CHAPTER TWO

ROMANSTEEREDTHE launch against Estiva's dock and cut the engine. He rubbed the back of his neck, as the familiar exhaustion that had been bearing down on him for months made its presence felt again after the brief shot of adrenaline caused by his boat thief. Added to that was a dazed feeling, courtesy of the newly acquired bump on his forehead.

One of the boathouse staff grabbed the line he threw and began tying it to the dock as his estate manager, Giovanni, appeared and climbed aboard.

‘We did not expect you to return so soon tonight, Signor Garner,' the older man said, then blinked as he spotted the prone figure of Roman's uninvited passenger, who was curled up on the bench.

‘You have a guest?' his estate manager added, with a commendable lack of surprise. But then, Giovanni was nothing if not the soul of discretion.

‘Not a guest, a prisoner,' Roman announced, while staring down at her, too.

She looked remarkably peaceful for a kidnap victim, he thought, cocooned in his jacket. Her bare toes peeked out from under the hem of her gown. Her face was serene and innocent in sleep, the smudged cosmetics making her look like a cross between an urchin and a trashed supermodel.

He frowned. Although she was too short to be a supermodel. In his experience, and he'd had quite a lot of experience with supermodels, they were always tall and undernourished. This girl's body though had curves.

A memory flash of her pressed against him on the deck had something warm and fluid flowing through him. Annoyingly.

‘A prisoner, signor?' Giovanni said, carefully. ‘She is here against her will?' he asked politely, but there was enough of an edge for Roman to know his estate manager would rat him out to the police in a heartbeat if he thought there was anything untoward going on. Giovanni had four grown-up daughters, and was not above showing his disdain for Roman's revolving door policy with dates. Which was one of the reasons he liked the guy.

Having never had a father and after being brought up without any boundaries whatsoever, Roman had a bad habit of employing only people he could respect. Unfortunately, that usually meant they were more than prepared to challenge him on his behaviour, despite the fact he was paying them a generous salary.

But right now, Roman was way too tired to deal with Giovanni's disapproving frown or his passive-aggressive questions.

‘She tried to steal my boat... So stealing her right back seemed like a good idea at the time,' he explained, although even he was beginning to see the flaw in that logic. ‘Plus, she has a phone, so she can call and let her family know where she is at any time.' The fact said family included his nemesis Brandon Cade didn't seem like quite such a boon either any more.

‘Except she is asleep?' Giovanni said.

‘Which just goes to prove she's not afraid of me,' he argued, and scowled. Why was he defending his actions to a member of his staff? He certainly hadn't had any wicked intentions when he'd brought her here. The swell of warmth as he stared at her, though, told a slightly different story...

Giovanni clicked his fingers at the young employee who was securing the gangplank. ‘Marco, carry Signor Garner's guest to the pool house.'

But as the young man leapt aboard, Roman thrust out his forearm. ‘Leave her.'

The surge of possessiveness—at the thought of anyone but him having his hands on her—was almost as disturbing as the hot ache in his groin, which he didn't seem to be able to shake...

‘I'll carry her,' he said. As he scooped her into his arms, she stirred slightly, forcing him to stand still. But then she snuggled into his embrace, making herself comfortable. He ignored the hot ache in his groin.

He hadn't had anyone in his bed for months, he simply hadn't had the time—or the energy—for sex. Which had to explain this unprecedented reaction.

One thing was for sure, though, he'd brought her here, so she was his responsibility. Until he decided what to do with her. But he was definitely going to have to sleep on that.

She wasn't quite as light as she looked. But as she moaned, then shifted again, her soft hair nuzzled his collarbone, and the ripple of arousal sprinted into his abdomen and started to pulse. He gathered a hasty breath and got a lungful of her scent—which was fresh and flowery but also unbearably erotic, and only made the pulsing pain worse.

Still ignoring it, manfully, and Giovanni's judgmental frown, he stepped over the side of the boat. Walking fast, he strode along the dock, across the torchlit path past the beach and headed through the grounds to the large villa he'd renovated two years ago. But as he took the stone steps through the olive groves, the old citrus orchard and past the tranquil pool terrace—he wasn't feeling all that tranquil.

