Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed. Michelle Smart

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      In the distance ahead was the pathway that led into the forest and to her sanctuary.

      She pushed on even harder but still he gained ground. His breaths were heavy behind her.

      She wasn’t going to make it.

      A burst of fury rent through her, overriding her fear. She would not allow herself to be captured by this man.

      Coming to an abrupt halt, she turned on the spot and charged, propelling her entire body at him. It was like charging at a brick wall.

      But her ruse worked. Taken by surprise, Gabriele stumbled back onto the sand. Unfortunately he wasn’t so off guard that he didn’t immediately hook his foot around her ankle, sending her tumbling on top of him. Within seconds he had gained the upper hand, twisting her onto her back and pinioning her beneath him.

      ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’ he demanded, his angry breath hot on her face.

      Bucking beneath him, she tried everything she could to throw him off but she was too tightly caught.

      Gabriele swore and, panther-like, sprang back to his feet. There was no way for her to escape again for he unceremoniously pulled her up, hooked an arm around her waist, and slung her over his shoulder.

      No sooner had he started running than shouts echoed from the house.

      Terror as she had never experienced, not even when she’d unexpectedly stumbled upon the gang, careered through her.

      Yet, even with the indignity of being carried like a naughty child and the pain in her stomach as it jostled against his shoulder, when the first gun shots rang out she squeezed her eyes shut and thanked God for Gabriele’s strength, and prayed for the shots to fire wide.

      She had no idea how long he ran with her thrown over his shoulder. It could have been one minute, it could have been an hour. All she knew was that the men were chasing and firing at them.

      And then he was no longer running with her on the sand but wading through the sea. An engine ran close by. She hardly had time to register that a jet ski had appeared from nowhere before Gabriele had climbed onto it and shouted, ‘Go!’

      Whoever was driving didn’t need telling twice. The jet ski shot off over the still waters.

      Somehow Gabriele manipulated her body so she was no longer draped over his shoulder but secured on his lap, sandwiched between him and the man riding the jet ski.

      Within minutes they approached an enormous yacht. To Elena’s amazement, they steered straight into an opened hatch on the side and parked, exactly as if they were parking a car in a garage.

      Gabriele and the man who’d ridden the jet ski helped her off.

      ‘Are you all right?’ Gabriele asked, looking at her closely.

      She opened her mouth to retort defiantly that of course she was all right when the magnitude of everything she’d gone through that evening and the exhaustion that had brought her to Nutmeg Island hit her.

      A hot fog formed in her brain, perspiration breaking out all over, her hands suddenly clammy.

      And then it all went black.

CHAPTER TWO

      ELENA AWOKE TO find herself cocooned in a heavy duvet on a bed so comfortable that for a moment the fact she didn’t have a clue where she was didn’t matter.

      She stretched then sat bolt upright as memories flooded her.

      She’d fainted. She remembered feeling all...wrong, remembered strong arms holding her, overriding her protests.

      Gabriele Mantegna .

      He’d kidnapped her. He’d given chase, thrown her over his shoulder and spirited her to his yacht via a jet ski.

      Or had he saved her?

      Yes, that was right. He’d certainly saved her from the criminal gang who’d done the unthinkable and overridden her father’s state-of-the-art security system and broken onto their island.

      But he was Gabriele Mantegna and instinct told her she’d be no safer with him than those men. The danger he carried was of a different kind.

      He’d carried her away from the hail of bullets that had rained on them. God alone knew how they’d escaped without being shot.

      What was he even doing there?

      So many thoughts crammed in her brain it was a struggle to think straight.

      Another memory came to her, of being placed on the bed and Gabriele’s rich voice murmuring in their native Italian that she should sleep.

      The only comfort she could take was that her clothes were still on.

      Climbing out of bed, she held onto the frame until she was certain her feet were steady, then drew the floor-length curtains.

      Light flooded the cabin, almost blinding her with its brilliance. She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The Caribbean Sea—at least she assumed they were still on the Caribbean—was calm, the yacht powering through it at a remarkable rate. If she closed her eyes she wouldn’t know they were sailing.

      Movement behind her made her turn and find a woman dressed in a maid’s outfit standing at the door of her cabin.

      The maid gave a tentative smile. ‘Good morning Signorina Ricci,’ she said in Italian. ‘Can I get you some breakfast?’

      The sea air had done a good job of clearing Elena’s head and reinvigorating her. As much as she wanted food and a hot shower, what she needed was to see Gabriele and find out what the hell was going on.

      ‘I would like you to take me to Signor Mantegna.’

      The maid nodded her acquiescence and Elena followed her out of the cabin and into a wide corridor. A flight of steps led into a huge atrium where a white grand piano sat in the centre ringed by a circle of plush white sofas.

      Gabriele was found on the third deck, sitting at a table overlooking a large, oval swimming pool, eating from a bowl of fruit.

      He rose to his feet. He wore only a pair of canvas shorts. ‘Good morning, Elena. How are you feeling?’

      ‘Much better thank you,’ she replied coolly, feeling her cheeks flame as she remembered basically falling into a dead faint at his feet.

      Being eye level with his naked chest only caused the flames to burn harder. Quickly, she averted her gaze.

      ‘You gave us quite a scare. Please, sit down. Coffee? Food?’

      She took the seat opposite him. ‘A caffè e latte would be nice.’

      Turning to the maid, he said, ‘Esmerelda, a caffè e latte and a tray of pastries for our guest, and a fresh pot of coffee for me please.’

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