‘Just a minute.’
‘You changed your mind?’
Savannah’s heart lurched as Ethan turned to look at her. ‘No, but.’
‘But what?’ He kept on walking.
‘I need directions to the nearest taxi rank, and I thought you might know where I should look.’ She had to run to keep up with him, which wasn’t easy in high-heeled shoes, not to mention yards of taffeta winding itself like a malevolent red snake around her feet.
‘Find someone else to help you.’
‘Ethan, please!’ She would have to swallow her pride if it meant saving her parents more embarrassment. ‘Can you really get us out of here without the paparazzi seeing?’
He stopped and slowly turned around. ‘Can I get us out of here?’
The look of male confidence blazing from his eyes was at its purest. When she should be considering a thousand other things—like how long before the paparazzi found them, for example—a bolt of lust chose that moment to race down her spine. His eyes were the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen, deep grey, with just a hint of duck-egg blue, and they had very white whites, as well as the most ridiculously long black lashes.
‘I’m done waiting for you, Ms Ross.’
He was off again, but this time he grabbed her arm and took her with him. Savannah yelped with surprise. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To something that travels a lot faster than a taxi,’ he grated without slowing down.
What did he mean—a helicopter? Of course. She should have known. Like all the super-rich, Ethan would hardly call a cab when he could fly home. ‘Can we slow down just a bit?”
‘And talk this through?’ he scoffed without breaking stride. ‘We can take all the time in the world if you want the paparazzi to find you.’
‘You know I don’t want that!’ Okay, no reason to worry, Savannah told herself. They would fly straight to the airport in Ethan’s helicopter, from where she’d fly home. Traffic snarl-ups were reserved for mere mortals like herself. In no time Ethan would be back in his seat at the stadium ready for the second half, while she returned to England and her nice, safe fantasies. Perfect.
Or at least it was until a door burst open and the press-hounds barrelled out. It only took one of them to catch sight of Ethan and Savannah for the whole pack to give chase.
‘This way,’ Ethan commanded, swinging Savannah in front of him. Opening a door, he thrust her through it and, slamming it shut, he shot the bolt home.
If she hadn’t left her sensible sneakers in the tunnel she might have been able to run faster, Savannah fretted as Ethan took the stairs two at a time, but now the straps on her stratospheric heels were threatening to snap.
‘Leave them!’ he ordered as she bent down to take them off. ‘Or, better still, snap those heels off.’
‘Are you joking?’
‘Take them off!’ he roared.
‘I’m going to keep them,’ Savannah insisted stubbornly.
‘Do what you like with them,’ he said, snatching hold of her arm, half-lifting her to safety down another flight of steps. ‘And hitch up your skirt while you’re at it, before you trip over it,’ he said, checking outside the next door before rushing her out into the open air again. ‘Your skirt—hitch it up!’
Hitch it up? The photographers would surely be on them in moments, and when that happened she didn’t want to look like a…
‘Do it!’
‘I’m doing it!’ she yelled, startled into action. But she wouldn’t ruin the shoes her mother had bought her. Or Madame’s dress. Slipping off her high-heeled sandals as quickly as she could, Savannah bundled up the gown, noting she barely reached Ethan’s shoulder now. Also noting he barely seemed to notice her naked legs, which shouldn’t bother her, but for some reason did.
‘Come on,’ he rapped impatiently, still averting his gaze. ‘There’s no time to lose.’ Taking her arm, he urged her on.
Savannah was totally incapable of speech by the time they’d crossed the car park. Yet still Ethan was merciless. ‘There’s no time for that,’ he assured her when she rested with her hands on her knees to catch her breath.
Straightening up, she stared at him. She didn’t know this man. She didn’t know anything about him, other than the fact that his reputation was well deserved. The Bear was a dark and formidable man, whom she found incredibly intimidating. And she was going who knew where with him. ‘You still haven’t told me where we’re going.’
‘There’s no time!’
‘But you do have a helicopter waiting?’
‘A helicopter?’ Ethan glanced towards the roof where the helipad was situated.
He had a helicopter there, all right, she could see the logo of a bear on the tail. She could also see the scrum of photographers gathered round it.
‘A useful distraction,’ Ethan told her with satisfaction.
A red herring, Savannah realised, to put the paparazzi off the trail. ‘So what now?’
‘Now you can sit,’ he promised, dangling a set of keys in front of her face.
Ah…She relaxed a little at the thought that life was about to take on a more regular beat. She should have known Ethan would have a car here. His driver would no doubt take them straight to the airport, where the helicopter would meet him and she would fly home. She was guilty of overreacting again. Ethan was entitled to his privacy. He’d taken her out of reach of the paparazzi and saved her and her parents any further humiliation. She should be grateful to him. But she still felt a little apprehensive.
CHAPTER THREE
EVEN with the knowledge that comfort was only a few footsteps away, Savannah reminded herself that this was not one of her fantasies and Ethan was no fairy-tale hero. He was a cold, hard man who inhabited a world far beyond the safety curtain of a theatre, and as such she should be treating him with a lot more reserve and more caution than the type of men she was used to mixing with.
‘Put this on.’
She recoiled as he thrust something at her, and then she stared at it in bewilderment. ‘What’s this?’
‘A helmet,’ he said with that ironic tone again. ‘Put it on.’ When she didn’t respond right away. he gave it a little shake for emphasis.
It was only then she noticed the big, black motorbike parked up behind him and laughed nervously. ‘You’re not serious, I hope?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be serious?’ Ethan frowned. Dipping his head, he demanded, ‘You’re not frightened of riding a bike, are you?’
‘Of course not,’ Savannah protested, swallowing hard as she straightened up. Was she frightened of sitting on a big, black, vibrating machine pressed up close to Ethan?
‘If you have any better suggestions, Ms Ross…?’
