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He smothered the laugh that rose in his throat, biting it back with a growl.

“I can do it myself.”

“Not at this angle,” he countered firmly, already opening the bandage.

Still, she tried to pull her hand away. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to that dangerous growl he usually reserved for men who crossed him. “Listen, Madelaine. You’re a guest in my house. My job is to protect you, even from yourself. Now hold still and let me bandage this cut, or I swear, I’ll tie you down and do it anyway. Either way, you’re not getting off this counter until I know that you’re okay.”

The words left his mouth before he thought better of them. Tie her down. The image that flashed behind his eyes was anything but medical. His pulse jumped, his jaw locking as he fought to leash the rush of heat pounding through him.

“Fine!” she snapped as her cheeks turned an appealing pink.

He gave her one last glare before focusing on the task. He smoothed the bandage into place, not too tight, not too loose. His fingers lingered, pressing the edges flat. Maybe longer than necessary because her skin was warm beneath his touch, soft as satin, and it sent a jolt straight through him.

When he looked at her, he caught a flicker in her eyes again, something he couldn’t name before she looked away. And then, she hopped down from the counter.

“Thank you,” she said quickly. “I have something to do in my room.”

She was gone before he could respond, leaving him there with a pounding heart, a hard ache he couldn’t will away, and a stream of curses under his breath for ever thinking this plan would be simple.

Chapter 9

“What am I doing wrong?” Madelaine whispered into the phone.

Catarina sighed. “I have no idea. I only met Paulo a couple of times before he offered to hide you.”

“I don’t even know if my father is still looking for me,” Madelaine grumbled, dropping backwards into the mound of pillows on the bed. She stared at the satin canopy above, distracted for a moment by the folds of fabric that shimmered in the late morning light. “What if I’m hiding here for nothing?”

“He’s still looking,” Catarina said firmly. “I heard Tony talking to Sal about it the other day. Your father’s furious that he can’t find you. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. Stay in Paulo’s house. From what I’ve heard, it’s big enough that you could avoid him for weeks if you had to.”

“It is,” Madelaine groaned, rubbing her forehead. “How did you tame Sal?”

Catarina laughed, the sound muffled by someone grumbling in the background. Probably Sal. “There’s no taming my husband. He can be distracted, maybe, but never tamed.”

Madelaine smiled. Good. Catarina deserved joy. They both had fathers who treated daughters like bargaining chips. At least Enrico Bianchi had only dangled Catarina as a prize. Ronan Keane had gone further, selling her outright.

“Although,” Catarina added slyly, “a pan of brownies helps. Add some peppermint, and he’s practically a teddy bear.” There was another laugh, a playful gasp, and Madelaine could almost see her friend beaming.

“Baked goods. Got it,” Madelaine muttered, pursing her lips. She didn’t know how to bake. Finishing schools didn’t cover making food. They assumed their students would marry into households with private chefs and catered parties.

There was another growl, quickly followed by more laughter.

Madelaine chuckled, shaking her head. “Okay, I’m hanging up now,” she announced, rolling her eyes. “If you think of any more advice, let me know.”

“Will do,” Catarina replied, already distracted by her husband in the background.

Madelaine ended the call and set her phone aside, then looked around the luxurious bedroom. The soothing blues and creams only made her feel more restless. Baking? Maybe she could figure it out. Not to “tempt the beast,” she told herself firmly, but because the thought of creating something, anything, sounded better than fidgeting her days away. Maybe she could get good at it, maybe turn it into work. Restaurants hired cooks. Bakeries needed staff.

She slid off the bed, determination stiffening her spine, and padded downstairs.

The kitchen was warm, redolent with the scents of coffee and cleaning polish. Rosa was wiping down the counters, her movements brisk and cheerful.

“Hi there!” the housekeeper called out, as friendly as ever. She swished her cloth over the marble one last time, then looked up with a bright smile. “Do you need anything?”

She smiled at the kind woman. “I was wondering if I might…make some cookies?” she asked hesitantly.

Rosa’s face lit up. “I love baking. What kind would you like? I’ll have a batch in the oven in no time.”

Madelaine shook her head quickly. “No…um… actually, I’d like to try myself. I want to figure this out. Baking, cooking—something useful. Maybe as a way to…?” She trailed off, cheeks heating. Saying it out loud made her sound, and feel, ridiculous. “Well, I just thought it might be a good skill to learn.”