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He considered the question for a moment. “What events, exactly?”
He hated PR junkets. The original plan had been to fly in from Naples at the end of the weekend for one night and then head back to New York. But because of the woman curled up in front of him—who didn’t look like she had a care in the world—he was going to be stuck on Capri for four days at least. Possibly more, if it took longer to get her a replacement passport.
“We have the investors’ ball tomorrow,” the concierge began. “Then the press picnic on Saturday afternoon and the gala on Sunday. There are a number of other events that the resort would love you to attend too, if you’re not too busy with the security teams.”
The truth was the security teams didn’t need his oversight, but he planned to give it to them anyway, so he could spend as little time as possible going stir-crazy in a luxury villa he was being forced to share with his house guest.
The trickle of unease worked its way down his spine at the thought of having to share a villa with anyone. After living on the street—his crib being anything from a hotly contested doorway on the Upper West Side to a patch of turf in Harlem over a subway grate—his creature comforts were important to him, and he insisted on complete privacy.
He didn’t share bed space or any other space. Especially not overnight.
He swallowed past the ripple of anxiety. And the pulse of heat.
He wasn’t going to be sharing a bed with Katherine, just a villa. Luckily he’d booked a two-bed, because there’d been no other availability. But she would be in another room. And would no doubt want to avail herself of the resort’s spa and leisure activities. Plus, the soundproofing in his room would be sufficient if... His jaw tensed. He wasn’t going to have any episodes. He hadn’t had any in months.
Even so, frustration twisted in his gut to tangle with the unwelcome swell of heat.
He should have said no to Dario’s request. He didn’t like the volatility of his attraction to this woman, especially as it made no sense. But he could never say no to Dario, because he owed the guy everything.
Katie mumbled in her sleep as the boat hit a swell.
“Signore Caine, do you want me to list the other events we have scheduled?” the concierge prompted on the other end of the line.
“Put me down for the ball,” he said. If he was going to be here, he might as well make a couple of appearances. “Otherwise, make my excuses.”
“Will Ms. Whittaker be attending with you?” the concierge asked.
He frowned, suppressing his kneejerk desire to say no.
The less time he spent with Katherine, the easier it would be for them both. But, as he watched her sleeping, it occurred to him that sometimes the easy option wasn’t the smart option.
Perhaps he should rope her into the circus too. Given her aptitude for PR stunts, she’d enjoy the press attention—and it might stop her from getting up to mischief. He didn’t trust her not to run off if left too much to her own devices.
Whatever happened, he was delivering her to Dario in New York as promised. And entertaining her in public was a lot less dangerous than entertaining her in private.
“Yeah, Ms. Whittaker will attend the ball with me.”
“Wonderful, Signore Caine, I’ll add you both to the guest lists.”
Ending his call with the concierge, he headed back on deck.
But, as he let the sea spray mist his face, it didn’t do a lot to cool the heat flowing through his veins.
He would have been quite happy never to see Katherine Whittaker again in this lifetime. And now he was going to be stuck with her for several days. He didn’t like it one bit.
But what choice did he have? As soon as Dario had asked, he’d been bound to say yes. Hell, he’d pretty much do anything for that guy. But right this second, with his groin throbbing like a sore tooth, he couldn’t help thinking that committing murder would be easier than spending four days sharing a two-bedroom villa with Katherine Whittaker.
He gripped the guard rail, absorbing the punch and roll of the boat’s wake as Matteo heeled to starboard to steer past the point and head toward the Venus Resort’s private dock on the far side of the island.
He took a moment to get his volatile reaction to her under control and the awareness which had arched between them the minute he’d laid eyes on her again—as if it had been five minutes since they’d last seen each other, not five years.
* * *
Katie braced her feet on the motor launch as it approached Capri, so tired now she felt as if she were drifting through a heavy fog. Caine had woken her up ten minutes ago, given her a pair of oversize socks to cover her feet which he’d borrowed from Matteo then spoken to her in low tones about the plans for the next few days. Not that she’d heard a word he was saying—his deep, hum-inducing voice was disturbing enough.
She searched the coastline, the rocky cliffs gilded by the full moon.
Her mother was buried somewhere on this island. But she felt strangely ambivalent about it, because all she could focus on at the moment was the overpowering presence of the man beside her.
