Bought: Destitute Yet Defiant

How were you supposed to know if anyone was lying in wait in a place like this?

It was full of dark, hidden spaces.

Having worked herself into a panic, Jessie tried telling herself that any apartment he’d built was bound to be secure but she knew it wasn’t the building that had provided that security blanket.

It had been the man.

And he’d gone.

It was hours later when Silvio arrived back at the apartment.

Grimly satisfied with what he’d achieved, he dismissed the hovering staff and poured himself a drink.

As the first streaks of dawn split the night sky, he stared sightlessly through the glass, trying not to think what would have happened to her if he hadn’t chosen to return when he had. What he’d learned about her life over the past few hours had turned his insides ice cold.

He’d asked questions, called in favours, exploited contacts, all the time spreading the same message:

That Jessie was his and no other man’s.

He’d been unable to think of any other way of ensuring her protection.

Draining his drink in a single mouthful, he reflected on the irony of the situation.

It was a good job that both of them were private people, he thought grimly as he stared into his empty glass, otherwise everyone would know that an emotional involvement between the two of them was impossible.

The apartment was silent as he walked towards one of the guest suites but he paused outside the master bedroom, unable to resist the impulse to check on her.

Opening the door quietly, he looked at the bed and saw it empty.

There was no sign of her.

Preparing to fire his head of security, Silvio was about to leave the room and create hell when he noticed that the velvet throw from the bed was missing. Frowning, he strolled into the room, a suspicion forming in his mind.

He checked the bathroom and then moved across to the dressing room. It was in darkness. Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he stilled for a moment and tried to think like her.

Her childhood fear of being trapped had never left her and he hadn’t needed to witness her performance earlier to know how much she hated being on the top floor. A penthouse to Jessie wasn’t real-estate heaven—it was hell. Knowing that, he also knew that there was no way she’d shut herself in a dressing room.

Turning his head, Silvio narrowed his eyes and rejected the possibility that flew into his head.

No, she wouldn’t—

Or maybe she would.

Silently, he moved through the bedroom and paused outside the door that concealed the escape slide. It was open a crack and he slid his fingers into the gap and widened it.

Jessie lay curled up on the floor only centimetres away from the top of the slide, her slender body swamped by the huge throw from the bed, her arm flung protectively over the shoebox.

Silvio stared down at her in silence, a thousand emotions rushing through his head.

What terror inhabited her mind that she’d rather sleep in the bottom of a cupboard than in his comfortable bed? His apartment was protected by the most sophisticated security in existence, but Jessie hadn’t trusted it.

He saw the faint smudge of make-up under her eyes and realised that she’d been crying.

The fact that she’d waited for privacy before she’d allowed herself to cry created more strain on his conscience.

She hadn’t wanted to break down in front of him and he should be grateful for that, shouldn’t he? He knew nothing about offering comfort to a woman and all he’d ever done to Jessie was hurt her.

Lifting her easily, he carried her back to the bed and her eyes opened. Her lids were heavy, her eyes glazed with sleep.