“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” She struggled to keep her voice level. “You have to embarrass me.” “Mi dispiace,” he purred, his eyes glinting wickedly. “I’m sorry—unfair of me, I know. It’s just that I love watching you blush. Your cheeks are the same color they will be after we’ve had frantic sex.” “That is never going to happen. Accept it.” “That shows how little you know me. I have a compulsive need to change situations that aren’t to my liking.” He smiled—a slow, dangerous smile. “It’s called negotiation.” “Negotiation is when both parties get what they want—it’s supposed to be a win-win situation.” “I understand the winning bit. I’m not so good at accepting half a solution.” His tone was gently apologetic, but his dark eyes were as cool and unemotional as ever. “When I want something, I want all of it. Not part of it.” “You’re not my type, Alessio.” “That’s what makes it so exciting, tesoro….” Dear Reader, Harlequin Presents® is all about passion, power, seduction, oodles of wealth and abundant glamour. This is the series of the rich and the superrich. Private jets, luxury cars and international settings that range from the wildly exotic to the bright lights of the big city! We want to whisk you away to the far corners of the globe and allow you to escape and indulge in a unique world of unforgettable men and passionate romances. There is only one Harlequin Presents®, available all month long. And we promise you the world…. As if this weren’t enough, there’s more! More of what you love. Two weeks after the Presents® titles hit the shelves, four Presents® Extra titles join them! Presents® Extra is selected especially for you—your favorite authors and much- loved themes have been handpicked to create exclusive collections for your reading pleasure. Now there’s another excuse to indulge! Midmonth, there’s always a new collection to treasure—you won’t want to miss out. Harlequin Presents®—still the original and the best! Best wishes, The Editors Sarah Morgan CAPELLI’S CAPTIVE VIRGIN TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND All about the author… Sarah Morgan SARAH MORGAN was born in Wiltshire, U.K., and started writing at the age of eight, when she produced an autobiography of her hamster. At the age of eighteen she traveled to London to train as a nurse in one of London’s top teaching hospitals, and she describes those years as extremely happy and definitely censored! She worked in a number of areas after she qualified, but her favorite was the Accident & Emergency department, where she found the work stimulating and fun. Nowhere else in the hospital environment did she encounter such good teamwork between doctors and nurses. By now her interests had moved on from hamsters to men, and she started writing romance fiction. Her first completed manuscript, written after the birth of her first child, was rejected by Harlequin®, but the comments were encouraging, so she tried again. On the third attempt her manuscript Worth the Risk was accepted unchanged. She describes receiving the acceptance letter as one of the best moments of her life, after meeting her husband and having her two children. Sarah still works part-time in a health-related industry and spends the rest of the time with her family, trying to squeeze in writing whenever she can. She is an enthusiastic skier and walker, and loves outdoor life. CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ONE ‘SIGNOR CAPELLI doesn’t have an opening in his diary for five months.’ The stunning blonde receptionist spoke faultless English and was clearly experienced in providing an impenetrable shield between her sexy billionaire boss and the public. ‘You wouldn’t believe the demand for divorce lawyers of his calibre. And anyway, his personal clients are all men.’ Lindsay dug her nails into her palms. ‘I don’t need a divorce lawyer. That isn’t why I want to see him.’ And she knew his clients were men. She knew everything about him. She knew that when a man instructed Alessio Capelli to handle his divorce, the wife in question might as well give up. The ruthless Sicilian lawyer had apparently made it his life’s mission to ensure that women gained as little as possible from the end of a relationship. She also knew that his various business interests had made him a billionaire in his early thirties, which meant that he now worked purely for entertainment value. And what sort of man found entertainment in crushing people’s fragile marriages? The girl tapped a perfectly manicured nail on the glass desk. ‘I could call one of his team?’ ‘I need to speak to him.’ Eaten up by worry, Lindsay tried to think clearly. She hadn’t slept for three nights, the adrenaline was surging round her body and she felt physically sick as she contemplated what was unfolding before her. ‘Please—I’ve flown to Rome specially—it’s a personal matter. Something between myself and Signor Capelli.’ A vision of her sister’s pale face tormented her, but Lindsay had no intention of revealing her family secrets to this glacial beauty. It was an unnerving experience—trying to gain access to the last man in the It was an unnerving experience—trying to gain access to the last man in the world she wanted to see. A bit like stepping towards the edge of a very sheer, crumbling cliff face, knowing that there could be only one outcome. She was going to fall— The receptionist raised her beautifully shaped eyebrows and it was obvious from her disbelieving gaze that she found it unlikely that someone like Lindsay would ever share anything personal with Alessio Capelli. ‘Did he give you his mobile number?’ ‘No, but—’ ‘Then clearly he doesn’t want you to contact him. Women who have a special relationship—’ the receptionist paused for emphasis and gave a faintly patronising smile ‘—always have that number.’ Lindsay wanted to tell her that her taste in men didn’t run to arrogant, heartless marriage wreckers, but she sensed that she wouldn’t be believed. Alessio Capelli was a magnet for women. His profession should have acted as a deterrent but instead it seemed to increase his appeal—as if every woman on the planet wanted to prove that they could win over this notorious cynic. She stepped aside as another beautiful girl sauntered up to the bold curve of glass that formed the ultra-modern reception desk. ‘The boss is in the gym, taking out his frustrations on a punchbag. If that file he is waiting for ever arrives, send it straight up to him on the sixteenth floor.’ As she listened in to the conversation Lindsay’s gaze slid towards the bank of elevators at the back of the foyer. Could she? Her heart skipped a beat at the shear audacity of the idea. No, she couldn’t possibly. She didn’t break rules— But somehow her feet were walking—quickly. Waiting to feel a hand on her shoulder at any moment, Lindsay shot through the open doors and slammed her shaking hand onto the button that said sixteen. As the doors closed she felt nothing but relief and then realised that her respite was only temporary. She still had to get to Alessio Capelli. She still had to get to Alessio Capelli. Her heart was pumping, her palms were clammy and she fumbled with the lock of her bag as she searched frantically through the work she’d brought to do on the plane. Work she’d been too worried to touch. Exactly what sort of file was Alessio Capelli waiting for? Something buff-coloured and formal? Thick? Thin? Something in a sealed envelope? Hands shaking, she pulled out a file and tucked it under her arm. It didn’t look particularly official, but it would have to do. Sick with nerves, she checked her appearance in the mirrored wall. Looking back at her was a serious young woman dressed in a crisp white shirt and a straight black skirt that stopped just above the knee. Her pale blonde hair was twisted into a severe knot at the back of her head and her make-up was discreet and professional. She looked—businesslike. No wonder the receptionist hadn’t thought she was the sort of woman likely to have attracted the attention of Alessio Capelli, a man renowned for being seen with extremely beautiful women. Something stirred inside her. A tiny spark of female vanity that she tried almost instantly to suppress. But she had attracted his attention, hadn’t she? Once. Once, he’d noticed her. In fact he’d more than noticed her. If she hadn’t rejected him, they’d have— Lindsay put her hands on her skirt and slid it slowly up her thighs until it revealed the same amount of leg as the girl downstairs had been showing. She stared at herself for a moment. Then she gave a nervous start and let the skirt drop just as the lift doors opened. For crying out loud—what was she thinking? Trying to look confident, she approached a set of glass doors manned by a muscular security guard. Alessio Capelli certainly made sure he was well protected, she thought Alessio Capelli certainly made sure he was well protected, she thought dryly, wondering whether it was because of his indecent wealth or the number of enemies he’d made in the pursuit of that wealth. He was hard, cynical and ruthlessly ambitious. Unfortunately he was also sexier than any man had a right to be and Lindsay felt a moment of pure panic as the moment of confrontation grew closer. She focused her mind on her sister. Ruby. This was about Ruby, not her. Ruby was her one and only priority. ‘I’m here to see Alessio Capelli.’ She smiled at the security guard. ‘Sto cercando il Signor Capelli.’ The man looked at the file under her arm and immediately punched a number into a keypad. The doors opened, revealing a state-of-the-art gym offering an incredible view over the rooftops of Rome. Despite the breathtaking architecture, it was an all-male domain—the atmosphere thickened by testosterone, the room a melting pot of male ego, pumped muscle and raw aggression. The security guard took one look at her uncertain expression and gestured towards a man who was throwing hard, rhythmic punches at a bag. ‘That’s him. That’s the boss.’ Lindsay was grateful for his help because, without it, she never would have been able to identify the infamous Sicilian. It wasn’t what she’d expected of a billionaire with a taste for the finer things in life. But perhaps it was symbolic, she thought wryly, that Alessio Capelli had chosen this particular method of keeping his body in top physical condition. Did he run or lift weights like the other men in the room? No. He chose to thump the living daylights out of something. Which simply confirmed what she already knew—that he was a tough, ruthless, cold-hearted machine who knew nothing about emotion.