Книга - Bound by the Italian’s Contract

Bound by the Italian's Contract
Janette Kenny


Bound by business…Physiotherapist Caprice Tregore steels herself as she prepares to meet the man she has vowed never to see again. She needs his help, and she can only guess at what the captivating Luciano will demand in return. But the years have changed her and she’s no longer the naïve innocent he once knew…Branded by passion?Luciano Duchelini needs Caprice to ensure his brother’s recovery. But two months in her company shows that the tantalising attraction he turned his back on years before is still there, and this time he’s determined to satisfy his every desire…regardless of the cost.Discover more at www.millsandboon.co.uk/janettekenny







Bound by business…

Physiotherapist Caprice Tregore steels herself as she prepares to meet the man she had vowed never to see again. She needs his help, and she can only guess at what the captivating Luciano will demand in return. But the years have changed her, and she’s no longer the naive innocent he once knew….

Branded by passion?

Luciano Duchelini needs Caprice to insure his brother’s recovery. But two months in her company shows that the tantalizing attraction he turned his back on years before is still there, and this time he’s determined to satisfy his every desire…regardless of the cost.


For seven years she’d pulled herself into a shell. She was sick and tired of hiding, of jumping at shadows. She wanted to confront life again.

All she had to do was reach for what she wanted most. Right now.

Caprice turned in his embrace. “What if I said I’d changed my mind?” she asked.

Luciano pulled back, eyes searching, assessing. “That’s the shock of surviving danger talking.”

“You don’t feel it too?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “I feel it,” she said, breathless. “I want you. Need you now. What more can I say?”

“Nothing. In the end you will expect more than that. An affair, commitment.”

She shook her head. “Not anymore. No ties. No promises.”

His eyes narrowed, and his hopes and desires soared. “You want my financial backing and sex?”

“Yes. We are bound together by a contract—there’s no changing that. But when the job is finished so are we.”

“Of course…” he replied, his eyes dark and unreadable.


For as long as JANETTE KENNY can remember, plots and characters have taken up residence in her head. Her parents, both voracious readers, read her the classics when she was a child. That gave birth to a deep love of literature, and allowed her to travel to exotic locales—those found between the covers of books. Janette’s artist mother encouraged her yen to write. As an adolescent she began creating cartoons featuring her dad as the hero, with plots that focused on the misadventures on their family farm, and she stuffed them in the nightly newspaper for him to find. To her frustration, her sketches paled in comparison with her captions.

Though she dabbled with articles, she didn’t fully embrace her dream to write novels until years later, when she was a busy cosmetologist making a name for herself in her own salon. That was when she decided to write the type of stories she’d been reading—romances.

Once the writing bug bit, an incurable passion consumed her to create stories and people them. Still, it was seven more years and that many novels before she saw her first historical romance published. Now that she’s also writing contemporary romances for Mills & Boon® she finally knows that a full-time career in writing is closer to reality.

Janette shares her home and free time with a chowshepherd mix pup she rescued from the pound, who aspires to be a lap dog. She invites you to visit her website at www.jankenny.com (http://www.jankenny.com) and she loves to hear from readers—e-mail her at janette@jankenny.com (mailto:janette@jankenny.com)


Bound by the Italian’s Contract

Janette Kenny




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Nick, my hero, my best friend.

You encouraged me to spread my wings and soar again.

I love you—yesterday, today and forever!


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#u53556834-becf-5717-bd45-ecab38ead953)

CHAPTER TWO (#ua2676ed4-2b52-5b4b-bf01-b9b3d171b7f8)

CHAPTER THREE (#u80e43f06-d230-51c1-9669-8fed8295816d)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

CAPRICE TREGORE WRAPPED her confidence around her like a protective cloak and strode into The Corbett, Aspen’s newest five-star hotel, which a Russian billionaire had built one year ago to cater to the rich and famous. She surveyed the interior, her senses in overdrive.

It was a breathtaking, palatial design of marble pillars, gleaming granite floors and exquisite tapestries dressing massive walls. This lavish and elite winter hotspot was exactly what she had pointedly avoided the past seven years. If she didn’t desperately need help, she wouldn’t be setting foot in this playground for the rich and famous now.

She quickly circled the three-tiered castle fountain that dominated the center of the expansive lobby and scanned the myriad seating nooks tucked here and there for the handsome Italian she’d come here to meet. With rising annoyance, she realized not one man resembled him. Was he late? Had he stood her up?

“Punctual as always, Miss Tregore?”

That deep voice rumbling behind her, flavored with a distinct Italian accent, sent an electric shiver zinging through her. That was the last reaction she wanted this playboy to incite in her and she wouldn’t tolerate another second of it!

“Punctuality is one of the cardinal business virtues,” she said stiffly as she turned to face him with a professional smile she’d perfected.

For one second it threatened to slip as she stared into his riveting blue eyes framed in a face surely reserved for an archangel. Or the devil?

God knew either could apply to Luciano Duchelini. That reminder stiffened her spine and her resolve.

“A Don Marquis quotation, but you left the rest off,” he said, not one iota of amusement ringing in that velvety voice that she’d once found incredibly attractive. “Always insist on it in your subordinates.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you were—”

“It doesn’t matter. I watched you walk in five minutes ago,” he said. “Your promptness is an asset.”

That he knew exactly when she’d walked in the door spoke volumes. So did the fact he’d remained a bit hidden, making her seem the one a bit late and harried.

Not the impression she wanted to impart.

The Luciano she’d known had always run five to ten minutes late. It was a control thing and she’d accounted for it by arriving exactly on time. But he’d been here waiting.

That was a huge surprise. And a miscalculation on her part.

Seven years ago Luciano had been the world champion on the slopes, winning more gold medals than any Alpine skier before him, besting even his acclaimed father. The only things he was ever on time for were competitions.

It had been proven no man could beat him on the slopes. Rumors had flown that his ex-wife had captured his heart and taken it with her to her grave. That he no longer cared what anyone thought of him. That he lived for the moment, in sport and pleasure.

That no woman could reach the heart of the man.

Yet once she’d foolishly fallen for the champion, beset by a strong teenage crush. He was her idol. Her coach.

Her friend. Or so she’d thought.

He’d used her friendship, her naïveté, just as he’d done with his lovers. She’d hated him then for hurting her, and hated herself now because she knew better than to trust his type.

He was a celebrated playboy. Life had been a game to him and he’d played it to the hilt. He laughed. He partied. He took nothing seriously.

Not her. She’d assumed the role of a reckless flirt one time in her life. A stupid act of retaliation that she’d regretted every day since. That one horrific incident convinced her that she wasn’t a player in that world.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said, refusing to let him fluster her.

He smiled, though it appeared as practiced as hers. “My pleasure.”

If only she could say the same. She had to strike a winning deal. A position she deeply resented.

She’d worked hard. Saved. Scrimped. Yet it hadn’t been enough to save her when crisis struck. Now she needed this deal or she would lose Tregore Lodge, her heritage, her home, her livelihood.

“I’ve come prepared, Mr. Duchelini,” she said, getting right to the point.

He laughed, a brief, rich contralto that set his blue eyes twinkling and carved his beautifully sculpted lips into a half smile he likely used to charm ladies. “You are a take-charge woman. I remember how expertly you cracked the whip to get me to those pre-event meetings on time.”

She nearly smiled until she recalled how bitterly their last working relationship had ended. “It would have been easier if you hadn’t been a night owl.”

He simply shrugged, just like he’d done back then only lacking the teasing smile. Zero contrition. She expected no less from a rich womanizer who’d skirted conventions all of his life.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s go someplace private to talk.”

