Bound by the Italian's Contract

by Janette Kenny

  And yet for all its grandeur and appeal, owning this premier lodge failed to assuage the guilt that ate at him day and night. At times it actually made him feel worse.

  “Time to tour the therapy pod,” he said.

  They walked side by side down the long corridor in silence. Sunlight spilled through the glass, brushing her hair with gold. Yet the excitement in her eyes was far brighter as she gazed out the expansive windows in turn.

  “No matter where you look you see ski runs,” she said. “That’s an enticement for those who come here for rehabilitation.”

  “It’s good you feel the same way,” he said, and this time let her praise seep into him, allowing himself that pleasure. “The wider pistes are designed for alternative skiers. The elevator off the therapy wing opens into their equipment room. From there, special lifts take them to the top of the slopes.”

  “Your idea?” she asked, finally glancing back at him.

  He shrugged. “It seemed logical.”

  “It is. Like the view from here.”

  He dipped his chin and smiled. “Do you approve?”

  “Very much, but then as I said your design up to now has been very clever indeed,” she said. “I expect the pod you’ve created for my program will live up to or exceed that standard.”

  “If it doesn’t,” he said with a grin, “you will tell me.”

  “Oh, you can bet on it.”

  He had no doubts she would feel free to express her opinion. That was what he wanted. Not someone who’d agree to everything he suggested but someone who would actually brainstorm with him to create the best possible facility.

  She was perfect for his needs. His wants. His desires, he admitted, and tried to block out how much he desired her as they crossed the glass-domed walkway specially floored with a mat that absorbed sound as well as cushioning one’s step. When had she become such an alluring woman? Why hadn’t he seen this in her years ago? Or had he and blacked it out because of his disastrous marriage?

  No answers trotted forth. He knew better than to let a woman’s praise go to his head, even if hers was from a professional standpoint.

  “How long did it take you to see this completed?” she asked, breaking the silence as they neared the glass doors at the end of the corridor.

  “The major structures, lifts and runs took two years to finish.” He glanced up at the mountain on which he once had loved to test his prowess and frowned. “Now it’s time to add the final touches to it and take the facility to the next level.”

  For himself as well? No, he’d given up all thoughts of pursuing sports after the accident and had funneled his daredevil edge and drive into business. He wouldn’t dwell on regrets either. But he vowed to open doors for his brother, and Caprice was the key he needed.

  “You certainly couldn’t charge exorbitant prices unless the facility was the best worldwide,” she said.

  He opened the pod door and motioned her to precede him. “Yes, it must make a profit, but as I told you before, I’m doing this for Julian.”

  She stopped a few feet into the room, her slender back to him. “That’s noble, but I suspect there’s a deeper reason besides brotherly love that drives you to do this.” She faced him then, eyes questioning. “Care to share?”

  He felt the tension snap through his shoulders, and knew she would keep picking away until she got to the truth. Perhaps it was best to tell her everything. “Knowing that it is my fault Julian is paralyzed, do you really need to ask?”

  Caprice stared at him, seeming not to know what to say to that. “He accepted your challenge.”

  “Of course. He is a Duchelini.”

  She walked the length of the room in silence, the slap of her slender flats the only sound other than the rasp of his breath. Finally she faced him again.

  “What does that mean? Duchelinis don’t back down?”

  He smiled. “It is a matter of pride.”

  “Pride.” She shook her head and resumed her study of the massive pod. “‘Pride goeth before the fall.’”

  The old saying ricocheted off the walls and pierced his heart, drawing emotional blood. She had no idea how living with that knowledge pained him. No idea that seven years ago he’d pushed her away from him out of self-loathing because her kiss had touched on feelings he’d felt for his wife. Tender emotions that Isabella had shredded with her deceit. Stronger emotions because his wife’s death had changed him.

  Her death froze his heart and loosed a restless spirit.

  Therein lied the regret that haunted him day and night.

  The fall, as Caprice poetically put it, had severed his family in two. It had cut off any further efforts of his on the slopes.

  After the fall, he’d given up what he loved because he’d lost all he loved. His unfaithful wife. His brother, as only a shell of a man seemed to survive.

  His fingers fisted, his muscles tensing tightly down his side to taunt the injury that reminded him daily of his stupidity. His pride. Taunting him over what he could have had if he’d just been forgiving. As if staring into his brother’s eyes weren’t enough to scar him!

  He ached to shout a biting comeback, but words failed him. At least cordial words. Not a single one came to mind.

  “I’ll leave you alone to decide what you need to present to the design team. Meet me in my office in an hour,” he managed to bite out as he strode toward the open door without looking back to see her reaction.

  What she thought didn’t matter. This part of their planning would be done his way, and she would just have to deal with it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WITHOUT A DOUBT, Luciano Duchelini was the most infuriating man she had ever met. How dare he immediately haul her off the plane and expect her to formulate a workable plan for a state-of-the-art adaptive ski and rehabilitation facility that would bear her name. And on limited sleep at that!

