Shadow Warrior, page 11
part #4 of Shadow Rider Series
Vittorio set her down right in front of the toilet and she found she couldn’t look at him, her face turning a particularly unattractive shade of red. He bunched her skirt in one hand and pushed it into her fist. “Stand still and wait for me to help. I don’t want you to jar your shoulder. You’re about done in.”
“You can’t help me.”
He was already crouched down in front of her, his hands hooking into the waistband of her panties. His eyes met hers and once again, her stomach did a peculiar flip. “Someone has to, and I’m all you’ve got. I like helping you, Grace. It’s a privilege. This is just part of life. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed.”
“It isn’t very sexy,” she groused before she could stop herself. If she’d had any choice at all she would have insisted on doing it herself, but she knew she’d fall on her face. She had to lie down as soon as possible and she just wanted this over.
He slid her panties down, and then stood to help her sit. “There isn’t much about you that isn’t sexy, bella, but I understand what you’re saying.” He walked away from her, leaving her in the room with the toilet, but with the door open. The rest of the bathroom was enormous, so much so that she was fairly certain her entire apartment could fit into it. She’d glimpsed a double sink, all gleaming marble with gold faucets.
She didn’t have any choice. If she’d been thinking about it, she would have protested coming to his home, but she was just so grateful someone else had taken over and she didn’t have to think too much about anything. This was a huge lesson. She tried not to cry, because she knew it had been a long, terrible day with the revelations about Haydon and the things he’d done. The fact that he was crawling around in the hospital vents, which she knew might happen, made her uneasy for Vittorio’s family. If Haydon could get into the hospital, why couldn’t he get into their homes?
She managed to stand unsteadily, swaying, feeling as if she might fall over at any moment, but wiping was disastrous until she figured out how to tuck her skirt under her arm while she took care of business. How did people do this when they didn’t have help? If she’d gone home to her apartment, she would have been in a real mess. She needed to be grateful, not worried about her dignity.
“You ready, il mia gattina?”
“Yes. I just have to wash my hands. Hand. Whatever.”
“You look exhausted. I’m sorry it was such a long drive. I was afraid if I took you in the helicopter it would be too jarring when it set down.”
“You have a helicopter?”
“Yes, of course. I have to get places fast at times. We all have one close for transport.” He lifted her and carried her through to the twin sinks, so she could wash her hand. The other was cuffed out of the way, holding her arm stable. She knew he couldn’t fail to feel her body trembling. Every movement was jarring now, no matter how careful and smooth he was. She clenched her teeth together to keep from making a sound.
“Don’t do that, Grace. When you’re hurting, you need to tell me. I’d like you to make an effort to share what you’re feeling, good or bad, with me. I’ll do the same. If we’re honest with each other in our communication this will work for us.” He set her on the bed and went down on one knee to remove her shoes.
“I’d be the biggest whiner in the history of mankind.”
“To tell me the honest truth about what you need?” His eyes met hers. “I don’t think so. I think that’s called communication. I’m asking you to try. For me. That’s what I need from you. Honesty.”
“I thought you’d have staff, a housekeeper, someone who would do this while you worked.” Tiny beads of sweat formed on her forehead and trickled down her chest. She wanted to close her eyes and just go to sleep, but the pain was swamping her to the point there was a roaring in her ears and chaos beginning in her mind.
“Would you prefer them to me?”
There it was was again, that hurt in his eyes. Maybe hurt. Something. Sadness. That was it. She detested that look. He shouldn’t ever feel unhappy. It was more than unhappy. Desolate, as if he was completely alone and she’d taken his last joy from him. It wasn’t the truth anyway. Of course she would prefer him to help her. If it meant so much to him, who cared about her dignity? What was she thinking? That he’d find her sexy and want to spend the rest of his life with her? Now she was believing the fiancé lie.
She took a breath and shook her head. “No, Vittorio. I just hate to be a bother to you. I’m certain you have more important things to do than to carry me to the bathroom.” She tried to make her statement sound a little humorous, but her voice was too strained.
“Believe me, helping you is the most important thing to me right now.”
He shook a pill from a bottle and handed it to her and then held out a cool bottle of water that was already sitting on the nightstand. It had beads of condensation on it, which meant someone else was in the house. She shivered and glanced up to look at the vents piping in the air-conditioning.
“He can’t get in here,” Vittorio assured. “We have all sorts of alarms he wouldn’t have a clue about. Just to be safe, I had my men go through every vent and add more precautions. You need to lie down. Let’s get this skirt off.”
Her first fleeting thought was to protest, but she was too tired, and the skirt was heavy. Everything felt heavy. She just wanted to lie down. The faster she managed to do that, the better the chances to go to sleep. She pressed her feet to the mattress and lifted her hips, so he could slide the skirt off her, leaving her in the semi-sheer stretch lace low-rise boy short underwear his sister had brought for her. She had them in every color. They were the only panties she had with her. The back rose up to show off her cheeks and there were little laces threaded through the material right at the seam of her cheeks, giving them a corset effect and showing off a lot of her bottom.