He marched past the pool house—which was actually a luxury two-bedroom guest villa—where Giovanni had suggested leaving his uninvited guest for the night and kept on going.

Giovanni followed behind him, saying nothing. But Roman could sense his estate manager's disapproval, boring into the back of his neck, as he entered the main house through the open French doors, and took the stairs up to the villa's second level.

He hesitated on the landing, to stifle the powerful urge to turn left, towards his own suite of rooms.

Quit it, Garner, you did not bring the boat thief here to seduce her.

Taking a decisive turn to the right, he headed down the long hallway to the guest suites on the east side of the villa—as far as it was possible to get her away from him, while she was still in the house.

As they entered the main guest room, Giovanni rushed forward to turn down the summer quilt, so Roman could place his cargo gently on the bed. Bright moonlight streamed into the room, but the sea breeze was doing nothing to cool the ache in Roman's groin when his jacket fell open, revealing the twinkling bodice again and her enticing cleavage. She moved on the bed, and he noticed the clump of hair that had been listing during their argument detach from her head completely.

What was that? Fake hair?

The shorter cap of real hair framed her heart-shaped face, accentuating her delicate bone structure. Then her eyelids fluttered open, and he found himself staring into warm whisky-brown orbs—which really were exquisite, despite the trashed make-up—the rich amber highlighted with gold shards.

Her face flushed a dull pink and her breath caught—and for a moment he thought he saw his own vicious awareness reflected in her expression.

He stepped away from the bed, stunned by the fierce desire to press his mouth to hers and hear her moan again, this time for him.

Where had that come from?

She blinked, and murmured, ‘Where am I?'

Giovanni took Roman's place at the bedside. ‘You are at Isola Estiva, signorina. I am Giovanni Mancini, the estate manager. You are a guest here,' he added pointedly. Roman didn't correct him. ‘If you wish for anything, you must let me or my wife Giuliana know by calling the house phone beside your bed.'

The girl nodded. ‘Grazie mille, Giovanni,' she said, but then she stared past Giovanni's shoulder, to where Roman stood, ramrod straight in the corner of the room.

‘Leave us now, Giovanni,' Roman muttered.

The man had done his job and put Milly Devlin's mind at ease. But he would be damned if he'd let her get too comfortable. Because she was still a thief who had caused him no end of trouble tonight. And a close relative of the man he'd had good reason to hate his entire life.

The estate manager bowed his head, then sent Roman a quelling, paternal glance—which was probably supposed to be a warning of some sort—before leaving the room.

As Giovanni's footsteps disappeared down the hallway, Roman's head started to throb, along with his groin. The cheek of the guy. Did he know who was paying his damn salary? Roman Garner didn't take orders from anyone, and certainly not his own staff. Plus he did not take advantage of women... Despite any appearances to the contrary tonight.

‘I like your estate manager.' Her soft voice floated towards him, drawing his attention back to the problem at hand.

A smile twitched on her tempting lips—and amusement twinkled in those whisky-coloured eyes—only annoying him more and not helping much with his headache. Or the throbbing in his groin.

Terrific.

‘That makes one of us, then,' he said, his tone sharp with irritation.

He didn't know what the hell he'd been thinking bringing her here—but the idiotic notion he could use her relationship to Cade to his advantage was beginning to appear more and more misguided. Because the inexplicable desire—which he had refused to acknowledge on the boat—had a volatile feel to it, which had the potential to backfire on him.

She opened her mouth, but then the loud buzz of the phone in her bag interrupted them.

‘Answer it,' he commanded. ‘If it's your family, tell them they can pick you up first thing in the morning.' The sooner he was rid of her, the better.

He headed towards the door. Staying in this room, with her, was not smart—because it would only stoke that inexplicable attraction.

‘Preferably, before I wake up,' he finished.

He heard the phone's ringtone cut off as he walked out, and her soft voice answering the call. But he didn't hang around to hear more.

He needed to sleep now. And hope she'd be long gone by morning.