Said the spider to the fly? Being anywhere private with him was the last thing she wanted to do, but she said, “I’m ready.”

“As am I. This way,” he said, and gestured to the elevators.

She fell into step beside him and tamped down her annoyance that he hadn’t simply arranged for her to meet him at a set location for their meeting. The sooner this phase was over, the better. No, not over. Resolved, so she could move forward achieving her dream.

“I brought plans for the lodge and a prospectus for my program, Mr. Duchelini,” she said, not wishing to waste a minute, not wanting to be here any longer than necessary.

“Please, you know me. Call me Luciano or Luc.” He motioned to the open elevator and she stepped inside, then stood as far from him as she could though she may as well have not bothered.

The mirrored wall behind made the space loom larger, but it did that to her companion as well. Not that he needed any physical enhancements.

Luciano simply consumed any space he was in with his commanding presence, absorbing the energy of everything around him.

She knew most women would be content to stare at his gorgeous body and classically handsome features because years ago she’d fallen under his charismatic spell. Not now, though it was tempting to admire him. Thank God she was stronger than that, that she’d learned from her mistakes.

“Very well, Luciano,” she said, refusing to use his nickname as she’d once done. That would be too familiar. “To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t send someone in your stead.”

He shot her a frown, his gaze cool. “There is much business that I attend to personally.”

“You never used to, unless it pertained to competition,” she said, and it was the truth. “What I meant was I hadn’t expected you to fly halfway around the world to speak with me.”

“It was no bother to coordinate my schedule to come here,” he said matter-of-factly. “I was already in Denver to interview a ski therapist, like yourself, when my assistant phoned to let me know you were seeking a financial backer.”

In a second, the stakes skyrocketed with competition thrown into an already tense equation, but she remained calm and determined to win his bid. “Good. I’m eager to discuss business.”

“As am I,” he said with a bite of impatience.

Game on. Having a rival meant she had one way to proceed—full tilt.

“Please,” he said as the elevator door whispered open, motioning her to precede him with a disarming smile that was likely meant to throw her equilibrium askew.

Immune to his charms, she returned his smile with a cool one of her own and stepped from lift. And came up short. She blinked, surprised to be standing in a short hallway with a single door at one end and carved double doors to her right.

“This way.” Luciano escorted her toward the double doors, where he reached around her, swiped a key in the slot and knuckled the door open. “I trust you don’t mind discussing business in my suite?”

“Not at all,” she said, stepping inside to regain the buffer of personal space he’d come too close to crossing.

The amazing view of the mountains from his private suite drew her to the windows. She welcomed the calm their rugged beauty always gave her, this grounding to reality that gave her strength.

“Thank you for showing interest in my proposal,” she said, turning to face Luciano, whose attention seemed riveted to a small laptop open on the desk. “If there’s anything in particular you wish to know about the designs I’ve envisioned for Tregore Lodge...”

“Your property is small and in need of intense restoration,” he cut in, not bothering to look at her.

She cursed the flush burning her face, a show of emotion that she’d never learned to control. “True. Tregore Lodge needs major updating to make it competitive again. But I believe it has much potential...”

“I don’t,” he said, rudely shooting down the momentum she needed to build before she had a chance to explain how she could establish a state-of-the-art rehabilitation facility there.

“If you feel that way, then why did you ask for this meeting?” she asked, the question burning holes in her patience despite her determination to maintain a business mien, despite the determination to finance her program.

“Simple. The only admirable investment on your property is you.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” she asked, needing to know she hadn’t misunderstood him.

“Not at all.” He studied her with eyes that took everything in and gave absolutely no emotion away, eyes that touched her as intimately as a caress, bold and without apology. “You hold my interest, Caprice. I want you.”

Seven years ago she would have fallen all over him, deliriously happy. But then she’d been innocent. Trusting.

She knew better than to trust a man now. Though this was the faintest glimmer of the playboy she’d known, passionate and direct, she took his remark as an insult.

“Look, I came here to discuss business that is near and dear to my heart, Mr. Duchelini. If you’re not interested in hearing my proposal, then you’re not interested in me.” She turned and strode toward the double doors with calm, precise steps, determined to walk out with her head held high and in charge of her life.

“Stay,” he said, the command soft yet persuasive.

She stopped, fingers tightening around the leather handle of her bag. “Why should I?”

“I’ve a proposal that will benefit us both,” he said. “I can grant you what you want.”

That was a fact she knew all too well. And really, could she afford to walk out without hearing his offer? No, she admitted.

“Then let’s hear it,” she said, whirling to face him.

“With pleasure,” he said crisply, then strode back toward his desk. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

“No, thank you.”

She never mixed alcohol with business, and that had never been more crucial than now. Despite his wicked reputation, Luciano Duchelini was a superb businessman, and he would expect the same of her. He could take advantage of her and her lodge if she wasn’t careful.

Caprice crossed to the sofa angled near the balcony with her composure intact and her mind fixed fully on securing a means to fund her program. That was all she wanted from him.

“Tregore Lodge. Tell me your plans for it,” he said, as he dropped onto a leather office chair and twirled it to face her, his long fingers draped casually over the curved chair arms.

“Gladly,” she said as she set her portfolio beside her and dug inside it. “I plan to renovate Tregore Lodge inside and out. Foremost is establishing my alternative program for those who have never skied as well as for people who possess varying levels of aptitude on the slopes.”

“Your program is tiered then?” he asked.

“In its most basic form, as you’ll see by these,” she said, her confidence snapping into rapier-sharp focus as she handed him a copy of her carefully prepared prospectus.

He lounged back on the chair and thumbed through the papers, looking relaxed and in charge, the last thing about him that was still organic. But he’d changed.

Not in looks or physique. He was still disarmingly handsome. Still lean and fit. But he’d lost all trace of the flirtatious, teasing charmer she’d remembered so well and adopted the image of a serious businessman who detested wasting his time.

Or maybe he simply still wasn’t attracted to her. Maybe he believed if he was too friendly, he’d have a repeat of the teenager with the monstrous crush on the star athlete. If that was the case, he need not worry.

She had no desire in him beyond securing a business deal. “Regardless of one’s ability, I slant the program to the individual’s needs.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” he said at last. “This is why I am interested in you.”

“I’m flattered,” she said, relieved he was referring to her program.

“As was intended,” he said with a bow of his head. “Do you recall my brother?”

“Julian? Yes, I do.” Quite well, in fact. “Years ago, he crashed often in your suite.”

She’d immediately liked the boisterous Italian who took great pleasure needling and teasing his champion older brother. And the world had gloried in the upstart’s daring exploits on the slopes, expecting Julian to set new world records, breaking those set by his father and Luciano despite his undisciplined ways.

But rumor had it Julian had kept his slot on the Italian team only because of his brother’s lead position. Whether that was true or not she never knew. One month after the World Cup, Julian had broken his neck in a tragic ski accident and ended up bound to a wheelchair for life.

“Julian is lucky to be alive,” she said and meant it.

He gave an abrupt nod, jaw snapping taut. “My brother doesn’t think so.”

“I’m not surprised. Paralysis is difficult for average patients to cope with. It tends to devastate top athletes.” And Julian had been a new star on the horizon. “Recurrent bouts of depression are understandable in cases such as his. That is why adaptive skiing works,” she said. “It boosts confidence both on and off the slopes, strengthens physical ability and agility, and provides a means to broaden social skills.”

