Читать книгу Bound To The Billionaire: Captive in His Castle / In Petrakis's Power / The Count's Prize - Шантель Шоу, Christina Hollis - Страница 7

‘AIRPORT!’ AS THE meaning of Drago Cassari’s words slowly sank in Jess shook her head. ‘I can’t go to Venice!’

In a minute she would wake up and find she’d been having a crazy dream, she thought dazedly. Maybe the six double-shot espressos she’d drunk during the day instead of eating a proper lunch were causing her to have strange hallucinations—because this could not be happening.

‘Don’t you care about Angelo? I thought you had a close relationship with him.’

Drago’s harsh voice broke the silence, forcing Jess to accept that he was not a figment of her imagination.

‘Of course I care that he’s hurt,’ she said quickly. ‘But I wouldn’t say that we have a close relationship, exactly. I’ve only known him since he started working for me about two months ago.’

‘He worked for you?’ It was Drago’s turn to look puzzled. ‘What kind of work? I was informed that you are a painter.’ Into his mind flashed a startling image of his cousin posing for her. ‘Did Angelo model for you?’

‘Hardly,’ Jess said drily. Crossing the room, she took a business card from the desk and handed it to him. ‘I paint houses, Mr Cassari, not masterpieces.’

The card read ‘T&J Decorators’ and gave a phone number and a website address. Drago glanced at it and then looked back Jess, struck once again by her petite stature and fragile build. The notion that she was a manual labourer was ridiculous.

‘Do you mean you are an interior designer for this decorating company? Or do you deal with office administration? I find it hard to believe that you actually paint walls for a living.’

Jess was irritated by the note of disdain she was sure she heard in his voice. ‘I do some general decorating, but as a matter of fact I’m a trained chippie—a carpenter,’ she explained when he frowned. ‘I also act as site foreman and make sure that my workmen finish their contracts on time and follow safety procedures.’

His black brows lifted. ‘It seems an unusual career choice for a woman.’

She was tempted to tell him that very few careers were available to someone who had flunked school and failed to gain any academic qualifications. She would have loved to train to be an interior designer, but most people working in the industry had an art degree, and she had more chance of flying to the moon than going to university.

‘And you’re saying that you employed Angelo as a decorator?’ Now Drago’s tone was sceptical. ‘Why would he choose to work as a labourer when he belongs to one of the wealthiest families in Italy?’

‘You tell me.’ The situation was growing more bizarre by the minute, Jess thought. ‘I took him on because I was short of staff. To be honest he was pretty hopeless at decorating, but he said he had no money and nowhere to live and I felt sorry for him. I told him he could stay with me until he could afford to rent his own place.’

Drago’s expression became blatantly cynical. ‘Why would you do that for someone you barely knew?’

‘Because I know what it’s like to reach rock-bottom.’ Unbeknown to Jess her eyes darkened to deep jade as she recalled the despair she had once felt. There had been a time when she had felt she had nothing to live for—until her wonderful foster-parents had given her a home and a future.

She had sensed despair in Angelo and had wanted to help him as she had been helped by Margaret and Ted Robbins. But now she felt a fool. Why had he made up all that stuff about being poor and homeless when, according to Drago Cassari, Angelo came from a wealthy family?

She stared at Angelo’s cousin, her mind reeling. ‘How do you know about me?’ she demanded, unsettled by his statement that he had been given information about her. It almost sounded as though he had asked someone to investigate her. The situation was so unreal that anything seemed possible.

He gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘Angelo spoke about you to his mother, and obviously he gave her the address of where he was living in London.

‘Oh…yes, I suppose he would have done.’

Drago studied Jess Harper speculatively for a few moments. He had no intention of revealing that he knew Angelo had given her money. He did not understand what was going on, and until he had more facts he did not want to give away too much. He checked his watch. ‘We need to be going.’

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t go with you.’ Jess bit her lip. She felt terrible about Angelo, but disappearing off to Italy simply wasn’t an option. ‘I have a business to run—we’re behind schedule on our current contract and I can’t—’

‘He spoke your name.’ Drago cut her off in a driven voice. His accent was suddenly very pronounced, as if he was struggling to control his emotions. ‘This morning Angelo roused very briefly and he asked for you.’

He walked towards her, his midnight-dark eyes never leaving her face. ‘You might be his best hope of recovery. Hearing your voice might be the key that will release him from his prison and bring him back to his family.’

