Page 30 of Captive in His Castle
Completely unperturbed, he gave that sexy, sexy smile. “They have been tasked with keeping an eye on you. Try and pull any kind of stunt, and they have my permission to lock you in here until my return.”
“You’ve not given them permission to bury me under the grapes?”
“Not yet.” He brought his face close to hers and, a glimmer in his eyes, added, “I prefer to inflict any punishment myself.”
Oh, God, that should not make her have to swallow a surge of moisture in her mouth before she could say, “How does that work when you’ve given me your word not to hurt me or leave a mark on me?”
He put his mouth to her ear. “I can promise that any punishment given will be one you’ll be begging for more of.” Pulling back, he let his dark eyes bore into her for one long, lingering moment that liquidised her bones. “I won’t be long – I’m just going to show my face and make the buyer feel important for a short while.”
Her heart racing so hard it had become a burr, the hot,sticky sensation between her legs as strong as it had ever been, Callie fisted her hands, not to stop herself from lashing out at him but to stop them from doing what they were itching to do and reaching for him. “Take all the time you need. Take the rest of the week.”
“And deprive you of my company for longer than is necessary?”
“Being buried under the grapes would be preferable to being stuck in your company.”
“Trust me,carina, the only thing you’re going to be buried under during your time here is me.” And then he gave another of those horrid stomach-meltingly sexy smiles and climbed out of the car.
Callie watched him walk away, trying desperately to draw air into her lungs.
Chapter Eight
The castle vaults accessed through the library were nothing like Callie had imagined. In her head, she’d pictured a dark, dingy space with rows and rows of overflowing books and manuscripts and ghosts of disapproving librarians hovering at anyone who would mistreat the treasures. Instead, after passing through a small office, she found herself in an enormously high, exceedingly long rectangular room with a domed ceiling and little natural light. It felt like she’d walked into a sepia photograph, the spotlights almost saturating the place with warm colour. Lining the walls were thickly bound ancient files that she dimly assumed contained letters or other forms of manuscripts, and books of all sizes. Only dimly assumed because standing right beside her, close enough to touch, was Dante.
“This is the reading room,” he murmured. “When Emmaline and her team finish their lunch, she’ll go through the procedures put in place to aid the preservation of any manuscripts brought in here for scholars to read. Access to the rest of the vaults – and believe me, this room is only a fraction of it – is restricted to staff, but you have permission to go whereveryou please. All I ask is that you obey Emmaline’s instructions.”
She nodded absently, her senses as overwhelmed by the man at her side as her mind was overawed with the ancient history they stood in the midst of.
“The computers have a record of every known item stored within the main library and within the vaults,” he continued, indicating the half dozen desks lined through the centre of the room, each with its own reading light and a computer. “Around a third of the archives has been fully digitalised,” he continued before giving a wry smile. “It’s an ongoing project.”
“I can imagine,” she managed to whisper.
Footsteps sounded behind them, a whisper of voices that grew louder until four people who looked every inch the scholars entered the room.
Finally, Callie was able to breathe. Now that the staff were here, Dante would surely leave her alone. He knew she wouldn’t do anything she shouldn’t in here.
He’d returned to the car after his meet and greet with the potential buyer with a spring in his step, driving them back to the East Wing with the radio turned up, singing along to a tune she knew and loved but which had sounded distant and tinny to her ears. Back in the castle, he’d had coffee brought to them and filled her in on the meeting as if she cared how it had gone and as if she were capable of actually paying attention to a single word that hateful, wide, sensual mouth uttered.
She didn’t know what she hated the most – that the ache for his touch was growing stronger by the second or that the sound of his voice landed on her skin like a touch of its own.
Her hope that she would be given a Dante reprieve was dashed when, after the introductions had been made and Emmaline set off to show her around the rest of the vaults where the castle’s real treasures were kept, Dante went with them.
After a long bath she wished she’d never had to climb out of, Callie looked through her wardrobe and found her heart panging and pulses accelerating to imagine herself wearing one of the beautiful, sexy dresses hanging in it.
And then she imagined Dante’s reaction and her pulsesreallyaccelerated.
Clutching at her damp hair, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to drive him out of her mind, just for a few minutes, but it was impossible. Other than that brief time when he’d left her alone in the car, he’d been with her practically every minute since she’d joined him for breakfast. Even those hours spent in the vaults with Emmaline, he’d been there, a gregarious spectre whose presence had stopped her fully absorbing everything she was being told.
The worst part had been when she’d watched him in a deep discussion about the authenticity of a letter from Catherine de Medici. In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from finding herself enthralled at the depth of his knowledge to imagining him lifting her onto the desk they were poring over the letter on and stepping between her parted legs. She’d been trying desperately to erase the imagery when he’d caught her eye and given her a look that quite clearly said, ‘I’m going to have you.’ Her legs had felt wobbly ever since.
It was like he’d infected her brain as much as he’d infected her body, and it frightened her that since being brought to Tuscany, she’d barely thought about Georgia. It made her feel guilty, too. Georgia was at home, alone and pregnant, with no one to make sure she was eating properly and not overdoing things.
Would Georgia even care that Callie was suffering this guilt? Or was she still angry with her? Scratch angry. Georgia had been furious with her.
Was it possible that Georgia was suffering guilt of her own for what she’d set in motion by lying to Niccolo about Callie’s reasons for flying to Italy? Only six months ago, Callie would have been able to state categorically that the answer to that question was yes, but since Niccolo had come into Georgia’s life, the closeness that had been such an intrinsic part of them both had gone. When she’d told Dante that they hadn’t been getting on so well recently… talk about the understatement of the year. When Georgia had caught her about to leave their flat with her carry-on case, they’d barely been on speaking terms. Or, rather, Georgia had barely been speaking to Callie.
For the first time, she properly considered Dante’s opinion that Georgia’s lies to Niccolo about Callie’s reason for coming to Naples had been to protect Callie from the Espositos. She’d assumed he’d exaggerated their violent ways, but what if it was no exaggeration?
It didn’t matter, she thought wretchedly. Georgia had made a conscious decision to shut Callie out. If she’d confided in her and trusted in her, Callie would already know the truth.