  Did he think he could best her? Or did he believe she really was that prepared to launch right into work off the plane?

  The fact that was she semi ready was a major benefit. And that she wanted this job done as quickly as possible was another added incentive for her to focus on this instead of the promise of rest.

  She could sleep when this job was finished.

  With that in mind, she crossed to the bank of windows that opened to face the mountains and drank in the amazing view. Luciano had been wise choosing this wing for the therapy pod. She would give him that, and she would certainly optimize this vista that was key to her program’s success.

  It took twenty minutes to roughly sketch the placement of necessary equipment and another ten to adjust the initial list she’d used in her presentation package. A thorough edit and tweaking of minor details and she was ready to meet the design team.

  If only she could say the same about being in Luciano’s company again.

  As she made her way to his office with five minutes to spare, she admitted that on a physical level, she was attracted to him. The unwelcome feeling grabbed her unbidden and caused her stomach to pinch tight.

  She didn’t know how to squash it. But she would.

  The last thing she wanted or needed was a man in her life. Tolerating this stubborn Italian through the completion of their contract was all she ever wished to manage.

  She paused outside his office suite and took several deep breaths. Game on. Affecting a smile, she pushed through the door. His secretary’s head snapped up, the woman’s attention switching from the neat stack of papers on the desk to her.

  “Caprice Tregore to see Mr. Duchelini,” she said

  “Right on time,” Luciano said, before the secretary could open her mouth.

  Caprice whirled to find him standing in a doorway that had been closed a heartbeat ago, one broad shoulder propped against the doorjamb, perfectly
sculpted lips pressed firmly together. Those intense eyes made one lazy sweep of her length, but this time there was something besides anger or challenge lighting his eyes.

  A shiver of anticipation streaked through her, awakening that part of her that had slept for far too long. Pure animal attraction that she refused to act on, now or ever.

  “Is the design team here?” she asked stiffly.

  “No. Please, come in.” He motioned her inside his office, but instead of stepping back to free the doorway, he stood like a sentinel with his back to the jamb.

  If this was some tactic of his meant to intimidate her, he had wasted his time and effort. She gripped her portfolio and squeezed past him, cursing him for his mulishness and hating how her nipples tightened.

  “Where should I set up?” she asked, struggling with the nervous fear that kept her stomach queasy and her palms damp.

  “To the left of my desk,” he said, coming toward her. “Let me help you.”

  “Thanks, but I can manage.”

  He took the easel from her before she could stop him. “I didn’t say you couldn’t, but this way you will be ready in short order and time is of the essence.”

  Arguing with him would leave her in the wrong state of mind for giving the best presentation, and he did set it up in the ideal spot, so she bit her tongue and suffered his help in silence.

  “Is there anything you need?” he asked.

  A break from his close presence, which she knew wouldn’t happen soon enough. “Nothing,” she said and sent up a prayer as the door opened and his secretary poked her head in.

  “Germaine and Fuseli are here to meet with you,” the woman said.

  “Buono,” Luciano said. “Send them in.”

  In moments, a dapper man and a tall, elegant woman joined them, the man toting an expensive portfolio while the woman clutched a netbook. Luciano quickly made introductions.

  Caprice stepped forward and extended her hand toward the elder of the pair, making it clear she wished to take charge of her program. If Luciano took offense at her boldness, he certainly masked it well. In fact, he appeared as eager as her to get past this phase.

  “Nice to meet you both,” Caprice said. “Luciano promised you were the best designers for my program.”

  “We strive to please,” Mr. Fuseli said, and his partner nodded in agreement.

  “Which you do to perfection,” Luciano said to the designers. “Caprice has developed a unique and amazing program. It is up to you two to determine her needs so this facility exceeds her expectations.”

  “We’re ready whenever Ms. Tregore is,” Ms. Germaine said, her accent bearing a hint of French.

  Caprice looked for a place to sit that was far from Luciano and his desk. Too late, his gaze snared hers again, and this time she felt the burn of desire scorch her soul. Curse him for doing this to her now when she needed to be on.

  She tore her gaze away and settled on a stuffed chair in the sitting area that gave an enviable view of a startlingly challenging ski run. Pushing him from her mind, she fetched her notebook from her bag, all the while mentally reviewing her specific needs. A few clicks and she pulled up the file that detailed her program. “I’m ready.”

  “Excellent,” Mr. Fuseli said and nodded to the elegant Ms. Germaine, who immediately began shooting her questions.

  Twenty minutes later Caprice had answered them all. She ended by handing them rough sketches for the placement of equipment and a furnishing list.

  The designers huddled together to review her drawings. Germaine shot her an excited smile. “I can see this in grays and blacks highlighted with reds and glass.”

  “Yes, it is perfect for a European theme with clean lines. Monochromatic with the occasional splash of intense color to define,” Fuseli chimed in. “We can have a fully scaled mock-up done in a week for your approval.”

  “Nothing sooner?” Caprice asked.

  Fuseli stroked his narrow chin with thumb and forefinger. “Perhaps by a day.”

