Shadow Rider (35 page)

“It's work,
bambina
—sometimes I see and hear terrible things I just can't comprehend. It's work though.”

“I get that. You don't have to be specific, but you need to talk to me about this. Maybe you should go relax and I'll fix you dinner.”

He lifted his head, his blue eyes meeting hers. “You would do that for me after being attacked, wouldn't you? You'd think about me, not yourself.” There was wonder in his voice. Admiration. Respect. Mostly, she heard what sounded suspiciously like love. Her heart fluttered because yes, he looked tired and upset and she rarely saw him that way. She doubted if anyone ever did.

“I received a report today about a young girl. A teenager, seventeen years old. She lost her mother two years ago and was given to her stepuncles to take care of her. Unfortunately, all three uncles are involved in a very violent gang. Her mother had married their brother and they lived far away from the gang, but no one took that into consideration when they placed the girl with her uncles. She didn't know them, she didn't love them and now she's in a terrible situation.”

“At seventeen, can't she ask to be removed?” Francesca felt her way carefully.

Stefano stroked his fingers over her breasts, down her belly to her jeans. He carefully tugged until she stood in between his thighs. He unzipped the denim and pulled them from her hips, taking her lacy panties with them.

“A social worker tried. The girl was being abused in every way. Sexually. Physically. Emotionally. She wasn't removed from the home and the gang threatened the social worker and her family. She'd promised the teenager she
would get her out, and then she couldn't follow through, not without risking the lives of her husband and children.”

“The police . . .”

“Can't stop the gang members from getting to the social worker and her family. So she petitioned for help from our family.” He guided her back onto the bed. “Lie down,
dolce cuore
. I want to check out your stomach. I need to make certain there isn't any internal damage.”

“Will you be able to help her?” Francesca stretched out. She had been naked around him for a week now, yet she still felt shy.

“I hope so. We'll see. I just don't understand that mentality. I can see belonging to a gang. I can't see abusing a woman that way. Especially when she's your family. I just can't seem to wrap my head around that.”

His fingers probed all over her stomach. She winced a couple of times, but surprisingly, it didn't hurt very deeply.

“You'll have a bruise or two, but thankfully, he didn't manage to cause any real damage. I'm going to run you a hot bath and you can soak while I fix you dinner.”

She caught his hand. “Let's both take a bath, Stefano, and then we can share the cooking. You said you aren't that good, but, honey, I am. I like to cook. You have a great kitchen. You've had a difficult day, too. I'd rather share the bath and dinner.”

He stood over her a long time. So long she thought he might not respond. The expression on his face was difficult to read. Finally, he brushed at her hair with gentle fingers and shook his head.

“I'm so in love with you, Francesca. You give me so many miracles and you don't have a clue that you do. No one takes care of me. No one. Not when I was a boy and certainly not now. I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I love the sound of your laughter, and your smile lights up a room. I watch you with the people in the neighborhood and you're so great with everyone. They all gravitate toward you,
and you treat each of them with genuine interest and caring. I think that's enough reason to love you, but then you do this.” He shook his head.

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.

F
rancesca 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.

Her heart turned over and then began hammering, each beat thundering in her ears, rushing through her veins and pounding in her clit. She ran her hands up his chest. She loved the way his muscles were so defined, the way they rippled suggestively beneath his skin when he moved. Like a tiger. She shivered. Just touching him sent heat curling through her body and damp liquid made her slick with welcome.

“There's no going back for you, Francesca. Whatever happens, we'll face it together.” He bent his head and kissed her chin. Nibbled his way under her chin to her throat. He punctuated each kiss with a bite. Each bite made her hips buck with need. This was a slow burn, not the out-of-control wildfire he created. The burn took her over, cell by cell, settling in before she was fully aware of what was happening.

“I reserve the right to protect you, Stefano.”

His gaze moved over her face, melting her with those twin blue flames. “I love how you truly believe I need protecting and that you're so willing to try.” He bent his head to her breast, his dark hair brushing over her bare skin. “Every moment I'm with you,
bambina
, I fall harder. It's difficult for me to believe you're real. You aren't the only one a little terrified.”