She didn’t even blush. She couldn’t. He had pulled back the covers to reveal ivory sheets. She slid both legs between the cool sheets and let him help her lie back. The shifting of her body from upright to prone had black edges pouring around the light so she was afraid she might actually faint. It felt like it. Dizziness swamped her and without thinking she reached for him to steady her. An anchor. She was already beginning to think of him like that.
His hand turned to catch hers, strong fingers closing over her entire hand, enveloping it, and then his thumb was there, back to sliding caresses over her skin. She concentrated on the way the movement made her feel, letting it soothe her, letting it chase away the dizziness.
“Thank you, Vittorio.”
“You’re very welcome, Grace. I’ve had an intercom installed. You just press this button.” He put what appeared to be a remote onto the mattress beside her hand. “If you need me for any reason, I’ll be here immediately.”
She nodded, but she didn’t want him to leave. Her body was already adjusting to the position, so the brutal pain was easing enough that she knew she could sleep if she wasn’t so programmed to fear Haydon could find her and hurt her. She looked up again at the vents. They were up along the high ceilings and down along the floor. Everywhere. He had too many ways in. She told herself not to be a baby or a bother, but . . .
“I’m going to stay here, Grace,” Vittorio assured suddenly. “I won’t leave while you’re asleep. He’s not going to get past my guards, and he won’t get past me. He can’t gas us without setting off alarms, and the alarms have battery backups, so he can’t disable the system. You’re safe here. I’m not leaving you, bella, so close your eyes for me and go to sleep.”
She felt the whisper of his fingers slide over her eyes, and then along her temples and back to her eyes. Vittorio made it easy to feel safe with him. She didn’t fully understand why, when she hadn’t allowed anyone close to her since she was a child, she trusted Vittorio Ferraro. It was a strange choice, but he made her feel safe, when no one else ever had. She let her lashes sweep down and drifted away on a sea of pain but dreaming of a man who stood in front of her, refusing to allow Haydon Phillips to terrify her anymore.
* * *
• • •
Grace woke choking in the dark, fighting, pinned down, trying to kick her way free. Her legs were tangled in the sheets. Her body was drenched in sweat, so much so that her hair was clinging to her head in a damp mess. Her heart pounded wildly, and her lungs refused to work properly. She heard sobbing and knew she was the one crying, but she was so disconnected from it that she couldn’t find a way to stop.
“Grace, you’re okay. I’m right here.”
The voice came out of the darkness. Low. Gentle. Calm. She barely heard over the roar of her blood in her ears. Still, the sound caught at her and she clung to it like an anchor in a storm.
“Open your eyes for me, gattina. I’m right here with you. I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder. I want you to feel my touch, know it’s me.”
There was no mistaking Vittorio’s voice or his touch. His voice was like velvet, wiping away every bad memory. The sound filled those places inside her that were empty and frightened, a child cowering in her room, waiting for the demon to destroy her. It seemed as if Haydon had always been there, crouched like an evil entity, ready to rip her to pieces. Vittorio had found a way to push that relentless fear she’d been conditioned to feel into the background.
His hand moved lightly on her good shoulder, and at once she felt his calm spread through the panic gripping her. She fought the sensation of choking and struggled to take a breath, to allow his quiet composure to calm her. The pads of his fingers traced down her cheeks and then brushed at the tears there.
“He’s not here, Grace. I am. He can’t get to you.” He snapped on a low light, one that didn’t hurt her eyes, but allowed her to see around the room. “I want you to look at me, bella. Really see me. I don’t want you to have any illusions about who I am.”
Her gaze darted fearfully to every corner, then to the vents before coming to rest on Vittorio’s face. It was a strong face and it held masculine beauty, as if a sculptor had carved his finest work. She made herself really study his face, get past the beauty to see what was really Vittorio, the man. There was the stamp of ruthlessness. Danger. Power. He looked invincible. Implacable. So many things that could be negative. She could also see his protective streak. His caring. His sense of responsibility. Vittorio Ferraro was a man of mystery, but she was beginning to think of him as hers. She probably should have been afraid of him, but he brought her such a sense of well-being that fearing him was impossible.
“I’m going to get these sheets off of you and move you to the chair.”
He had a tone that indicated he was in complete charge and could be relied on to solve any problem. She knew, because in her business, that was the role she played—problem solver—and she was very good at it. She found it was especially tempting to be able to just not think, to let him do it for her. Her mind was in chaos and she just wanted to be wrapped up in his protection, just for a little while, until she gained her strength and will to fight back.
Vittorio pulled the sheets off her, unwinding them from her legs and stripping the top sheet from the bed. He slid her off the mattress, lifting her easily so that she was cradled against his chest.
“I need a shower.”
“You’re fine. We’ll take care of that tomorrow morning.”
“You’re not showering with me.” She was a little shocked at herself. The image of him naked in the shower with her was . . . intriguing.
His laughter was low and carried sensual undertones that seemed to slide under her skin to wreak havoc with her nerve endings.
“As much as the thought is tempting, I’ll wait until you’re fully healed.”
She should have laughed it off, but she found her gaze meeting his. “Are we going to shower together?”
“Yes, Grace. We will definitely be showering together.”
