Donatella’s smile became astute as she pulled a folded piece of paper out of a pocket in the linen suit she wore and handed it to Katie. “Signor Caine has left you a note, to tell you of his wishes.”
His wishes?
Katie grabbed the sheet of paper and read the thick black scrawl.
Get what you need. It’s on me. The event’s at eight. I’ll be back by then to escort you.
Caine
Katie screwed the note up in her fist and shoved it into the pocket of her robe. Her stomach twisted into tight, greasy knots as she imagined the independence she’d worked so hard for being eroded by Caine’s arrogant dictate.
“This is good, no? You can have whatever you desire. And Signore Caine will pay.” Donatella sent Katie a mercenary smile and Katie paled. She had to get out of this.
As the woman selected a gown from the rail to measure against Katie’s frame, Marcella and Sophia headed off to set up a makeshift beauty parlor in Katie’s lavish en suite bathroom.
The deep rumble of the motorbike outside cut the breeze.
Caine.
Excusing herself, Katie rushed through the living area, her bare feet slapping against the cool marble, propelled by panic and indignation. She stepped into the carport, sheltered by vines and trellises, just as Caine shoved the bike onto its stand.
Her heart crashed into her throat. She’d never seen him in casual clothes before and the effect was devastating, the illusion of sophistication supplied by his work wear gone.
Denim faded at the stress points hugged his muscular thighs while plain black cotton molded the solid bulge of his pecs and the ridges of his abdominal muscles. His hair stuck up in sweaty tufts as he pulled off the helmet and clipped it to the bike’s handlebars. He ran his fingers through the thick, dark waves, tugging them into rows.
All the moisture dried up in her mouth as the erotic dreams came back full force. He lifted off his sunglasses and tucked them into the pocket of his jeans.
Pure blue eyes locked on her face—his all-seeing gaze drifting down her torso and setting off a tidal wave of reaction.
Her nipples squeezed into aching peaks and the hot spot between her thighs throbbed. The fluffy white toweling suddenly felt completely see-through.
One dark brow hiked up and the hint of a smile tugged at his sensual lips. “Hello, Katherine. I see Ms. Regiano and her crew haven’t arrived yet.”
The disorientating blast of heat she couldn’t control swept through her and she forced her fury to the fore to mask her fear. How could he have this effect on her when no other man ever had? She didn’t want to be like her mother, driven by urges beyond her control.
“She’s here,” she said, the blockage in her throat shattering. “But I can’t afford those clothes.”
His brows lowered. “I’m paying—didn’t she give you my note?”
“You’re not paying for my clothes. I can pay for my own clothes once I’ve contacted the insurance company.” She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, far too aware of her nakedness. And the gaze focused on her with the intensity of a hungry wolf. “Why did you tell her I was your mistress?”
He leaned back against the bike, crossing his legs at the ankles and foldi
ng his arms across his chest. The action made the muscles in his shoulders bunch as he studied her.
“I didn’t,” he said. “I haven’t met her—the concierge hired her.”
The direct reply gave her pause, but only for a moment. “Then why does she think we’re lovers?” she cried.
The nonchalant shrug made it abundantly clear he didn’t consider her pride and self-respect of any consequence. “Perhaps because you’re living with me and wandering around the villa in a bathrobe?”
“I don’t have a choice,” she said, the injustice of the situation only adding to her anxiety. How could he remain so calm and pragmatic, so controlled, when her insides were turning to mush? “I don’t know where my clothes are. Do you?”
“I told the staff to get rid of them.”
“What?” she gasped, astounded by his arrogance.
“They were filthy. Seemed easier to just buy you more,” he said, as if spending a fortune on a new wardrobe for her was no big deal.