“Unfortunately Julian has gained less than desirable results with alternative skiing and given up the effort,” he said. “Even more troubling, none of the therapists I’ve hired have a program as individualized as yours. He needs your help, Caprice. I believe he will respond to any challenge you put before him.”

She blinked, his effusive praise at odds with his earlier criticism of her plans for her lodge. “Wait a minute. If you believe my program is that beneficial, then why are you hesitant to finance the renovation of Tregore Lodge?”

“It is too small a facility to sustain a program of your scope.”

A fact she couldn’t deny. Still, the lodge was hers and she could expand in time if she wished. “It’s all I can manage.” All she could afford.

“Alone, perhaps.” He pushed to his feet and paced before the windows, his stride gracefully masculine. “You need to expand your scope. What you have envisioned has global appeal. Run with it.”

He couldn’t be serious. Just the idea of taking her program into the world market had her head spinning. She didn’t want to run something that huge.

“You’re talking incorporation and I want none of that,” she said.

“Why?”

“I want the lodge to remain controllable, and I can do that by keeping it family oriented,” she said.

He tapped one long finger on the side of his glass and studied her so long that dread lay like a lead ball in her stomach. “You want to police every aspect of your program. That’s why you balk at courting the après-ski set. The expansion would be too great and you would have to delegate, to trust others, and you can’t do that.”

She stiffened, disliking that he thought her that intractable. “My reputation is on the line here. I don’t want to slap my name on programs around the world, even if I personally train every therapist I hire. There is more to it than technique. The personal connection I strive to achieve with clients is what makes my program unique.”

“Are you sure you aren’t equating small with safe?” Luciano asked.

“I simply want to renovate my lodge into an alternative ski facility and launch my program,” she repeated. “That’s why I need a backer.”

He pushed to his feet and crossed to the bar. “You want my money and nothing more from me, and you don’t want to take a risk,” he said over the clink of glasses.

“Basically, yes,” she said. “Is that a problem?”

“It could be one for you.” He strode toward the sofa with two glasses of decadently red wine and handed one to her, his gaze hot on hers, probing, assessing. “Everything has risks to some degree.”

Like being here alone with him. Like courting his interest and financial support, which was all she wanted from him.

“I’m cautious, Luciano,” she said, taking the wine at last but hesitant to taste it.

Challenge glinted in his eyes. “Be bold.”

“I am.” To a point. “What’s your proposal?” she asked, mindful of the disastrous turn her life had taken the last time she’d acted boldly.

“Ignite my brother’s love of life again with your program. It is my hope that he will regain his desire to ski and develop his own line of adaptive equipment.”

All built under the la Duchi logo of course.

It was a logical sound business move that would surely make Luciano millions. That he was going to great lengths for his brother spoke volumes.

“I can’t promise that therapy will totally heal him,” she said honestly. “Julian must want my help as well.”

He sat on the sofa, so close to her she saw flecks of silver flare in his eyes. “Give him a reason to. In exchange for your tireless effort and expertise, I will completely finance the renovation of Tregore Lodge to your specifications. Anything you want. Do we have a deal?”

She shook her head, refusing to agree to any verbal agreement, no matter how tempting. “It can’t be that simple. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, his gaze riveted on hers, hot and intense. “I will finance the renovation and equipment for the launch of your adaptive ski program if you agree to come to my Alpine lodge and do all in your power to help Julian regain his life.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

“He’s my brother and has all but given up hope of having any normalcy of life,” he said. “Look around. There are far too many like him similarly afflicted. I have the means to give him that new start. You have the knowledge to reach and motivate him.”

She bit her lower lip, thinking. Her program would gain huge accolades if it helped Julian. But even if it didn’t, she liked him and wanted to help. And she did need to cinch this deal with Luciano.

“What you’re expecting of me is massive,” she said. “The chance for failure is great. You must realize that.”

His frown deepened but he gave an abrupt nod, troubled eyes meeting hers. And for a heartbeat she was lost in them. Lost in the emotional pain that flickered a nanosecond in his eyes before vanishing behind that same blank wall.

“I understand the risk,” he said. “But it is worth it if Julian will one day lead a productive life again.”

“That’s admirable of you.” Touching.

He shrugged, his blue eyes as turbulent as a restive sea. “As I said, I care about my brother.”

She didn’t doubt that. But something else was bothering him deeply. What was it?

This vulnerability of his to the travails of others was another change, a huge switch from the ruthless, competitive champion she remembered. Could a man change that much in seven years?

Her father had taught her that a leopard never changed its spots. Yet this stern businessman she faced now was nothing like the rash playboy she’d known. Nothing similar to the man she’d expected to deal with.

This Luciano was all business. Serious, driven, and clearly tormented. What had caused this transformation? His bitter divorce? The accident? Or did it run deeper than that?

Hard to guess as she rarely read anything about him in the tabloids either. It was as if he’d dropped out of sight. She rose from the sofa and walked to the stunning vista offered by the windows. She needed the space between them to think.

“Will Julian’s transformation free you to live your life again?” she asked.

His jaw clenched. “My life is as I wish it. Your answer, Caprice,” he said, his intense gaze locked with hers in silent challenge again.

She nodded, mentally kicking herself for getting sidetracked over the state of Luciano’s health instead of getting on with her business with him. But she wasn’t fool enough to accept his word at face value and snap up the chance to work with him, forgetting the slights.

“If we agree to this on paper, you’ve got a deal,” she said and extended her hand just like she would to wrap up any business deal.

His lips curved in a rare smile that brought back memories of the fun-loving man she’d known. Just as quickly it vanished behind that wall of indifference that he wore so well.

“Excellent. I’ll arrange for us to meet with my interior design team as soon as possible. Once they are made aware of what we require, they will be able to come up with a plan for my lodge by the end of next week.”

“Whoa! I thought I was to decide how my program should be designed and implemented at your lodge.”

“You’ll have a voice at the meeting.”

A voice she intended to use. “I suppose you plan to sit in on the design meeting for Tregore Lodge as well?”

“Of course I am. I’m financing it,” he snapped, brows drawn in a dark frown. “Why are you being so contrary?”

“I don’t mean to be difficult. It’s just that this is all very important to me.”

“Do you think it isn’t for me as well?”

“I really don’t know what you’re thinking.”

He muttered something she didn’t catch, rose and strode toward her, his long legs moving with fluid grace, the broad width of his shoulders a shifting wall of lean muscle. Each step exuded power and masculine grace and purpose, like a cougar stalking the canyon rim in search of prey.

She stepped back, startled by the power that was all Luciano. He was a force to be reckoned with and she would do well to keep that in mind at all times.

He stopped, his larger hand grasping hers in a warm, but clipped shake. “I am thinking I made a very savvy deal with a very smart woman who I admire.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling her hand back and hoping it didn’t appear as if his touch disturbed her. “To our mutual success.”

“It will be.”

“You’re that sure of yourself?”

His smile was brief but oh so cocky, just like the man. “I play to win, Caprice. In everything.”

She nodded, not needing to be reminded of that. “This isn’t a game to me either. It’s business. It’s what I’ve wanted to do for years and have put all my efforts into.”

“Your business is your life,” he said, his features hardening into a benign mask.

“I’ve put a lot of time into the lodge while my father was ill,” she said, hoping he understood. “The past year it demanded most of my attention because my program is a fledgling operation and I couldn’t afford a mistake.”

“If you hope to succeed, you need to learn how to delegate,” he said, advice she’d received before and ignored.

“Nobody knows my business like I do,” she shot back in defense.

He frowned. “Still the same need for control, Caprice?”

If only this wasn’t the first time she’d been accused of that, she thought, face burning. “I have to be picky when my reputation as a therapist is on the line.”

