Shadow Rider
Page 47
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“Do I have to have a reason?” She stuck her chin in the air.
Taviano snorted, and when she glared into the rearview mirror, he assumed an innocent mask.
“It wouldn’t matter anyway, because your reason is as much bullshit as you staying in that firetrap of an apartment. The only reason the building hasn’t been condemned is because Tidwell is related to the Saldis and they’re notorious for bribing officials or threatening them.”
“Like you’re doing to me?” she challenged.
“I’m not bribing or threatening,” Stefano denied flatly. “You just don’t have a choice.”
His voice was very low, velvet soft so that the tone played over her skin like fingers. She shivered and burrowed deeper into the threadbare sleeping bag.
“It’s called kidnapping if I don’t want to go with you.”
“I don’t give a damn what you call it, dolce cuore, just so long as you’re safe.”
That was hard to argue with, especially since she was a little bit freaked out and unsure of what just happened. She was beginning to panic. “Taviano, you tell him he can’t do this.”
“Nice of you to join us tonight,” Taviano said, glancing back in the rearview mirror. “I must say, my brother has good taste.” The teasing note in his voice calmed her. “Even my parents gave up trying to tell him what he could or couldn’t do when he was around ten,” Taviano added, with a quick grin thrown at her through the mirror.
There was no help there, but then she’d been pretty certain Stefano’s own brother wasn’t going to get her out of this mess. Clearly he found the situation amusing.
She glanced at Stefano and then away, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t have any clothes.” The confession slipped out. Low. Under her breath. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor of the vehicle.
“Francesca, look at me.”
Her heart jumped and then began to pound again at his authoritative tone. She couldn’t imagine anyone disobeying him. Her gaze jumped to his before she could stop it. It was a mistake. His eyes were glittering with a kind of menace she couldn’t conceive. That, and something that made her stomach coil and the burn at the junction of her legs grow hotter.
“You’re safe. Just settle. I’m pissed as hell and you aren’t doing yourself any favors by trying to defy me.”
She sucked in her breath sharply. “Defy you?” She forgot all about being afraid or intimidated by him. “Like I’m some errant child you have to reprimand? You have got to be the most arrogant, annoying, bossy man I’ve ever encountered.”
“That about sums him up,” Taviano agreed, his grin widening. “We’re here.”
To her horror, he had really pulled up in front of the Ferraro Hotel. Taviano drove the car right up to the red carpet extending from the building, where several valets waited to jump into action the moment a car glided close.
“I’m not getting out,” Francesca declared. “I’m dressed in a sleeping bag for God’s sake. Really, Stefano, just take me to a shelter.”
She should have known better than to expect Stefano to comply. Apparently he really didn’t argue when he wanted his way—and he wanted his way. The valet opened the passenger door. Stefano slid out and reached for her.
“I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead, bambina. Make a scene. I don’t mind. You’re still going up to the penthouse with me.” His tone was implacable.
“Stefano.” She wasn’t above pleading.
He ignored her, his hands gripping her right through the sleeping bag. He was enormously strong and there was no prying his fingers off of her. He dragged her out of the backseat, tossed her over his shoulder again and without saying a word to anyone, he walked right up to the double glass doors. The doors were already open for him, the doorman grinning and giving him a little salute.
Going into the Ferraro Hotel was the most embarrassing thing Francesca could possibly imagine. Clamping her mouth shut so she wouldn’t scream in sheer frustration, she buried her face against his back, holding tightly to his shirt. She stayed very still, not wanting anyone to see her, but knowing everyone was looking. For one thing, Stefano Ferraro was hot and superrich and owned the entire hotel. Okay, maybe his family did, but still, who would expect him to be carrying a woman over his shoulder, upside down, cocooned in a sleeping bag? It was mortifying.
He went straight to a private elevator, keyed in a number and stepped inside. The doors glided closed. “Are you all right?”
Taviano snorted, and when she glared into the rearview mirror, he assumed an innocent mask.
“It wouldn’t matter anyway, because your reason is as much bullshit as you staying in that firetrap of an apartment. The only reason the building hasn’t been condemned is because Tidwell is related to the Saldis and they’re notorious for bribing officials or threatening them.”
“Like you’re doing to me?” she challenged.
“I’m not bribing or threatening,” Stefano denied flatly. “You just don’t have a choice.”
His voice was very low, velvet soft so that the tone played over her skin like fingers. She shivered and burrowed deeper into the threadbare sleeping bag.
“It’s called kidnapping if I don’t want to go with you.”
“I don’t give a damn what you call it, dolce cuore, just so long as you’re safe.”
That was hard to argue with, especially since she was a little bit freaked out and unsure of what just happened. She was beginning to panic. “Taviano, you tell him he can’t do this.”
“Nice of you to join us tonight,” Taviano said, glancing back in the rearview mirror. “I must say, my brother has good taste.” The teasing note in his voice calmed her. “Even my parents gave up trying to tell him what he could or couldn’t do when he was around ten,” Taviano added, with a quick grin thrown at her through the mirror.
There was no help there, but then she’d been pretty certain Stefano’s own brother wasn’t going to get her out of this mess. Clearly he found the situation amusing.
She glanced at Stefano and then away, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t have any clothes.” The confession slipped out. Low. Under her breath. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor of the vehicle.
“Francesca, look at me.”
Her heart jumped and then began to pound again at his authoritative tone. She couldn’t imagine anyone disobeying him. Her gaze jumped to his before she could stop it. It was a mistake. His eyes were glittering with a kind of menace she couldn’t conceive. That, and something that made her stomach coil and the burn at the junction of her legs grow hotter.
“You’re safe. Just settle. I’m pissed as hell and you aren’t doing yourself any favors by trying to defy me.”
She sucked in her breath sharply. “Defy you?” She forgot all about being afraid or intimidated by him. “Like I’m some errant child you have to reprimand? You have got to be the most arrogant, annoying, bossy man I’ve ever encountered.”
“That about sums him up,” Taviano agreed, his grin widening. “We’re here.”
To her horror, he had really pulled up in front of the Ferraro Hotel. Taviano drove the car right up to the red carpet extending from the building, where several valets waited to jump into action the moment a car glided close.
“I’m not getting out,” Francesca declared. “I’m dressed in a sleeping bag for God’s sake. Really, Stefano, just take me to a shelter.”
She should have known better than to expect Stefano to comply. Apparently he really didn’t argue when he wanted his way—and he wanted his way. The valet opened the passenger door. Stefano slid out and reached for her.
“I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead, bambina. Make a scene. I don’t mind. You’re still going up to the penthouse with me.” His tone was implacable.
“Stefano.” She wasn’t above pleading.
He ignored her, his hands gripping her right through the sleeping bag. He was enormously strong and there was no prying his fingers off of her. He dragged her out of the backseat, tossed her over his shoulder again and without saying a word to anyone, he walked right up to the double glass doors. The doors were already open for him, the doorman grinning and giving him a little salute.
Going into the Ferraro Hotel was the most embarrassing thing Francesca could possibly imagine. Clamping her mouth shut so she wouldn’t scream in sheer frustration, she buried her face against his back, holding tightly to his shirt. She stayed very still, not wanting anyone to see her, but knowing everyone was looking. For one thing, Stefano Ferraro was hot and superrich and owned the entire hotel. Okay, maybe his family did, but still, who would expect him to be carrying a woman over his shoulder, upside down, cocooned in a sleeping bag? It was mortifying.
He went straight to a private elevator, keyed in a number and stepped inside. The doors glided closed. “Are you all right?”
