Shadow Rider
Page 70
“He wouldn’t go that crazy.”
“Honey,” Enzo said. “He did.”
That didn’t bode well. She followed Emilio back into the store, Enzo trailing close behind. To her shock, she recognized two of Stefano’s brothers lounging by the door, as if they were draped there very casually, but there was nothing casual in their expressions when their gazes settled on her face.
Enzo took her elbow and walked her around the counter straight to Stefano’s brothers. “She was protecting him,” he greeted with a small grin.
Francesca rolled her eyes. “It isn’t that funny.”
Taviano broke into a smile. Ricco didn’t, but his eyebrow shot up.
“Seriously?” Taviano asked. “This is priceless. Can’t wait for him to find out.”
“I’d like to know what prompted your sudden desire to make a run for it,” Ricco said, “but let’s take this outside. We have an audience.”
Francesca was acutely aware of the silence in the store. It was packed with customers, yet no one was making purchases or conversing with a neighbor. All eyes were on her and the Ferraro brothers.
Ricco yanked open the door, lifted his chin at Pietro, took her elbow and marched her out of the store. As he did so, Stefano’s Aston Martin pulled smoothly to the curb. Without missing a beat, Ricco opened the door, put a hand to the top of her head when she hesitated, forced her into the car and shut the door.
Francesca took a deep breath and turned her head to face Stefano. The atmosphere in the confines of the car was searing. She could see why. He was seething. A tendril of unease snaked down her spine. “Stefano . . .”
“Put your seat belt on.” He waited, blue eyes like flames, burning a hole through her.
She was insane. She knew she was, because Stefano Ferraro was furious. His fury burned all the oxygen out of the air, but she still felt absolutely safe. Happy. Relieved. Uncaring that he might roar at her, because she knew categorically that Stefano would never lay a hand on her in anger and that he wasn’t about to let her go.
She snapped the belt into place. “I’m sorry you felt you had to leave work.”
“It might be best if you didn’t talk while I’m driving.”
She was fine with that. She knew it was a small reprieve, but she didn’t care. The interior of the car was warm, and Stefano’s wide shoulders and rock-hard body gave her the illusion of complete well-being. For the first time since she’d seen Barry’s man draw his finger across his throat, she breathed easier.
She sat in silence, admiring the way Stefano drove—with speed, but very controlled. He drove right up to the front doors of the hotel, got out, tossed his keys to the valet and reached in for her. His grip was strong, a vise around her upper arm.
“You forgot your coat,” he observed, his voice clipped. Still angry.
“I’m beginning to think you might be a little obsessed with coats, Stefano,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “You should see someone for that.”
He didn’t smile or loosen his grip. He went through the double glass doors, across the lobby and straight to his private elevator. The minute they stepped inside, he put a hand to her belly and pushed her against the wall, caught her wrists in his hands, pinning them against the wall on either side of her head and settled his mouth over hers.
Hot. Searching. Angry. Hungry. He poured those emotions into her, his body aggressive against hers. She took his scorching heat, not even pretending to resist. She hadn’t known she’d ached for his mouth on hers ever since he’d kissed her that morning, but the moment it happened, need surged through her.
Hunger rose, sharp and terrible. Electrical sparks seemed to jump from his skin to hers. Her body reacted, going pliant, breasts aching, nipples peaking into twin, tight buds, her body slick and hot with welcome. She kissed him back, giving herself to him. Letting his mouth take command of her.
If he intended the kiss as a punishment, it quickly evolved into something altogether different. By the time the elevator reached the penthouse, her knees had gone weak and Stefano was forced to hold her up. Every single cell in her body was alive and reaching for him. He took his mouth from hers and she chased after it, lifting her face in an effort to prevent him from leaving her.
Stefano wrapped his arm around her, keeping her upright as he guided her off the elevator and into the foyer of the penthouse. “At least you know you belong to me,” he snapped, anger still infusing his voice.
If he could kiss like that when he was angry, he was in for trouble, because she wouldn’t mind making him really angry if that was what she received every time. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and went with him into the spacious great room. It was long and wide and had several couches and chairs. He took her straight to the one in front of the fireplace and put her into it.
