Capelli’s Captive Virgin Read online

  ‘I’ve packed us some provisions.’ He hauled some baskets out of the boat and handed her one. ‘This island is very pretty. Worth exploring.’ He dragged the boat farther up the beach, away from the lick of the sea.

  Then he pulled out a cool box and a rug and strolled farther up the beach towards the palm trees. ‘Your pale English skin will need the shade.’

  Unlike him, she thought ruefully, scanning his golden brown shoulders and bronzed back as he casually threw the rug onto the sand. He had the sort of skin that turned brown in an instant.

  He lay on his back on the rug and closed his eyes. ‘An hour,’ he murmured. ‘We’ll spend an hour here and then we’ll sail back to Kingfisher Cay.’

  She sat down, leaving a respectable distance between the two of them. ‘How did you find this place?’

  ‘I was sailing one day and came across it. I bought it.’

  ‘Retail therapy, Alessio?’

  Eyes still closed, he smiled. ‘I had a wild idea that I might build a villa for myself on it one day. I like the fact that it’s relatively inaccessible. The way the land curves means that it isn’t visible from any other island. No photographers with long lenses. I like my privacy.’

  ‘Is that why you don’t allow cameras on Kingfisher Cay?’

  ‘Yes. I want the guests to know that they’re truly on holiday.’

  ‘So are you going to build yourself a house here?’

  ‘Maybe. At the moment we only use it for privileged guests who want a deserted island experience.’

  ‘How did you find Kingfisher Cay?’ Suddenly curious, she frowned down at him. ‘I mean, you’re Italian.’

  ‘Sicilian.’ His tone a shade cooler, he raised himself up on his elbows. ‘I’m Sicilian.’

  And he looks Sicilian, she thought desperately, with those strands of blue-black hair flopping over his bronzed forehead. He looked dark and dangerous and—‘All right, you’re Sicilian—’ she spoke quickly ‘—but why the Caribbean? You have your own islands in Italy.’

  ‘No one would sell me Sicily.’ His eyes gleamed with sardonic humour and she found herself laughing too, although a tiny part of her wondered whether perhaps he wasn’t joking.

  ‘Do you have to own everything?’

  ‘If you’re asking if I’m a possessive man—’ he gave a slow, expressive shrug of his broad shoulders ‘Sì. If I want something, then, yes, I have to own it.’ His eyes lingered on her face and she shivered, suddenly agonisingly aware that it was just the two of them on a deserted island.

  ‘Can I ask you something else?’

  ‘Ask.’

  ‘Who was it that put you off marriage?’

  For a moment he didn’t respond and then he sat up, the muscles in his abdomen tensing as he leaned forward and flipped open the lid of an elegant basket. ‘Are you hungry?’

  That was it? He was going to ignore her question? ‘You said I could ask you something—’

  ‘And you did.’ Reaching into the basket, he removed a number of dishes that wouldn’t have disgraced a top restaurant.

  ‘But you haven’t answered me.’

  ‘I didn’t say that I’d answer.’ He broke the bread in half and handed her a piece. ‘I said you could ask.’

  Exasperated, she looked at him. ‘Do you ever stop being a lawyer?’

  ‘Am I being a lawyer?’

  ‘You guard every word you say.’

  His eyes lingered on her face for a moment and then he smiled. ‘In much the same way that you guard everything you do.’

  She pulled at the bread with her fingers. ‘You should have been a politician. You only ever reveal what you want to reveal. Doesn’t matter what the question is, because the only answer you’re going to get from Alessio Capelli is the one he wants to give.’

  ‘Spilling my guts has never been my style.’

  ‘And yet you have a really high profile in the press.’

  ‘Their choice, not mine.’ He was totally indifferent. ‘I give them nothing.’

  ‘Why don’t you live in Sicily? Or aren’t you prepared to discuss that either?’

  ‘Sicily isn’t a good base for an international business. I divide my time between my office in New York and my office in Rome.’

  Lindsay finished eating and wiped her fingers. ‘Do you ever go back to Sicily? Do you have family there?’

  There was an imperceptible change in him. ‘Just my brother. And he’s with me in Rome.’

  ‘Are your parents alive?’