‘Milly, where on earth did you go? I've just got back to the Grande Palazzo in Sorrento and the staff say they haven't seen you...' Her sister's panicked voice had the slither of guilt—from the moment Milly had spotted Lacey's name on the phone—turning into an anaconda, which promptly wrapped around her throat.

‘I'm okay, Lacey,' she whispered, cupping the phone to her ear as she rolled over on the enormous bed and stared out of the open window. She could see the lights of the Amalfi Coast glittering in the distance. The aroma of lemons and sea salt hung on the breeze, accompanied by the lingering scent of Roman Garner's sandalwood cologne. She could still feel his arms around her.

Her stomach swooped down to get jammed in the hot spot between her thighs. Funny she'd known instinctively it was him holding her—her efforts to wake up the rest of the way during their journey to the villa hampered somewhat by the delicious sensation of being cradled so securely.

‘Where are you?' Lacey asked, the concern in her voice forcing Milly's mind back to her sister, who clearly thought she wasn't capable of looking after herself, even though she'd been doing it for over a year.

She understood Lacey's concern, because Lacey was a mum, not just to Ruby, but also to her—ever since their own mum had died when Milly was fifteen, Lacey was eighteen and their deadbeat dad had basically washed his hands of them for good, more than happy to concentrate on his ‘new' family.

But as Milly stared at the sparkle of Sorrento's lights on the horizon, and imagined Lacey sitting in the luxury hotel suite there, the determination to be independent, and accountable only to herself, kicked up another notch.

‘Lacey, I'm okay. You need to stop micromanaging my life,' she said, deciding going on the offensive was the best approach. Mentioning she'd accidentally borrowed the wrong billionaire's motor launch and been spirited away to his private island probably was not going to calm Lacey's nerves.

‘I'm sorry for causing a scene at the ball,' Milly added grudgingly.

She heard Lacey give a hefty sigh. ‘No, I'm sorry,' her sister said, surprising her. ‘I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. It's just, I worry about you. Ever since you had to leave your job at the school you've been rootless...' The words trailed off.

But Milly could hear the misplaced guilt in Lacey's voice.

‘Lacey, will you please get it through your thick head that it's not your fault or Brandon's fault the paparazzi wanted to get shots of me? And were prepared to ignore the privacy of the kids to do it. That's on them, not you. Okay?'

‘I know, but you were happy there and they were only interested in you because of me and...'

‘Lacey, I was a teaching assistant. I liked that job, but I wasn't planning to make a career out of cleaning up after five-year-olds and listening to them read. I'm really enjoying getting the chance to work on my art...' Or she would have been, if she could actually find the time to do it.

‘Okay,' Lacey murmured, sounding as tired as Milly suddenly felt—probably because they'd had this argument almost as frequently as the why-don't-you-come-home-so-we-can-mollycoddle-you-to-death? argument. ‘Let's talk about it tomorrow morning,' Lacey added, going into proactive mode. ‘How about I send a car to pick you up now and we can have breakfast together at the hotel before I leave?'

‘Um...actually about that...' Milly mumbled, frantically trying to get her exhausted brain to work out some semblance of a convincing excuse as to why she did not want to be picked up. ‘I'm already on the bus back to Genoa,' she blurted out.

‘Wait... What?' Lacey sounded shocked and even more concerned. ‘But all your stuff is here.'

Oh, yeah, right! Rats.

‘It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,' she rambled on, busy trying to dig herself out of the massive lie without giving away her real whereabouts—or looking like even more of a reckless nitwit than was necessary. ‘I spotted the bus leaving when I got back to Sorrento and just jumped on board. Could you send my stuff care of Signora Cavali, my landlady in Genoa?'

‘I suppose so, if that's what you would prefer,' Lacey said slowly, the sadness and confusion in her voice making Milly feel like a bitch. Because she could hear what her sister wasn't saying... Had Milly really been so desperate to get away from her sister, she had jumped on a bus in the middle of the night, without even picking up her luggage, or saying a proper goodbye?