Jess swallowed. ‘Mr Cassari…’

‘Drago,’ he said huskily. ‘You are Angelo’s friend, so I think we should dispense with formalities.’

He halted in front of her and Jess had to tilt her head to look up at his face. She felt overwhelmed by his height and sheer physical presence. Her heart slammed against her ribs when he laid a finger lightly across her lips to prevent her from speaking.

‘Please, Jess. Angelo needs you. I need you to come with me. I think of him as my brother, even my son—for since his father died I have tried to be a father to him.’

Dear heaven, how could she refuse such a heartfelt entreaty? The raw emotion in Drago’s voice made Jess’s heart ache. Only a few days ago she had listened to Angelo playing his guitar, but now he was fighting for his life. She thought of Daniel, who had never regained consciousness. Surely if there was a chance she could help Angelo she must try?

Her common sense argued that she would be crazy to agree to go away with a man she had never met before, but she was haunted by the image of Daniel the last time she had seen him. He had died a few hours after her visit. She hadn’t been allowed to attend his funeral—the head of the care home had decided it would be too upsetting—and so she had never had a chance to say goodbye.

‘All right,’ she said shakily. ‘I’ll come. But I need to make some phone calls and arrange for someone to cover for me at work.’

Mike could take over as foreman while she was away. She trusted him, and knew he would push her team of decorators to get the contract finished. Thoughts raced through Jess’s head. She was fiercely proud of T&J Decorators and hated the thought of leaving it even for a few days. Like most businesses in the construction industry, the company had suffered because of the economic recession, but thankfully the windfall of money she had recently received meant that T&J was now financially stable—as long as she kept working hard and securing new contracts.

‘I can only be away for a couple of days,’ she warned.

She glanced at Drago and felt a tiny flicker of unease when she found him watching her intently. He was so big and imposing, and there was a faintly predatory expression in his eyes that made her think of a lethal jungle cat preparing to make a kill—and she was the prey. But when she blinked and refocused on him she cursed herself for being over-imaginative. His smile was dangerously attractive but the only thing she had to worry about was her unexpected reaction to him.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured in the husky accent that sent a shiver across her skin. ‘I hope that Angelo will respond when he hears your voice. When it is time for you to leave Italy I will arrange for you be flown home on my plane.’

Once the matter of Angelo’s missing inheritance fund had been resolved, Drago thought to himself. As Jess stepped away from him his eyes were drawn to the deep vee of her robe, which revealed the curve of her breasts, and he felt a sharp stab of desire in his gut as he imagined untying the belt around her slender waist and sliding his hand inside the towelling folds. The glimpse of her body evoked a picture in his mind of her lying beneath him, her milky-pale thighs entwined with his darker olive-toned limbs. Light and dark, soft and hard, fiery Latin male and cool English rose.

He met her startled gaze and was intrigued to see soft colour stain her cheeks. The mysterious alchemy of sexual attraction was impossible to explain, he mused. He recognised that she felt it as fiercely as he did, and under different circumstances he would have wasted no time in bedding her. But the circumstances could not be more wrong. His cousin was critically injured and, for all her apparent concern for Angelo, Jess Harper had a lot of explaining to do. For now, Drago was prepared to keep an open mind, but he could not risk his judgement being undermined by indulging in fantasies of her naked in his arms.

The sound of her voice dragged him from his uncomfortable thoughts. ‘I’ll get dressed, and if you don’t mind quickly have my dinner,’ she said as she hurried over to the door. ‘I haven’t eaten all day. It was ready when you arrived and it will only take a couple of seconds to reheat.’

‘Santa Madonna! You mean that terrible smell is your evening meal?’ Drago was genuinely horrified. ‘I thought you had problems with the drains.’

Jess felt a spurt of annoyance at his arrogant tone. There had been plenty of times in the past when she hadn’t been able to afford to buy even the cheapest supermarket budget food, and even though she now had money she was careful with it. She doubted Drago Cassari had ever known what it felt like to be so hungry that you felt sick, or so cold that your bones ached, as she had often been as a child.

‘I take it you don’t often dine on microwave meals?’ she said drily.

His eyes narrowed at her sarcastic tone. ‘Nor do I ever intend to. There’s no time for you to eat now. We’ll have dinner on the plane. Please hurry,’ he added impatiently. ‘While you are wasting time Angelo’s condition may be worsening.’

