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He wanted her to join his fur design team.

The strange thing was, she’d never thought about furs before. She didn’t own any; in s vague kind of way, the idea of wearing something that had once been alive made her uncomfortable. Two weeks of sitting in rooms with the gorgeous, glorious pelts of dead animals laid out all around her left her more than uncomfortable.

It left her sick.

Within days, she’d quit her job and explored her career options. There were designers like Stella McCartney who refused to work with animal skins or hides. She could go in that direction.

Or she could do something about what she had learned was an illegal trade in certain kinds of furs.

A month later, she was working with The FURever Fund, feeling as if she might just be accomplishing something.

Not anymore.

She’d gone from being an asset to being a liability.

She’d screwed up, big-time.

And on a far less philosophical level, what would happen when her captors finally figured out that she wasn’t going to make them rich?

She thought again of her family. Her brothers, Luca and Matteo. Her sister, Bianca. Her half-brothers and half-sisters, Travis, Caleb and Jake, and Emily, Jaimie and Lissa. She thought of the pain they’d endure if something happened to her.

She could tell her kidnappers to contact her brothers or her sisters.

Or her father.

No. She would never turn to her father for help. Never.

Her brothers and sisters? How could she

let them know what a fool she’d been, getting herself into such a mess? Going to a country that was on the government’s travel advisory list even after the coalition’s director had sent her an e-mail lauding her for what he’d referred to as her courage in planning a visit?

And that dumb decision not to use the chamber pot…

One of her kidnappers started snoring.

Alessandra shuddered. She turned her face away, shut her eyes, gave in to exhaustion…

And, improbably enough, fell asleep

* * *

She came awake, screaming.

At least she would have screamed—if screaming had been possible.

But it wasn’t.

Not only was she gagged, but a hand was clamped tightly over her mouth. A big, hard, powerful hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Warm breath against her ear. A low, husky male voice.

“Do you understand? I’m not going to hurt you.”

Right.

And this was just a camping trip.