  He moved so swiftly that she didn’t stand a chance. One moment she was sitting on the sand, congratulating herself that they were actually managing to sustain a conversation about something other than sex or divorce—a faltering, fragile conversation maybe, but a conversation nevertheless—and the next, she was on her back in the sand and his hard, powerful body was pressing down on hers.

  ‘I don’t give interviews, tesoro.’ For a few suspended seconds his mouth hovered tantalisingly close, almost but not quite touching her. And the promise of that touch made her lips tingle and her body ache, and the stab of delicious anticipation was so agonising that she could hardly breathe as she waited for him to kiss her. Her senses were primed, her pulse rate frantic, her nerve endings exploding like fireworks on bonfire night. And just when she’d decided that he wasn’t going to do it—that it wasn’t going to happen—he did.

  And it was nothing like she’d imagined it to be.

  Alessio Capelli was pure alpha male—arrogant, confident, imposing his will on those around him.

  Whenever she’d thought about kissing him, she’d imagined his hand in her hair, his mouth rough and demanding as he took what he wanted. So the slow, seductive pressure of his mouth on hers came as a shock. He was a skilled, expert kisser—a man who knew exactly how to draw the maximum response from a woman. The heat rushed through her body, lighting every nerve ending like a match held against paper. And she melted in the heat of that kiss, her body growing warm and heavy as sizzling excitement concentrated itself low in her pelvis.

  With slow, deliberate precision, he coaxed her lips apart and she felt the intimate stroke of his tongue stealing both her breath and her willpower. And she didn’t ever want him to stop because it was the most delicious, perfect kiss she could have imagined and if the world had ended right then she wouldn’t have cared.

  It was as if he’d drugged her, his touch sending every rational thought from her spinning brain.

  His body shifted above her and she felt his warm, strong hand slide across her shoulder. She was held immobile by sensual bondage; it was only when his lips moved from her mouth to her breast that she realised he’d somehow removed the strap of her swimsuit.

  Control slid away from her and she moaned and lifted herself against the warmth of his mouth, desperate for his touch. Her frantic response obviously met with his approval because he gave a soft, appreciative laugh.

  ‘Adoro il tuo corpo.’ His voice husky, he concentrated his attention on one dusky pink nipple. ‘I love your body.’ As if to prove just how much he loved her body, his hand slid slowly down her thigh, the touch of his fingers creating havoc with her senses.

  It was exciting, terrifying and utterly, utterly addictive.

  Desperately she tried to regain some control over what was happening, but every time she tried to gasp out a protest he’d touch her in a particular way and she’d be sucked back down into a whirlpool of wicked, delicious pleasure from which there was no escape.

  It was the heavy thrust of his erection against her thigh that finally shocked her out of her state of dizzy stupor.

  ‘No—Alessio, no—’ With a groan of denial, she put her hand on his chest, resisting the impulse to stroke rather than stop. But she had to stop. ‘I can’t—not like this—’

  He was above her, his weight pressing her into the soft sand, powerfully male and unashamedly aroused. ‘What’s wrong with this? I am too heavy for you?’ Suddenly he sounded impossibly Italian, his normally confide
nt English slightly less fluent than usual. Slowly, he trailed a gentle, exploratory finger over her mouth. ‘You are feeling shy?’

  There was no way she could put into words what she was feeling because she’d never felt it before. She was used to being in control. Normally she thought of herself as assertive and self-reliant, but where were those qualities now? She was lying passive, dominated by a sexually confident male, and that was bad enough, but the thing that really shamed her was that she was enjoying it. A small secret part of her was thrilled by his strength and virility.

  Alessio Capelli had never heard the phrase ‘politically correct’, she thought dizzily, closing her eyes to break the sizzling connection between them. ‘We haven’t—this is just impulse and it’s all wrong. Sex should be a conscious decision, not an impulse. It should be planned.’ Oh, Lindsay, Lindsay, you really shouldn’t be doing this. If you eat too much chocolate you put on weight, and if you sleep with men like Alessio Capelli—

  ‘So far, this is going exactly the way I planned, tesoro,’ he murmured, amusement in his voice as he lowered his dark head and delivered a lingering kiss to her neck. ‘Tell me something, Lindsay—’ his voice was a soft, dangerous purr ‘—if there was no tomorrow, would you do this?’