“Honey,” Enzo said. “He did.”
That didn’t bode well. She followed Emilio back into the store, Enzo trailing close behind. To her shock, she recognized two of Stefano’s brothers lounging by the door, as if they were draped there very casually, but there was nothing casual in their expressions when their gazes settled on her face.
Enzo took her elbow and walked her around the counter straight to Stefano’s brothers. “She was protecting him,” he greeted with a small grin.
Francesca rolled her eyes. “It isn’t that funny.”
Taviano broke into a smile. Ricco didn’t, but his eyebrow shot up.
“Seriously?” Taviano asked. “This is priceless. Can’t wait for him to find out.”
“I’d like to know what prompted your sudden desire to make a run for it,” Ricco said, “but let’s take this outside. We have an audience.”
Francesca was acutely aware of the silence in the store. It was packed with customers, yet no one was making purchases or conversing with a neighbor. All eyes were on her and the Ferraro brothers.
Ricco yanked open the door, lifted his chin at Pietro, took her elbow and marched her out of the store. As he did so, Stefano’s Aston Martin pulled smoothly to the curb. Without missing a beat, Ricco opened the door, put a hand to the top of her head when she hesitated, forced her into the car and shut the door.
Francesca took a deep breath and turned her head to face Stefano. The atmosphere in the confines of the car was searing. She could see why. He was seething. A tendril of unease snaked down her spine. “Stefano . . .”
“Put your seat belt on.” He waited, blue eyes like flames, burning a hole through her.
She was insane. She knew she was, because Stefano Ferraro was furious. His fury burned all the oxygen out of the air, but she still felt absolutely safe. Happy. Relieved. Uncaring that he might roar at her, because she knew categorically that Stefano would never lay a hand on her in anger and that he wasn’t about to let her go.
She snapped the belt into place. “I’m sorry you felt you had to leave work.”
“It might be best if you didn’t talk while I’m driving.”
She was fine with that. She knew it was a small reprieve, but she didn’t care. The interior of the car was warm, and Stefano’s wide shoulders and rock-hard body gave her the illusion of complete well-being. For the first time since she’d seen Barry’s man draw his finger across his throat, she breathed easier.
She sat in silence, admiring the way Stefano drove—with speed, but very controlled. He drove right up to the front doors of the hotel, got out, tossed his keys to the valet and reached in for her. His grip was strong, a vise around her upper arm.
“You forgot your coat,” he observed, his voice clipped. Still angry.
“I’m beginning to think you might be a little obsessed with coats, Stefano,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “You should see someone for that.”
He didn’t smile or loosen his grip. He went through the double glass doors, across the lobby and straight to his private elevator. The minute they stepped inside, he put a hand to her belly and pushed her against the wall, caught her wrists in his hands, pinning them against the wall on either side of her head and settled his mouth over hers.
Hot. Searching. Angry. Hungry. He poured those emotions into her, his body aggressive against hers. She took his scorching heat, not even pretending to resist. She hadn’t known she’d ached for his mouth on hers ever since he’d kissed her that morning, but the moment it happened, need surged through her.
Hunger rose, sharp and terrible. Electrical sparks seemed to jump from his skin to hers. Her body reacted, going pliant, breasts aching, nipples peaking into twin, tight buds, her body slick and hot with welcome. She kissed him back, giving herself to him. Letting his mouth take command of her.
If he intended the kiss as a punishment, it quickly evolved into something altogether different. By the time the elevator reached the penthouse, her knees had gone weak and Stefano was forced to hold her up. Every single cell in her body was alive and reaching for him. He took his mouth from hers and she chased after it, lifting her face in an effort to prevent him from leaving her.
Stefano wrapped his arm around her, keeping her upright as he guided her off the elevator and into the foyer of the penthouse. “At least you know you belong to me,” he snapped, anger still infusing his voice.
If he could kiss like that when he was angry, he was in for trouble, because she wouldn’t mind making him really angry if that was what she received every time. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and went with him into the spacious great room. It was long and wide and had several couches and chairs. He took her straight to the one in front of the fireplace and put her into it.
