Bound by the Italian's Contract(14)

                She moved to the aisle, walking slowly and purposefully when part of her screamed to run from the vortex of emotions swirling inside her. But there was no escape from memories, she knew as she continued toward the attendant standing by the door.

                The woman’s hungry gaze touched briefly on Caprice before devouring Luciano. The fact he always got that response from women didn’t surprise her. The sudden tension and annoyance bubbling up inside her did, catching her unaware.

                A denial screamed inside her brain. She wasn’t jealous. She couldn’t be. She wouldn’t let herself be.

                “Good evening, Mr. Duchelini,” the attendant said in a soft purr. “Your plane is ready. If there’s anything else I can do...”

                “Grazie,” he said, and pressed several bills in her hand.

                The woman loosed a throaty laugh that set Caprice’s teeth on edge. “If you ever need another assistant for your fleet, or anything else,” she added, stepping closer to him, “please let me know.”

                “I will bear that in mind,” he said.

                Caprice had no doubt that he would. There was never a shortage of willing, beautiful women in Luciano’s world.

                She took a step away from the pair only to be caught by a strong yet gentle hand on her arm. Her gaze lifted to his, questioning.

                “We must leave,” he said, his crushed-velvet voice warm against her ear.

                She shivered, her breath catching in her throat. “Sure. Fine,” she managed to get out.

                In moments he hustled her across the tarmac to the waiting jet. This gleaming plane dwarfed the local charter ones she’d taken with the ski team from one regional airport to another. The Duchelini jet was close in size to the spacious connection planes she’d taken on short jaunts between major terminals.

                “She was hot for you,” she said.

                “She was overtly forward and looking to feather her nest.”

                “I’m sure you’re used to that,” she said, well remembering that he’d always had a bevy of beauties at his beck and call, many literally hanging on his strong arms.

                “The falseness? Yes,” he said, his lip curling. “Women like that have their place, but I am done with them.”

                Which meant what exactly? She chose not to pry because she knew the type of woman he referred to, and because it was none of her business or concern.

                She followed him to the skirted ramp rising to a gleaming white jet, the belly and tail embellished with vibrant swaths of red and blue that faded into a muted spray of color. The la Duchi logo, the same one she’d seen brandished on the most elite skis and winter gear worldwide.

                Her stomach clenched as she gripped the rail and ran up the steps, palm gliding up the cool metal. A whisper of chilled air greeted her at the top.

                Fragmented memories of her childhood flickered before her like a black-and-white movie, faces and names of people long forgotten or barely known. Nannies, the score of men her mother had romanced and the array of beautiful people who had played with their set in that glamorous world.

                Caprice recalled few details, but remembered one thing perfectly clearly. She’d always felt alone in her mother’s elite world.

                Even now, there was loneliness deep in her.