One dark brow lifted. “You need to learn how to play the game.”

That word again.

She had no doubts that he referred to business and pleasure, her heart kicking up its pace at the thought of the latter, which was totally unacceptable. Under no circumstances would she fall victim to his charm again.

So what if her business was her life? It was her choice, though she didn’t expect him to understand what she had gone through to get where she was at now.

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again. This isn’t a game to me, Luciano. This is my future. My dream. I couldn’t have gotten this far with the few resources I have available if I hadn’t focused on getting my program started,” she said, gaze fixed on his.

He huffed a breath, shaking his head. “I do understand.”

He couldn’t. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t looking for friendship with Luciano Duchelini. Wasn’t looking for pity. All she needed, wanted, from him was a fat check for setting up her program in Italy and renovating Tregore Lodge before she returned to Colorado.

She needed his business acumen and financial support. Her best chance to get both was to remain immune to his charismatic charm as she solidified this deal. She couldn’t let her judgment be clouded by emotions she had no intentions of pursuing.

“Where do you suggest I start delegating?” she asked, determined to move forward.

“Now. Let me be in charge of the renovations from start to finish,” he said.

She stiffened at the idea of handing over control to him. “You don’t want my input in my own lodge?”

“Your ideas are welcome,” he said, though the impatience creeping back into his voice belied it. “But there is no need for you to remain in Colorado to oversee the project.”

He was right. She couldn’t devote full attention to her ski program if she had to deal with the building issues at the lodge. “You must understand that there are certain structural specifics I need in place to make my program work—”

“I get that,” he interrupted, tossing his hands upward. “As I said before, you will sit down with my design team and list what is needed. When the plans are drawn up, you will see them again to ensure all your needs are met.”

“I get final approval?”

“Of course.”

She bit her lip, searching for a shadow to pick apart and finding none. “That sounds good.” Perfect, actually.

“It is. I will bring this renovation of your lodge to fruition.” He leaned forward, riveting gaze locked with hers, mesmerizing yet commanding. “Trust me.”

“That’s hard for me to do again.”

He spread his arms wide. “Why? I was nothing but honest with you.”

And he had been. It was she who’d raised her expectations.

My God, had she been that starved for love that she had grasped for scraps? Was she still that emotionally deficient?

“I ended up hurt the last time I put my faith and trust in someone,” she said simply. By my mother first. By you, lastly.

To her surprise, a ruddy flush streaked across his olive-hued cheekbones. “Believe me when I tell you I never intended to hurt you. I was—” he made a face, accented with a sharp upward jerk of one hand “—behaving abominably before the end. I regret hurting you, Caprice.”

Dare she believe him? She wanted to continue thinking he didn’t care about anything but himself.

Except that really wasn’t true. He had come here to enlist her aid to turn his brother’s life around. He was offering her a golden opportunity, albeit with him pulling all the strings.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. Not now and it didn’t. It couldn’t.

“You have my word it won’t happen again,” he said.

She swallowed hard. Those were just the words she’d vowed to herself, with the added caveat to avoid Luciano’s company. Now here she was, straddling the fence about taking his offer when she’d already decided this was her best bet. He was a genius at what he did. In that, she had to trust him.

“Then I will take you at your word,” she said.

“Good.” His magnetic eyes grew more intense. “The length of time the lodge is closed will depend on how long it will take you to establish your program at my Alpine facility as well as my brother’s progress. A month is a generous estimate, considering Julian’s manner of late.”

She shook her head, saddened. “Julian may have appeared laid-back, but I remember him being a force of pure energy,” she said. “He was always moving.”

“People change, Caprice. My brother isn’t the man you remember.”

She would be stunned if the crippling fall hadn’t changed the daring young skier. “I’m aware how an accident can affect an athlete physically and mentally. But I’m an optimist.”

He stared at her, his features vague, unreadable. “I’m a realist. By proceeding with renovations here at top speed and avoiding problems, it will take at least two months to turn Tregore Lodge around.”

Not what she wanted to hear, but there was nothing she could do to change it. Her lodge needed intense work and she needed Luciano’s backing.

“I still intend to return to Colorado within a month when I’m finished with my part of our deal.” She would find a friend to crash with until her lodge was completed.

“An aggressive prediction,” he said, his intense scrutiny stretching the moment and her nerves to the max again. “The timeline doesn’t matter to me. I want my brother to have the chance and drive to live life again.”

“I’ll do what I can to help him, but he must put forth the effort as well,” she said.

“Therein lies the challenge.” He shook his head, firm lips pressed in an unyielding line.

She blinked, unsure what to say. In her profession she had been quick to teach that a family member shouldn’t set the bar so high. Each patient must enter into the rehabilitation process because they wanted change.

Whether that was the case or not, it boiled down to two things. She couldn’t renovate her business without Luciano’s help. Nor could she ignore this opportunity to help his brother.

Julian had been there for her once when she’d needed a friend, helping her get away quickly and quietly. She owed him, at least in her mind. It was time to cease arguing with Luciano over minor points and repay his brother’s kindness.

“Okay. When do we start?” she asked.

“Now. I’ll get the team in place here, then we leave for Italy immediately.”


CHAPTER TWO

SHE WANTED HIM for his connections and his money.

Luc dug his fingers into the leather-covered steering wheel and shot Caprice a pointed glance. She perched beside him in his rented Mercedes, attention trained on the netbook on her lap, oblivious of his annoyance. And why should she pay him any mind?

She’d gotten exactly what she’d wanted from him—a financial backer with the added bonus of using his name and reputation in connection with her lodge. In that regard, she was just like Isabella, using him to better her own lot in life.

The comparison had him clenching his jaw so hard it ached.

Seven years ago he’d put Caprice from his mind for one reason. Her congratulatory kiss had stirred feelings in him that mirrored those he’d felt for Isabella. Feelings he’d buried with his wife and refused to ever revisit again.

Now that Caprice had reentered his life, the image of the bright-eyed young woman he clearly recalled was replaced by a determined businesswoman who sought to align with him for her own benefit. Nothing more, nothing less.

Strictly business. He got that. Understood it. Respected her for her drive.

He shouldn’t find her attractive in the least. But he did.

It was her aloofness and passion for her program and her old lodge. That was the only plausible explanation for his fascination with her.

The only difference between Caprice and the score of women hoping to snare him into marriage was the simple fact she could help his brother. That was why he’d agreed to meet with her. That’s the only reason why he didn’t stop this car now and call the whole thing off.

He needed her to help Julian as much as she needed his money and the connections his name would lend to Tregore Lodge and her program. From a business standpoint, theirs was a win-win situation. As long as he kept her at arm’s length, everything would be fine.

No problem, as she’d made it clear she wanted nothing personal to do with him. Their association was all business. Good. That’s all he wanted from her as well.

As they headed toward the airport and Italy, she appeared content to immerse herself in her miniature laptop before the flurry of their combined work began. Unlike his previous traveling companions, she showed no interest in making small talk during the past three hours as they prepared to leave Colorado.

Not that he was complaining.

He just wanted to get home to Italy and back to business while she delved into doing what he’d hired her to do. With space between them, he could find peace of mind.

That was what he wanted. It remained to be seen if he would achieve it after putting himself through so much personal hell.

* * *

Caprice stared out the window, more frazzled over being secluded with Luciano than she was unnerved by the Denver traffic they whipped past. Seven years had passed since she’d spent this much time alone with a man.

She’d vowed never to leave herself vulnerable again. Yet here she was, traveling for over an hour with him. So close she could reach over and touch him.

