Page 17 of Captive in His Castle (The Martinelli Wedding #1)

Chapter Eight

T he castle vaults accessed through the library were nothing like Callie had imagined.

In her head, she’d pictured a dark, dingy space with rows and rows of overflowing books and manuscripts and ghosts of disapproving librarians hovering at anyone who would mistreat the treasures.

Instead, after passing through a small office, she found herself in an enormously high, exceedingly long rectangular room with a domed ceiling and little natural light.

It felt like she’d walked into a sepia photograph, the spotlights almost saturating the place with warm colour.

Lining the walls were thickly bound ancient files that she dimly assumed contained letters or other forms of manuscripts, and books of all sizes.

Only dimly assumed because standing right beside her, close enough to touch, was Dante.

“This is the reading room,” he murmured.

“When Emmaline and her team finish their lunch, she’ll go through the procedures put in place to aid the preservation of any manuscripts brought in here for scholars to read.

Access to the rest of the vaults – and believe me, this room is only a fraction of it – is restricted to staff, but you have permission to go wherever you please.

All I ask is that you obey Emmaline’s instructions. ”

She nodded absently, her senses as overwhelmed by the man at her side as her mind was overawed with the ancient history they stood in the midst of.

“The computers have a record of every known item stored within the main library and within the vaults,” he continued, indicating the half dozen desks lined through the centre of the room, each with its own reading light and a computer.

“Around a third of the archives has been fully digitalised,” he continued before giving a wry smile. “It’s an ongoing project.”

“I can imagine,” she managed to whisper.

Footsteps sounded behind them, a whisper of voices that grew louder until four people who looked every inch the scholars entered the room.

Finally, Callie was able to breathe. Now that the staff were here, Dante would surely leave her alone. He knew she wouldn’t do anything she shouldn’t in here.

He’d returned to the car after his meet and greet with the potential buyer with a spring in his step, driving them back to the East Wing with the radio turned up, singing along to a tune she knew and loved but which had sounded distant and tinny to her ears.

Back in the castle, he’d had coffee brought to them and filled her in on the meeting as if she cared how it had gone and as if she were capable of actually paying attention to a single word that hateful, wide, sensual mouth uttered.

She didn’t know what she hated the most – that the ache for his touch was growing stronger by the second or that the sound of his voice landed on her skin like a touch of its own.

Her hope that she would be given a Dante reprieve was dashed when, after the introductions had been made and Emmaline set off to show her around the rest of the vaults where the castle’s real treasures were kept, Dante went with them.

After a long bath she wished she’d never had to climb out of, Callie looked through her wardrobe and found her heart panging and pulses accelerating to imagine herself wearing one of the beautiful, sexy dresses hanging in it.

And then she imagined Dante’s reaction and her pulses really accelerated.

Clutching at her damp hair, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to drive him out of her mind, just for a few minutes, but it was impossible.

Other than that brief time when he’d left her alone in the car, he’d been with her practically every minute since she’d joined him for breakfast. Even those hours spent in the vaults with Emmaline, he’d been there, a gregarious spectre whose presence had stopped her fully absorbing everything she was being told.

The worst part had been when she’d watched him in a deep discussion about the authenticity of a letter from Catherine de Medici.

In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from finding herself enthralled at the depth of his knowledge to imagining him lifting her onto the desk they were poring over the letter on and stepping between her parted legs.

She’d been trying desperately to erase the imagery when he’d caught her eye and given her a look that quite clearly said, ‘I’m going to have you. ’ Her legs had felt wobbly ever since.

It was like he’d infected her brain as much as he’d infected her body, and it frightened her that since being brought to Tuscany, she’d barely thought about Georgia.

It made her feel guilty, too. Georgia was at home, alone and pregnant, with no one to make sure she was eating properly and not overdoing things.

Would Georgia even care that Callie was suffering this guilt? Or was she still angry with her? Scratch angry. Georgia had been furious with her .

