Shadow Rider
Page 5
Gritting her teeth, she went with Stefano because it was time to give the man a piece of her mind and she couldn’t do that in front of everyone. And also because he didn’t really give her any other choice. Not only were Pietro and Joanna staring at her, but once again, everyone in the store was as well. She didn’t like or need attention on her.
The blast of cold hit her as Stefano opened the door and allowed her to emerge first. She was too aware of him, of that hard, muscular body moving so close to hers. He kept her close with his grip, so that when she took a step, her body brushed against his continuously.
He stopped just outside the deli, to the right of the door, under the eaves. Her hands dropped to the buttons of his coat. Instantly his hand covered hers, preventing her from sliding the buttons open. His body blocked hers from the wind, crowding her. He put one hand to her belly and pushed gently until she took the three steps necessary for her back to be against the wall of the building, and then he easily caged her in.
“Use the money to eat something. Buy a decent pair of shoes. Do not give my coat away. I’m rather fond of it.”
His voice was a little impatient, definitely authoritative, as if everyone in the world would obey his every command—and they probably did. She detested that she was standing in front of the world’s hottest man and he could see she had nothing. Absolutely nothing. She wasn’t taking anything from him, either.
“I am not taking your money or your coat,” she snapped.
His hands kept hers trapped. His thumb slid over the back of her hand and even through the soft, buttery leather of the glove, the gesture sent a tingle of awareness down her spine.
“The coat is a loan, and the money . . .” He shrugged.
“I’m not taking it,” she reiterated.
“Is there a reason why you’re allowed to be kind, but I’m condemned for the same gesture?” he asked softly.
Her eyes met his and that was a mistake. A huge mistake. She felt as if she was falling into those hard, piercing eyes. She knew instantly he hadn’t given her the coat because he was being kind. She just didn’t know why he’d given it to her. Or why he’d taken an interest in her at all.
“Francesca?” he prompted.
She tried not to scowl at him. “No, of course not. It’s just difficult to accept charity.” She took a breath.
“It isn’t charity.”
That’s what she’d been afraid of. Her gaze slid away from his. “I can’t accept . . . That is . . . From you . . . Because you’re . . .” God. She couldn’t even talk. He was too close. Surrounding her with heat. Too handsome. Too dangerous. Too everything she wasn’t and would never be.
His jaw hardened even more if that was possible. She had her eyes fixed on his very sexy five-o’clock shadow so she saw very plainly his impatience. Her belly tightened into little hard, apprehensive knots. She couldn’t help herself; she pressed her hand deep to try to stop the tension coiling there. His gaze dropped to her hand and then came back up to her face.
“It’s because I have money.” He made it a statement.
His accusation stung, mostly because it was the truth. The color deepened in her face. He made her sound prejudiced. She hated that he called her on it, but the truth was, she would have been much more able to accept the coat from someone who had far less. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Of course that wasn’t the only reason, but she couldn’t enumerate those reasons, either. That he was gorgeous, superhot. Or that he was dangerous and she thought he might be a member of organized crime.
“Francesca.”
Her stomach somersaulted. He said her name low. Commanding. He was used to deference. Obedience. She took a breath.
“Look at me.”
She let her breath out slowly and forced her gaze up his handsome face until her eyes collided with his. Then the breath slammed out of her lungs, leaving her fighting for air.
“Keep. The. Fucking. Coat.” He bit out each word.
He scared the crap out of her. He wasn’t touching her or threatening her, but she felt menace rolling off of him in waves. There was no use fighting him on it. He was going to get his way. Both of them knew it.
“Thank you.” The words tasted a little bitter, but she managed to choke them out.
He nodded his head and glanced at his watch again. “Get something to eat,” he added, turning away from her. “I’ll be back for my coat.”
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Ferraro?”
He spun back. Graceful. Impatient. “Got things to do, Francesca.”
The blast of cold hit her as Stefano opened the door and allowed her to emerge first. She was too aware of him, of that hard, muscular body moving so close to hers. He kept her close with his grip, so that when she took a step, her body brushed against his continuously.
He stopped just outside the deli, to the right of the door, under the eaves. Her hands dropped to the buttons of his coat. Instantly his hand covered hers, preventing her from sliding the buttons open. His body blocked hers from the wind, crowding her. He put one hand to her belly and pushed gently until she took the three steps necessary for her back to be against the wall of the building, and then he easily caged her in.
“Use the money to eat something. Buy a decent pair of shoes. Do not give my coat away. I’m rather fond of it.”
His voice was a little impatient, definitely authoritative, as if everyone in the world would obey his every command—and they probably did. She detested that she was standing in front of the world’s hottest man and he could see she had nothing. Absolutely nothing. She wasn’t taking anything from him, either.
“I am not taking your money or your coat,” she snapped.
His hands kept hers trapped. His thumb slid over the back of her hand and even through the soft, buttery leather of the glove, the gesture sent a tingle of awareness down her spine.
“The coat is a loan, and the money . . .” He shrugged.
“I’m not taking it,” she reiterated.
“Is there a reason why you’re allowed to be kind, but I’m condemned for the same gesture?” he asked softly.
Her eyes met his and that was a mistake. A huge mistake. She felt as if she was falling into those hard, piercing eyes. She knew instantly he hadn’t given her the coat because he was being kind. She just didn’t know why he’d given it to her. Or why he’d taken an interest in her at all.
“Francesca?” he prompted.
She tried not to scowl at him. “No, of course not. It’s just difficult to accept charity.” She took a breath.
“It isn’t charity.”
That’s what she’d been afraid of. Her gaze slid away from his. “I can’t accept . . . That is . . . From you . . . Because you’re . . .” God. She couldn’t even talk. He was too close. Surrounding her with heat. Too handsome. Too dangerous. Too everything she wasn’t and would never be.
His jaw hardened even more if that was possible. She had her eyes fixed on his very sexy five-o’clock shadow so she saw very plainly his impatience. Her belly tightened into little hard, apprehensive knots. She couldn’t help herself; she pressed her hand deep to try to stop the tension coiling there. His gaze dropped to her hand and then came back up to her face.
“It’s because I have money.” He made it a statement.
His accusation stung, mostly because it was the truth. The color deepened in her face. He made her sound prejudiced. She hated that he called her on it, but the truth was, she would have been much more able to accept the coat from someone who had far less. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Of course that wasn’t the only reason, but she couldn’t enumerate those reasons, either. That he was gorgeous, superhot. Or that he was dangerous and she thought he might be a member of organized crime.
“Francesca.”
Her stomach somersaulted. He said her name low. Commanding. He was used to deference. Obedience. She took a breath.
“Look at me.”
She let her breath out slowly and forced her gaze up his handsome face until her eyes collided with his. Then the breath slammed out of her lungs, leaving her fighting for air.
“Keep. The. Fucking. Coat.” He bit out each word.
He scared the crap out of her. He wasn’t touching her or threatening her, but she felt menace rolling off of him in waves. There was no use fighting him on it. He was going to get his way. Both of them knew it.
“Thank you.” The words tasted a little bitter, but she managed to choke them out.
He nodded his head and glanced at his watch again. “Get something to eat,” he added, turning away from her. “I’ll be back for my coat.”
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Ferraro?”
He spun back. Graceful. Impatient. “Got things to do, Francesca.”