By the time they landed at Marco Polo airport Jess was under no illusion about what kind of man Drago Cassari was. Powerful, compelling and utterly self-assured, he took control of every situation with quiet authority, and she’d noticed that everyone around him, from the airport staff to the crew on his private jet, treated him with a deference few men could command.

Maybe it was his wealth that set him apart from ordinary people and gave him an air of suave sophistication. She guessed he must be well-off. Let’s face it, how many people had she ever met who owned their own plane? she thought wryly. When they had boarded his jet a uniformed steward had ushered her over to one of the opulent leather sofas in the cabin and offered her a glass of champagne. During the flight the dinner they had been served had been exquisite—the sort of food she imagined you would expect at a five-star restaurant. She felt as though she had entered a different world where she had no place, but in which Drago was completely at home.

Now, as they walked through the airport foyer, she was conscious that her jeans were scruffy and her tee shirt, which had shrunk in the wash, revealed a strip of bare midriff when she moved. In contrast, Drago looked as if he had stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine, with his designer clothes and stunning good looks. The shadow of dark stubble on his jaw added to his potent sex appeal, and as he strode slightly ahead of her Jess noticed the interested glances he attracted from virtually every female he passed.

He was talking into his phone, which had been clamped to his ear for most of the flight from England, and although he spoke in Italian she guessed from his lowered brows that he was not happy. A cold hand of fear gripped her heart as she wondered if Angelo’s condition was worse. Please, God, don’t let him die, she offered up in silent prayer. Twenty-two was too young for anyone to leave this world—especially someone as sweet and gentle as Angelo. They had become good friends while they had been flatmates. But she was still reeling from the discovery that he came from a wealthy family and was related to this formidable man who had now halted in front of the airport doors and was waiting for her to catch up with him.

‘Were you talking to someone at the hospital? Has something happened with Angelo?’ she asked anxiously.

‘There’s no change,’ Drago replied curtly.

He wondered if the concern in Jess’s voice was genuine or whether she was simply adept at fooling people. During the flight he had tried to think about her objectively, bearing in mind that all he knew about her so far was that she had a criminal record and had either begged, borrowed or stolen a fortune from his cousin. But to his intense irritation he had been distracted by his physical reaction to her, and had found himself admiring her hair—which, now that it had dried, reminded him of the colour of autumn leaves: a glorious mixture of red, copper and gold, which rippled down her back and shimmered like raw silk.

He noted how her fashionable skinny jeans emphasised her slender figure and her long-sleeved tee shirt clung to her small breasts. With a rucksack over one shoulder and a guitar hanging from the other she looked as if she was going to a pop festival rather than to visit a hospital. Her clothes were totally inappropriate, he thought irritably, and he was certain she wasn’t wearing a bra—although her breasts were pert enough that she did not need to.

Trying to ignore the flare of heat in his groin, he said, ‘I’ve just heard from the head of my security team that the press have got wind of the accident. Probably one of the hospital staff tipped them off,’ he growled angrily. ‘The paparazzi are hanging around the hospital, and they must have heard that my plane just landed because there’s a mob of reporters waiting outside the airport. Stick close to me. I’ll make sure no one hassles you,’ he reassured her when he saw her startled expression. ‘My car is on its way to pick us up, and Fico, my bodyguard, will clear a path for us.’

‘You have a bodyguard?’ she said faintly.

He shrugged, drawing Jess’s attention to his broad shoulders and a muscular physique that indicated he followed a punishing workout regime.

‘I can take care of myself, but it’s sensible to take precautions. I am well-known in Italy, and there have been a couple of kidnap attempts in the past. Many criminal gangs would love to get hold of me and demand a billion-pound ransom,’ he told her.

He did not seem unduly worried, and looked amused when she could not disguise her shock at his revelation that he was a billionaire.

‘It’s amazing what some people will do for money,’ he murmured sardonically.

It was dark outside, but through the glass doors Jess could see a large crowd of shadowy figures moving around. ‘Let me take your bag,’ Drago ordered, lifting her rucksack from her shoulders. He looked surprised when he felt how light it was. ‘There can’t be much in here. I told you to bring clothes for a few days, in case Angelo doesn’t immediately respond to your voice.’

It was only natural that he was concerned for his cousin, but jeez, he was bossy! Jess lifted her chin. ‘I’ve brought everything I own that isn’t covered in paint. I don’t have many clothes.’

‘Or any that fit properly, seemingly,’ he drawled as he raked his eyes over her too-small tee shirt and lingered on her breasts.