Was it possible that Georgia was suffering guilt of her own for what she’d set in motion by lying to Niccolo about Callie’s reasons for flying to Italy?

Only six months ago, Callie would have been able to state categorically that the answer to that question was yes, but since Niccolo had come into Georgia’s life, the closeness that had been such an intrinsic part of them both had gone.

When she’d told Dante that they hadn’t been getting on so well recently…

talk about the understatement of the year.

When Georgia had caught her about to leave their flat with her carry-on case, they’d barely been on speaking terms. Or, rather, Georgia had barely been speaking to Callie.

For the first time, she properly considered Dante’s opinion that Georgia’s lies to Niccolo about Callie’s reason for coming to Naples had been to protect Callie from the Espositos. She’d assumed he’d exaggerated their violent ways, but what if it was no exaggeration?

It didn’t matter, she thought wretchedly. Georgia had made a conscious decision to shut Callie out. If she’d confided in her and trusted in her, Callie would already know the truth.

Taking a deep breath to squash the pain of the destruction of their relationship, she carefully removed a red silk dress from a hanger and wondered for the hundredth time how Georgia could have put a man above her own twin.

Georgia had sent that message to Niccolo knowing he would do everything in his considerable power to stop Callie getting anywhere near Accardiano, and it was pure good fortune that the man Niccolo had tasked with the job of hiding her away had been Dante.

There was no saying how any of Niccolo’s other friends would have treated her if given the job…

Hold on a sec, had she really just thought that Dante being the one to kidnap her had been her good fortune ? She really was losing her mind.

And what the hell was she doing with this silk number in her hands?

Was she really intending to wear it for dinner with him?

He would take it to mean that she was dressing up for him, especially after the stunt she’d pulled with the dressing gown, and it was the whispering voice in her head taunting her that she’d selected that particular dress for exactly that reason that had her folding it into a tight ball and throwing it on the floor.

Resisting the urge to kick it across the room, she yanked a clean pair of jeans with an equally expensive label to those she’d worn earlier and a loose-fitting scooped silver top off the rail and chucked them on.

There. That was better. And no, she wouldn’t run a brush through her hair. She would not do anything to make Dante believe she was sending out signals of encouragement to him. If he wanted her, he’d have to force it…

Now she did kick the discarded dress in fury at her thoughts.

Suitably worked up, Callie left her room and was again escorted to the intimate dining room. She knew perfectly well that a member of staff was on corridor duty at all times in case she tried to make another run for it.

One look at Dante came close to ruining her bad mood. One look at the man she’d just been reminding herself of all the reasons she despised him for was enough to make her heart swell, and she had to bite her cheeks to stop the smile her lips wanted to form.

He must have guessed she’d refuse to dress up and so had dressed casually in faded jeans and a light blue shirt. Where the shirt’s top two buttons were opened, she caught a glimpse of dark hair and… God, the throb between her legs at the sight of it.

How could she experience such a heady rush to see him, she wondered helplessly, and there was a long moment when she had to grind her toes into the floor to ground herself back into the reality of her situation.

The reality of your situation, the treacherous taunting voice whispered , is that you fancy the pants off him .

It was a reality made worse when she noticed how the small square table had been set. Instead of facing him, she’d been placed even closer, to his left. A candle had been lit, its stand a figurine of entwined lovers.

She took her seat without speaking and without shoving her placement back to where it had been the night before and without blowing out the candle to kill the romantic vibe. She would not do anything to reiterate in Dante’s mind that she was running scared of the attraction between them.

But that hateful knowing gleam was back in his beautiful eyes, and she knew with the same certainty she knew her middle name that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

How could someone she’d known such a short time read her so well and anticipate her actions so well too? Somehow, Dante had known she would refuse to dress up again, and so had dressed down to match her and gently tease her.

God, did this mean that she was learning to read him too?

“I want to talk to my sister,” she said tightly before he’d finished retaking his seat.

“For what reason?”

“Because she’s my sister, and I want to make sure she’s okay.”