Shadow Rider
Page 71
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“Stay put.”
Francesca watched him through lowered lashes as he turned on the fire, using a remote control, stalked across the room, shrugging out of his long coat and tossing it over one of the chairs before turning back to glare at her. Not just glare. She shivered. He pinned her with his piercing eyes. Seeing her. Seeing the fear she tried to hide from him. His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking there. Danger clung to his wide shoulders and defined chest. He looked both powerful and intimidating. She knew he thought the fear in her was of him, because he made a visible effort to get his anger under control.
“Dolce cuore.” His voice was soft. Caressing. “Don’t look at me like that. I would never hurt you. Never. No matter how angry I get, you will never be a target.”
She shook her head. “I know that, Stefano.” She did know it. Stefano Ferraro was a man who protected women, especially one he considered his, even if it was temporary.
“Why are you afraid? What made you run?”
He didn’t take his eyes from her face and she shivered again at the intensity there. She studied him. His expression gave nothing away, yet she felt as if she had hurt him. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” The confession came out in a little rush, the words tumbling over one another, almost of their own volition. She wasn’t certain she would have revealed so much to him if she’d thought about it, but the idea that she might have hurt Stefano with her actions was unacceptable to her.
He stood across the room from her for a long time, his blue gaze moving over her face. She twisted her fingers into the material of her skirt, bunching it into her fist. The atmosphere in the room changed, but she didn’t know him well enough to read it.
“What do you think is going to happen to me, Francesca?”
She didn’t understand how he could speak so low, so quietly and still convey so much intensity. She realized he was still angry, but the emotion was no longer focused completely on her. He held himself still, not making a move toward her. Her heart beat fast and hard, mostly because it felt a little like being in the same room with a lion. Any moment he could choose to bring down his prey, but he held himself aloof, waiting. Making her wait.
Francesca moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Stefano, don’t be angry. You would try to . . .”
He was across the room in four long strides, cutting her off, mostly because she couldn’t breathe. He still reminded her of a lion, a large jungle cat, fluid and beautiful, graceful as it rushed its prey. He leaned down, his knuckles on either side of her hips. Close, so close she could feel his fingers through the thin material of her skirt.
“Stop. Talking. Bullshit.”
His face was even closer than his hands, his mouth against hers. Every movement brushed her lips with his. His eyes bore into hers, stripping her bare, seeing her when she didn’t think it was safe. She couldn’t hide the fact that she wanted him, and there in his penthouse, with his anger pulsing in the air, that wasn’t a good thing at all.
“Stefano.” She thought to soothe him.
“We’re past this. We talked about it and we both agreed. We’re not going backward so tell me what the fuck happened to make you want to run from me.”
It was a demand. Nothing less. Francesca took a deep breath, desperate for air, but drew him into her lungs instead. She felt his lips against hers, soft but firm. His lips might be the only soft part of him. Every other square inch seemed to be made from pure steel. She couldn’t resist the temptation, not when he surrounded her with his scent. Not when his anger pulsed in the air, feeding the sexual tension until she was squirming with need. With a terrible hunger she barely understood.
Francesca slid her arms around Stefano’s neck and pressed her mouth closer against his, moving her lips along his in little kisses, using the tip of her tongue to trace and shape the curve of his mouth. His breath stilled in his throat. His blue eyes darkened. His lashes fluttered. He had beautiful lashes, full and long and very black. His arm slid along her back and he dragged her to her feet, pulling her body into his, locking her there.
His mouth took over hers and it was nothing less than a takeover. His kiss was hard, and hot and delicious. She tasted his anger. It was there, adding even more heat. She gave herself up to his scorching temper and his intense hunger. To the dark passion that swept her up like a tidal wave.
She wanted this. She wanted him. She didn’t care about consequences; she only knew that when she was with him, she felt alive. She felt as if she was home, where she belonged. More, her body felt sensual, and beautiful. That was Stefano. He made her feel those things when she never had.
