LITMIR.BIZ

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rather walk across hot coals than give him another excuse to scoop her up again. Being in such close proximity to that broad, heavily muscled chest and his disconcertingly delicious scent would increase the disturbing buzz.

      She took her time making her way toward the boat, far too aware of his powerful presence beside her, waiting to step in again if she stumbled. She couldn’t help the sigh of relief, though, when she was able to lean on the guardrail of the gangplank.

      A young man, wearing a peaked cap greeted them on deck and took her art box from Jared, after introducing himself as Matteo, the launch’s pilot. He had a brief conversation with Jared. From her smattering of Italian, she gathered Dr. Chialini would be arriving shortly, but was based in Sorrento so couldn’t travel with them to Capri.

      Jared seemed to want to argue the point.

      “It’s okay. I really don’t need a doctor anyway,” she interrupted in English. But as both men swung toward her she made the mistake of letting go of the guardrail.

      The boat swayed slightly and her knees gave way as blood rushed to her aching head with startling speed.

      Hard hands grasped her upper arms, catching her before she could hit the deck.

      A rough, urgent curse beckoned her back from toppling into the abyss.

      She locked her knees as Caine’s fingers pressed into her biceps.

      “Why didn’t you say you were feeling faint?”

      “I’m just tired,” she said, but the earthquake which had started in her legs was still sending aftershocks through her body.

      “You’re shaking,” he said, his tone raw. The rough calluses on his palm sent ripples of sensation sizzling across her skin. Then suddenly she was weightless.

      Her breath got trapped in her lungs as she ingested a lungful of his scent, the subtle hint of salt, soap and man. She was too close to him.

      Close enough to detect the scar again which had once fascinated her through the shadow of stubble. Close enough to see the silver shards in the cool blue of his irises.

      Her heartbeat slammed into her throat.

      “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice sounding far away. “I told you, I can walk.”

      He glanced at her, the muscle in his cheek flexing. “Shut up, Katherine.”

      She wanted to insist he put her down, but she couldn’t find the strength to do anything, her limbs so numb she felt as if they weren’t her own. He crossed the deck in a few strides, then took the steps down into a cabin with her held securely in his arms. The flex of his biceps felt hard against her back, the wall of his chest solid against her cheek. Her pulse jumped and jived.

      The luxury interior was furnished with deep leather couches built into the hull. Large portholes afforded a view of the edge of the dock and the sea beyond, the full moon lifting over the horizon as the last of the sun fled.

      Caine deposited her on the couch. “Do you feel nauseous?”

      “No, I’m okay, really.”

      Before they could argue the point, the good Dr. Chialini appeared. Caine hovered throughout the examination, firing off questions to the doctor in Italian as the poor woman tried to do her job. Katie held her tongue and did as she was told. If he got his caveman act out of his system, maybe he’d back off.

      After declaring Katie concussion-free, and giving her a dose of painkillers for her headache, the doctor cleaned Katie’s feet. She found only a few small cuts and abrasions, which she dabbed with antiseptic cream and covered with plasters.

      “Keep the cuts clean, and wear soft shoes or go barefoot if they are too sore,” she said in her perfect English as she packed her black case.

      Not a problem, Katie thought wryly, seeing as I don’t actually have any shoes.

      Caine continued to quiz the doctor as he left the cabin with her. Katie could hear them talking as they went up on deck together but was way too tired to decipher what was being said.

      She stretched out on the couch, watching the lights on the headland as the voices drifted into silence, followed by the rumble of the boat’s engine.

      Next stop, Capri. The site of one of my worst memories. And four days spent in Jared Caine’s overwhelming company.

      She listened to the waves slapping against the hull, felt the kick of movement as the boat peeled away from the dock, and breathed in the scene of new leather and sea air.

      Caine would probably be back in a minute to micromanage her. She closed her eyes. Well, he couldn’t bully her if she was comatose.

      The salty breeze coming from the deck ruffled the short hairs on her arms as her limbs became weightless. She floated, buoyed by the bone-deep fatigue which had been lurking at the edges of her consciousness for hours. But as the gentle sway of the boat lulled her into a deep, drugging sleep, the buzz refused to fade.

      * * *

      “I’ll need some clothes,” Jared spoke into his cell phone as he stood in the entrance to the cabin and watched Katherine sleep.

      She’d curled up on the couch like a child, her hands under one cheek, her bare feet tucked under her butt.

      “Do you know what size your guest is, Mr. Caine?”

      Jared frowned, his gaze absorbing the long, coltish line of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath the grubby tank top. “No. Bring a selection.”

      “We could hire a stylist—arrange for them to come to your villa tomorrow morning and fit her for a new wardrobe,” the resort concierge suggested helpfully.

      “Great. Whatever,” he said, not wanting to think about her slim frame and how it had felt so fragile in his arms.

      “Will she be attending events with you?” the concierge asked.

      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

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