Bound by the Italian's Contract

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“Did you resent your role?” she asked calmly reminding him of counselors he’d seen to no avail.

If she only knew the details, Luc thought sourly. But she couldn’t and it wasn’t a subject he wished to go into great detail.

“I did after my ex-wife died,” he admitted, hungry for the punishment a free, grueling lifestyle promised.

She swallowed, going still. “You loved her.”

“Very much so.” He pressed his head against the seat, eyes closed as he allowed old memories and their pain to intrude. “With a bit of pressure, I was able to secure Julian a spot on the Italian ski team. But he didn’t care about Alpine. Extreme ski drove him. Challenged him.”

“Then why did he agree to participate in Alpine?”

“Father exerted his muscle,” Luc said. “Adding to the pressure, the sports world jumped on Julian’s natural ability, touting him as the faster and more daring Duchelini. It was a challenge few men could walk away from.”

“Was he really that good?” she asked.

“Better than good. Off the record, he beat me most of the time.” He fisted his hands on the chair, remembering how jealous he’d been of his brother’s bravado and skill. His freedom. “All champions know it is a matter of time before their records will be broken. I shattered my father’s records and Julian had the potential to best mine, but his heart remained in extreme ski, which is why he turned in such a poor performance at the World Cup.”

“Is that why Julian seemed so upset the day I left?”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his knuckles along his jawline, glaring at the ceiling as the jet leveled off at cruising altitude. “No. I realized he got a tremendous high from extreme skiing and told him I, too, was going to compete against him there. He threw a fit. Said I wasn’t prepared. That I hadn’t practiced the quicksilver moves needed to attempt the extreme ski.”

She wet her lips, eyes narrowed and breathing shallow, looking vulnerable, pensive, concerned. That last one got him in the gut like a blow.

“Why? You were a four-time Alpine champion, skilled in tackling the toughest slopes in ungodly conditions. At the World Cup I remember you attacking the slopes with reckless abandon, earning gold in everything you entered.”

He loosed a bitter laugh at his carnal failings then and now, recalling that dark period in his life. If only he could alter time and go back, he might have been able to prevent the tragedy.

“Why doesn’t matter,” he said bitterly. “Alpine no longer thrilled me. But Julian refused to let up. So I challenged him to a race to decide my future. If he won, I would bow out of extreme ski.”

“And if you won, you would compete against your brother in the sport he excelled in.”

“Exactly. So I arranged the meet,” he said, regretting the fool’s bet every day.

“Wow.” She blew out a breath, then another, and he only just stopped himself from reaching over to her, touching her, holding her. “Why did you pick the most treacherous slope in Austria for your challenge?”

“The Hahnenkamm was the best test of our abilities,” he bit out. “I dreaded that mountain as most do and was grateful that winning my yearly race there was behind me. But it tests the best and that’s what this challenge was about. Julian readily agreed, knowing it was beyond reckless to attempt it at the same time. But he lived to test himself and saw this as his means to best me.”

“But he failed,” she said softly.

He closed his eyes and watched that moment unfold in his memory, feeling the amazing rush, the choking fear and the crippling pain that never ended, that rolled on and on like a monster avalanche, clearing everything in its path. “He could have won.”

“Then why didn’t he?”

“It was my fault.” He took a deep breath and huffed it out, gaze trained on the opaque wall but seeing nothing but blinding snow. Hearing nothing but the howl of the wind as he shot over the edge behind his brother and realized he was too low, that he hadn’t launched off as Julian had. “I was behind him by a good twenty seconds when we took a dangerous jump. I miscalculated the distance and lost a ski and the race. And my brother—” He hung his head and broke off, swallowing hard, face carved in anguish.

“Don’t go there,” she said softly, reaching over to lay a hand on his clenched one.

He turned his arm and grabbed her hand, squeezing it like it was a lifeline. “He shouldn’t have looked back. He should have kept flying down the mountain toward the next jump and proved he was the best. But he didn’t. He ignored the most basic rule and glanced back at me sprawled in the snow. I looked up just as he skidded out of control and shot over the precipice.”

