Bound by the Italian's Contract. Janette Kenny

other sedan at a sedate pace that she could keep up with. “We haven’t spoken in months.”

      “By choice or chance?”

      “Both.” He shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

      A family state she knew intimately, she thought sourly. “I know what you mean.”

      His intense blue gaze swung to her, brow furrowed. “Do you?”

      “I’ve been estranged from my mother for the bulk of my life,” she admitted.

      “You never told me.”

      “You never let us get that close,” she said.

      He stopped and grasped her hand, and just like that she was gone, caught up in the river of fire gushing through her veins. She tried to block the power and pulse of him but failed, soaking him in like rain on the desert. And she hated the sensations as much as she thirsted on them, but finally managed to jerk free with a shaky smile.

      “It’s okay. I’m long over it.” And you. Or was she? Don’t go there, she told herself, focusing instead on what had shaped her. “When my dad passed away, my mother didn’t bother to send me a note or flowers, or even call to check on my welfare.”

      “Perhaps she wasn’t aware of his death.”

      “She knew,” she said, not bothering to soften the bitterness that hardened her voice. “My mother is just as self-centered as she has always been. The day after my dad’s funeral, she told the paparazzi she was out of sorts because her first husband had just passed on.”

      “She is a selfish woman.”

      “Very.”

      He nodded, walking at a more sedate pace toward the sedans again, tension radiating off him as hot as the heat rising from the asphalt tarmac. “You are nothing like her.”

      “That is the greatest compliment you could ever give me,” she said, keeping stride with him as they headed toward his waiting father. “You don’t know how much I envied people who had a normal family.”

      “Normal?” He snorted, the strong line of his jaw going taut. “Mine was far from it.”

      “Come on, you had a mother and father who were married and lived together. My God, you and Julian had everything money could buy. Even after your mother’s death, you told me that your father ensured his sons got the very best education and opportunities available.”

      “True. But don’t confuse a privileged lifestyle with a perfect one,” he said. “‘Money can’t buy happiness’ is a very true saying.”

      A saying her mother would strongly disagree with. “I know.”

      They reached the sedan at the same time the elder Duchelini crossed to intercept them. Hard lines dug grooves into the older man’s tanned features, but they merely enhanced his rugged good looks.

      “Father,” Luciano said, pulling her close. “This is Caprice Tregore, rehabilitation therapist extraordinaire.”

      Certainly not the tag she would add to her name, but it would embarrass her make to make a fuss out of his exaggerated praise. She managed a smile. “Hello.”

      “Good to meet you,” Mr. Duchelini said, and lifted each hand in turn and bestowed a kiss on each. The gesture was so old and charming she couldn’t take offense, yet she felt Luciano stiffening beside her. “Welcome to Italy. I hope your stay proves entertaining.”

      “Thank you, but this is a business trip for me,” she said.

      The older man frowned, looking from her to his son before landing on Luciano. “What is this?”

      “Caprice will be setting up her program at our new lodge,” Luciano said.

      Again, she was treated to another exacting perusal from Luciano’s father. “Ah, a beautiful woman and a smart one as well. A dangerous combination,” he said to his son.

      “Yes, she is,” Luciano said.

      And what was that supposed to mean? The only danger she saw was the powerful draw of Luciano that she constantly fought to ignore.

      “What brings you here, Father?”

      “A problem.” His dark gaze swung to her, assessing she was certain. “If you will excuse us, I need a moment alone with my son.”

      “Certainly,” she said and moved to get in the sedan, only to have Luciano open the door for her and offer an apologetic smile.

      “This won’t take long,” he said.

      “It’s okay. Take your time.” She busied herself fishing her netbook from her tote and hoped he didn’t see how her hand shook.

      Several strained seconds passed before the door closed. Only then did she take a breath and glance out the window. The two men squared off between the two sedans, looking obstinate and commanding. Father and son. So much alike in that regard yet something was driving them apart.

      She didn’t want to guess what it was. She didn’t even want to know details. She only wanted to find a way she and Luciano could work together for the next month without tearing each other apart. And without her losing her heart to him all over again.

      It wasn’t going to be easy.

      * * *

      “What is this urgent business?” Luc asked his father, having no patience for this interruption to his own plans.

      “Victore wants to do business with us at the new lodge. I can’t refuse them.”

      “I can,” Luc said with heat.

      His father bit off a ripe curse. “Carlos Victore has been a friend of mine for fifty years. It would be a slap in the face to refuse to meet with his son because of past issues you have with Carlos’s eldest son.”

      “Past issues?” Luc said, balling his fingers into fists. “His son had an affair with my wife while he was doing business with me. He’s not to be trusted.”

      His father stared at him, unmoved. “Let it go.”

      “I most certainly will not let it go. I will never do business with a Victore.”

      And he most certainly would not stand here while his father tried to strong-arm him into dealing with the man who ruined his marriage. He stormed toward the waiting sedan.

      “Wait,” his father barked.

      “I’ve nothing more to say on the subject. I’m considering Mario Godolphin as the architect.” He wrenched open the car door and dropped in beside her. “Go,” he told his driver as he reached for the door.