Not that she would. Even if she had the desire to do so, there was absolutely nothing welcoming about his stern expression.

Which was just as well. Too much was riding on the success of their mutual deal for her to relax.

She wanted this job done as soon as possible. Only then could she return home.

If Tregore Lodge was still under construction, she would cope with the inconvenience. Heavens knew she had a lot of details to see to before the launch of her renovated facility and a return to total independence.

No matter what faced her in Italy, she would see it through. And really would her being in Luciano’s company again be that bad?

Difficult to guess, she decided as she stole a glance at him behind the wheel of the gleaming silver Mercedes he’d rented. As they reached the brighter lights leading to the airport, his deceptively relaxed pose was at odds with his hard-as-nails expression.

He’d always been demanding, a fact she attributed to his aggressive personality and his station. But he’d changed as well and she couldn’t tell if it was for the better.

One thing was for sure, she would be right back in the thick of the elite world. Just like she was now, arriving at the private airport terminal in a rental car worth well over what she made in a year, scheduled to fly out on a private jet that cost at least a billion dollars.

He swerved to pass a slower car, and she noticed the imperceptible way he favored his right shoulder. Had he always done that?

At the lodge, she’d blamed his obvious discomfort on the hurried way he’d loaded her baggage into the car. Now it was obvious his shoulder was bothering him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing his chiseled features were more haggard under the flash of streetlights as he whizzed around the curved interior airport roads with the ease of a racing car driver.

“Nothing,” was his clipped reply.

A lie, she was certain, if she’d read correctly that terse tone and body language that screamed pain. “Something is bothering you.”

He wheeled into a parking space and cut her a scowl. “I have had very little sleep in nearly two days.”

And lack of sleep had never bothered him before. But it clearly did now.

Luciano looked physically drained. Given his wicked reputation, she assumed it was from a combination of overindulgence and mental exertion while he was touring the U.S.

“How long have you been in Denver?” she asked.

“My plane landed at seven-thirty this morning, your time,” he said.

She blinked. That only gave him four hours before their meeting, and he’d admitted to having an appointment before hers. “You flew here from Italy and went straight to a meeting?”

“I did not wish to waste time in the States.”

That wasn’t the Luciano she remembered. He was a party animal. The playboy who had the stamina to keep late hours and still perform with championship precision.

“Let me signal a skycap,” she said as she followed him to the opened trunk of the Mercedes.

“Don’t bother, I’ve got it.” Yet, as he removed her bags, his movements seemed stiffer and his olive skin paled considerably.

She doubted his condition had anything to do with him loading her two suitcases into the rental and driving them to the Denver airport tonight. Nor was it the result of anything recent.

Under the brilliant glow cast by the private parking lot, she studied the lines of strain marring his handsome face, etching deep grooves around his piercing eyes and sensual mouth. Toss his terse attitude into the mix and it equaled a man who’d grown used to living with pain and hating it. Lingering pain. Reoccurring pain. Phantom pain.

She saw enough of it in her profession to be able to recognize it after a few minutes of observation. Luciano was gripped with the first two. Considering he’d been a world-class champion with a reputation for taking daring jumps and going at lightning speed down the slopes, it wasn’t unusual it had left him with tangible scars from his years of fierce competition.

All of that abuse had come before the accident that had ended his career.

“I can read the signs, Luciano,” she said, slinging her carry-on over her shoulder before he could add it to the wheeled cases he seemed intent on maneuvering alone. “The muscle in your left shoulder is cramped and the fingers of your right hand have gone numb, or at least they are in some sort of tingling paralysis. Right?”

He threw her a frown—no, a scowl befitting a warrior. “Again, my error is forgetting how perceptive you are.”

She took the backhanded compliment with a smile. “It’s my profession to recognize these problems with my patients.”

“Which I am not,” he said with a good deal of heat. “You’ve agreed to lend your professional services to my brother. He’s the only Duchelini you will be attending.”

“I wasn’t offering to take you on as a client,” she snapped back, which wasn’t true because if she could help him...oh, what did it matter? “I understand athletes detest showing weakness. The majority of them I’ve encountered consider pain from an injury a weakness to overcome. Am I right?”

“Yes,” he hissed out. His long legs carried him across the drive toward the terminal with her two cases in tow. Then he stopped and cast her another impatient look. “Come on. The plane is waiting.”

No surprise he wanted the subject dropped now, she thought as she beat him to the door and opened it for him, determined to have her say. “For one thing, you’re wrong. Pain is not a weakness. Second thing—I believe you could benefit from therapy.”

“I don’t,” he spat, every viral inch of him rigid with anger. “There is nothing that can be done to help me. Nothing.”

The words plummeted like granite slabs on the concrete, shattering her tenuous confidence. She hadn’t just touched the surface of a major sore spot with him. She’d raked over it with claws and flung salt into the wounds.

Crawling back into her protective shell and keeping her thoughts to herself would be smart. But she knew how the body reacted to pain, both physically and mentally. To a degree, she knew Luciano Duchelini—at least she knew the fiercely competitive athlete he had been.

“Okay. You’ve explored all avenues to alleviate your pain and nothing worked,” she went on doggedly, just like she would with her patients. “But you’ve said it yourself. My program is different from the standard. If you utilized it to the fullest, there could be a chance for you to see physical improvement.”

He bit off something in Italian, likely a curse aimed at her. “Not enough to waste my time trying. I have learned to accept my limitations, Caprice. There is a difference.”

“So that’s it? You just give up?”

“This isn’t about me. It’s about Julian, and his injuries are life altering. All of the reports and reviews I’ve read about your program are glowing, and the professional techniques you’ve implemented are revolutionary. Focus on helping him with them.” He motioned her inside, a muscle pulsing wildly in his jaw. “After you.”

She looked away from his probing gaze and hurried through the doorway. Maybe he was right. Even with the best therapeutic programs out there, recovery from injuries hit a wall at some point. She knew that. Taught it often. So why was she pushing the issue with him? Why was she eager to discover his injuries?

The answer eluded her as she moved past him into the spacious waiting area of the airport with its welcoming chairs and scattering of passengers. She hadn’t been here in fifteen years, but it hadn’t changed except for an upgrade in the interior design.

She looked out the expanse of glass spanning the outer wall of the private concourse that lent a fabulous view of the private planes waiting to be boarded or disembarked by the rich or famous or a combination of both. The only time she’d been here was when she was twelve, and she was still haunted by the painful memory from her childhood leading up to that first trip to Denver.

She’s of the age to be sent to boarding school, her mother’s latest lover for the past six months had said one day as they’d readied for a trip to Jamaica.

Fine. Pay her tuition and I’ll sign the papers, her mother had shot back.

She’s not my daughter, he’d said. Let her father assume her support or remain with her.

And at that ultimatum, her mother had packed up Caprice and her possessions and flown to Colorado. She would never forget the shock twisting the reserved man’s face when her mother marched her into Tregore Lodge, announced that Caprice was his daughter and ceremoniously dumped her into his care. She would never forget the sense of abandonment that haunted her still, despite the fact her father had accepted his responsibility and raised her well.

“This way,” Luciano said, her body jolting as he pressed his right palm to her back.

For an insane moment, she wanted to lean into him. Wanted the heat radiating from his touch to melt the chill locked deep inside her. Wanted to feel needed and coddled just once in her life.

Sanity prevailed and she stumbled forward, breaking the odd hold. Already, being with him felt too familiar, too personal.

