Shadow Rider
Page 127
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Francesca wasn’t certain how to respond. He seemed shaken and she didn’t really understand what she’d done. “Honey, you’re every bit as important to me as I am to you. I want to take care of you. No, that isn’t right. I need to take care of you. You matter, Stefano.” She sat up and held out her hand to him.
He stared at her hand for a long time. “You asked me a couple of scary questions, Francesca. I gave you a couple of scary answers. You didn’t flinch, but I saw it in your eyes that you thought you might not be able to live with those answers. I’m not altogether certain I could give you up now, but I’d try if you need to leave me. I can’t walk away from what I do—it’s too important. But you should have a choice, so I’m going to attempt to be a better man and give that to you. A onetime offer.”
She could see that it killed him to make the offer. Killed him. She kept her hand outstretched toward him. “I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to. I don’t know how I would survive without you.”
He stared at her for another heartbeat and then he ignored her hand and took her right back down to the bed. It was a long time before they got their bath or food.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Francesca woke with her heart pounding and her mouth dry, the taste of blood in her mouth. Her tongue found the small tear in her lip where she’d bit it to keep from screaming and screaming like she wanted to. Instantly she felt his arms. His thigh between hers. His body wrapped around hers, keeping her safe. Stefano. She drew in breath and took his scent into her lungs.
“Bambina.”
His voice was soft. Warm. So gentle it turned her heart over. One of her favorite things to do with him was just lie in bed and listen to him talk, especially about the neighborhood and the people in it. The affection in his voice was always stark and real. She especially loved these moments—in the dark, surrounded by his protective body and his voice sliding over her like the touch of his fingers. Caressing. Soothing. Driving away the remnants of her nightmares.
Stefano was always gentle with her in the middle of the night when she woke, his mouth soft against her skin, his driving needs held in check while he comforted her.
“What was it?”
“He’s coming for me.” Her heart still pounded. Her stomach felt queasy. She knew there was no way Barry Anthon would have missed the news that Francesca Capello was engaged to marry Stefano Ferraro. The announcement was in all the news. In magazines. Television. Stefano’s publicist handled everything and made certain information on the engagement was spread far and wide.
“That’s the idea, dolce cuore. We want him to come after us. We want him out of your life once and for all. That means drawing him out. Letting him make a mistake.”
“You can’t underestimate him, Stefano,” she warned, a cold shiver creeping down her spine.
He stroked her rib cage with the pads of his fingers. Traced his name, brushing the letters until they looped on the underside of her breasts. He painted little sparks of electricity all over her breasts with soft, unhurried touches. His hand moved back to her rib cage and he tugged until she rolled onto her back. He kissed the marks at her throat and over her breast, featherlight kisses to remove every trace of the sting of a knife.
Francesca’s heart jerked hard in her chest at the sight of his face so close to her. God, but he was gorgeous. Impossible to resist. “I’ve fallen so hard for you, Stefano,” she whispered. “Please be real. Please don’t hurt me. I don’t think I’d survive it.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it.
She knew what she was revealing to him. Those fragile feelings she couldn’t help. Stefano was larger than life. A throwback to an era gone by when men were fiercely protective of women and children. Where having a code meant something. Giving his word and keeping it was a matter of honor.
His blue eyes burned over her like twin flames, taking her breath. So intense. Desire flaring. Hunger and possession stamped into the sensual lines of his face. “It doesn’t get any more real than what I feel for you, Francesca,” he said softly. His hand moved from her throat to the junction of her legs, his touch gentle, unhurried, unlike his usual rough, wild possession. “What we have together. It fills me up, bella, until I’m almost bursting. I’ve always been empty, and now you make me full. There’s no going back for me.”
Stefano shifted his body, rolling over the top of her so that his thick, heavy erection was nestled in the cradle of her hips. One knee nudged her legs apart. One hand caught her left leg, bent it and drew it around him, opening her up to him. Every silent command was gentle. Insistent, but gentle.
He stared at her hand for a long time. “You asked me a couple of scary questions, Francesca. I gave you a couple of scary answers. You didn’t flinch, but I saw it in your eyes that you thought you might not be able to live with those answers. I’m not altogether certain I could give you up now, but I’d try if you need to leave me. I can’t walk away from what I do—it’s too important. But you should have a choice, so I’m going to attempt to be a better man and give that to you. A onetime offer.”
She could see that it killed him to make the offer. Killed him. She kept her hand outstretched toward him. “I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to. I don’t know how I would survive without you.”
He stared at her for another heartbeat and then he ignored her hand and took her right back down to the bed. It was a long time before they got their bath or food.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Francesca woke with her heart pounding and her mouth dry, the taste of blood in her mouth. Her tongue found the small tear in her lip where she’d bit it to keep from screaming and screaming like she wanted to. Instantly she felt his arms. His thigh between hers. His body wrapped around hers, keeping her safe. Stefano. She drew in breath and took his scent into her lungs.
“Bambina.”
His voice was soft. Warm. So gentle it turned her heart over. One of her favorite things to do with him was just lie in bed and listen to him talk, especially about the neighborhood and the people in it. The affection in his voice was always stark and real. She especially loved these moments—in the dark, surrounded by his protective body and his voice sliding over her like the touch of his fingers. Caressing. Soothing. Driving away the remnants of her nightmares.
Stefano was always gentle with her in the middle of the night when she woke, his mouth soft against her skin, his driving needs held in check while he comforted her.
“What was it?”
“He’s coming for me.” Her heart still pounded. Her stomach felt queasy. She knew there was no way Barry Anthon would have missed the news that Francesca Capello was engaged to marry Stefano Ferraro. The announcement was in all the news. In magazines. Television. Stefano’s publicist handled everything and made certain information on the engagement was spread far and wide.
“That’s the idea, dolce cuore. We want him to come after us. We want him out of your life once and for all. That means drawing him out. Letting him make a mistake.”
“You can’t underestimate him, Stefano,” she warned, a cold shiver creeping down her spine.
He stroked her rib cage with the pads of his fingers. Traced his name, brushing the letters until they looped on the underside of her breasts. He painted little sparks of electricity all over her breasts with soft, unhurried touches. His hand moved back to her rib cage and he tugged until she rolled onto her back. He kissed the marks at her throat and over her breast, featherlight kisses to remove every trace of the sting of a knife.
Francesca’s heart jerked hard in her chest at the sight of his face so close to her. God, but he was gorgeous. Impossible to resist. “I’ve fallen so hard for you, Stefano,” she whispered. “Please be real. Please don’t hurt me. I don’t think I’d survive it.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it.
She knew what she was revealing to him. Those fragile feelings she couldn’t help. Stefano was larger than life. A throwback to an era gone by when men were fiercely protective of women and children. Where having a code meant something. Giving his word and keeping it was a matter of honor.
His blue eyes burned over her like twin flames, taking her breath. So intense. Desire flaring. Hunger and possession stamped into the sensual lines of his face. “It doesn’t get any more real than what I feel for you, Francesca,” he said softly. His hand moved from her throat to the junction of her legs, his touch gentle, unhurried, unlike his usual rough, wild possession. “What we have together. It fills me up, bella, until I’m almost bursting. I’ve always been empty, and now you make me full. There’s no going back for me.”
Stefano shifted his body, rolling over the top of her so that his thick, heavy erection was nestled in the cradle of her hips. One knee nudged her legs apart. One hand caught her left leg, bent it and drew it around him, opening her up to him. Every silent command was gentle. Insistent, but gentle.
