Shadow Rider
Page 50
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“Yes, please.”
She was completely panic-stricken and trying not to show it. He wanted to hold her. Comfort her. Take her to his bed and make her forget everything but him. He poured a small amount of brandy into a crystal glass and walked across the room to her. His shadow, cast by the overhead chandelier, reached for her. Simultaneously, her shadow threw out a feeler, and as if powerful magnets, the two tubes connected. The jolt was hard, pouring steel into his cock. He nearly burst right through his trousers.
Francesca’s eyes widened. Clung to his. Her lips parted, and he saw the telling flush on her face. She was no longer holding the sleeping bag up and it had fallen to her waist. Beneath the thin tee, her breasts rose and fell, her nipples hard little peaks, pushing at the worn material. That same sexual jolt had hit her just as hard.
Stefano stalked across the room, put the glass of brandy down on the small table beside the couch and leaned into her, both fists planted on either side of her hips. Close. So close he could see that her skin looked flawless and her lashes were even longer than he’d thought. Her scent caught at him, enveloping him in orange and cinnamon.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he hissed, his anger boiling to the surface all over again, this time mixing with a fireball of pure lust.
She had to shrink back, save herself, do something, anything at all to help him stay in control. She didn’t move away from him. The air felt electric. Their shadows remained connected, heightening his awareness of her. Of every breath she took. The length of her lashes. Her parted lips, a soft bow of a mouth, the tip of her tongue, her high cheekbones and the vulnerable line of her jaw.
He wanted to taste her more than he wanted to breathe. He realized it wasn’t a want so much as a need. He froze, his face inches from hers, imposing iron will on himself. Never, at any time in his life, had he lost control, not until the situation involved her. Francesca Capello. His brother had had to pull him back from killing the piece of crap Bart Tidwell. Here, he was, standing over the top of her, a woman who was clearly afraid of him, about to kiss her. His life was about control. Where the hell was all that famous control now?
Francesca’s lips rubbed against each other, a slow, sexy, enticing movement that robbed him of his ability to breathe. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman the way he wanted her. Her scent surrounded him until he was drowning in a field of cinnamon and orange. Every breath he drew into his lungs took her with it until he felt her inside him.
“Stefano.”
He groaned at the sound of his name. Soft. Sensual. Filled with longing. She felt it, too, that terrible pull brought on by the connection of their shadows. Brought on by the chemistry raging between them. She didn’t understand it and there was fear in her eyes. Fear and longing. Need almost as great as his. She shifted her body very subtly toward his, her face lifting a fraction.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he repeated, much softer this time.
Her lashes fluttered. Long. Feathery. Gorgeous. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You shouldn’t have been there, Francesca.” It took effort to stay unmoving, while he battled for control. This was going to be the greatest fight of his life. He couldn’t afford to lose. He was fighting for his life. For the life of his family.
She moistened her lips so they glistened invitingly. Tempting him. Enticing him closer. Did she know what she was doing? He doubted it. There was too much innocence on her face. Too much fear in her eyes.
That fear and innocence gave him back his control. He straightened, taking himself out of danger. He stepped back, his body hard, full and painful. That part of him wasn’t under control. He turned away from her and went back to the decanter, every step difficult.
“Why didn’t you stay with Joanna?” He kept his back to her as he poured liquor into his glass. He didn’t want her to see the rage swirling so close to the surface. Rage at her friend who would allow her to stay in such dangerous circumstances.
“She wanted me to, but I felt like she’d done too much for me already.” The confession was low.
He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. Her chin was up. She wasn’t defeated, just frightened. “So you deliberately put yourself in danger for the sake of your pride?”
She opened her mouth to protest but snapped it closed just as quickly. Genuine confusion slid over her face. “I don’t know. I guess that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t realize that Tidwell was such a sleaze . . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked away from him, more color creeping under her skin. She looked down at her hands. “I did know he was a sleaze, but it never occurred to me that he would put cameras in the apartments.”