She moved to the aisle, walking slowly and purposefully when part of her screamed to run from the vortex of emotions swirling inside her. But there was no escape from memories, she knew as she continued toward the attendant standing by the door.

The woman’s hungry gaze touched briefly on Caprice before devouring Luciano. The fact he always got that response from women didn’t surprise her. The sudden tension and annoyance bubbling up inside her did, catching her unaware.

A denial screamed inside her brain. She wasn’t jealous. She couldn’t be. She wouldn’t let herself be.

“Good evening, Mr. Duchelini,” the attendant said in a soft purr. “Your plane is ready. If there’s anything else I can do...”

“Grazie,” he said, and pressed several bills in her hand.

The woman loosed a throaty laugh that set Caprice’s teeth on edge. “If you ever need another assistant for your fleet, or anything else,” she added, stepping closer to him, “please let me know.”

“I will bear that in mind,” he said.

Caprice had no doubt that he would. There was never a shortage of willing, beautiful women in Luciano’s world.

She took a step away from the pair only to be caught by a strong yet gentle hand on her arm. Her gaze lifted to his, questioning.

“We must leave,” he said, his crushed-velvet voice warm against her ear.

She shivered, her breath catching in her throat. “Sure. Fine,” she managed to get out.

In moments he hustled her across the tarmac to the waiting jet. This gleaming plane dwarfed the local charter ones she’d taken with the ski team from one regional airport to another. The Duchelini jet was close in size to the spacious connection planes she’d taken on short jaunts between major terminals.

“She was hot for you,” she said.

“She was overtly forward and looking to feather her nest.”

“I’m sure you’re used to that,” she said, well remembering that he’d always had a bevy of beauties at his beck and call, many literally hanging on his strong arms.

“The falseness? Yes,” he said, his lip curling. “Women like that have their place, but I am done with them.”

Which meant what exactly? She chose not to pry because she knew the type of woman he referred to, and because it was none of her business or concern.

She followed him to the skirted ramp rising to a gleaming white jet, the belly and tail embellished with vibrant swaths of red and blue that faded into a muted spray of color. The la Duchi logo, the same one she’d seen brandished on the most elite skis and winter gear worldwide.

Her stomach clenched as she gripped the rail and ran up the steps, palm gliding up the cool metal. A whisper of chilled air greeted her at the top.

Fragmented memories of her childhood flickered before her like a black-and-white movie, faces and names of people long forgotten or barely known. Nannies, the score of men her mother had romanced and the array of beautiful people who had played with their set in that glamorous world.

Caprice recalled few details, but remembered one thing perfectly clearly. She’d always felt alone in her mother’s elite world.

Even now, there was loneliness deep in her.

The old uncertainty and fear closed in around her, holding her in the past. For a moment, she paused to take a breath and push those unpleasant memories from her mind.

She didn’t doubt going with Luciano was the right thing, nor did she hold any more qualms over their business deal. Still, a second’s hesitation needled over her skin, a last warning that the moment she stepped into the spacious Duchelini jet there would be no turning back.

“What is the matter now?” he asked, his breath warm on her nape, the press of his palm to her back, firm and hot, and stirring feelings in her that made her want so much more. Dangerous yearnings that she still hadn’t been able to quell yet.

She didn’t need the conflict of working closely with him. She was the professional here. She would find a way to cope.

“Nothing more than the initial shock of stepping into air-conditioning,” she said, slamming the door on her past and childish longings.

She’d expected the interior to reflect a masculine and sterile tone. But the rich burgundy and cream seating, glass-topped walnut tables and warm lighting gave the cabin a welcoming feel. Like coming home after a long, tiring trip.

“Then I’ll have Larissa bring you a wrap,” he said with a beckoning curl of his fingers, and a trim woman with a kind face appeared from behind a curved wooden divider midcabin with a gorgeous pale cream blanket draped over her arm. “The cabin gets quite cool when we reach cruising speed.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the offered wrap and moving to a plush swivel seat by the window.

Luciano strode to the stocked bar, his movements noticeably stiffer. Ice clinked in a glass, the sound loud in the spacious cabin.

“You should take something for the pain,” she said to his broad back.

“I intend to. Bunnahabhain on the rocks.”

“From Islay,” she said, remembering his preferred Scotch.

He saluted her with a heavy goblet half filled with the amber liquor. “Do you still drink it or have you adopted a different taste?”

The fact he remembered she’d drank it at all stunned her, but she hid it well, just like she hid the dark moments of her life. His accurate memory was nothing more than an attempt at polite conversation.

“I did once.” She couldn’t lie to him because games had never been her style, her one attempt having ended disastrously. “Actually, I haven’t tasted Scotch since Val d’Isère.”

He studied her, features tight and unreadable. “You enjoyed it.”

“At the time,” she said. But she’d enjoyed his company as well. Far too much.

The week before he’d swept the events, they’d talked of their future plans in life, sitting alone by a fire sharing a Scotch. He’d never spoken of his ex-wife and she’d never summoned up the courage to ask.

She hadn’t wished to sour his mood, immaturely sure they would finally cross the line between star athlete and volunteer. When he’d swept the events, she’d finally gotten the courage to kiss him with all the feelings bubbling in her heart.

And for a heartbeat he’d returned her affection. Then he’d cursed and pulled away from her, scowling, anger flaring like live embers in his eyes as he turned on a heel and stalked away from her.

Confusion and embarrassment had tumbled inside her like leaves caught in a wind. Rejection. Her first from a man, but far from the first time she’d been passed over.

Still, it had hurt and left her confused. When she’d finally gone after him, she’d found him lounging on a sofa in the bar with a beautiful woman in his arms, their lips locked together in a passionate kiss.

That’s when she’d run from him with one intention—finding a means to ease the heartbreak.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the question jarring her from the past.

“Nothing,” she said.

“You’re lying.”

She met his intense gaze with a spark of hostility. “I was thinking about the last time we shared a Scotch and how wretchedly it ended.”

The muscle along his jaw snapped taut, which only fueled her own annoyance. Then, as now, she’d meant nothing to him, which was fine by her.

“What happened that made it such a bad memory?” he asked.

“You rebuffed my congratulatory kiss,” she said, because that’s what had started it.

What had happened after that would forever haunt her. Her dark secret.

He snorted. “That was not what your kiss implied.”

“You can’t know that.” He couldn’t have known she’d been wearing her heart on her sleeve. That she’d slowly fallen for him.

He nodded and splashed Scotch into two heavy glasses. “You were very young, Caprice. Nineteen?”

“Twenty.” Barely.

“I did you a favor by walking away from you instead of taking you straight to my bed.”

How different her life might have been if he only had. What was done was done. She couldn’t change things now, but she could remember the lesson well.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said.

He nodded. Frowned. “Now that we’ve settled that, will you join me for a Scotch? Or would you prefer something else?”

“No. Scotch is fine,” she said as she took the heavy glass from him, the brush of their fingers jolting her again. This time she couldn’t hide her flush.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Something else is bothering you.”

“No. I’m just tired.” She took a sip and caught her breath as the slightly spiced heavy liquor warmed her tongue and throat. “I forgot how good this was.”

He smiled but kept his gaze on her, and the barely leashed energy pulsing between them had her tension strung high. “It will get better if you let it.”

She blinked, unsure if he meant the liquor, this tenuous rapport they struggled to hold on to, or something else, and chose to believe it was the former.

“Yes, I think it will, too,” she said, trying for a similar nonchalance.

“Count on it.” He finished his drink and poured another. Instead of taking himself off to a private location, he eased down into the chair across from her.