  He dangled temptation in front of her without hesitation or conscience and she gave a low moan, rejecting the answer that came into her head.

  ‘There is a tomorrow.’

  ‘But sometimes it is good to live your life as though there isn’t,’ he murmured, his fingers gently tracing her cheek. ‘That is good, no?’

  For a moment Lindsay lay there dazed and then gradually his words sank into her brain. ‘Wait a minute.’ Her voice was husky and she cleared her throat. ‘Did you just say that you planned this?’

  ‘We’re alone and half-naked on a desert island, tesoro.’ His mouth discovered a sensitive spot just under her jawbone and Lindsay’s insides clenched.

  ‘And that makes sex inevitable?’

  ‘I hate to let an opportunity go to waste,’ he breathed softly and she closed her eyes tightly because the shift from meltdown to misery had happened in the space of a heartbeat.

  Dear God, she was a fool.

  ‘I’m a person, Alessio, not an opportunity.’ Her voice breaking slightly, she pushed at his chest and he shifted away from her, his dark eyes narrowed in question.

  ‘You appeared to be enjoying yourself.’

  ‘I enjoy chocolate—but I know when to say no. Don’t you have any morals?’

  ‘Obviously I do.’ His tone cool, Alessio rolled onto his back. ‘You said no. I stopped.’

  ‘Do us both a favour next time—don’t start.’ Her body felt warm and alive, as if someone had flicked a switch that could never again be turned off. ‘Don’t touch me again, Alessio.’

  ‘Sì, you are right—it was good.’ He gave a low laugh and she looked at him fiercely.

  ‘I didn’t say it was good—’

  ‘But you don’t want me to touch you again—’ his eyes drifted shut, the smile on his hard mouth one of raw male arrogance ‘—and that says everything there is to be said.’

  ‘It says, I don’t want you to touch me again!’ Her heart was pumping like an athlete in a sprint. ‘Are you having trouble with your English?’

  ‘No, but I think you’re having trouble with your “choices”,’ he said silkily. ‘You were sure what you wanted—now, you’re not so sure.’

  She scrambled to her feet, averting her eyes from the haze of dark hair on his bronzed chest. ‘I want to go back to Kingfisher Cay. I want to go back right now.’ Before she did something, really, really foolish.

  ‘Unfortunately, we can’t do that.’

  ‘Yes, we can.’ Control was slipping through her fingers. ‘You sailed here, you can sail back again.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ His tone was suddenly serious. ‘You and I have a real problem, Lindsay.’

  She lifted her fingers to her forehead, anger fading to despair. ‘I know we have a problem.’ Her body was still humming with sexual awareness, but she took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. ‘It will be fine if we just ignore it. We’re both adults and we’re perfectly capable of resisting temptation if we choose to do so.’

  ‘We’re at cross purposes. I wasn’t talking about the chemistry between us. I don’t see that as a problem.’ He turned, a sardonic smile on his face. ‘And just so that we’re both clear, I have no intention of resisting temptation, so, if that’s the route you plan to take, you’re on your own. You’ll be resisting without my help.’

  Still trying to cope with his cool admission that he had no intention of resisting temptation, Lindsay bit her lip. ‘Well, if that’s not the problem—’

  ‘When did you last look at the sea or the sky, Lindsay?’ His tone deceptively gentle, his eyes flickered behind her. ‘Do you remember that storm I mentioned?’

  Storm? For a moment she stared at him, her mind refusing to go further back than the kiss.

  And then she turned her head and looked at the ocean.

  Somehow, at some point during their picnic—and afterwards—the sea had turned from glasslike smooth stillness, to an angry, boiling furnace. Waves lashed the shore and the sky had turned from perfect blue to ominous grey. ‘Oh, my goodness—I didn’t notice—’

  ‘I think we were both rather distracted,’ he drawled, irony in his gaze as he sprang to his feet.

  Lindsay felt a flash of panic. ‘Call someone. Use your mobile phone.’