She was completely panic-stricken and trying not to show it. He wanted to hold her. Comfort her. Take her to his bed and make her forget everything but him. He poured a small amount of brandy into a crystal glass and walked across the room to her. His shadow, cast by the overhead chandelier, reached for her. Simultaneously, her shadow threw out a feeler, and as if powerful magnets, the two tubes connected. The jolt was hard, pouring steel into his cock. He nearly burst right through his trousers.
Francesca’s eyes widened. Clung to his. Her lips parted, and he saw the telling flush on her face. She was no longer holding the sleeping bag up and it had fallen to her waist. Beneath the thin tee, her breasts rose and fell, her nipples hard little peaks, pushing at the worn material. That same sexual jolt had hit her just as hard.
Stefano stalked across the room, put the glass of brandy down on the small table beside the couch and leaned into her, both fists planted on either side of her hips. Close. So close he could see that her skin looked flawless and her lashes were even longer than he’d thought. Her scent caught at him, enveloping him in orange and cinnamon.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he hissed, his anger boiling to the surface all over again, this time mixing with a fireball of pure lust.
She had to shrink back, save herself, do something, anything at all to help him stay in control. She didn’t move away from him. The air felt electric. Their shadows remained connected, heightening his awareness of her. Of every breath she took. The length of her lashes. Her parted lips, a soft bow of a mouth, the tip of her tongue, her high cheekbones and the vulnerable line of her jaw.
He wanted to taste her more than he wanted to breathe. He realized it wasn’t a want so much as a need. He froze, his face inches from hers, imposing iron will on himself. Never, at any time in his life, had he lost control, not until the situation involved her. Francesca Capello. His brother had had to pull him back from killing the piece of crap Bart Tidwell. Here, he was, standing over the top of her, a woman who was clearly afraid of him, about to kiss her. His life was about control. Where the hell was all that famous control now?
Francesca’s lips rubbed against each other, a slow, sexy, enticing movement that robbed him of his ability to breathe. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman the way he wanted her. Her scent surrounded him until he was drowning in a field of cinnamon and orange. Every breath he drew into his lungs took her with it until he felt her inside him.
“Stefano.”
He groaned at the sound of his name. Soft. Sensual. Filled with longing. She felt it, too, that terrible pull brought on by the connection of their shadows. Brought on by the chemistry raging between them. She didn’t understand it and there was fear in her eyes. Fear and longing. Need almost as great as his. She shifted her body very subtly toward his, her face lifting a fraction.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he repeated, much softer this time.
Her lashes fluttered. Long. Feathery. Gorgeous. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You shouldn’t have been there, Francesca.” It took effort to stay unmoving, while he battled for control. This was going to be the greatest fight of his life. He couldn’t afford to lose. He was fighting for his life. For the life of his family.
She moistened her lips so they glistened invitingly. Tempting him. Enticing him closer. Did she know what she was doing? He doubted it. There was too much innocence on her face. Too much fear in her eyes.
That fear and innocence gave him back his control. He straightened, taking himself out of danger. He stepped back, his body hard, full and painful. That part of him wasn’t under control. He turned away from her and went back to the decanter, every step difficult.
“Why didn’t you stay with Joanna?” He kept his back to her as he poured liquor into his glass. He didn’t want her to see the rage swirling so close to the surface. Rage at her friend who would allow her to stay in such dangerous circumstances.
“She wanted me to, but I felt like she’d done too much for me already.” The confession was low.
He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. Her chin was up. She wasn’t defeated, just frightened. “So you deliberately put yourself in danger for the sake of your pride?”
She opened her mouth to protest but snapped it closed just as quickly. Genuine confusion slid over her face. “I don’t know. I guess that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t realize that Tidwell was such a sleaze . . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked away from him, more color creeping under her skin. She looked down at her hands. “I did know he was a sleaze, but it never occurred to me that he would put cameras in the apartments.”
