Shadow Rider (17 page)

He kept his gaze steady on hers. Unflinching. Expressionless. Her heart pounded. She clutched the chocolate mug so hard her knuckles turned white. His gaze dropped to her hands and he reached, gently prying her fingers from the mug. His thumb slid over her knuckles.

“When Barry does something, he's thorough, but he's repetitive. Once something works for him, he keeps using it.”

“You're saying he's done this before?” Hope blossomed.

“What do you have on him?”

Her breath left her lungs in a rush. “Why do you think I've got something on him?”

“Because you're not dead. He would have killed you if he could have. If we look into the bank account of the man convicted of your sister's murder, there will be a lot of money his family inherits when he dies. This isn't the first time something like this has happened around Barry Anthon. Obviously, if you saw him at the murder scene and he's worked so hard to discredit you, he's afraid of you. He's got money and power. He's got cops and politicians in his pocket. He wouldn't be afraid unless whatever you have could ruin him and he can't risk killing you until he gets it back.”

His thumb rubbed gently at her knuckles. It felt—exquisite. Each time the pad of his thumb slid between her knuckles, she felt his touch melt through bare skin and sink into her bloodstream. She shivered. She couldn't help it. Her body was tuned to his. Came alive for his. It didn't make sense, but then chemistry never did.

She took a breath. “I don't know you, Stefano.”

“You know me.”

He brought her hand to his mouth, his lips moving over her knuckles in the way his thumb had, only this was so much better. Way more intense. She felt an answer coiling hot at the junction of her legs.

“You don't have to tell me . . . yet. Drink your chocolate.” He let go of her hand.

She curled her fingers around the mug again because when she wasn't touching him she felt cold, and it was such a relief that he believed her—that he knew the real Barry. Deceitful,
murderous
Barry.

“He's done this before? Destroying property and making it look like someone else did it?”
Murder?
She couldn't bring herself to ask that.

“All of it, right down to the jail time and the hospital,”
Stefano confirmed. “He likes to brag that no one can cross him. He threatened a couple of drivers. They ended up quitting. I didn't get the story until a couple of years later, but they wouldn't drive for anyone because they were so afraid of him. It ended their careers.”

“Has he ever threatened you?” Francesca asked cautiously.

“Bambina.”

One word. That said it all. His tone. Amused. Arrogant. Completely confident. She shivered again, but this time because she could see the danger in him. He wasn't a man other men crossed. If Barry was too afraid to threaten Stefano, what did that make Stefano? The thought flitted through her mind unbidden.

She took a sip of chocolate to buy herself time. It was delicious. There was no way it was from a package. “You made this.”

Amusement crept into the deep blue of his eyes. “Yeah. I did.”

“How did you learn to make such great chocolate?”

“I have a younger sister. She often had a difficult time sleeping so she'd come into my room, wake me up and I'd make her chocolate.”

She thought it strange that his sister woke him up instead of her parents, but he didn't enlighten her further so she took another sip of the delicious brew.

“I've been thinking about your living arrangements. I've come up with a great solution. John Balboni and his wife, Suzette, own the hardware store. They've wanted to travel for a while, but she's nervous about leaving their home unattended and they got into a little trouble financially a couple of years ago. They have a little guest unit. I think it would be mutually beneficial if you could live in that unit. She'd be happy, they could use the money and she would feel they could comfortably leave home.”

It sounded perfect but . . . there was Barry. If he found out where she was staying, he would come after her. He'd
destroy any property. The horrible apartment building where she'd lived didn't much matter, but the Balbonis sounded like a nice couple who couldn't afford to have their guest unit destroyed.

He nodded as if reading her mind. “You see the problem. Barry is probably searching for you right now. How did you pay for your bus ticket?”

“When I got out of the hospital, I knew I had to get away from Barry's influence, so I stayed on the street and in shelters. I knew he had someone watching me. Street people stick together and they helped me evade the watcher. Joanna had sent me money and I used it to buy a bus ticket. I got rid of all my clothes, selling them, or trading in the thrift store so they couldn't recognize anything I wore. I boarded the bus and came here.”

“But you know he'll find you.” He made it a statement.

Francesca nodded. “Eventually. I was hoping I had the chance to get back on my feet before he did. He left me too afraid and too exhausted.”

