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‘You did what?’ Frankie enunciated with extreme difficulty.
‘I am responsible for the disappearance of your car.’
The sort of blinding rage Frankie had honestly believed she had left behind in her teens swept over her. That cool, utterly self-possessed tone affected her like paraffin thrown on a bonfire. ‘Well, you just bloody well get it back, then!’ She launched at him, both of her hands closing into fists of fury. ‘I don’t know what kind of a game you think you’re playing here—’
‘I don’t feel remotely playful,’ Santino slotted in smoothly.
Frankie took a seething stride forward and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. ‘I want my car back now!’
‘The Caparelli Curse,’ Santino remarked softly, reflectively, quite unmoved by the spitting frenzy of her fury. ‘To think I thought rumour exaggerated. No longer does it surprise me that your grandfather was so desperate to marry you off.’
And that was it. At the mention of the hated nickname she had acquired in her grandfather’s village Frankie shuddered, and when Santino went on to remind her that he had been virtually forced into marrying her her last shred of control went. ‘You swine!’ she hissed, and drew back a step the better to take a swing at him.
But Santino was faster on his feet than she had anticipated, and as he sidestepped her the heel of her shoe caught on the lining of the long raincoat still hanging from her shoulders. She lost her balance and went down with a cry of alarm, striking her head. There was pain...then darkness, then nothing as she slid into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER TWO
FRANKIE had a headache when she drifted back to wakefulness with a frown. But worse was to come. She lifted her heavy eyelids and focused not on her familiar bedroom but on a completely strange room. It was the most disorientating experience of her life.
Stone walls...stone walls? Massive antique furniture with more than an air of gothic splendour. Her mouth fell wide as she took in the narrow casement windows, for all the world like the windows of a castle. It was a vast room and the bed was of equally heroic proportions.
And only then did splinters of disconnected imagery return to her. She recalled a nun... nun? She remembered feeling horribly sick, and being so. She remembered being told firmly that she had to stay awake when all that she wanted to do was sleep because her head ached unbearably. All the pieces were confused but one particular image, which had strayed in and out of her hazy impressions, struck her afresh with stunning effect... Santino!
A flicker of movement at the corner of her vision jerked her head around. A lithe, dark male figure stepped out of the shadows into the soft pool of light by the bed. Everything came back at once in a rush. Planting two hands on the mattress beneath her, Frankie reeled up into a sitting position, a tangle of multicoloured hair flying round her flushed and taut face. ‘You!’ she exclaimed accusingly.
‘I’ll call the doctor,’ Santino responded, reaching forward to tug the tapestry bell-rope hanging beside the bed.
‘Don’t bother!’ Frankie asserted between clenched teeth, throwing back the sheet with the intention of getting up and then swaying as a sick wave of dizziness assailed her.
As she pressed her fingers to her swimming head, a pair of strong arms enclosed her and she was pushed firmly back down again on the pillows.
‘Get your hands off me!’ Frankie bit out, refusing to surrender to her own bodily weakness.
‘Shut up,’ Santino said succinctly, bending over her with a shockingly menacing expression stamped on his vibrantly handsome features. ‘Bad temper put you in that bed and it might have killed you!’
Frozen by outrage, Frankie gaped at him, emeraldgreen eyes almost out on shocked stalks that he should dare to speak to her like that ‘Your crazy games put me in this bed!’
‘Your injuries could have been far more serious,’ Santino told her with a most offensive edge of condemnation. ‘Had I not managed to break your fall, you might have suffered more than a sore head and concussion. You were unconscious for many hours!’
‘It’s your fault that I got hurt!’
‘My fault?’ Santino repeated incredulously. ‘You took a swing at me!’
“The next time, I won’t miss! Where the heck am I?’ Frankie flared back furiously. ‘I want to go home!’
‘But you are home. You are with me,’ Santino drawled in a soft tone of finality.
‘You’re nuts...you are absolutely stark, staring mad!’ Frankie exclaimed helplessly, huge, bewildered eyes pinned to him. ‘What did you do with my car?’
‘As you were no longer in need of it, I had it returned to the hire firm.’
The door opened, breaking the thrumming silence. A tall, distinguished man in his fifties entered the room. ‘I am Dr Orsini, Signora Vitale.’ He set a medical bag on the cabinet by the bed. ‘How are you feeling now that you have had some sleep?’
‘I am not Signora Vitale,’ Frankie said shakily, beginning to feel like somebody playing a leading role in a farce.
The doctor looked at Santino. Santino smiled, raised his lustrous dark eyes heavenward and shifted a broad shoulder in a small shrug.
‘What are you looking at him like that—for?’ Frankie launched suspiciously. ‘I am not this man’s wife, Dr Orsini. In fact I have never seen him before in my life!’ she concluded with impressive conviction.