  ‘I didn’t bring it. There’s no signal here. And anyway, no boats will come out in this and the wind is too strong for the seaplane. We’ll have to wait it out.’

  Lindsay’s insides lurched. ‘Is it the hurricane?’

  ‘No, but I suspect it must have changed course or we wouldn’t be experiencing this weather.’ His gaze lingered on the sky for a moment and then he bent down and gathered up their things. ‘I’ll just secure the boat and then we’ll go and find shelter. There’s an old abandoned cottage on the other side of the island. It will be more protected there. We’ll shelter until the storm passes.’

  Horrified, she stared at him. ‘And how long will that be?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that we stay here alone?’ She licked her lips and her eyes slid to the angry sea. ‘You did this on purpose.’

  ‘I’m flattered by your assessment of my powers,’ he said dryly, ‘but even I can’t change the course of a hurricane. With luck it will just graze the island and lose power over the sea. Come on. If it doesn’t blow itself out, you’ll have plenty of time to blame me for the sins of the world over the next few days. Pick up the picnic blanket and the rest of the food. I need to see to the boat.’

  ‘But it’s already on the beach—’

  ‘Trust me, in a few hours, this won’t be beach.’

  And they were going to be trapped together. She looked at him in horror, expecting to see signs of worry on his face, but his eyes gleamed with something that looked like anticipation. ‘You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s something out of the ordinary and, yes, that’s exciting in its own way. Unlike you, I don’t like life to be too predictable. Where’s the challenge in that? Come on. We need to find ourselves some shelter.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘YOU’RE shivering. Are you cold?’ His tone sharp, Alessio hauled the rest of their things into the single-storey cottage and immediately the sound of the building wind was muffled.

  ‘I’m not cold,’ Lindsay lied, resisting the temptation to rub her hands down her bare arms. Why, oh, why was fate so cruel? Why couldn’t she at least have had something with her that could have covered her up? She wished now that she’d returned to the boat to pick up more provisions, but Alessio had insisted that they move as fast as possible.

  And it had been the right decision. By the time they’d walked for twenty minutes along the beach, the wind had risen dramaticall
y.

  She’d been relieved when she’d spotted the cottage on the far side of the tiny island. It was slightly protected by the curve of the land and Lindsay could see that they’d be safer there than in the little bay where they’d landed.

  ‘What is this place?’ The cottage was obviously old and she hesitated on the doorstep, wary of trespassing. ‘Who owns it?’

  ‘I suppose I do, technically. Before me it belonged to an eccentric millionaire who didn’t much like people.’ Alessio was prowling around the deserted rooms, as if he were looking for something. Occasionally he’d pause and put his hand against a window. ‘We’ll shelter in here. Stay away from the window in case the glass is blown in. We have rugs, plenty of water and some food. We’ll be fine for a few days, if necessary.’

  ‘A few days?’ Appalled, Lindsay gaped at him. ‘I can’t stay here for a few days! I need to contact Ruby.’

  He spread the rug on the floor. ‘It doesn’t make much difference whether you’re on Kingfisher Cay, or here. Ruby isn’t answering your calls.’

  ‘But what if she tries to contact me?’ Lindsay paced the floor, desperately worried. ‘What if she rings in a panic? What if she needs my advice? I won’t be answering my phone and what will she do then?’

  ‘She might have to make a decision on her own. Believe me, that would do her the world of good.’ Watching her pace the room, he frowned suddenly. ‘You’re stranded in a storm and still you’re thinking about your sister. When exactly do you worry about yourself? You should be asking me if we’re going to get out of here, or if the cottage is likely to be blown away.’

  ‘We’ll be fine, I’m sure.’ Barely registering those possibilities, Lindsay started to bite one of her nails and then let her hand drop. ‘But if Ruby needs to contact me—what if she hears about this storm?’

  ‘She doesn’t know you’re with me, so she won’t understand its relevance. And anyway, you’re safe here.’

  Suddenly realising just how isolated they were, Lindsay felt her stomach flip. She didn’t feel safe. She didn’t feel safe at all, and her growing tension had nothing to do with the threatening weather. Outside, the wind was starting to whistle and howl, buffeting the cottage and rattling the windows. But the real threat to her well-being was on the inside.