‘I think it's for the best,' Milly said, all but choking on her guilt. But what else could she say? She didn't want Lacey to know where she really was, or how she'd got here. Because that would send Lacey's mother-hen instincts through the roof.

Instincts that would probably have the Cades sending the SAS to storm Roman Garner's private island to rescue her. Which would turn her little faux pas into a headline-grabbing catastrophe... The boat-stealing incident would be blown even more out of proportion, Garner would definitely sue, and Milly—and her wayward spoilt-brat ways—would become the darling of the tabloid press for the rest of her natural life.

Worst of all, she would have only herself to blame for it. She frowned. Herself and Roman ‘Gargantuan Ego' Garner.

She shouldn't have accidentally borrowed his boat. But he really shouldn't have kidnapped her—even as a joke.

She rolled over to stare at the ceiling of the lavish room. But then again, he hadn't looked quite as pleased with himself once they'd got to the villa. A smile curved her lips at the memory of his startled expression when she'd opened her eyes and caught him staring at her lips, his rapt expression making sensation sizzle, everywhere.

Even though he hadn't taken advantage of her.

The hot spot between her thighs hummed. Almost as if she were disappointed about that.

‘You need to stop worrying about me, Lacey,' she said carefully. ‘And give me space to get on with my life. You know I love you and Ruby to bits. I also like your husband quite a lot,' she added. ‘Even though he has a bad habit of trying to tell me what to do all the time.'

Lacey gave a weary laugh. ‘Join the club,' she said. ‘Brandon is the definition of overprotective, it drives me nuts on occasion, too.' But then her voice sobered. ‘I love you too, Milly. But I guess you're right, we need to lay off and let you find your own way.'

Milly felt the tightness in her chest ease. Finally.

‘I'll get my assistant to courier your stuff to Mrs Cavali tomorrow, if you want to text Cassy the details. But you promise to let us know if you need anything... At all...' Her sister sighed again. ‘Ever.'

Milly nodded. ‘Of course.'

‘And you will still come to Artie's christening next month in Wiltshire, won't you? Ruby will be devastated if you don't. And so will I. And I'd love to see the work you've been doing...'

‘Of course, I'll come, Lace,' she said. ‘I'll be desperate for a fix of my niece and my new nephew by then. And I'll show you all my work.'

If I can find the time to produce any worth showing you in the next sixteen days... And counting.

‘Fabulous,' Lacey said, sounding relieved. ‘Why don't I send you some money to pay for the trip...?' she added. Clearly her sister hadn't quite given up the ghost of watching over her. ‘Or we could send the jet to Genoa to pick you up.'

‘Please don't send any money. Or a jet! I'm perfectly capable of getting there under my own steam, Lace,' Milly said, trying to control her irritation at the ludicrous suggestion. ‘I'll be there, I promise. Trust me, okay?' How the heck she was going to find a suitable outfit for the swish society event, not to mention have some actual work to show for her long absence, she had no idea. But she'd figure it out. She could get Lacey's dress dry-cleaned and eat and sleep less so she could finish some of the work she'd barely started since arriving in Genoa four months ago.

Lacey sighed again. ‘I do trust you. I'll see you then. I love you, sis.'

After saying her goodbyes, Lacey finally hung up the phone.

Milly dropped the mobile on the bed and stared out at the night. Her heart throbbing painfully in her throat.

She was finally free of the mollycoddling—for two and a half weeks at least.

Ironic, though, that she'd got her sister to let her stand on her own two feet—after actually having been kidnapped. Sort of.

Now all she had to do was figure out what the heck she was going to do about the wildly handsome and far too arrogant billionaire who had brought her here. But as she pulled the quilt up and left his jacket on to stay warm—and wallow in his compelling scent—she couldn't quite kick the thought that waking up on Roman Garner's private island tomorrow did not feel nearly as problematic as it should.

In truth, it felt exhilarating—the same way that arguing with him on the boat had been. Like being trapped in a pirate's hideaway—if the pirate were extremely hot and compelling and contrary, and he had a secret chivalrous streak that everyone else was unaware of. Except her.