“My God,” she whispered as she laid her hand atop his arm. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“I can do anything I want.”

“Let me help you—”

For one fleeting moment he wanted to accept her help. But that opened another avenue he wasn’t about to travel with a good woman.

“Helping Julian will help me,” he said, gruffly.

“There are other treatments—”

“No! What is done is done.” He shook his head, accepting his penance, his guilt. “I have had surgeries, followed by long sessions with top physical therapists around the world. My rehabilitation dragged on for two years before I put an end to it. They can do no more.”

“Are you always this intractable?”

“Stop being so optimistic,” he said, and without giving her time to reply, he barked out, “I brought you to Italy to give Julian a chance at a fuller life. You’re under contract do that and no more. In exchange, I will make sure you have an updated, state-of-the-art lodge for your therapy program in your quaint Colorado Rocky Mountains. Remember that.”

“How could I ever forget?”

He hoped to hell she didn’t. Hoped he could find that sweet spot that blinded him to the errors he’d made in the past. But then, in truth, he didn’t want to ease the misery.

It was the penance he lived every day. His due.

Nothing would change that. Nothing.

CHAPTER THREE

THE MAN HAD absolutely no concept of failure, she fumed, welcoming the sleep that finally overtook her during the long flight.

At least it spared her from listening to any more of Luciano’s vitriol. She’d made an error attempting to help him. Hadn’t she learned years ago that he never wanted that of her?

Okay, fine. Lesson learned now. She would never again be the fool with that Italian who was clearly packing more baggage than a short line rail car. As he so clearly put it, she would finish her job and leave Italy as soon as possible. She silently swore not to give his physical pain, or a means to ease it, another thought as the plane finally touched down in Italy.

She pulled in a long breath, then another. For the next few weeks, possibly a month, she would need a surfeit of patience. If she focused on what she would gain, she could make it through this without a problem.

That thought stayed with her as they began the process of departing the plane and passing through customs. Thankfully it went so fast that Caprice barely had time to register she was standing on Italian soil before Luciano hustled her onto the tarmac.

“This way,” he said, his features devoid of pain, his expression anxious, and then he was off.

She practically ran to keep marginally close to him, thanks to his long, sure strides. Obviously the long flight with scant physical activity benefited him. In fact she had to jog to stay behind his fast pace as he headed toward two chauffeur-driven sedans parked side by side.

Two cars? Did he mean for them to travel separately? God, she hoped so, having endured as much of his prickly company as she could tolerate.

But he was too far ahead for her to attempt asking, not that it really mattered. She was in for the long haul, no matter the discomfort.

Just before they reached the cars, the rear door on the one farthest away opened and a tall, elderly gentleman stepped out. He took a sentry stance, his strong features unreadable. Yet he was very recognizable to her, reflecting so much of the man ahead of her.

“Is it typical for your father to greet you at the airport?” she asked, finally coming abreast of him.

“Never.” Luciano released a muffled curse and continued walking to the other sedan at a sedate pace that she could keep up with. “We haven’t spoken in months.”

“By choice or chance?”

“Both.” He shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

A family state she knew intimately, she thought sourly. “I know what you mean.”

His intense blue gaze swung to her, brow furrowed. “Do you?”

“I’ve been estranged from my mother for the bulk of my life,” she admitted.

“You never told me.”

“You never let us get that close,” she said.

He stopped and grasped her hand, and just like that she was gone, caught up in the river of fire gushing through her veins. She tried to block the power and pulse of him but failed, soaking him in like rain on the desert. And she hated the sensations as much as she thirsted on them, but finally managed to jerk free with a shaky smile.

“It’s okay. I’m long over it.” And you. Or was she? Don’t go there, she told herself, focusing instead on what had shaped her. “When my dad passed away, my mother didn’t bother to send me a note or flowers, or even call to check on my welfare.”

“Perhaps she wasn’t aware of his death.”

