Bound by the Italian's Contract. Janette Kenny

ago she would have fallen all over him, deliriously happy. But then she’d been innocent. Trusting.

      She knew better than to trust a man now. Though this was the faintest glimmer of the playboy she’d known, passionate and direct, she took his remark as an insult.

      “Look, I came here to discuss business that is near and dear to my heart, Mr. Duchelini. If you’re not interested in hearing my proposal, then you’re not interested in me.” She turned and strode toward the double doors with calm, precise steps, determined to walk out with her head held high and in charge of her life.

      “Stay,” he said, the command soft yet persuasive.

      She stopped, fingers tightening around the leather handle of her bag. “Why should I?”

      “I’ve a proposal that will benefit us both,” he said. “I can grant you what you want.”

      That was a fact she knew all too well. And really, could she afford to walk out without hearing his offer? No, she admitted.

      “Then let’s hear it,” she said, whirling to face him.

      “With pleasure,” he said crisply, then strode back toward his desk. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

      “No, thank you.”

      She never mixed alcohol with business, and that had never been more crucial than now. Despite his wicked reputation, Luciano Duchelini was a superb businessman, and he would expect the same of her. He could take advantage of her and her lodge if she wasn’t careful.

      Caprice crossed to the sofa angled near the balcony with her composure intact and her mind fixed fully on securing a means to fund her program. That was all she wanted from him.

      “Tregore Lodge. Tell me your plans for it,” he said, as he dropped onto a leather office chair and twirled it to face her, his long fingers draped casually over the curved chair arms.

      “Gladly,” she said as she set her portfolio beside her and dug inside it. “I plan to renovate Tregore Lodge inside and out. Foremost is establishing my alternative program for those who have never skied as well as for people who possess varying levels of aptitude on the slopes.”

      “Your program is tiered then?” he asked.

      “In its most basic form, as you’ll see by these,” she said, her confidence snapping into rapier-sharp focus as she handed him a copy of her carefully prepared prospectus.

      He lounged back on the chair and thumbed through the papers, looking relaxed and in charge, the last thing about him that was still organic. But he’d changed.

      Not in looks or physique. He was still disarmingly handsome. Still lean and fit. But he’d lost all trace of the flirtatious, teasing charmer she’d remembered so well and adopted the image of a serious businessman who detested wasting his time.

      Or maybe he simply still wasn’t attracted to her. Maybe he believed if he was too friendly, he’d have a repeat of the teenager with the monstrous crush on the star athlete. If that was the case, he need not worry.

      She had no desire in him beyond securing a business deal. “Regardless of one’s ability, I slant the program to the individual’s needs.”

      “Just what I wanted to hear,” he said at last. “This is why I am interested in you.”

      “I’m flattered,” she said, relieved he was referring to her program.

      “As was intended,” he said with a bow of his head. “Do you recall my brother?”

      “Julian? Yes, I do.” Quite well, in fact. “Years ago, he crashed often in your suite.”

      She’d immediately liked the boisterous Italian who took great pleasure needling and teasing his champion older brother. And the world had gloried in the upstart’s daring exploits on the slopes, expecting Julian to set new world records, breaking those set by his father and Luciano despite his undisciplined ways.

      But rumor had it Julian had kept his slot on the Italian team only because of his brother’s lead position. Whether that was true or not she never knew. One month after the World Cup, Julian had broken his neck in a tragic ski accident and ended up bound to a wheelchair for life.

      “Julian is lucky to be alive,” she said and meant it.

      He gave an abrupt nod, jaw snapping taut. “My brother doesn’t think so.”

      “I’m not surprised. Paralysis is difficult for average patients to cope with. It tends to devastate top athletes.” And Julian had been a new star on the horizon. “Recurrent bouts of depression are understandable in cases such as his. That is why adaptive skiing works,” she said. “It boosts confidence both on and off the slopes, strengthens physical ability and agility, and provides a means to broaden social skills.”

      “Unfortunately Julian has gained less than desirable results with alternative skiing and given up the effort,” he said. “Even more troubling, none of the therapists I’ve hired have a program as individualized as yours. He needs your help, Caprice. I believe he will respond to any challenge you put before him.”

      She blinked, his effusive praise at odds with his earlier criticism of her plans for her lodge. “Wait a minute. If you believe my program is that beneficial, then why are you hesitant to finance the renovation of Tregore Lodge?”

      “It is too small a facility to sustain a program of your scope.”

      A fact she couldn’t deny. Still, the lodge was hers and she could expand in time if she wished. “It’s all I can manage.” All she could afford.

      “Alone, perhaps.” He pushed to his feet and paced before the windows, his stride gracefully masculine. “You need to expand your scope. What you have envisioned has global appeal. Run with it.”

      He couldn’t be serious. Just the idea of taking her program into the world market had her head spinning. She didn’t want to run something that huge.

      “You’re talking incorporation and I want none of that,” she said.

      “Why?”

      “I want the lodge to remain controllable, and I can do that by keeping it family oriented,” she said.

      He tapped one long finger on the side of his glass and studied her so long that dread lay like a lead ball in her stomach. “You want to police every aspect of your program. That’s why you balk at courting the après-ski set. The expansion would be too great and you would have to delegate, to trust others, and you can’t do that.”

      She stiffened, disliking that he thought her that intractable. “My reputation is on the line here. I don’t want to slap my name on programs around the world, even if I personally train every therapist I hire. There is more to it than technique. The personal connection I strive to achieve with clients is what makes my program unique.”

      “Are you sure you aren’t equating small with safe?” Luciano asked.

      “I simply want to renovate my lodge into an alternative ski facility and launch my program,” she repeated. “That’s why I need a backer.”

      He pushed to his feet and crossed to the bar. “You want my money and nothing more from me, and you don’t want to take a risk,” he said over the clink of glasses.

      “Basically, yes,” she said. “Is that a problem?”

      “It could be one for you.” He strode toward the sofa with two glasses of decadently red wine and handed one to her, his gaze hot on hers, probing, assessing. “Everything has risks to some degree.”

      Like being here alone with him. Like courting his interest and financial support, which was all she wanted from him.

      “I’m cautious, Luciano,” she said, taking the wine at last but hesitant to taste it.

      Challenge glinted in his eyes. “Be bold.”

      “I