Bound by the Italian's Contract(75)

                So could she. The question remained, should she? “So what happened? You know I’ve been on needles and pins since you left.”

                “Mario denied any wrongdoing, but I didn’t buy his lies this time,” he said, sobering far too much for her liking. “I served him the papers severing all contracts with Godolphin and walked out.”

                Could it be that final? Was she finally free of any threat from Mario?

                “It’s over then? I can go on with my life?”

                He nodded and ran his palms up and down her back, his touch both soothing and erotic. “Is that what you want, bella?”

                “Of course. It’s what I’ve worked for,” she said and smiled, only to sober when he didn’t return the gesture. “The preparations for the opening of your therapy unit are completed as well. In fact they delivered the sign this afternoon.”

                “Excellent. Have you looked at it yet?” he asked, his beetled brow hinting he’d expected her to do just that.

                She shook her head. “No. I told the workers to place the sign in the hall leading to the ski exit. I didn’t think it would be in the way there.” And it was less tempting.

                “Let’s take a look then.”

                He took her hand and led her to the hallway and the large covered sign that would hang over the glass doors of the pod. In seconds he ripped the heavy brown paper from the sign, then stepped back.

                “Do you like it?” he asked.

                She stared at it, stunned, not having expected or demanded her name be tied with his lodge. But it was here, large and bold. Another tie binding them.

                “Caprice Tregore’s Adaptive Ski Therapy and Sports Medicine,” she read, her gaze flicking back to her larger-than-life initials in a casual script above the bold print to the smaller trio at the bottom of certificates and degrees she’d earned. “I didn’t expect this.”

                “I commissioned two. One for my lodge and the other for yours,” he said. “It is crucial we keep the continuity of the brand.”

                “Yes, consistency of my program is crucial,” she said. “But why put such emphasis on my name?”

                He slipped an arm around her shoulders, his laugh echoing free and clear and so welcome to her ears. “Your name is your brand. When people see this sign, they will know that this is the quality care and commitment they need.”

                She considered that compliment with a frown. “Like athletes with their endorsements?”

                “Far more powerful and important than that.” He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, his splayed palm firm against her back, holding her flush against him—not that she needed that urging. “Athletes’ accolades are the result of skill and luck. You are a trained professional who has earned the respect of physicians, therapists and athletes. You change lives for the better.”

                She buried her face against his chest, reveling in his spicy scent and strength. “You make me sound far more important than I am.”

                “Bella,” he said, nudging her chin up. “That is your charm—you are adorably and honestly humble. I respect what you’ve accomplished. I admire you.”

                But he didn’t love her. He would never love her.