Francesca watched him through lowered lashes as he turned on the fire, using a remote control, stalked across the room, shrugging out of his long coat and tossing it over one of the chairs before turning back to glare at her. Not just glare. She shivered. He pinned her with his piercing eyes. Seeing her. Seeing the fear she tried to hide from him. His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking there. Danger clung to his wide shoulders and defined chest. He looked both powerful and intimidating. She knew he thought the fear in her was of him, because he made a visible effort to get his anger under control.
“Dolce cuore.” His voice was soft. Caressing. “Don’t look at me like that. I would never hurt you. Never. No matter how angry I get, you will never be a target.”
She shook her head. “I know that, Stefano.” She did know it. Stefano Ferraro was a man who protected women, especially one he considered his, even if it was temporary.
“Why are you afraid? What made you run?”
He didn’t take his eyes from her face and she shivered again at the intensity there. She studied him. His expression gave nothing away, yet she felt as if she had hurt him. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” The confession came out in a little rush, the words tumbling over one another, almost of their own volition. She wasn’t certain she would have revealed so much to him if she’d thought about it, but the idea that she might have hurt Stefano with her actions was unacceptable to her.
He stood across the room from her for a long time, his blue gaze moving over her face. She twisted her fingers into the material of her skirt, bunching it into her fist. The atmosphere in the room changed, but she didn’t know him well enough to read it.
“What do you think is going to happen to me, Francesca?”
She didn’t understand how he could speak so low, so quietly and still convey so much intensity. She realized he was still angry, but the emotion was no longer focused completely on her. He held himself still, not making a move toward her. Her heart beat fast and hard, mostly because it felt a little like being in the same room with a lion. Any moment he could choose to bring down his prey, but he held himself aloof, waiting. Making her wait.
Francesca moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Stefano, don’t be angry. You would try to . . .”
He was across the room in four long strides, cutting her off, mostly because she couldn’t breathe. He still reminded her of a lion, a large jungle cat, fluid and beautiful, graceful as it rushed its prey. He leaned down, his knuckles on either side of her hips. Close, so close she could feel his fingers through the thin material of her skirt.
“Stop. Talking. Bullshit.”
His face was even closer than his hands, his mouth against hers. Every movement brushed her lips with his. His eyes bore into hers, stripping her bare, seeing her when she didn’t think it was safe. She couldn’t hide the fact that she wanted him, and there in his penthouse, with his anger pulsing in the air, that wasn’t a good thing at all.
“Stefano.” She thought to soothe him.
“We’re past this. We talked about it and we both agreed. We’re not going backward so tell me what the fuck happened to make you want to run from me.”
It was a demand. Nothing less. Francesca took a deep breath, desperate for air, but drew him into her lungs instead. She felt his lips against hers, soft but firm. His lips might be the only soft part of him. Every other square inch seemed to be made from pure steel. She couldn’t resist the temptation, not when he surrounded her with his scent. Not when his anger pulsed in the air, feeding the sexual tension until she was squirming with need. With a terrible hunger she barely understood.
Francesca slid her arms around Stefano’s neck and pressed her mouth closer against his, moving her lips along his in little kisses, using the tip of her tongue to trace and shape the curve of his mouth. His breath stilled in his throat. His blue eyes darkened. His lashes fluttered. He had beautiful lashes, full and long and very black. His arm slid along her back and he dragged her to her feet, pulling her body into his, locking her there.
His mouth took over hers and it was nothing less than a takeover. His kiss was hard, and hot and delicious. She tasted his anger. It was there, adding even more heat. She gave herself up to his scorching temper and his intense hunger. To the dark passion that swept her up like a tidal wave.
She wanted this. She wanted him. She didn’t care about consequences; she only knew that when she was with him, she felt alive. She felt as if she was home, where she belonged. More, her body felt sensual, and beautiful. That was Stefano. He made her feel those things when she never had.