Her heart thudded. “We’re not really engaged, Vittorio.”
“Yes, we are really engaged, but we wouldn’t have to be to shower together, my little innocent. Since we are, you don’t have to look so shocked.”
“Why do you insist on saying we’re engaged?”
“Because I intend to marry you.”
“Why?”
He set her in a very comfortable chair that was right in front of the gas fireplace built into the wall. “Because the moment I saw you, I knew you were the one I’d been searching for. I’ve been all over the world, met all kinds of women, and I know you’re right for me.”
She watched him strip the bed and remake it with clean sheets. He did it with sure hands, as if he’d been doing such a thing for years when she knew he had people who must have made his beds for him from the time he was born.
“I don’t know you.”
“You have great instincts, Grace. What do your instincts tell you?”
“That you’re very sexy and I’m very vulnerable right now.”
He glanced up from changing the pillowcases. “At least you think I’m sexy. That’s a start. Just give us a little time before you make up your mind.”
She remained silent, afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid to allow her brain to make any decisions, right or wrong, when she was doped up and in such a mess.
CHAPTER SIX
Come in, Vittorio,” Grace invited, swinging around to face the door at the knock. The window seat was tempting, but she refused to give in to the need to sit down. Her shoulder felt very heavy. After showering and struggling to get dressed, even with Emmanuelle’s help, she was already exhausted, but determined that Vittorio wouldn’t see that. Still, she was grateful for the cuff that held her wrist up to help immobilize her injured shoulder.
The moment the door opened, her stomach did a slow somersault, the way it often did when Vittorio first walked into a room. Every time, she found herself staring at his wide shoulders and defined chest. He walked like she imagined a panther might stalk prey, fluid and powerful, giving the illusion of danger, though she knew him to be gentle and kind.
He flashed his heart-stopping smile, those indigo eyes drifting over her, taking in every detail. She knew he saw everything about her, because he always knew what she wanted or needed. It didn’t matter that she tried to keep from him how much just dressing wore her out; he would see it. That was both disconcerting and exhilarating.
“Good morning, gattina. You look better this morning. Your color is good.”
“Good morning, Vittorio.” She knew he preferred her to acknowledge his greeting. It was a small enough courtesy to give when he was doing so much for her. “I think cutting back even more on the pain medication helped. I feel much more alert and able to handle things.” She wanted to make that clear. She didn’t want to be a burden on him. She’d already taken up three weeks of his time.
“That’s good. I thought you might prefer to have breakfast in the kitchen. You haven’t really had time to explore, and I want you to feel at home here.” He held out his hand.
Grace did her best to try to be that woman who helped run a multimillion-dollar-a-year business, but when she was around him, she liked that feeling he gave her of taking care of her. She’d never had anyone take real care of her. He focused completely on her and saw to her every need. She told herself every day that she shouldn’t want that, that she was independent and could do for herself—but so far, she hadn’t convinced herself.
At her job, she saw to every detail behind the scenes of every event and had absolute confidence in herself. She did the ordering and was insistent about getting exactly what their clients asked for—and on time. She’d earned a reputation as a strong, exacting businesswoman who let nothing and nobody stand in her way when it came to ensuring that KB’s venues were the absolute best and worth every penny they charged.
But she wasn’t that woman around Vittorio. She was wholly a woman, totally attracted, and more, glowing in his care. The fact that she liked having a man care for her shocked her. She didn’t want to get used to that much attention. It was too addictive. Already, he’d ruined her for any other man. She would always compare every man she met to him—and no other would fare very well.
Vittorio stood in the doorway, his hand out to her, and watched her cross the room to him. He didn’t take his gaze from her face, and his expression sent heat curling through her body to pool low. His fingers wrapped around hers, that first touch of his strong hand making her heart beat faster. The way he drew her so gently to him felt like care. He bent his head slowly to hers, always giving her time to withdraw—which she knew she should but never did.
She waited. Anticipated. His lips were sensual. Perfect. Those beautiful eyes were framed with long, thick black lashes. He was—gorgeous was the only adjective that came to mind. She almost went up on her toes. She had enough dignity not to, but she did lift her face to his. His mouth skimmed hers. The briefest of touches. It didn’t matter that the kiss was brief, the effect on her was instantaneous.
Fireworks exploded in her veins—in her belly. Electricity short-circuited, zapping her, so every nerve ending sparked hot and wild. Liquid heat raced through her body, spreading like a wildfire. From a touch. One touch. She couldn’t look at him when he lifted his head. She lowered her lashes to veil her expression. Vittorio’s hand cupped her chin and lifted her face so, in spite of her intentions, her gaze jumped to his. Immediately she felt like she was drowning in all that dark, beautiful blue. There was no hiding from him. He never allowed it.
“What is it, Grace?”
Even his low voice was sexy to her. How was she going to explain that to him? She had to work to suppress a groan, feeling a little foolish. She’d saved his life and he was repaying her by taking care of her. She was falling fast, probably, if she had to be logical, because no one had ever made her feel safe or cared for. He’d done both and on top of that, he made her feel like a beautiful, desirable woman.