To her horror Jess felt her nipples harden, and knew they must be clearly visible beneath her clingy top. She wished she had made a better search for one of the few bras she possessed, which had inconveniently disappeared from her underwear drawer. She rarely wore a bra because she felt more comfortable working without one, but she had not bargained on her body’s embarrassing reaction to Drago. Against her will her gaze was drawn to his, and her heart jolted against her ribs when she saw the unmistakable glint of sexual awareness in his black eyes.

This could not be happening, she thought dazedly. A few hours ago it had just been an ordinary day—until a darkly handsome stranger had turned up at her flat. Now she had been whisked to Italy on a private jet to visit Angelo, who was not the penniless migrant he had led her to believe but a member of the hugely wealthy Cassari family. Even more disturbing was the way she reacted to Angelo’s cousin. She hated how her body responded to Drago’s virile masculinity. Not since she had dated Sebastian Loxley had she felt so unsettled by a man. The memory of her one brief love affair—although it could hardly be called that, because Seb had never loved her—served as a stark reminder of why she needed to ignore her dangerous attraction to Drago.

He was watching her from beneath hooded eyelids that hid his expression, so that she had no idea what he was thinking. Just then the door behind him opened, and as he turned his attention to the thickset man who appeared Jess released her breath on a shaky sigh.

The man spoke to Drago in rapid Italian. He replied in the same language and then glanced back at Jess. ‘The car is outside. Let’s get this over with,’ he growled.

To Jess’s shock he gripped her arm and pulled her close to his side. She was intensely conscious of his hard body pressed against hers, and the sensual musk of his aftershave swamped her senses. But then he opened the door and she was blinded by an explosion of bright flashing lights.

Despite the efforts of the bodyguard the reporters closed in on them like a pack of wolves, and a cacophony of voices shouting words she did not understand bombarded her ears. It seemed like a lifetime until they reached the black limousine waiting with its engine already running.

Drago pulled open the car door. ‘Get in and we’ll soon be away from this madness.’ He swore when he saw her struggling to climb inside with the guitar still strapped to her back. ‘Madonna! Was it necessary to bring this with you?’ he muttered as he tugged the strap over her shoulder. He pushed her into the seat and thrust the guitar onto her lap before sliding into the car after her. ‘Are you expecting Angelo to wake at the sound of your strumming? I think you must have watched too many romantic films.’

‘Hearing music might rouse him,’ Jess snapped, infuriated by his sarcasm. ‘The guitar isn’t mine; it’s Angelo’s. I thought he would like to have it with him when he regains consciousness. You must know how much his guitar means to him?’

‘I didn’t know he could play an instrument,’ Drago said bluntly.

‘But he plays all the time, and he’s a brilliant guitarist. He told me his dream is to play professionally.’ She stared at him. ‘How come you know so little about your cousin? You say you think of him as a brother, but you don’t seem to know the first thing about him.’

Drago was annoyed by the implied criticism in her voice. ‘Just because I was unaware of his hobby does not mean I’m not close to him.’

Jess shook her head. ‘It’s not just a hobby. Music is Angelo’s passion.’

The limousine was now streaking along the highway, but the sound of the engine was barely discernible inside the car. The privacy glass separated them from the driver and bodyguard who were sitting in the front, and enclosed them in the rear in a dark, silent space that was shattered by Jess’s fervent outburst. She tensed when Drago turned his head and subjected her to a slow appraisal.

‘Passion?’ he murmured, in the deep, accented voice that caressed her senses like rough velvet.

The word seemed to hover in the air between them. Jess’s mouth felt dry and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue as a shocking image flashed into her mind of Drago pushing her back against the leather seat and covering her mouth with his. It was utterly crazy, but she longed for him to kiss her with the heated passion she sensed burned within him. She pictured him running his hands over her body and sliding them beneath her tee shirt to caress her breasts and stroke her nipples that were as hard as pebbles from her erotic thoughts.

She shuddered, acutely conscious of the flood of heat between her legs. Dear heaven, what was happening to her? Even worse, he knew the effect he was having on her. The unnerving predatory expression that she had told herself she had imagined back at her flat had returned to his eyes, and she could almost taste the sexual tension simmering in the air between them.

Drago shrugged. ‘I admit I did not know of Angelo’s interest in music. What about you—are you a musician too?’

‘No. Angelo taught me to play a couple of tunes on the guitar, but I’m not very good.’