His mouth made her squirm. Catch her breath. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, just how to bring that slow smolder to a hot burn. His hands moved over her skin. Possessive. Loving. Tender. So tender it brought tears to her eyes. His admission rang with truth and that brought a lump to her throat. Her Stefano.

He kissed his way down her body, keeping that slow, unhurried pace, but it was more intense than she thought possible. It felt as if he was worshiping her. Showing her with his mouth and hands how much he loved her.

Stefano took his time, savoring the taste and texture of Francesca. It was impossible to put into words what he felt for
her. He'd had no idea he
could
feel for a woman what he did each time he touched her. Hell. That wasn't exactly the truth. It happened each time he thought of her, which was every minute of every day. She was fast becoming his obsession.

He couldn't wait to be in her. Home. That was what she was to him. A woman who saw him. He kissed his way up the inside of her thigh, feeling her shiver. He loved her reaction every time he touched her. The silk of skin. The heat. He knew he shouldn't be happy for all the women he'd had before her. He couldn't remember them and they paled into insignificance, but he was grateful for the experience, to be able to give his woman so much pleasure.

Her soft little moans sounded like music to him. He waited for the breathy hitch in her voice before he dipped his head again and nuzzled that sweet, sweet treasure between her legs. Her hips bucked and he pinned her down, forcing her thighs farther apart as he inhaled her scent.

She was a siren calling to him. His gaze slid up her body, drinking her in, devouring her. Could a woman be any more beautiful, laid out for him, her body flushed, breasts swaying with every undulation and shift she made. Her hair was everywhere, just like he loved it, that cloud of dark silk felt like heaven against his skin. He dreamed of her hair sliding over him as he fucked her slowly. Fast. Any damn way he wanted.

“Who do you belong to,
bambina
?” He licked at her, licked at the orange-and-cinnamon-scented drops of honey spilling out of her. All for him. Every single bit, just for him. She didn't know yet. She was still leery of the relationship, not trusting anything that happened so fast. Knowing his family was far more than he was telling her. Still, she was there. With him. Committing to him in spite of her fear.

He needed her to commit all the way. To be so far into him, she couldn't walk away. He wanted their shadows merged—a dangerous thing to do if she wasn't fully his. It was a risk he knew could lose him everything. He'd end up a shadow himself, no longer a rider, something he was born
to do. Every day they were together like this, so intimate, their shadows connected, beginning the seal between them.

“Answer me, Francesca.” He used his black velvet voice. The one no one ever dared disobey. The one commanding truth. “Who do you belong to?” He plunged his tongue deep, because he couldn't resist her scent one more moment. His hands shaped her hips, her thighs. Slid over the dark curls at the vee of her legs. Possessively. He knew exactly who she belonged to.

“Stefano.”

She said his name on a gasp, her hands finding his hair, gripping, pulling. He loved the bite of pain. His cock loved it, too.

“I belong to you.”

Four beautiful words. He added a finger to her tight sheath and her muscles contracted around it, bathed him in hot liquid. He marveled that she could take him. She always felt far too tight, yet she was perfect for him.

“That's right, Francesca. You're mine.” Because he couldn't live without her. He couldn't ever again come back to one of his houses without her in it.

He moved up her body, keeping her thighs wide, bending one leg at the knee to curve it around his body, wanting her to lock him up tight. He did the same to the other leg so that her body cradled his and her legs circled his thighs, ankles crossed to hold him to her.

He brushed at her hair, and took her mouth again. He'd never be able to resist her mouth. He loved everything about it. How soft. Like velvet. Full lips. Her smile took his breath every time. She had the cutest little dimple, barely there, that came and went when she smiled. Her taste was exquisite. Addicting. He kissed his way down her chin and took a small bite. Felt her body shudder beneath his in reaction.

Her neck was next. He loved the way she arched, giving him access, even when he bit her that little bit too hard. It was impossible not to sink his teeth into her. She was just
too—perfect. Just too his. Everything he could imagine he would want in a woman and so much more.

