Bound by the Italian's Contract(57)

                He hung his head, a muscle twitching along his jaw. “Sorry. I’ve had a rough day.”

                As had she, tacked on to a whirlwind three days with Luciano in a mountain hideaway. But she couldn’t voice that. In fact she was at a loss how to reach Julian.

                “Scusa, Jules,” came a cultured masculine voice behind her, a voice that scraped along her nerves to free a memory she’d locked away.

                Her breath froze in her lungs and her skin crawled. It couldn’t be!

                She prayed she was hearing things as she followed Julian’s gaze to the newcomer. No joke, no mistake. Less than sixteen feet from her stood the man from her nightmares. The lift of his head and narrowing of his eyes were proof that he recognized her.

                Run, her instincts screamed. Hide. Get as far from this animal as you can. But even if she could force her feet to move, that would give him the satisfaction of intimidating her again. Worse, it would raise questions, and she wanted her attack buried in a deep, dark pit.

                She wouldn’t show fear and she wouldn’t cower to him, no matter how hellish it was to be in the same room with this beast. And being in the same room with this animal who had raped her was pure torture.

                “Mario, you remember Caprice Tregore, Luc’s assistant during the World Cup in Val d’Isère?” Julian asked, and a part of her died fearing what Mario Godolphin would say.

                Her former attacker’s mouth curled into a cruel smile, but his dark eyes remained narrowed. “Yes, I remember Miss Tregore. How good to see you again.”

                She mumbled something resembling an acknowledgement.

                Bastard! Had she come to his mind as much as he’d tormented her nightmares for years? She hoped not! She hoped he couldn’t remember the details that haunted her.

                “Tell me, Mario. Has my brother secured your firm for the completion of the therapy pod?” Julian asked, and her blood froze at the insane thought of dealing with Mario.

                “We are discussing things,” he said in a noncommittal tone.

                A shiver rocketed through her. There was no way she would tolerate this man designing her therapy unit. But how could she express that to Luciano without telling him the ugly truth?

                “Please, think about what I asked,” she said, pressing a hand to Julian’s shoulder before she strode out the door, hoping her attacker wouldn’t follow.

                She made it halfway down the corridor before she stole a look behind her. She was alone. Mario had stayed there.

                Mario. He’d altered her life completely, spurring her to leave the world she had once loved.

                For days, weeks, months after her rape she’d dreaded running into him again. Her phobia was so great and her pain so crippling that she’d pulled out of competition.

                And she was glad she had.

                Soon after her retirement and the horrific accident that removed the Duchelini brothers from the chase for gold, Mario had stepped in to dominate the ski world. It was the logical way of things.

                For years, the ski world had been abuzz over the duo Italian champions. Luciano always took first place while Mario snared the second slot.

                They were a one-two punch on the slopes that nobody could best. When Luciano retired from competition, Mario had a short run of being the best.