  “And if I don’t care for this design?” Caprice asked.

  Luciano threw his hands in the air. “You will. But if you don’t, then they will produce another for your perusal.”

  “That’s all well and good except for the fact we’ll fall another week behind schedule while the designers create a new mock-up.” Which meant she would be in Luciano’s company that much longer.

  Ms. Germaine frowned, glancing at Luciano. “If time is crucial, then why don’t you show her your rifugio?”

  “Yes, yes, good question. That design is exactly what we envision for here. But perhaps you’ve sold the property,” Fuseli quickly added.

  Luciano stiffened. “I haven’t sold it, but taking Miss Tregore there is out of the question.”

  The designers nodded, but Caprice could only stare at Luciano. Why was he balking at showing her the design? Whatever the reason, she wouldn’t have it.

  “Luciano, could I have a moment alone with you before we go any further?” she asked.

  He fixed a cool stare on her, his blue eyes snapping with irritation. “Is this necessary?”

  “Only if you expect me to proceed with the program.”

  His jawline hardened, but he gave a nod and addressed the pair. “If you please, would you mind stepping into the outer office for moment?”

  “Not at all,” Fuseli said, and the pair hurried out, closing the door in their wake.

  “Do they seriously expect me to copy a known design of yours?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “This is my design and is known only to a select few that have seen my rifugio,” he said dismissively.

  She frowned, her muzzy mind struggling to grasp the meaning of the word, but the way it rolled off his tongue made the place sound sensual and relaxed. Intimate. Exactly the place she never wished to go with him.

  “How far is it from here?”

  “A day’s journey and back at the most,” he said, irritation sharpening his words. “Why do you ask?”

  “I want to see it.”

  “Out of the question.”

  She bracketed her hands on her hips. “Why? What is this place?”

  “It was an old refuge for shepherds and skiers caught out in inclement weather, built just below the snowline like all the rifugios that dot the Dolomites. I’ve turned it into my private retreat.”

  A hideaway. “On the order of Rocky Mountain line cabins,” she said more to herself, becoming less convinced anything remotely similar to that would suit her needs. “What makes you so sure I will like the design?”

  “I paid attention to your body language when we met in Denver, while we were at your lodge and when we arrived here as well. I listened as you talked with the designers about what you wanted. You’ve yet to feel totally comfortable,” he said.

  She wanted to dispute him but couldn’t. “You’re right. I want a plan that is clean and open, but I don’t want stark modernism, nor do I want classic elegance, or Western themed.”

  “As I thought. You wish to keep the integrity of your historic old lodge, yet you don’t want the interior to be rustic, ultra-modern or lavish.”

  He was trying to sell her on a design sight unseen, but she wasn’t about to cave in. Time was too crucial.

  “Am I right?” he pressed.

  “Yes.”

  He smiled. “Good. May I bring the designers back in so we can finish this?”

  “Please do.”

  Stay strong! The only way she knew how to do that was to take control now before this totally spiraled out of hand.

  “You are all convinced I will love this design done at the rifugio. Correct?” Caprice asked when the designers stepped back into the office.

  The designers nodded, but Luciano raised a questioning brow.
“Caprice,” he said in a warning tone.

  But she ignored him and pressed on. “Then I insist we save time and energy. Take me to the rifugio.”

  “Splendid idea,” Ms. Germaine said, gaining a nod of approval from her partner. “We shall still start the second design idea, but will await your approval on the first. You are both in agreement?”

  “Well?” Caprice asked, arms crossed over her bosom, joining the designers to stare at Luciano.

  His chest heaved and his blue eyes went black. “You insist on seeing it? Fine,” he said, throwing his hands in the air for the second, or perhaps third time, and the designers quickly left, leaving her alone with a very irate, very intense Italian.

  She took a steadying breath and blew it out, determined to see this through, well knowing the consequences and the chances to gain. Her mind was set. Do-or-die time. She wanted this over and done with.

  “When do we leave?” Caprice asked.

  He combed his fingers through his hair and paced the room, clearly agitated. “I will take you there tomorrow.”

  “Why waste the time? Can’t someone take me now?” she pressed, aware she was pushing him, aware this could go badly for her as it had the last time she’d pushed buttons she had no business pushing.

  He whirled and stalked toward her, clearly furious. Panic nipped along her nerves, touching on old fears. She tried slipping behind the protection of the divan, but she wasn’t quick enough.

  His big palms cupped her cheeks and her mind fizzed like champagne uncorked too quickly. Panic bubbled in her as well and she grasped his wrists, her gaze meeting his. And her tension popped, her fears gearing down to nothing. This was Luciano, the man she’d shared a room with sans sex. The man who was financing her dream. The man who’d moved the mountain of doubts and fears in her far too easily, expecting only one thing she was certain of—her compliance.

  Easily won right now because she could drown in those fathomless blue eyes. If she let herself...

  “Caprice, my rifugio is on a high, remote step to the north of us,” he said in a gruff voice that feathered along her skin. “It is near the Austrian border and will take an hour over a rough track to get there.”