“So we'll have to change plans. This hotel is secure. You'll have to stay here. With me. He won't get his crew past security and there's no way he can destroy where you're staying.”

Francesca held her breath. Her eyes met his. Temptation was a man who was so beautiful he looked like sin. “Stefano . . . Thank you, but I can't accept.”

“I wasn't asking,
bella
. It's the only solution. It keeps you and everyone else safe. Besides. I've wanted to take on Barry Anthon for a long time. You'll stay here and we'll put a plan together to draw him out. Don't worry. I'll take care of you. He won't get close to you. With you under my protection, he's going to have to change his game. He's comfortable with that game, and he's going to start making mistakes.”

“But I can't let you . . .”

“Did you not fucking hear me? You're staying here. With me.”

He was back to swearing, impatience in his voice. She let
her breath out. She wasn't as afraid of Barry as she was of staying with Stefano. She might not just lose her body to him; she would definitely lose her heart. Still, even with knowing that, she couldn't resist temptation. Or safety. Or that bed. She nodded slowly.

F
rancesca stomped out of her bedroom, hair still damp, dressed in a soft skirt that fell to her ankles and a camisole that emphasized her generous breasts and narrow rib cage. She'd never worn anything like it in her life, but she'd definitely seen both items before—she'd admired them in the window of Lucia's Treasures. She had new underwear, a drawer full. Every pair of panties and each bra was exquisite—again, something so incredibly nice that she'd never worn before. She loved them, but they didn't belong to her.

She needed clothes because she had to go to work, but this was too much. How had Stefano managed to acquire clothes at three or four in the morning? And it had to have been after three or four. And how had they gotten into her room?

“These aren't mine,” she greeted him, trying not to stare. Of course he looked gorgeous, already dressed in a pin-striped three-piece suit, his dark hair gleaming under the lights at the breakfast table. He glanced up from reading what clearly had to be some kind of report, his blue eyes meeting hers. Her heart stuttered in her chest and her reprimand died in her throat. No one should look that good in the morning.

Stefano smiled at her, his gaze drifting over her. “You look beautiful. Good morning. I ordered breakfast. I wasn't certain what you'd like so I took a chance on eggs and potatoes. They sent up fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee. There's tea if you prefer.”

“Stefano, where are my clothes?”

He stood and reached for her. His long fingers settled around her elbow and he drew her to the chair opposite to where he'd been sitting. She sank into it more because her knees were suddenly weak than because she wanted to sit. She actually wanted to walk around, to continue feeling the swish of the soft material on her legs.

Once she was seated, he slipped into his chair opposite her and smiled—one of his amazing hot smiles, which sent her temperature soaring. She had to remind herself to stay on track because he tended to fry her brain.

“Sadly, there was a little accident with your clothes. Ricco said they didn't survive, so of course, since they were entrusted to our care, the family provided you with new ones. By the time you get off work, we will have jeans and tees for more casual wear. There wasn't enough time last night.”

She took a sip of coffee because she desperately needed the caffeine to deal with his obvious bull. “My clothes met with an accident?”

He nodded. “Sadly.”

She narrowed her eyes and gave him her best scowl. “Did your coat manage to make it back intact?”

He nodded. Sober. His handsome features suspiciously innocent. “Yes. I was relieved. My brother saved my coat, but couldn't quite grab your duffel bag. It floated right down the river.”

“Oh. My. God. You are so full of it, Stefano.” Francesca took a bite of scrambled eggs and shook her head.

“I have no idea what you mean. I'm merely repeating what Ricco told me. I can't imagine that he would lie.”

She had to work at not laughing. “Right.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I trust you slept better last night after the hot chocolate. Emmanuelle swears it always works for her.”

She nodded. “I did. But we're not finished with the clothes discussion. How did you manage to get everything in the middle of the night?”

He shrugged. “Amo Fausti, the owner of the boutique, is a good friend of mine. He opened the store immediately when I told him we'd accidentally lost your clothes.”

“In the middle of the night? You just called him and he opened the store?” Coffee seemed more important than food. She clearly needed to stay sharp around him. He was totally unapologetic.

“He's a friend. You've already become one of his favorites, so he was happy to do so.”

