Bound To The Billionaire: Captive in His Castle / In Petrakis's Power / The Count's Prize. Christina Hollis
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JESS WAS SUFFOCATING. Water filled her mouth and nose as she sank deeper. The water was so cold that her limbs, her brain, felt numb. An instinct for survival kicked in and she began to scrabble desperately against the blackness engulfing her. Her backpack was weighing her down. In panic she tore her arms free from the straps.
And then miraculously something jerked her back to the surface and she was able to drag oxygen into her lungs.
‘I can’t swim!’ she gasped, terrified that she would sink back down again.
‘It’s all right. I’ve got you. Santa Madre! Stop flapping like a stranded fish and let me pull you out.’
Strong hands hauled her up and dumped her onto the jetty. Choking up the foul-tasting water she had swallowed, Jess collapsed in a heap, shudders running through her as her terror gradually receded. Pushing her tangled wet hair out of her eyes she glared at Drago. ‘Of course I was damned well flapping—I thought I was going to drown.’
‘You can thank me for saving you later,’ he said drily. He frowned when her teeth began to chatter. The water in the canal was cold, but he assessed that the shivers racking her body were more likely due to shock. Without another word he bent and lifted her into his arms, taking no notice of her protests.
‘What about my rucksack? It’s still in the canal.’
‘And there it will stay—unless you want to dive back in and retrieve it.’
‘I told you. I can’t swim.’ Jess stared at Drago’s implacable face with a rising sense of frustration. ‘My passport is in that bag.’
‘Then it’s lucky you won’t need it for a while,’ he drawled. ‘Not until Angelo has regained consciousness and the matter of his missing money has been resolved.’
A new feeling of panic swept through Jess at the prospect of being Drago’s prisoner. ‘You can’t force me to stay,’ she muttered, struggling to speak when she was shivering so hard she felt as though her bones would snap.
‘I don’t see how you can leave without your passport,’ was his laconic reply—which ignited Jess’s temper so that she renewed her efforts to force him to put her down. Drago simply tightened his hold on her and growled, ‘Keep still. You’ve already got me wet enough. Dio, you’re as slippery as an eel.’
Charming. That was twice in the space of a few minutes that he’d likened her to a fish! Jess knew she should continue to struggle, but she felt so tired and cold, and being carried in Drago’s strong arms was dangerously seductive. Besides, where could she go now that her rucksack, containing her clothes, money and passport, was at the bottom of the canal? In a game of chess Drago would have her at checkmate, she acknowledged wearily.
He strode into the house and carried her up two flights of stairs as if she weighed nothing. Shouldering a door, he walked into a room that Jess guessed was the master suite. The elegant sitting room was decorated in shades of cream and gold and furnished with burgundy velvet sofas, and exquisite patterned rugs on the floor. But Jess only had a glimpse of the room as Drago continued on through a set of double doors into the bedroom.
Her eyes were immediately drawn to an enormous four-poster bed with gold damask drapes. The room, in particular the bed, was designed for seduction, she thought, as she took in the exotic décor of burgundy silk wallpaper. The satin bedspread was in the same rich shade.
With a renewed sense of panic she tried again to struggle out of his arms. ‘Why have you brought me here? I’d like to go back to my room.’
‘Not a hope. I’m not going to hang around under your balcony waiting to catch you when you take another leap out of the window.’
‘I didn’t leap out. It was a carefully planned escape, which I wouldn’t have needed to attempt if you hadn’t locked me in,’ Jess snapped, stung by his scathing tone. ‘And I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t startled me. What are you doing?’ she demanded when he carried her into the en suite bathroom and set her down in the shower cubicle. She gasped when he activated the shower and she was hit by a deluge of warm water. Her jeans and tee shirt were already wet from where she had fallen into the canal, but within seconds of standing beneath the spray her clothes were plastered to her body.
‘Do you need any help getting undressed?’
‘No!’ She glared at Drago, incensed by his mocking smile. Following his gaze, she glanced down and was horrified to see that her thin shirt had become almost transparent and the hard points of her nipples were plainly visible through the sodden material. ‘Go to hell,’ she muttered, hating him—but hating her body more, for its traitorous response to his virile sex appeal.
Unexpectedly, the stricken look in Jess’s eyes caused Drago a pang of remorse. Beneath her defiance she looked young and scared, and the realisation that she might be frightened of him made him uncomfortable. Dio, the idea of frightening a woman was abhorrent to him. He had behaved like a brute tonight, he acknowledged heavily. His concern for his cousin and the fact that he’d had barely any sleep in seventy-two hours had clouded his judgement. Although he suspected that Jess knew more about Angelo’s missing inheritance fund than she was letting on, nothing had been proved—and he could not forget how convincing she had sounded when she had protested her innocence.
‘Remain under the shower until you’ve warmed up,’ he said roughly. ‘I’ll find something for you to wear to sleep in.’
Ten minutes later, when Jess cautiously peered around the shower screen, she was relieved to find she was alone. A pile of towels had been left for her, and a man’s white shirt that she guessed belonged to Drago. He had been right about the shower warming her up—she had a feeling he was right about most things, she thought ruefully. But at least she had stopped shivering and her hair no longer smelled of canal water.
The shirt was so big on her that it reached halfway down her thighs. After blasting her hair with the dryer hanging on the wall, she acknowledged that she could not remain in the bathroom for ever.
The first thing she noticed when she opened the door was that Drago had changed out of his damp clothes into a navy blue silk robe that revealed an expanse of broad, tanned chest overlaid with whorls of dark hair.
‘Feeling better?’ he queried when Jess edged into the bedroom.
She nodded, her heart jolting against her ribs as he walked over to her and handed her a glass.
‘Drink this—a shot of brandy will warm your insides.’
‘No, thanks. I never touch spirits.’ She jerked back from him, blanching as she smelled the alcohol.
‘I’m not trying to poison you,’ he said drily.
‘I’m sorry.’ She flushed as she realised how rude she must seem. ‘I loathe alcohol. Even the smell of it reminds me…’
‘Reminds you of what?’ Drago prompted, puzzled by her strange reaction.
‘Nothing.’ Jess bit her lip when she realised Drago was waiting for her to answer. ‘My dad used to drink…a lot,’ she muttered. ‘He was an alcoholic. He drank rum, mainly, although he wasn’t fussy. He’d drink anything. Our house used to stink of alcohol.’
Drago hesitated, struggling for the first time in his life to know what to say. Jess’s voice had been expressionless, but he sensed that she kept a tight hold on her emotions. ‘You said your father used to drink?’ he said after a moment. ‘Does that mean he is no longer an alcoholic?’
‘He’s dead. He died when I was eleven.’
‘That must have been hard for you—to lose your father when you were so young.’
She shrugged. ‘To be honest he wasn’t a great dad. I don’t remember him