.

      Jess shook her head. ‘It’s not just a hobby. Music is Angelo’s passion.’

      The limousine was now streaking along the highway, but the sound of the engine was barely discernible inside the car. The privacy glass separated them from the driver and bodyguard who were sitting in the front, and enclosed them in the rear in a dark, silent space that was shattered by Jess’s fervent outburst. She tensed when Drago turned his head and subjected her to a slow appraisal.

      ‘Passion?’ he murmured, in the deep, accented voice that caressed her senses like rough velvet.

      The word seemed to hover in the air between them. Jess’s mouth felt dry and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue as a shocking image flashed into her mind of Drago pushing her back against the leather seat and covering her mouth with his. It was utterly crazy, but she longed for him to kiss her with the heated passion she sensed burned within him. She pictured him running his hands over her body and sliding them beneath her tee shirt to caress her breasts and stroke her nipples that were as hard as pebbles from her erotic thoughts.

      She shuddered, acutely conscious of the flood of heat between her legs. Dear heaven, what was happening to her? Even worse, he knew the effect he was having on her. The unnerving predatory expression that she had told herself she had imagined back at her flat had returned to his eyes, and she could almost taste the sexual tension simmering in the air between them.

      Drago shrugged. ‘I admit I did not know of Angelo’s interest in music. What about you—are you a musician too?’

      ‘No. Angelo taught me to play a couple of tunes on the guitar, but I’m not very good.’

      He trapped her gaze and his voice took on a husky quality that caused the tiny hairs on Jess’s body to stand on end.

      ‘So—what is your passion, Jess?’

      She swallowed, and searched her mind desperately for something to say—some way to break the spell he seemed to have cast on her. ‘I…I make things from wood…sculptures and ornate carvings. I suppose you could say that is my passion. I love the feel of wood—its smoothness and the fact that it feels alive when I shape it. It’s very tactile, and I love creating sculptures that invite people to touch them, stroke their polished surfaces—’

      She broke off abruptly, embarrassed by her enthusiasm. Drago could not possibly understand how she poured all the painful emotions that were locked up inside her into her sculptures. Of all the wonderful things that Ted, her foster-father, had done for her, teaching her how to work with wood meant the most to her, because he had given her a way to express herself and unlocked an artistic talent that had given her a sense of self-worth.

      She was relieved when Drago’s phone rang. While he took the call she stared out of the window and watched the street lamps flash past in a blur as the car sped along the highway. A few minutes later the imposing modern building of the Venice-Mestre Hospital came into view. As they approached Jess saw dozens more reporters crowded around the entrance, and when the limousine halted outside the front doors camera flashbulbs lit up the interior of the car, throwing Drago’s stern features into sharp relief.

      ‘Do the press always hound you like this?’ she asked him. She felt nervous about leaving the car, even with the reassuring presence of his huge bodyguard.

      ‘The paparazzi often follow me—they have a relentless fascination with my love-life,’ he said drily. ‘But I will not allow them to upset my aunt and mother. I’ll issue a statement about Angelo’s accident in the morning and ask for my family to be given privacy while his condition remains critical. Hopefully that will make a few of them back off.’

      When the driver opened the door Drago climbed out of the car first and turned to offer Jess his hand. The sound of loud, unintelligible voices hit her ears, and she instinctively ducked her head to avoid the flashlights. The crowd of reporters pushed forward and she stumbled—would have fallen but for the arm that Drago snaked around her waist. Half carrying her, he hurried her through the main doors of the hospital while the reporters were prevented from entering by several security guards.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, glancing at her tense face.

      ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ No way was Jess going to admit that being in close proximity to his hard body had made her heart race. As she followed Drago along a corridor her heart began to pound for a different reason. She hated hospitals—hated the frightening clinical atmosphere and the smell of disinfectant that were such a painful reminder not only of Daniel, but of her own brief stay on a hospital ward when she was seventeen.

      A nurse met them at the door of the intensive care ward, and while Drago spoke to her Jess struggled against a rising sense of panic. All her life she had learned to block out unhappy experiences—and there had been plenty of those during her childhood, both before and after she had gone into care—but being in the hospital brought back agonising memories that she had never been able to bury. She did not want to think about Daniel. And she did not dare think about Katie. Opening that particular Pandora’s box was simply too painful.

      Her instincts screamed at her to turn and run from the ward. But it was too late. Drago had halted and was opening a door which she saw led into a small private room. She glimpsed a figure lying on a bed surrounded by machinery which beeped and flashed sporadically.

      ‘Maybe we shouldn’t disturb Angelo now,’ she said shakily. ‘It’s nearly midnight. Do the staff mind us being here outside of visiting hours?’

      ‘Of course not.’ Drago’s dark brows rose in surprise. ‘We can come whenever we want. Until this morning when I flew to London I hadn’t left the ward since Angelo was admitted. As for disturbing him—that is the point of bringing you here,’ he said sardonically. He glanced at her and frowned when he saw that her face was so white that the golden freckles on her nose and cheeks stood out. ‘Did the reporters upset you? Why are you so pale?’

      Jess fought the nauseous sensation that swept over her. ‘I don’t like hospitals,’ she muttered.

      ‘Does anyone?’ Impatience crept into Drago’s voice. His jaw tightened.

      The past days he had spent at the hospital had evoked painful memories that would always haunt him. It had been a long time ago, he reminded himself. Life had moved on. He was thankful that Vittoria had found happiness with the man she had eventually married, and now she had a child. God knew she deserved to be happy after everything that had happened, the way he had let her down…

      With an effort he forced his mind from the past and concentrated on the woman at his side. ‘I can assure you that my aunt would rather not be here, keeping a vigil at her son’s bedside.’ He hesitated and deliberately lowered his voice so that only Jess could hear him. ‘Angelo’s mother is understandably distraught. You must forgive her if she is a little…abrupt.’

      Jess did not understand what Drago meant, but there was no time to query his curious statement as he ushered her into the room. As she nervously approached the bed a horrible sense of dread and déjà-vu filled her. Angelo looked very different without his wild curls half-hiding his face. His skull was covered in bandages and his skin and lips were deathly pale. He reminded her of a waxwork figure: perfect in detail but lifeless, just as Daniel had been.

      Hot tears suddenly burned her eyes. She rarely cried; experience had taught her that it was a pointless exercise. But for once she could not control her emotions. It seemed so cruel that a young man in the prime of his life might never open his eyes again or smile at the people he loved.

      A movement from the other side of the room made Jess turn her head, and she saw a woman whom she guessed from her strained face and red-rimmed eyes to be Angelo’s mother.

      Overwhelmed by an instinctive need to express her sympathy, Jess murmured, ‘I’m so sorry about Angelo.’

      The woman stared at her, and then spoke to Drago in a torrent of Italian. Jess could not understand a word, but she sensed that her presence was not welcome. Remembering Drago’s warning that his aunt was distraught, she wondered if she