“She knew,” she said, not bothering to soften the bitterness that hardened her voice. “My mother is just as self-centered as she has always been. The day after my dad’s funeral, she told the paparazzi she was out of sorts because her first husband had just passed on.”

“She is a selfish woman.”

“Very.”

He nodded, walking at a more sedate pace toward the sedans again, tension radiating off him as hot as the heat rising from the asphalt tarmac. “You are nothing like her.”

“That is the greatest compliment you could ever give me,” she said, keeping stride with him as they headed toward his waiting father. “You don’t know how much I envied people who had a normal family.”

“Normal?” He snorted, the strong line of his jaw going taut. “Mine was far from it.”

“Come on, you had a mother and father who were married and lived together. My God, you and Julian had everything money could buy. Even after your mother’s death, you told me that your father ensured his sons got the very best education and opportunities available.”

“True. But don’t confuse a privileged lifestyle with a perfect one,” he said. “‘Money can’t buy happiness’ is a very true saying.”

A saying her mother would strongly disagree with. “I know.”

They reached the sedan at the same time the elder Duchelini crossed to intercept them. Hard lines dug grooves into the older man’s tanned features, but they merely enhanced his rugged good looks.

“Father,” Luciano said, pulling her close. “This is Caprice Tregore, rehabilitation therapist extraordinaire.”

Certainly not the tag she would add to her name, but it would embarrass her make to make a fuss out of his exaggerated praise. She managed a smile. “Hello.”

“Good to meet you,” Mr. Duchelini said, and lifted each hand in turn and bestowed a kiss on each. The gesture was so old and charming she couldn’t take offense, yet she felt Luciano stiffening beside her. “Welcome to Italy. I hope your stay proves entertaining.”

“Thank you, but this is a business trip for me,” she said.

The older man frowned, looking from her to his son before landing on Luciano. “What is this?”

“Caprice will be setting up her program at our new lodge,” Luciano said.

Again, she was treated to another exacting perusal from Luciano’s father. “Ah, a beautiful woman and a smart one as well. A dangerous combination,” he said to his son.

“Yes, she is,” Luciano said.

And what was that supposed to mean? The only danger she saw was the powerful draw of Luciano that she constantly fought to ignore.

“What brings you here, Father?”

“A problem.” His dark gaze swung to her, assessing she was certain. “If you will excuse us, I need a moment alone with my son.”

“Certainly,” she said and moved to get in the sedan, only to have Luciano open the door for her and offer an apologetic smile.

“This won’t take long,” he said.

“It’s okay. Take your time.” She busied herself fishing her netbook from her tote and hoped he didn’t see how her hand shook.

Several strained seconds passed before the door closed. Only then did she take a breath and glance out the window. The two men squared off between the two sedans, looking obstinate and commanding. Father and son. So much alike in that regard yet something was driving them apart.

She didn’t want to guess what it was. She didn’t even want to know details. She only wanted to find a way she and Luciano could work together for the next month without tearing each other apart. And without her losing her heart to him all over again.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

* * *

“What is this urgent business?” Luc asked his father, having no patience for this interruption to his own plans.

“Victore wants to do business with us at the new lodge. I can’t refuse them.”

“I can,” Luc said with heat.

His father bit off a ripe curse. “Carlos Victore has been a friend of mine for fifty years. It would be a slap in the face to refuse to meet with his son because of past issues you have with Carlos’s eldest son.”

“Past issues?” Luc said, balling his fingers into fists. “His son had an affair with my wife while he was doing business with me. He’s not to be trusted.”

His father stared at him, unmoved. “Let it go.”

“I most certainly will not let it go. I will never do business with a Victore.”

And he most certainly would not stand here while his father tried to strong-arm him into dealing with the man who ruined his marriage. He stormed toward the waiting sedan.

“Wait,” his father barked.

“I’ve nothing more to say on the subject. I’m considering Mario Godolphin as the architect.” He wrenched open the car door and dropped in beside her. “Go,” he told his driver as he reached for the door.