The rev of the jets increased and she felt the tiniest vibration just before the pilot’s voice filled the cabin, the sound far less tinny than in a commercial airliner. “Ready when you are, sir.”

“Get us home” was Luciano’s reply as he snapped his seat belt into place, the la Duchi logo on the custom gold buckle screaming of the quiet wealth that was spent on details.

The interior lights lowered to an intimate glow for take-off and the engines rumbled. She grabbed the burgundy strap and snapped her own belt into place, chancing another quick look at Luciano. His drawn features were more pronounced with his eyes pinched closed.

Concern welled inside her even stronger than before. He was obviously still in pain even after downing pain meds with two drinks that had likely packed a punch. At least the few mouthfuls she’d taken of her drink were making her head spin.

Even so, what he consumed hadn’t been enough to affect him in the least. He was hurting inside, and her training told her it wasn’t totally physical.

“What really happened that day on the mountain?” she asked, broaching the subject at last.

Silence roared over the monotone of the engines as the plane gained altitude, then leveled out, yet her stomach still felt suspended in midair. The details of that accident had been well hidden by the family. Why, she couldn’t guess, but it was obvious Luciano wasn’t eager to divulge anything.

“Luciano, I need to know everything in order to help Julian recover,” she said when she couldn’t stand the tense silence any longer. “There are psychological reasons as well as physical ones that impede recovery. If I can find a workaround for his internal obstacle, I stand a better chance of helping him.” And Luciano as well?

Two champion brothers on skis. One horrific accident that had changed both their lives. Only they knew what had happened.

A muscle, or maybe a nerve, pulled hard in his cheek, puckering his olive skin. “The media provided a plausible version of our rescue and injuries.”

She flinched, feeling the sting of his pain ricochet through her. Yes, she’d heard reports. Watched the news. Yet it was likely just what he’d said. A plausible version.

“Yes, I know where Julian and you were found, and I’m aware of the extent of his physical injures,” she said, having hung on every word of the reports with the hope that Julian and Luciano would have full recoveries. “Now I need to understand the scope of your brother’s psychological ones as well. The best place to start is knowing why two of the best skiers in the world chose to tackle one of the most hazardous runs in the Alps during less than hospitable conditions.”

Luc drove his fingers through his hair and swore. How the hell could he satisfy her curiosity about the accident without revealing too much of his own emotional wounds? “It is the way of brothers who have spent their lives competing with each other in everything.”

“There must be more to it than sibling rivalry.”

There was. Too much baggage. Too much guilt.

He tossed back his drink and grimaced, hesitant to bear his black soul to her. “Look, Julian is a Duchelini, second in line to a company that makes the best ski equipment in the world, youngest in a long line of Duchelini champions. It was a duty and privilege for him to compete in Alpine and win. Quitting was not an option.”

“It was his choice to make.”

“It was selfish, which is why Father froze his allowance,” he said. “He thought when the money stopped, Julian would abandon his reckless bent and focus on the team.”

“But that wasn’t the case,” she said, voice rising in question as she likely remembered how tensions had run high between the Duchelini brothers throughout the games.

“No. It was just the opposite, so Father charged me to intervene and get him back on track,” he said, feeling removed from himself now, as if he were talking about a stranger instead of himself. “Julian was the reckless one without ties or obligations while I accepted my duty and became a champion skier and suitably married man with a day-to-day hand in the family business.”

And perhaps he would have remained content in that role if his marriage hadn’t crumbled in his hands.

“Did you resent your role?” she asked calmly reminding him of counselors he’d seen to no avail.

If she only knew the details, Luc thought sourly. But she couldn’t and it wasn’t a subject he wished to go into great detail.

“I did after my ex-wife died,” he admitted, hungry for the punishment a free, grueling lifestyle promised.

She swallowed, going still. “You loved her.”

“Very much so.” He pressed his head against the seat, eyes closed as he allowed old memories and their pain to intrude. “With a bit of pressure, I was able to secure Julian a spot on the Italian ski team. But he didn’t care about Alpine. Extreme ski drove him. Challenged him.”

“Then why did he agree to participate in Alpine?”

“Father exerted his muscle,” Luc said. “Adding to the pressure, the sports world jumped on Julian’s natural ability, touting him as the faster and more daring Duchelini. It was a challenge few men could walk away from.”

“Was he really that good?” she asked.

“Better than good. Off the record, he beat me most of the time.” He fisted his hands on the chair, remembering how jealous he’d been of his brother’s bravado and skill. His freedom. “All champions know it is a matter of time before their records will be broken. I shattered my father’s records and Julian had the potential to best mine, but his heart remained in extreme ski, which is why he turned in such a poor performance at the World Cup.”

“Is that why Julian seemed so upset the day I left?”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his knuckles along his jawline, glaring at the ceiling as the jet leveled off at cruising altitude. “No. I realized he got a tremendous high from extreme skiing and told him I, too, was going to compete against him there. He threw a fit. Said I wasn’t prepared. That I hadn’t practiced the quicksilver moves needed to attempt the extreme ski.”

She wet her lips, eyes narrowed and breathing shallow, looking vulnerable, pensive, concerned. That last one got him in the gut like a blow.

“Why? You were a four-time Alpine champion, skilled in tackling the toughest slopes in ungodly conditions. At the World Cup I remember you attacking the slopes with reckless abandon, earning gold in everything you entered.”

He loosed a bitter laugh at his carnal failings then and now, recalling that dark period in his life. If only he could alter time and go back, he might have been able to prevent the tragedy.

“Why doesn’t matter,” he said bitterly. “Alpine no longer thrilled me. But Julian refused to let up. So I challenged him to a race to decide my future. If he won, I would bow out of extreme ski.”

“And if you won, you would compete against your brother in the sport he excelled in.”

“Exactly. So I arranged the meet,” he said, regretting the fool’s bet every day.

“Wow.” She blew out a breath, then another, and he only just stopped himself from reaching over to her, touching her, holding her. “Why did you pick the most treacherous slope in Austria for your challenge?”

“The Hahnenkamm was the best test of our abilities,” he bit out. “I dreaded that mountain as most do and was grateful that winning my yearly race there was behind me. But it tests the best and that’s what this challenge was about. Julian readily agreed, knowing it was beyond reckless to attempt it at the same time. But he lived to test himself and saw this as his means to best me.”

“But he failed,” she said softly.

He closed his eyes and watched that moment unfold in his memory, feeling the amazing rush, the choking fear and the crippling pain that never ended, that rolled on and on like a monster avalanche, clearing everything in its path. “He could have won.”

“Then why didn’t he?”

“It was my fault.” He took a deep breath and huffed it out, gaze trained on the opaque wall but seeing nothing but blinding snow. Hearing nothing but the howl of the wind as he shot over the edge behind his brother and realized he was too low, that he hadn’t launched off as Julian had. “I was behind him by a good twenty seconds when we took a dangerous jump. I miscalculated the distance and lost a ski and the race. And my brother—” He hung his head and broke off, swallowing hard, face carved in anguish.

“Don’t go there,” she said softly, reaching over to lay a hand on his clenched one.

He turned his arm and grabbed her hand, squeezing it like it was a lifeline. “He shouldn’t have looked back. He should have kept flying down the mountain toward the next jump and proved he was the best. But he didn’t. He ignored the most basic rule and glanced back at me sprawled in the snow. I looked up just as he skidded out of control and shot over the precipice.”

“My God,” she whispered as she laid her hand atop his arm. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“I can do anything I want.”

“Let me help you—”

For one fleeting moment he wanted to accept her help. But that opened another avenue he wasn’t about to travel with a good woman.

