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Assembling
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Italy With A Duke Assault
Caitlyn’s anguished cry stung through her split lip, but she couldn’t have suppressed it if she’d tried. The entire scene before her unfolded like some unspeakable nightmare as Richards’ ‘boss’ unholstered his sidearm and fired it directly into the thigh of one of the men standing in the cell with him. Her eyes squeezed shut, her tears leaving icy trails down her cheeks, but even the ring of her cry off the stone walls couldn’t drown out the sound of the wounded man’s body striking the cell floor or his burbling groan of misery and pain. “Dr. Maddox, you’re trying my patience,” Mitchell Jantzi warned. ‘Patience’!? Her eyes flew open wide, her terror reflected there. For a second they lingered on Jantzi standing above her, then flicked to the downed man, blood spurting over his fingers clutching the wound and running in a growing pool of red varnish across the hard stone floor. The others in the cell with her stood rooted to their spots, vigilant and wary.
Italy With A Duke First Strike
Though Jay kept Duke pinned to the ground, one hand shot to his earpiece. Morse code dots and dashes clicked rapidly in his ear, a hasty relay of the information that his infiltrators—codenamed for chess pieces—had gleaned from their stealthy intrusion into the crumbling Florentine villa. Lifting his knee off of Duke’s back, he got to his feet and his opposite hand shot to his two-way radio. “I want all knights to meet Al on channel three-point-six. Al, you relay directly to me with the bishops on four-point-two. Knights one, two and three—take the north and east entrances. Knights, four, five and six—you’re on the south and west. Remaining knights, you’re with me.” He extended a hand, pulling Duke to his feet as he continued issuing brusque orders. “Safeties off. I want the first level secured in three minutes. Use gas to force any escapees into the lower level and drive them out the northwest stairwell to us. Do not engage them while they have the hostage.” Without waiting for fur
Italy With A Duke Standoff
Without hesitation, Duke reached for his holstered gun. He took aim down the barrel of Richards’ handgun, stunned to find the man’s attention directed elsewhere. Badly bruised and covered in blood, Caitlyn stood, a government-issue revolver, like Richards’, gripped in her hand. Her dark hair was disheveled and matted with dried blood, and an ugly bruise stained her cheek, spreading towards one eye. Her bottom lip was split and caked with dry blood, the smears of it discoloring along her delicate jaw and neck. Though slight, the hands that clutched the firearm were rock-steady, and it was obvious from her stance she wasn’t a stranger to guns. She had the revolver pointed squarely at Richards’ head. A rush of admiration flooded him in tandem with the torrent of relief. He’d gotten here in time. She was alive. Breathing. For the moment. “If you pull that trigger, reflexively, I will pull mine, Dr. Maddox,” Richards warned softly, staring her down with steely eyes. “And this time I’m a
Italy With A Duke Crafty
One of Jay’s medics tended to Caitlyn’s injuries in the van on the drive back to Florence under Duke’s watchful eye. Beside her, Rachel fussed over her like a mother hen, periodically sparing a brief, blatantly hostile glance towards the smirking Jay, who eyed her like a predator does a particularly tasty snack. Shell-shocked and still fighting the effects of the drug in her system, Caitlyn stared sightlessly out the rear window. Duke knew her thoughts were a private fortress of hell that she’d built to protect the rest of them, but he also knew her well enough to know he couldn’t force her out of it. He’d have to lay siege, then gently coax her into negotiations to talk through her mental anguish. Still, he struggled with her silence, particularly after what she’d experienced and witnessed. “Darlin’? You okay?” he asked gently, his voice low and soothing, the way he’d talk to a skittish horse. Her warm toffee eyes dilated and focused, and she stared at him,
Italy With A Duke Safe-keeping
“Caitlyn.” She must’ve fallen asleep because Duke’s low rumbling voice penetrated her consciousness through a sludgy haze, along with the recognition of the gradual slowing of the van they were traveling in. A soft groan escaped her as she opened her eyes—or at least mostly opened them. One had swollen nearly shut from the abuse she’d taken, and her head ached miserably with the residual of the drug in her system. She startled, flinching violently at the ruckus and chatter that ensued as the van stopped and the sliding door was flung open. “Dr. Maddox?” Jay extended a hand to her to help her out of the vehicle, staring at her with a quizzical expression when she refused to take it with a tight shake of her head. “Um. Duke?” Beside him, Rachel turned. “Caitlyn?” Caught in the irrational grip of fear, Caitlyn froze, sucking in air in shallow little hisses through her parted lips. Behind her, Duke gave a silent jerk of his head towards Jay. With
Italy With A Duke Widow
Tears welled in Caitlyn’s liquid caramel eyes and he could see her flinch as the salt stung the tender abrasions and cuts in her abused skin. Releasing her chin, he caressed her hair and brushed a light kiss against her forehead. “Never mind, darlin’. Whatever it is, it’ll wait. I’m here and I’m not leaving you. Not ever again.” Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she shook her head against his chest, too afraid to look up and confront the emotions in his eyes. “Be-before you commit to those things, you need to know,” she said quietly. His heavy man-sigh penetrated all the way to her heart, piercing and sharp. “What do I need to know?” “You heard—wh-what he said.” Wrapped in his arms as she was, she felt his simple nod. Duke had heard a few things—enough. At least for his own peace of mind. He couldn’t imagine there being more. Certainly nothing that he couldn’t reconcile his conscience to about Agent Richards or his former boss, Jantzi. “You h-heard what I—what I said?” “
Italy With A Duke Confession
Caitlyn sucked in a sharp breath through parted lips that ached from the splits in them. She wished she hadn’t said that—it had come out in the worst possible way and there was no way to reverse it. Her eyes squeezed shut, the swollen one shooting a lancing pain into her head. Pressing against Duke’s chest, she would have pulled away, but his arms tightened around her, refusing her escape. He shook his head. “No. Stay right where you are. I’ve spent three years watching you from a distance. In love with a woman that I wasn’t supposed to have. I’m tired of the space between us,” he told her in a harsh whisper, an edge to his voice that sent a shiver racing over her. “Whatever this is, Caitlyn. Whatever you’ve done, you need to tell me. That’s all I ask. And you need to know, whatever it is, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go.” “Duke, I—.” He silenced her protest with a kiss, tender against her abused lips despite the severity of his words. There was no
Italy With A Duke Guilty
Duke tucked his mouth up close at her ear. “If you’re guilty, Caitlyn, then so am I.” Her pulse quickened and her toes curled, a zinging tingle sweeping over her flesh as his breath stirred her hair, tickled across the whorl of her ear. “I don’t care about the right or wrong of it, darlin’. I can’t see beyond this minute. Or next week. All I can see is you. And you’re too good, Caitlyn. Too pure of heart and intention to ever maliciously hurt someone else.” “But Duke—,” she tried urgently, but he continued, his words spilling over his lips, across her trembling flesh. She turned her head into his shoulder, breathed in the clean, warm, distinctly male scent of him. “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care what you’ve done.” His mouth closed, warm and insistent, over the tip of one breast and she shuddered, her fingers diving into his hair. “But I’m afraid to lose you,” he assured her, moving to the taut tip of the opposite breast to pay its due. “I’m afraid to lose the love of my life
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