Her hands stroked his back, fingernails bit deep into his shoulders. His cock jerked, his balls tightened. She was perfect. Fucking perfect. He worshiped her breasts, taking his time, even when she tried to impale herself on him. He loved that. Loved the way she needed him. Her eyes had that glazed look he was hungry to see. The look that said she was so far gone he could do anything to her and she'd let him, because she was every bit as wild for him as he was for her.

He guided her legs higher, so that they wrapped around his waist, exposing that soft center of hers. A flower. He lodged the head of his cock there, feeling the burn. So slick with welcome. He loved that too. How wet she got for him. How responsive she was to him. She was everything. When a man had nothing for his entire damn life, there was no mistaking the real thing when she walked unexpectedly into his world.

He pushed slowly into her. Inch by scorching-hot inch. Watching as she took him in. Watching as her body swallowed his. It was beautiful. Fucking perfection. His gaze on hers, he threaded his fingers through hers and pressed their joined hands into the mattress.

He'd never felt anything so intense as he did right in that moment. The clasp of her sheath strangling his cock, a vise made of breathing silk, the tunnel so hot and tight it took his breath. He moved slowly. He didn't want to. He wanted to fuck her hard, but right then, he couldn't. He was helpless, caught in her spell. Mesmerized by her beauty—by the beauty of her body and what it could do to his. Mesmerized by her heart, the heart that belonged to him.

He found himself hypnotized by the small noises Francesca made in her throat that always drove him wild. The way her eyes darkened as lust overtook her. He was acutely aware of every detail, every movement. The way she tilted her pelvis to take him deeper. The way she lifted to meet him, matching his rhythm exactly. Accepting whatever pace
he set. Hard. Slow. Gentle. Fast. She gave herself completely into his keeping.

“That's right,
dolce cuore
,” he whispered, feeling it build in her, coiling and burning. She was close. The hitch in her breathing, the raw carnal need etched into her face. So beautiful. All his. “Give it to me now.” He pushed command into his voice, wanting to feel the pulse of her body, that tight grip milking at him. The scorching friction and searing heat she surrounded him with. He wasn't yet ready to let her take him over the edge. He wanted more. Much, much more.

She gasped as the climax took her, her gaze never wavering from his. Her eyes went wide with a kind of dazed shock and her body shuddered and rippled with a powerful orgasm. He kept moving in her, picking up the pace, pounding through her climax, prolonging it.

He couldn't help himself. He drove deeper, lifting her hips to him, fingers digging into her perfect little heart-shaped bottom. Fucking her hard. Really hard. She belonged to him. Every inch of her. Her orgasms belonged to him. Her silken sheath, so tight he thought he might not live through every time she surrounded him—that belonged to him. He buried himself in her over and over. Taking her. Owning her. Savoring her. Her scent. The feel of her.
Dio.
Her taste, so exquisite he was addicted and woke every fucking morning with her on his tongue.

He wrapped her hair around his fist, just because he fucking owned her hair, too. She let him, even when he jerked, pulling hard, turning her head to force her to keep watching his face. He reveled in the sight of her under him, pinned there, unable to move, her legs wrapped around his waist, locking them together while he rode her hard.

He belonged there inside of her. She was . . .
la sua casa
—his home. Home wasn't a place with four walls. Home was a scorching-hot, tight sheath made of silk. Home was blue eyes he could drown in. Home was soft skin and an eager mouth, hands that stroked and caressed, nails that bit deep in passion.
She
was home. Francesca.

He was close—so close to the end of his control. He felt the heat skittering down his spine. Up his thighs. His balls tightening. She was beautiful, her entire body flushed, her mouth open, panting, singing a ragged chant, a breathy call of his name. “Mine.” He nearly spat the word. Telling her. Wanting that word branded into her bones. Wanting his name carved deep in her soul. She. Was.
His
. His everything.

Her muscles tightened, clamping down again, that scorching vise he would never get used to, the one that felt so fucking good. Paradise. Exquisite pain and pleasure coming together in perfect harmony. Forcing his explosion so that his entire body seemed to come apart. Milking him dry.