Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate

The words came automatically and he was careful to keep his hands by his sides, sensing she had to come of her own choice. In the meantime he stepped in front of her, blocked her view of the man and hoped the group wouldn’t approach.

‘Let’s walk. Easy does it.’

Kaitlin hesitated and he saw her eyes refocus, gaze up at the ceiling and then around her, before ending up riveted to his face. She puffed out a small sigh and started to walk.

The pace she set was a half-march, her usual poise ragged, hands clenching and unclenching as they stepped out into the early dusk. Casting a glance over her shoulder, another into the shadows, she increased speed.

After five minutes Daniel decided they had put enough distance between themselves and whatever or whoever had spooked her with such radical effect.

‘Kaitlin—stop. Or at least tell me where you want to go.’

‘Home.’ A half-laugh. ‘The hotel, I suppose. I need to be somewhere safe.’

‘You are.’ Without thought he turned and halted in front of her, and took her hands in his. ‘Whilst you are with me you are safe. I will not let any harm come to you.’

A tug of her hands as she shook her head. ‘Those are words, Daniel. Anyone can use words to manipulate, to lie...’

‘Or to tell the truth. And that is what I am doing. You are safe. Right here, right now. If you want to go back to the hotel then that’s where we will go, but we don’t need to run there. If you want to stay out we can, and you will be safe. Trust me.’

Her breathing slowed as she met his gaze and he could almost see the cogs and wheels whirring in her brain.

* * *

Trust him. Kaitlin tried to think past the glut of emotions that clogged her brain. Logic told her to return pronto to the hotel, shut herself in her room and calm down. A deeper instinct wanted to stay with Daniel—to recapture the confidence and the freedom of earlier, to have a night in Venice. Shades of the past, of Barcelona...

No. This was different—she wasn’t faking her identity and Daniel was no longer a stranger.

Her heart-rate thudded back to as near to normal as possible when he was this close and she made her decision. Maybe she’d regret it—most likely she would—but... ‘I’d like to stay out.’

A squeeze of her hands and then he released one and retained the other in a clasp of reassurance. ‘How does a night at a jazz club sound?’

‘Perfect.’ Once again warmth touched her at the way he seemed able to read her needs—a jazz club was far less likely to trigger panic than a standing-room-only bar packed with people, and the music would help.

For the journey there she simply followed Daniel, didn’t so much as give any protest a thought when he clasped her hand in his because it felt right. The fear triggered in the scuola had abated, but her nerves were still frayed and memories danced in grotesque shadows at the back of her mind.

But the memories were held at bay by Daniel’s presence, by both the reassurance and the thrill his touch bestowed.

The club itself was everything she could have wished for—both quirky and eclectic enough to push the past further away. Vibrantly painted walls were offset by dim illumination, the club’s love of jazz clear in its themed memorabilia, a homage to artists past and present.

The proprietor showed them to a candlelit bistro-type table, secluded by the width of a Gothic column, and the tension drained from her body as she watched the band tune up, ate a selection of cold meat and cheese and bread, and listened to the notes jump and dance on the air, rebounding into her brain with a cleansing beat.

Then Daniel leant forward. ‘Better?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘So what happened back there? Did you know that man?’

Reluctance to answer pressed her lips together, and then common sense prevailed. Daniel had made her a promise to keep her safe—he couldn’t do that without facts.

‘No. He reminded me of someone from my past and I went into panic freefall.’

With an effort she kept her tone light, tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, focused on the tang of wine on her tongue.

‘You can talk about it if you want. Maybe I’m a good choice, because after tomorrow our paths won’t cross again.’

The words caused her an unexpected wince of hurt, a fluttery sensation in her chest, and for a second she would swear there was sadness in the twist of his lips.

Daft.