

  She told him, and Andrea dutifully relayed the extremely short list. However, he multiplied the number for every item by six, and then added a bit more while keeping a wary eye on the dawning suspicion in Dana’s face.

  “What are you saying?” she demanded.

  “Delivery instructions,” he answered in a quick aside. He then added a nightgown and robe with matching slippers, a bikini in sea green and two pairs of thong sandals to the jeans, T-shirts and shorts she’d requested.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “What else would it be?”

  Such instructions had certainly been involved. With such a good excuse for continuing, he included a selection of cosmetics and hair products and a bottle of perfume.

  She shot out a hand toward the phone as if she meant to take it from him. “That’s enough, whatever you just said.”

  “I believe it may be.” He smiled as he leaned away to avoid her grasp while expressing his thanks to the saleswoman. Ending the call, he threw off his short robe and slipped the cell phone back into the pocket before tossing it over the lounger. “I’m going into the pool now. Are you sure you will be all right here.”

  “Go, go.” She waved him away while picking up a magazine, perhaps as an excuse not to look at him in his speedo. “Nothing is going to happen if you aren’t on guard every minute.”

  His grandfather would have made the sign of the evil eye or else spat through his fingers at that blithe statement. Andrea would not go that far, though he was tempted. It was not wise to dare the devil.