CHAPTER THREE

      JESS DRAGGED HER eyes from Drago, wishing she did not find him so unnerving. He had removed his leather jacket and she could not help noticing how his black silk shirt moulded his broad chest and clung to the ridges of his abdominal muscles. The contrast between his strong, powerful body and his cousin’s unconscious form emphasised the seriousness of Angelo’s condition.

      She leaned closer to the bed and touched Angelo’s hand, which lay limply on top of the sheet. ‘I’ll carry on talking and perhaps I’ll get through to him.’

      ‘I think it’s unlikely anything will happen tonight,’ Drago said roughly.

      He could not explain the fierce objection he felt to the sight of Jess holding his cousin’s hand. She had denied that they were lovers, but who knew what methods she had used to persuade Angelo to give her his inheritance fund? He had brought her to the hospital in the hope that Angelo would respond to her voice, but after hearing the information the private investigator had dug up about her he was impatient to demand some answers.

      He glanced at his watch and saw that it was past midnight. He could not remember the last time he had slept and his brain ached.

      ‘I’ve arranged for a nurse to sit with Angelo for the rest of the night. You will come home with me, so that you can sleep, and we’ll return in the morning and try talking to him again.’

      Jess stiffened. She disliked being in a hospital, with all the memories it evoked, but it was preferable to accompanying Drago to his home. The prospect of being alone with him made her heart lurch—although he might have a family, her mind pointed out.

      ‘Are you married?’ she asked abruptly. The speculative look he gave her made her feel uncomfortable, and she flushed.

      ‘No. Why do you ask?’

      ‘I just thought it wouldn’t be fair to disturb your wife—and children if you have any.’

      ‘Well, I don’t.’ His voice was suddenly terse.

      ‘Even so, I don’t mind staying here. I’ll sleep in the chair if I need to. Or I could find a hotel. There must be a hotel near to the hospital.’ Hopefully a budget one that wasn’t too expensive, Jess thought to herself.

      Drago shook his head. ‘I have already asked my housekeeper to prepare a room for you.’ Seeing that she wanted to continue the argument, he said in a softer tone, ‘You are not going to reject my hospitality, are you, Jess? Having rushed you to Italy, the least I can do is offer you somewhere comfortable to stay.’

      This was a man used to having his own way, Jess realised. Behind his persuasive smile and his sexy voice that brought her skin out in goosebumps she sensed an iron will. But in truth she was so tired that she could barely think straight. She had got up at six that morning—yesterday morning—she amended when she glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that she had been up for nearly nineteen hours. The idea of walking around a strange town looking for a hotel did not appeal.

      ‘All right,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll stay at your house for the rest of the night. Thank you.’

      ‘Good.’ Drago felt a spurt of satisfaction. Until he knew the truth about Jess Harper he wanted to know her whereabouts every second of the day and night, and while she was staying at his home she would be in his control.

      They left the hospital by a back door to avoid the reporters still congregated at the main entrance. Jess leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes as the car sped away. Reaction to the events of the past few hours was setting in, and part of her still wondered if she was going to wake up and find her life was back to normal.

      She must have dozed and woke with a start at the sound of Drago’s voice.

      ‘Wake up. We’ve crossed the bridge and we’re about to swap the car for a boat.’

      She was startled. Her lashes flew upwards and she saw that they had arrived at a marina.

      ‘There are no roads on the islands that make up the historical city of Venice,’ Drago explained as he led the way along a jetty and jumped aboard a motorboat.

      Jess viewed the gap between the jetty and the boat nervously, having no wish to miss her footing and fall into the water. But as she hesitated Drago clamped his hands around her waist and lifted her down onto the deck. The brief contact with his body sent a tremor through her, but she assured herself that she was simply reacting to the cool night air after the stifling warmth of the car.

      He must have noticed her shiver, because he pulled off his jacket and handed it to her, saying roughly, ‘Here—put this round you.’

      Not wanting to appear ungrateful, she draped the jacket over her shoulders. The leather was as soft as butter, and the silk lining still retained the heat from his body and the scent of his aftershave. Oh, hell, Jess thought ruefully, feeling her heart rate accelerate in response to his potent masculinity. He started the boat’s engine and as they moved away from the jetty her sense of apprehension grew. It had been a mistake to come to Italy with Drago, and an even greater mistake to have allowed him to talk her into agreeing to stay at his home, but bar diving over the side and swimming back to shore she had no choice but to go with him.

      Her thoughts were distracted by the breathtaking sight of Venice in the moonlight. The Grand Canal wound through the city like a long black ribbon dappled with silver moonbeams, while the water at its edges reflected the golden lights streaming from the windows of the houses that lined the two banks.

      ‘What a beautiful building,’ Jess murmured as the boat drew steadily towards a vast, elegant house which had four tiers of arched windows and several balconies. ‘It looks like a medieval palace.’

      ‘That’s exactly what it is. It was built in the early fifteenth century by one of my ancestors and has belonged to the Cassari family since then.’

      ‘You’re kidding—right?’ Her smile faded when she realised Drago was serious.

      ‘The name Palazzo d’Inverno means Winter Palace—so named because traditionally the family lived here during the winter and spring, but spent the hot summer months at a house in the Italian Alps.’ Drago steered the boat alongside a wooden jetty and looped a rope around a bollard before jumping out. ‘Give me your hand,’ he ordered.

      It was a fair leap onto the jetty so Jess reluctantly obeyed, feeling a tingling sensation like an electrical shock shoot up her arm when his fingers closed around hers.

      ‘Does Angelo live here?’ she asked, staring up at the magnificent house rather than meet Drago’s far too knowing gaze.

      ‘He has an apartment in one of the wings, and my mother and aunt have accommodation in another wing.’

      Jess fell silent as she followed Drago along the stone walkway that ran beside this part of the canal. He led her up a flight of steps and through a huge, ornately carved front door. ‘I told the staff not to wait up,’ he explained as he ushered her into the quiet house. ‘They are all fond of Angelo and the past few days have been a strain for everyone.’

      The entrance hall was vast, and their footsteps rang on the marble floor and on the sweeping staircase that wound up through the centre of the house.

      ‘This is your room,’ Drago announced at last, stopping at the far end of a long corridor. He opened the door and Jess could not restrain a startled gasp as she walked past him. The proportions of the room were breathtaking, and as she lifted her eyes to the ceiling high above she was amazed to see that it had been decorated with a series of frescoes depicting plump cherubs and figures that she guessed were characters from Roman mythology.

      ‘Thank