“Helping Julian will help me,” he said, gruffly.

“There are other treatments—”

“No! What is done is done.” He shook his head, accepting his penance, his guilt. “I have had surgeries, followed by long sessions with top physical therapists around the world. My rehabilitation dragged on for two years before I put an end to it. They can do no more.”

“Are you always this intractable?”

“Stop being so optimistic,” he said, and without giving her time to reply, he barked out, “I brought you to Italy to give Julian a chance at a fuller life. You’re under contract do that and no more. In exchange, I will make sure you have an updated, state-of-the-art lodge for your therapy program in your quaint Colorado Rocky Mountains. Remember that.”

“How could I ever forget?”

He hoped to hell she didn’t. Hoped he could find that sweet spot that blinded him to the errors he’d made in the past. But then, in truth, he didn’t want to ease the misery.

It was the penance he lived every day. His due.

Nothing would change that. Nothing.


CHAPTER THREE

THE MAN HAD absolutely no concept of failure, she fumed, welcoming the sleep that finally overtook her during the long flight.

At least it spared her from listening to any more of Luciano’s vitriol. She’d made an error attempting to help him. Hadn’t she learned years ago that he never wanted that of her?

Okay, fine. Lesson learned now. She would never again be the fool with that Italian who was clearly packing more baggage than a short line rail car. As he so clearly put it, she would finish her job and leave Italy as soon as possible. She silently swore not to give his physical pain, or a means to ease it, another thought as the plane finally touched down in Italy.

She pulled in a long breath, then another. For the next few weeks, possibly a month, she would need a surfeit of patience. If she focused on what she would gain, she could make it through this without a problem.

That thought stayed with her as they began the process of departing the plane and passing through customs. Thankfully it went so fast that Caprice barely had time to register she was standing on Italian soil before Luciano hustled her onto the tarmac.

“This way,” he said, his features devoid of pain, his expression anxious, and then he was off.

She practically ran to keep marginally close to him, thanks to his long, sure strides. Obviously the long flight with scant physical activity benefited him. In fact she had to jog to stay behind his fast pace as he headed toward two chauffeur-driven sedans parked side by side.

Two cars? Did he mean for them to travel separately? God, she hoped so, having endured as much of his prickly company as she could tolerate.

But he was too far ahead for her to attempt asking, not that it really mattered. She was in for the long haul, no matter the discomfort.

Just before they reached the cars, the rear door on the one farthest away opened and a tall, elderly gentleman stepped out. He took a sentry stance, his strong features unreadable. Yet he was very recognizable to her, reflecting so much of the man ahead of her.

“Is it typical for your father to greet you at the airport?” she asked, finally coming abreast of him.

“Never.” Luciano released a muffled curse and continued walking to the other sedan at a sedate pace that she could keep up with. “We haven’t spoken in months.”

“By choice or chance?”

“Both.” He shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

A family state she knew intimately, she thought sourly. “I know what you mean.”

His intense blue gaze swung to her, brow furrowed. “Do you?”

“I’ve been estranged from my mother for the bulk of my life,” she admitted.

“You never told me.”

“You never let us get that close,” she said.

He stopped and grasped her hand, and just like that she was gone, caught up in the river of fire gushing through her veins. She tried to block the power and pulse of him but failed, soaking him in like rain on the desert. And she hated the sensations as much as she thirsted on them, but finally managed to jerk free with a shaky smile.

“It’s okay. I’m long over it.” And you. Or was she? Don’t go there, she told herself, focusing instead on what had shaped her. “When my dad passed away, my mother didn’t bother to send me a note or flowers, or even call to check on my welfare.”

“Perhaps she wasn’t aware of his death.”

“She knew,” she said, not bothering to soften the bitterness that hardened her voice. “My mother is just as self-centered as she has always been. The day after my dad’s funeral, she told the paparazzi she was out of sorts because her first husband had just passed on.”

“She is a selfish woman.”

“Very.”

He nodded, walking at a more sedate pace toward the sedans again, tension radiating off him as hot as the heat rising from the asphalt tarmac. “You are nothing like her.”

“That is the greatest compliment you could ever give me,” she said, keeping stride with him as they headed toward his waiting father. “You don’t know how much I envied people who had a normal family.”

“Normal?” He snorted, the strong line of his jaw going taut. “Mine was far from it.”

“Come on, you had a mother and father who were married and lived together. My God, you and Julian had everything money could buy. Even after your mother’s death, you told me that your father ensured his sons got the very best education and opportunities available.”

“True. But don’t confuse a privileged lifestyle with a perfect one,” he said. “‘Money can’t buy happiness’ is a very true saying.”

A saying her mother would strongly disagree with. “I know.”

They reached the sedan at the same time the elder Duchelini crossed to intercept them. Hard lines dug grooves into the older man’s tanned features, but they merely enhanced his rugged good looks.

“Father,” Luciano said, pulling her close. “This is Caprice Tregore, rehabilitation therapist extraordinaire.”

Certainly not the tag she would add to her name, but it would embarrass her make to make a fuss out of his exaggerated praise. She managed a smile. “Hello.”

“Good to meet you,” Mr. Duchelini said, and lifted each hand in turn and bestowed a kiss on each. The gesture was so old and charming she couldn’t take offense, yet she felt Luciano stiffening beside her. “Welcome to Italy. I hope your stay proves entertaining.”

“Thank you, but this is a business trip for me,” she said.

The older man frowned, looking from her to his son before landing on Luciano. “What is this?”

“Caprice will be setting up her program at our new lodge,” Luciano said.

Again, she was treated to another exacting perusal from Luciano’s father. “Ah, a beautiful woman and a smart one as well. A dangerous combination,” he said to his son.

“Yes, she is,” Luciano said.

And what was that supposed to mean? The only danger she saw was the powerful draw of Luciano that she constantly fought to ignore.

“What brings you here, Father?”

“A problem.” His dark gaze swung to her, assessing she was certain. “If you will excuse us, I need a moment alone with my son.”

“Certainly,” she said and moved to get in the sedan, only to have Luciano open the door for her and offer an apologetic smile.

“This won’t take long,” he said.

“It’s okay. Take your time.” She busied herself fishing her netbook from her tote and hoped he didn’t see how her hand shook.

Several strained seconds passed before the door closed. Only then did she take a breath and glance out the window. The two men squared off between the two sedans, looking obstinate and commanding. Father and son. So much alike in that regard yet something was driving them apart.

She didn’t want to guess what it was. She didn’t even want to know details. She only wanted to find a way she and Luciano could work together for the next month without tearing each other apart. And without her losing her heart to him all over again.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

* * *

“What is this urgent business?” Luc asked his father, having no patience for this interruption to his own plans.

“Victore wants to do business with us at the new lodge. I can’t refuse them.”

“I can,” Luc said with heat.

His father bit off a ripe curse. “Carlos Victore has been a friend of mine for fifty years. It would be a slap in the face to refuse to meet with his son because of past issues you have with Carlos’s eldest son.”

“Past issues?” Luc said, balling his fingers into fists. “His son had an affair with my wife while he was doing business with me. He’s not to be trusted.”

His father stared at him, unmoved. “Let it go.”

“I most certainly will not let it go. I will never do business with a Victore.”

And he most certainly would not stand here while his father tried to strong-arm him into dealing with the man who ruined his marriage. He stormed toward the waiting sedan.

“Wait,” his father barked.

“I’ve nothing more to say on the subject. I’m considering Mario Godolphin as the architect.” He wrenched open the car door and dropped in beside her. “Go,” he told his driver as he reached for the door.





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