That pleased her because Lucia and Amo were definitely favorites of hers. “And the clothes got into my room, how?”

Again he shrugged. “I knew you would need them in the morning. I put them away myself.”

While she was sleeping. She sighed. “As much as I love the clothes, I can't accept them.”

He smirked. She would have resorted to violence but even his smirk was sexy and instead she just stared at him, astonished that a man could look as good as he did. It took a few moments for the Stefano spell to ease. She licked her lips and downed the orange juice. It was superb. Like his penthouse. Like the clothes. Like him.

“I suppose you could just wear my shirt to work. I like the idea of you wearing my shirt all day, but Pietro might object. On the other hand, you look . . . sexy in it, and that might draw in even more customers when word gets out. Although, if I'm being strictly honest, I'm not certain I want other men seeing you in just my shirt.”

“I can see that sparring with you requires at least two cups of coffee.”

“We're responsible for the loss of your clothes. Of course we'd replace them. Change the subject.”

“Just like that.”

“Bambina.”

The way he said that one little word, as if it was an endearment, but reprimanded her, melted her insides. It was the tone of his voice. She liked that he called her
baby
or
sweetheart
and sometimes even
beautiful
. The way he focused so
completely on her made her feel special. The appreciation in his eyes made her feel beautiful. She knew she wasn't going to win the argument. Her clothes were gone and he'd bought her new ones—new, exquisite clothing that she never could have afforded on her own. Never. Not in her lifetime.

“And the makeup and other things in my bathroom?”

“Everything was lost.” He shrugged, dismissing the subject. “I'll take you to work this morning. If you leave the store, text me.”

“Stefano, why in the world would I do that?” As if she could. She didn't have a cell phone. She'd already told him that. It wasn't like she had the money to rush out and get one, let alone pay for a plan.

His eyes darkened to a stormy blue. Pinned her. The air in the room thickened with heat. His heat. “Because I asked you to.”

She supposed that was a good enough answer when she was sitting in his penthouse, eating his food, wearing clothes he bought and under his protection. “I can't.” When his head jerked up and the room got even scarier, she held up her hand. “I said ‘can't', not
won't
. Remember? I don't own a cell phone. I told you I didn't have one.” She could see him struggle for control.

“That was before I knew about Barry.” He leaned toward her. “Francesca. You have an enemy like Barry Anthon and you don't have a cell phone to call 911 if he catches up with you?” His voice was pitched low. Velvet soft. Totally menacing. “It should be your first priority.”

Her heart pounded. “I couldn't afford one, let alone pay for a plan. In any case, the police don't believe me, Stefano. No one does. If he catches up with me . . .”

“I'll be standing in front of you. I told you, I'm coming up with a plan. Just give me a few days. In the meantime, I want to know that you're safe.” He glanced at his watch. “I've got shit to do this morning, but Emilio will be watching over you. I'll send a cell to the store. Use it. My number will be programmed in, and I want to know where you are at
all times. I'm not being controlling. I need to know you're safe.”

“You're controlling,” she corrected.

“True,” he agreed, sounding completely unremorseful. “But I still need to know you're safe.”

There wasn't any sense in arguing. Stefano was a law unto himself, and he would get her the phone and Emilio would be waiting right outside the store no matter what she said. She'd wanted his protection and now that she had it, she couldn't exactly throw a tantrum over how he chose to give it to her.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She smiled at him. “I see no reason to argue when you're just going to get your way. The food is delicious. I didn't realize hotel food could be really good.”

“Our hotel provides the best of everything. Our chefs are amazing. The pastry chefs are as well. Tonight, after work, you'll have to sample some of the desserts.”

“I can see if I stick around here for too long I'll end up gaining weight. Pizza, pastries and amazing food.”

“You could use a few pounds. I don't like that you weren't eating. Dina told me you didn't have anything to eat for a couple of days.”

“Dina? You talked to Dina?”

“Why wouldn't I? She lives in our neighborhood. She's part of us. She prefers to live on the street so we make her as comfortable as possible. She has a small wooden lean-to we built for her in the alley behind the hardware store, which she can go into at night. When the nights are too cold, she comes to the main house and sleeps in the garage. There's radiant heating through the floor. She has a bathroom there and warm blankets. It's the most she'll let us do for her, other than new warm boots once a year and sometimes clothing. I don't know what happened to her coat. She had a nice one.”