He trapped her gaze and his voice took on a husky quality that caused the tiny hairs on Jess’s body to stand on end.

‘So—what is your passion, Jess?’

She swallowed, and searched her mind desperately for something to say—some way to break the spell he seemed to have cast on her. ‘I…I make things from wood…sculptures and ornate carvings. I suppose you could say that is my passion. I love the feel of wood—its smoothness and the fact that it feels alive when I shape it. It’s very tactile, and I love creating sculptures that invite people to touch them, stroke their polished surfaces—’

She broke off abruptly, embarrassed by her enthusiasm. Drago could not possibly understand how she poured all the painful emotions that were locked up inside her into her sculptures. Of all the wonderful things that Ted, her foster-father, had done for her, teaching her how to work with wood meant the most to her, because he had given her a way to express herself and unlocked an artistic talent that had given her a sense of self-worth.

She was relieved when Drago’s phone rang. While he took the call she stared out of the window and watched the street lamps flash past in a blur as the car sped along the highway. A few minutes later the imposing modern building of the Venice-Mestre Hospital came into view. As they approached Jess saw dozens more reporters crowded around the entrance, and when the limousine halted outside the front doors camera flashbulbs lit up the interior of the car, throwing Drago’s stern features into sharp relief.

‘Do the press always hound you like this?’ she asked him. She felt nervous about leaving the car, even with the reassuring presence of his huge bodyguard.

‘The paparazzi often follow me—they have a relentless fascination with my love-life,’ he said drily. ‘But I will not allow them to upset my aunt and mother. I’ll issue a statement about Angelo’s accident in the morning and ask for my family to be given privacy while his condition remains critical. Hopefully that will make a few of them back off.’

When the driver opened the door Drago climbed out of the car first and turned to offer Jess his hand. The sound of loud, unintelligible voices hit her ears, and she instinctively ducked her head to avoid the flashlights. The crowd of reporters pushed forward and she stumbled—would have fallen but for the arm that Drago snaked around her waist. Half carrying her, he hurried her through the main doors of the hospital while the reporters were prevented from entering by several security guards.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, glancing at her tense face.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ No way was Jess going to admit that being in close proximity to his hard body had made her heart race. As she followed Drago along a corridor her heart began to pound for a different reason. She hated hospitals—hated the frightening clinical atmosphere and the smell of disinfectant that were such a painful reminder not only of Daniel, but of her own brief stay on a hospital ward when she was seventeen.

A nurse met them at the door of the intensive care ward, and while Drago spoke to her Jess struggled against a rising sense of panic. All her life she had learned to block out unhappy experiences—and there had been plenty of those during her childhood, both before and after she had gone into care—but being in the hospital brought back agonising memories that she had never been able to bury. She did not want to think about Daniel. And she did not dare think about Katie. Opening that particular Pandora’s box was simply too painful.

Her instincts screamed at her to turn and run from the ward. But it was too late. Drago had halted and was opening a door which she saw led into a small private room. She glimpsed a figure lying on a bed surrounded by machinery which beeped and flashed sporadically.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t disturb Angelo now,’ she said shakily. ‘It’s nearly midnight. Do the staff mind us being here outside of visiting hours?’

‘Of course not.’ Drago’s dark brows rose in surprise. ‘We can come whenever we want. Until this morning when I flew to London I hadn’t left the ward since Angelo was admitted. As for disturbing him—that is the point of bringing you here,’ he said sardonically. He glanced at her and frowned when he saw that her face was so white that the golden freckles on her nose and cheeks stood out. ‘Did the reporters upset you? Why are you so pale?’

Jess fought the nauseous sensation that swept over her. ‘I don’t like hospitals,’ she muttered.

‘Does anyone?’ Impatience crept into Drago’s voice. His jaw tightened.

The past days he had spent at the hospital had evoked painful memories that would always haunt him. It had been a long time ago, he reminded himself. Life had moved on. He was thankful that Vittoria had found happiness with the man she had eventually married, and now she had a child. God knew she deserved to be happy after everything that had happened, the way he had let her down…

With an effort he forced his mind from the past and concentrated on the woman at his side. ‘I can assure you that my aunt would rather not be here, keeping a vigil at her son’s bedside.’ He hesitated and deliberately lowered his voice so that only Jess could hear him. ‘Angelo’s mother is understandably distraught. You must forgive her if she is a little…abrupt.’

