“At last, Signorina Whittaker, you are awake.” The compact and stylishly dressed middle-aged woman made Katie feel even more self-conscious about the lack of clothing she had on under her bathrobe. Taking her firmly by the arm, the woman led her onto the terrace and toward her two companions, talking a mile a minute in heavily accented but perfect English. “We have much to do and only a short time. For tonight’s ball, I have a selection of ready-to-wear from the shops in Ana Capri to chose from, as we do not have time to get a gown made. I think your coloring would work best with...”
Tonight’s ball? What the...?
Katie stumbled to a halt in front of the plethora of clothes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are. Or what you’re talking about?”
Her head literally spun, the array of colors and textures hurting her eyes.
“I am Donatella Regiano.” The woman pasted on an enthusiastic smile. “Signore Caine has hired me as your stylist. To arrange your new wardrobe, while you are on the island.” Her gaze took on an eager glint as it roamed over Katie. “You are very slender. I have several gowns that will look bellisima.”
She grasped Katie’s hand and lifted it for examination. “But we have much to do to prepare for tonight, yes?” She
spread her hand toward the two other women who hovered nearby, smiling with equal enthusiasm. “This is Marcella, who will handle your skin care and beauty needs,” the stylist said, indicating a young woman about Katie’s age armed with a large beautician’s case. “And this is Sophia, the island’s top hairstylist,” she continued. The other woman, whose expertly coiled hair draped down her back in corkscrew curls, bowed in greeting, making the brushes and combs in the tool-belt she wore clatter together.
Katie snatched her hand back, feeling overwhelmed. She hadn’t had a manicure in close to six months and had been hacking off her own hair when necessary since she’d left the US. So Caine had sicced the beauty police on her. The hollow stab of inadequacy was followed by a wave of panic.
She needed clothes, and she could see among the garments laid out an array of everyday wear—albeit designer stuff she doubted she could afford—but what ball was Donatella talking about? Was she supposed to be going to one...with Caine? She tried to recall the conversation they’d had in the launch’s cabin when he’d woken her from her sleep during the ride over. Had he mentioned this? Had she agreed to something she couldn’t remember while groggy and half-asleep?
“This hair is good.” Donatella plunged her fingers into the unruly blond fuzz on Katie’s head. She reeled off a barrage of instructions to Sophia in Italian. Katie started to feel under siege.
“Do not be concerned, we will not lose that wild quality,” Donatella added.
More Italian instructions were fired at the hairdresser, who nodded sagely.
“It is very attractive,” Donatella continued. Katie pressed her hands to her head to control the unruly locks, self-consciousness making her breakfast turn over in her belly. She’d always been a tomboy growing up and had never felt comfortable with this kind of attention. It was one of the reasons she’d never settled into a career as a model, the hours of makeup and styling always having left her feeling like an impostor in her own skin.
“It makes a statement, I think.” Donatella’s smile became mischievous. “That you will be as wild and willful in bed, tempting any man to tame you. Especially a man such as Signor Caine, no?” the woman added with a confidential wink as if they shared a naughty secret.
Realization hit.
Donatella thought she and Caine were lovers, that she was his mistress. Hot color scorched her chest and rose up her neck to fire across her cheeks.
Had Caine said as much to these women? Why on earth would he do that?
But the indignation she wanted to feel was incinerated as the erotic dreams which had tortured her during the night slammed into her.
Her thighs trembling with the powerful purr of the motorbike’s engine, her sex yearning for Caine’s expert touch. Her fingertips burning to explore the ridged strength of Caine’s abdominal muscles. Her tongue thirsting to lick the tanned skin of his nape and kiss the sensitive hollow beneath his ear lobe.
“Signor Caine è molto sexy, si?” Marcella sent her a congratulatory smile, obviously misunderstanding the color now running riot over her face.
Panic and mortification consumed her at her visceral reaction to him now and all through the night. She tightened the belt on the robe and struggled to control the inferno blazing inside her.
“What is wrong, Signorina Whittaker?” Donatella had stopped smiling.
“Nothing, I just...” She paused, humiliated beyond belief. “I need to speak to Mr. Caine.” She glanced at the exquisite designer items Donatella had laid out for her consideration, searching for a plausible excuse to call a halt to the styling session. “I can’t afford to buy anything until I’ve spoken to my insurance company.” And she doubted what they would give her would cover stuff this expensive.
Donatella’s face softened, her puzzled expression becoming smug. “Do not worry about this. Signor Caine is paying for everything.”
What?
Katie almost choked on the thought. Why would he do that? Unless...?
“That’s very nice of him,” she said, humiliation and panic giving way to indignation. Was he buying her clothing to put her even more in his debt and under his control? “But I really can’t accept it.”
Donatella frowned, obviously confused by Katie’s reply. “But I have something perfect for tonight, a bronze silk that will look stunning with your hair.”
The woman continued to prattle on about different styles that would flatter her figure, sifting through the evening gowns and cocktails dresses, the pants and blouses. She displayed shoes in every conceivable color and style, then opened a large box filled with enough lingerie to sink a battleship. The sight of the delicate lace and silk items had the heat firing across Katie’s cheeks again.
“I’m so sorry, but I can’t take it. Any of it.”