Capelli's Captive Virgin

It seemed that nothing hurt as much as the fact that Alessio hadn’t called.

Sooner or later she was going to have to pull herself together and work out what she was going to do with the rest of her life, but for now she didn’t have the energy to move.

And there was no point in moving because her every action was caught on camera for the public to see and comment on.

But could it be any worse?

Did she really care if they took pictures of her without make-up, in rumpled clothes? Could they hurt her any more than they already had?

The thing that had upset her most had been the photographs taken on Kingfisher Cay. Someone had snapped them having dinner and the accompanying stories were all about the fact that she’d spent a whole night in his villa. And the stories were sensationalist and tasteless, embellished to sell more copies to a public always hungry for mindless gossip and the humiliation of others.

They’d made her relationship with Alessio sound like some seedy little fling.

And it hadn’t been like that.

And it hurt really, really badly. But nowhere near as much as the fact that Alessio hadn’t called.

On the plus side, she’d spoken to Ruby, who was very happy and living in Rome with Dino Capelli. And somehow her happiness made Lindsay feel even worse. She’d been so sure about her choices, but now—

Now she wasn’t sure about anything.

With a sniff, she pulled the duvet over her head to block out the sound of the buzzer.

Why didn’t they go away and leave her alone?

Guilt permeating every fibre of his being, Alessio elbowed his way through the banks of paparazzi crowding outside Lindsay’s flat.

‘Hey, Alessio—have you come back for seconds?’

With a low growl, Alessio picked the photographer up by his collar and backed him against the wall. ‘Clear off,’ he muttered thickly, ‘and do something about your own life instead of prying into other people’s.’

Flashes erupted around him and he knew that he’d just given the press still more fodder for the next day’s salacious headlines.

‘You’d better watch that temper of yours, Alessio,’ the man spluttered and Alessio gave a slow, dangerous smile.

‘I’m completely in control.’ He didn’t slacken his grip. ‘Trust me, when I lose my temper, you’ll be the first to know.’

‘This is assault—’

‘No—’ Alessio’s voice was icy cold as he released the man ‘—what you do is assault. Remember that, because you’re starting to annoy me.’ His handsome face a mask of disdain, he flicked some dirt from the sleeve of his perfectly cut designer suit. ‘And I’m not at my best when I’m annoyed.’

‘You can’t threaten me.’ Blustering and glancing towards his colleagues for support, the photographer cast a wary glance at the hard set of Alessio’s features. ‘You can’t touch me.’

Alessio’s mouth curved into a smile. ‘No?’

‘I suppose you think I should be scared because you’re some hotshot lawyer.’ The man was sweating now and Alessio studied him with cool contempt.

‘No,’ he said softly, ‘not because of that.’ He reached forward and straightened the man’s collar carefully. ‘Because I’m Sicilian.’

The man swallowed. ‘Are you threatening me?’

Alessio smiled. ‘Certainly not.’ His eyes lingered on the man’s face until the photographer paled and started to shift uncomfortably.

‘That’s coercion,’ he muttered and Alessio lifted an eyebrow.

‘What is?’

The man backed off. ‘If you ask me that girl’s crazy to have anything to do with you. You’re bloody lethal.’ But the pack of paparazzi all withdrew slightly as Alessio slowly reached into the inside pocket of his suit.