Jess did not understand what Drago meant, but there was no time to query his curious statement as he ushered her into the room. As she nervously approached the bed a horrible sense of dread and déjà-vu filled her. Angelo looked very different without his wild curls half-hiding his face. His skull was covered in bandages and his skin and lips were deathly pale. He reminded her of a waxwork figure: perfect in detail but lifeless, just as Daniel had been.

Hot tears suddenly burned her eyes. She rarely cried; experience had taught her that it was a pointless exercise. But for once she could not control her emotions. It seemed so cruel that a young man in the prime of his life might never open his eyes again or smile at the people he loved.

A movement from the other side of the room made Jess turn her head, and she saw a woman whom she guessed from her strained face and red-rimmed eyes to be Angelo’s mother.

Overwhelmed by an instinctive need to express her sympathy, Jess murmured, ‘I’m so sorry about Angelo.’

The woman stared at her, and then spoke to Drago in a torrent of Italian. Jess could not understand a word, but she sensed that her presence was not welcome. Remembering Drago’s warning that his aunt was distraught, she wondered if she should leave and come back to visit Angelo later, but as she turned towards the door Drago placed a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her forward.

‘Aunt Dorotea, Jess has come to talk to Angelo in the hope that he will respond to her voice.’ He looked steadily at his aunt. ‘I’m sure you appreciate that she has rushed from England to visit him.’

His aunt continued to stare at Jess, with no hint of welcome on her rather haughty face. But then she said sharply, ‘You are my son’s girlfriend?’

‘I am his friend,’ Jess corrected her.

‘So you are not his mistress?’

‘No.’ Jess frowned, puzzled by Angelo’s mother’s distinctly unfriendly attitude. She glanced questioningly at Drago. ‘I could come back another time, if you think it would be better.’

He shook his head. ‘I brought you here to talk to Angelo. Your name is the only word he has uttered, so perhaps he will respond to you.’ He looked at his aunt. ‘I want you to go home for a few hours. Fico is waiting to take you. You need to get some rest and have something to eat. You will not be any help to Angelo if you collapse,’ he added, countering his aunt’s attempt to argue.

Despite her obvious reluctance to leave her son, his Aunt Dorotea nodded as if she was used to her nephew taking charge. ‘You will call me if there is any change?’

Drago’s voice softened. ‘Of course.’

He escorted his aunt from the room, leaving Jess alone with Angelo. She sat by the bed, watching him, just as she had done with Daniel when one of the care workers from the home had taken her to visit him. Angelo looked so young and defenceless. It was agonising to think that he might not survive. Her throat ached, but she swallowed her tears and leaned closer to take hold of his hand. It felt warm, and that filled her with hope.

‘Hi, Angelo…’ she said huskily. ‘What have you done to yourself?’ It was difficult to know what to say, but after a moment’s hesitation she continued, ‘The guys missed you when you didn’t show up for work. Gaz said you make the best tea. We’ve nearly finished the Connaught Road job. I’ve just got to fit new skirting boards.’

She felt comfortable talking about work and kept up a flow of chatter, although her heart sank when Angelo did not make any kind of response.

A slight sound from behind her alerted her to the fact that Drago had come back to the room and was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Immediately Jess felt self-conscious. ‘My coming here hasn’t done any good,’ she told him flatly. ‘He hasn’t shown the slightest flicker of reaction.’

‘We can’t expect a miracle. All we can do is keep trying.’ Drago walked over to the bed and stared at his cousin’s motionless form. He knew it was stupid to feel disappointed that Angelo had shown no sign he had heard Jess. He had put too much faith in her. But, Dio, he was desperate—and he had hoped for a miracle, he acknowledged heavily.

‘I overheard some of what you were saying to him,’ he said abruptly. ‘I admit I still find it hard to imagine that are you a decorator. You don’t look the type to do manual work.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’

Studying her slender figure, Drago was tempted to disagree. She seemed more upset by seeing Angelo than he had expected. Her delicate features looked almost pinched, and earlier he had watched her blinking back tears. Her eyes looked huge in her pale face and there was a vulnerability about her that was unexpected.

If it wasn’t for the phone call he had received a few minutes ago from the private investigator he might have been taken in by her. But the confirmation that she was a petty crook who had been found guilty of fraud a few years ago increased his suspicion that she had used some underhand and possibly illegal means to get her grubby hands on his cousin’s inheritance fund. If necessary he was prepared to use equally underhanded methods to get the money back, Drago thought grimly.