Captive At The Sicilian Billionaire’s Command

Rocco glanced in his driving mirror to see if Julie was still asleep. It was nearly an hour now since he had seen her eyes close, and she had fallen asleep with the speed of a child. But even in sleep her hand rested protectively on the side of the baby carrier. No one else could touch it or the child in it without waking her, Rocco suspected.

The smell of cheap wet wool being warmed by the car’s heating system reached his nostrils. His fastidious eldest brother would quickly have shown his displeasure, Rocco re¬ flected, but he was more down to earth. In the construction industry one had to be.

His father had been furious when he had learned what Rocco planned to do with the land left to him by his mother’s uncle. A resort with its own private airfield on what should have been Leopardi land—it was unthinkable, an abomination, a betrayal of everything that the name Leopardi stood for: tradition, continuation of the male line, pride and secrecy.

‘On my mother’s land,’ Falcon had corrected his father, stepping in to shield his younger sibling from their father’s wrath, just as he had done so many times during their childhood.

They said that blood was thicker than water, but it was the Leopardi blood he shared with his brothers to which Rocco was loyal—not the Leopardi blood of his father.

The lights of the airport, gleaming on the wet tarmac, shone up ahead of them through the winter night, and as Rocco brought the car’s speed down Julie woke up, not knowing just where she was for a few seconds, and then—when she did—looking anxiously at Josh, relieved to see that he was still asleep before glancing self-consciously towards the front of the car. She could see Rocco’s hands resting on the steering wheel, and for some reason the sight of them made her heart jerk against her ribs. It was an effort to drag her gaze away from him to look out of the car window instead.

They were turning off the main access road, swinging round down a smooth road and up to a checkpoint, where Rocco produced a plastic card for the security guard—who saluted him before raising the barrier.

The car picked up speed, and Julie’s eyes widened in disbelief as she realised that, no, she wasn’t seeing things. Rocco was driving right up to the sleek silver jet parked on the tarmac in front of them.

* * *

‘Good evening, sir.’

Rocco smiled at Nigel Rowlins, the first officer of his private jet, as he opened the door of the Mercedes.

‘Good evening, Nigel. All set to go, are we?’

‘Yes, indeed, sir. Flight plan’s logged and approved, the deliveries have arrived and have been loaded. Passport control’s on alert.’

Rocco nodded his head.

They were flying to Sicily in a private jet? Why hadn’t she realised that that might be the case? Because she wasn’t used to people whose lifestyle included private jets, that was why, Julie answered her own question wryly.

She had been banking on them going through the departure area so that she could at least buy some necessities for J

osh—luckily his bottles and heater were in the nappy bag, along with a couple of changes of clothes. And she needed a change of clothes for herself—the cheaper the better, since she only had a tiny bit of cash on her. Now what was she going to do? She realised that Rocco Leopardi had said that he would deal with things, but she neither expected nor wanted to him to buy anything for them. There was no way she wanted to feel beholden to him. No way at all.

Perhaps he had forgotten what he had said? Perhaps she should remind him?

She took a deep breath and said quietly, ‘I was hoping we’d have some time to buy clothes.’

The soft, quiet voice was at odds with the intent behind her words—which said quite plainly that she’d been expecting him to take her on a shopping spree.

‘You will find everything you are likely to need is already on board,’ Rocco told her dismissively.

‘Everything?’ Julie queried uncertainly. How could that be? He hadn’t so much as asked her what Josh might need.

‘Everything.’ Rocco confirmed grimly. What was she expecting? Carte blanche at Heathrow’s duty-free designer shops? Tough, he decided unsympathetically as he got out of the car, effectively putting an end to their conversation, and going to open the door nearest to Josh. He reached in to lift him out of the baby seat, leaving Julie to gather together her coat, the baby bag and her own handbag, and follow him out onto the tarmac.

It was dark now, and cold, causing Julie to shiver.

The shock of the cold air after the warmth of the car woke Josh, and his thin, fretful cry jerked on Julie’s heartstrings. It was too cold for him out here, and he needed feeding.

Rocco Leopardi was still holding Josh. Turning away from her, he strode towards the plane, taking the steps two at a time with easy, relaxed energy, leaving her no option other than to hurry after him.

If the uniformed steward waiting in the luxuriously furnished cabin was surprised by her appearance, or the fact that his boss was holding a shabbily dressed crying baby, he was too well trained to show it, simply offering to take Julie’s coat from her and asking her what she would like to drink.

‘Something hot rather than something alcoholic, Russell,’ Rocco Leopardi was answering on her behalf, and the fact that he was not allowing her to make her own decision filled Julie with an unfamiliar and foolish desire to insist that actually she wanted champagne, even though in reality she rarely touched alcohol.

Instead she gave the steward a diffident smile and asked uncertainly, ‘If there is somewhere to heat Josh’s bottle?’

‘Of course. I’ve got a choice of formula in the galley for when you want it, and the cot and everything else has been set up in the sleeping cabin.’