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She thrust his hands away. ‘Don’t you dare touch me! What do you mean—“Like hell you are”? You can’t keep me here!’
Casting the sarong aside, he took her by surprise by lifting her and, when she fought tooth and nail with every limb flailing, he flung her over his shoulder.
‘Let me go!’ she shrieked, hammering at his back with her fists. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Putting you under restraint for your own good. You’re hysterical,’ he bit out. ‘And I’ve had enough.’
‘You’ve had enough?’ Her voice broke incredulously. ‘Put me down!’
‘Sta’ zitta. Be quiet,’ he ground out.
Gravity was threatening the bra of her bikini. She became more occupied with holding it in place than thumping any part of him she could reach. He was heading for the stone staircase that led up to the french doors on the first-floor gallery. ‘I hate you!’ she sobbed, tears of mortification, unvented fury and frustration flooding her eyes without warning.
A minute later Luc dumped her on her bed with about the same level of care as a sack of potatoes might have required. ‘And hating me isn’t making you happy, is it?’ he breathed derisively. ‘Per dio, doesn’t that tell you something?’
‘That you’re the most unscrupulous primitive I’ve ever come across!’ she spat through her tears. ‘And I’m leaving!’
‘You’re not going anywhere.’
‘You can’t stop me!’ And you certainly can’t make me marry you!’ she asserted with returning confidence, wriggling off the bed and hobbling over to a chair to pull on the flimsy n;aaeglig;aae lying there, suddenly feeling very exposed in what little there was of the bikini. ‘And, now that Drew’s got his precious contract, you can’t hold that over me any more!’
‘He signs for it one hour after the wedding.’
Catherine was paralysed in her tracks. Jerkily she turned round. Shimmering golden eyes clashed with hers in an almost physical assault. ‘I had foreseen the possibility that this might occur.’
‘He…he hasn’t got it yet?’ She could hardly get the stricken question past her lips.
‘I’m such a conniving bastard, I’m afraid,’ Luc purred like a tiger on the prowl.
‘You can’t want me when I don’t want you!’ she gasped.
‘I’ve already disproved that fallacy,’ he said drily. ‘And, when we reach our destination in England tomorrow, I have no doubt that you will be in a more receptive frame of mind.’
All Catherine caught was that one magical word. ‘England?’ she repeated. ‘You’re taking me back to England after the wedding?’
‘A change of scene is usual.’
Evidently he believed that, once that ring was on her finger, it would have the same effect as a chain holding a skeleton to a dungeon wall. But, once she was back in England, he couldn’t hold her. While she was here, he had her passport and she wouldn’t have liked to bet on her chances of escape from a walled estate patrolled by security staff, aided in their task by an impressive range of electronic devices.
If she didn’t go through with the wedding, Drew would suffer. She shuddered with inner fury at that unavoidable conclusion. The seductive fantasy of leaving Luc without a bride on his much-publicised wedding-day faded. She should have known better than to think it could be that easy. All the same, the prospect of being back in England tomorrow was immensely soothing. He could hardly force her to stay with him.
‘Catherine,’ Luc drawled. ‘Don’t even think it.’
‘I have nothing to say to you,’ she muttered tightly. ‘I’ve already said it all.’
‘We have to talk.’ A knock sounded on the door. He ignored it. ‘I won’t allow you to spoil the wedding.’
A gagged and bound bride might raise an eyebrow or two, she reflected fiercely as the knock on the door was repeated.
‘Avanti!’ Luc called in exasperation.
Bernardo appeared, a secretary just visible behind him. ‘Signorina Peruzzi.’ He gestured with the cordless phone apologetically. ‘She says it is a matter of great urgency that she speak with you, signor.’
‘I will not take a call from her,’ Luc dismissed. ‘Leave us, Bernardo.’
The door shut again.
‘He speaks English,’ Catherine realised. ‘Only you must’ve told him not to around me.’