She leaned her chin on the heel of her hand and tried not to devour him with her eyes. She loved that he took care of
the homeless woman in their neighborhood. She'd
so
misjudged him. “That's amazing.”

“Not really. She's a human being with a few problems. Her entire family was killed in a car accident. Her husband, three boys and a daughter. She was the only survivor. No relatives. She just gave up. We've tried to get her help. She used to teach school. High school. She had all kinds of awards and her students loved her. After the accident she turned to alcohol to dull the pain. She left her home, just walked out of her house one day and drifted. She ended up here.”

There was an underlying sadness that fascinated her in his tone. He genuinely cared about Dina, she realized, and that took her breath away. Stefano Ferraro was many things, and most of them were amazing, sexy and wonderful. She liked him. He might be bossy and arrogant and controlling, but that was only one small part of who he was.

“How do you know all that? Dina barely spoke to me.”

“I prefer to know everything there is to know about those in our neighborhood. Especially a woman who is living alone on the streets. It's freezing here at times and I certainly didn't want anything to happen to her. It took some persuading for her to use the garage, but she knows where the key is and now she'll go there. We see to it that she's fed, but we have to be careful how we do that. She doesn't like too much attention.”

She noticed he used the term
we
a lot. She presumed he referred to his family. “You're very close to your family, aren't you?”

“My siblings and cousins, yes. I suppose my aunts and uncles as well.”

He didn't name his parents; in fact, he'd been very specific about those he was close to and he'd left them out. She wanted to ask but decided she'd better not.

“Were you close to your sister?” His voice was pitched low. Gentle.

“Cella? Yes. I adored her. She raised me after our parents died. She didn't have to—she was very young herself—but she insisted it wasn't a burden.”

“Of course it wasn't. There's no way your sister saw you as a burden.” His voice was soft. Persuasive. But certain. As if because family wasn't a burden to him he couldn't conceive that it would be to anyone else.

He mesmerized her. Everything about him. She forced herself to look away and finish her coffee. She'd managed to eat a little of the eggs and potatoes, but she'd gone without eating too often to have much room in her stomach to eat large portions.

“After work, I'll show you around the penthouse. It has quite a few rooms. I have a training room for martial arts, weapons and boxing. We also have a workout room with weights and various machines such as treadmills. You're welcome to use either one, but we need to finish up if we're going to get you to work on time.”

“I'm finished.”

“You didn't eat much.”

She didn't reply. She was learning from his tactics. He didn't like to engage in arguments; well, two could play that game. She smiled at him and rose, placing her folded napkin beside her plate. “Breakfast was wonderful, thank you. I'll go brush my teeth and be right out. Thanks for the toothbrush. It's very much appreciated.”

He rose with her and watched her go back to her bedroom. She knew that he did because she felt his gaze burning into her. He was so . . . potent. Virile. Masculine. He took up the entire room with his broad shoulders and his presence. She found she couldn't take a breath without drawing him into her lungs.

Francesca reminded herself that Stefano Ferraro was
way
out of her league in every way. He might be interested in her, she couldn't deny the chemistry was off the charts, but their union would never last. He'd grow bored with her very fast. He was a white knight riding to the rescue, and if she didn't need that anymore he would lose interest.

When she met him in the foyer, Stefano was wearing his coat. She had been certain he would have had it cleaned first.
He stood with another long cashmere coat in his hands, waiting for her.

“You bought that as well?”

“Come on,
bella
. I told you, I can't be late for this meeting.” He stepped close behind her, dipping the coat so she could slide her arm in one sleeve and then the other. He turned her around the moment the coat settled on her shoulders and slid the buttons into place.

“I can do that.”

“I know. I like to do it.” He bent his head and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “The code for the private elevator allowing you into the penthouse will be in the phone I'm having sent to you. If you have a problem, text me right away. I'm already on the cell for you. You should have it within the hour.”

There was no point in protesting. She was being steamrolled, but she'd asked for it. Stefano was a force. One just got swept along when he decided something. They stepped onto the elevator together, Stefano crowding her closer than she believed necessary, although maybe it was the confined space that made her so acutely aware of him.