Watching Ethan settle a formidable-looking helmet on his thick, wavy hair, she mutely shook her head.
‘Well?’ he said, swinging one hard-muscled thigh over the bike. ‘Would you care to join me, or shall I leave you here?’
She was still staring at the tightly packed jeans settled comfortably into the centre of the saddle, Savannah realised. ‘No…no,’ she repeated more firmly. ‘I’m coming with you.’ Remembering the door incident, she already knew he took no prisoners. Holding up her skirt, she hopped, struggled, and finally managed to yank her leg over the back of the bike—which wasn’t easy without touching him.
‘Helmet?’
As Ethan turned to look at her, Savannah thought his eyes were darker than ever through the open visor—a reflection of his black helmet, she told herself, trying not to notice the thick, glossy waves of bitter-chocolate hair that had escaped and fallen over the scars on his forehead. But those scars were still there, like the dark side of Ethan behind the superficial glamour of a fiercely good-looking man. Her stomach flipped as she wondered how many more layers there were to him, and what he was really thinking behind those gun-metal-grey eyes.
‘Helmet,’ he rapped impatiently.
Startled out of her dreams, she started fumbling frantical
ly with it.
‘Let me,’ he offered.
This was the closest they’d been since the stadium, and as Ethan handled the catch he held her gaze. In the few seconds it took him to complete the task every part of her had been subjected to his energy, which left her thrumming with awareness. And he hadn’t even started the engine yet, Savannah reminded herself as a door banged open and a dozen or so photographers piled out. Snapping his own visor into position, Ethan swung away from her and stamped the powerful machine into life. ‘Hang on.’
There was barely time to register that instruction before he released the brake, gunned the engine, and they roared off like a rocket.
Propelled by terror, Savannah flung her arms around Ethan, clinging to as much of him as she could. Forced to press her cheek against his crisp blue shirt, she kept her eyes shut, trusting him to get them out of this. But as the bike gained speed something remarkable happened. Maybe it was the persistent throb of the engine, or the feel of Ethan’s muscular back against her face—or maybe it was simply the fact that she had a real-life hunk beneath her hands instead of one of her disappointing fantasies—but Savannah felt the tension ebb away and began to enjoy herself. She was enjoying travelling at what felt like the speed of sound, and not in a straight line either. Because this wasn’t just the ride of her life, Savannah concluded, smiling a secret smile, but the closest to sex she’d ever come.
As Ethan raced the bike between the ranks of parked cars she was pleased to discover how soon she became used to leaning this way and that to help him balance. She could get used to this, Savannah decided, sucking in her first full and steady breath since climbing on board. She felt so safe with Ethan. He made her feel safe. His touch was sure, his judgement was sound, and his strength could only be an asset in any situation. There was something altogether reassuring about being with him, she concluded happily.
When she wasn’t being terrified by him, her sober self chimed in.
Ignoring these internal reservations, she went with the excitement of the moment—not that she needed an excuse to press her face against Ethan’s back. As she inhaled the intoxicating cocktail of sunshine, washing powder and warm, clean man, she decided that just for once she was going to keep her sensible self at bay and ride this baby like a biker chick.
Ethan was forced to slow the bike as he engaged with the heavy traffic approaching Rome, and Savannah took this opportunity to do some subtle finger-mapping. She reckoned she had only a few seconds before Ethan’s attention would be back on the bike and his passenger, and she intended to make the most of them. He felt like warm steel beneath her fingertips, and she could detect the shift of muscle beneath his shirt. She smiled against his back, unseen and secure. She felt so tiny next to him, which made her wonder what such a powerful man could teach her, locking these erotic reveries away in record time when he gunned the engine and turned sharp right.
The bike banked dramatically as they approached the Risorgimento Bridge spanning the river Tiber, forcing Savannah to lean over at such an angle her knee was almost brushing the road. As she did so she realised it was the first time she had ever put her trust in someone outside her close-knit family. But with the Roman sun on her face, and the excitement of the day, clinging on to a red-hot man didn’t seem like such a bad option, she told herself wryly. In fact, who would travel by helicopter, given an alternative like this?
She was feeling so confident by the time Ethan levelled up the bike again, she even turned around to see if they were being followed.
‘I thought I told you to sit still.’
Savannah nearly jumped off the bike with fright, hearing Ethan’s voice barking at her through some sort of headphone in her helmet.
‘Hold on,’ he repeated harshly.
‘I am holding on,’ she shouted back.
As if she needed an excuse.
They took another right and headed back up the river the way they’d come, only on the opposite side of the Tiber. Ethan slowed the bike when they reached the Piazalle Maresciallo Giardino where there was another bridge and, moored under it, a powerboat…
No.
No!
Savannah shook her head, refusing to believe the evidence of her own eyes. This couldn’t possibly be the next stage of their journey. Or was that one of the reasons Ethan had been making that call back at the stadium, to line everything up? ‘Come on,’ he rapped, shaking her out of her confusion the moment they parked up.
As she fumbled with the clasp Ethan lifted her visor and removed the helmet for her. As his fingers brushed her face she trembled. Staring into his eyes, she thought it another of those moments where fantasy collided with reality. But was Ethan really looking at her differently, as if she might be more than just a package he was delivering to the airport? The suspicion that he might be seeing her for the first time as a woman was a disturbing thought, and so she turned away to busy herself with the pretence of straightening out her ruined hair. She still had her precious high-heels dangling from her wrist like a bracelet, which turned her thoughts to her mother and what she would make of this situation. Her mother was a stand-up woman and would make the most of it, Savannah concluded, as would she.
‘Are you thinking of joining me any time today?’
She looked up to find Ethan already on board the boat, preparing to cast off. He leaned over the side to call to her, ‘Get up here, or I’ll come and get you!’
Would you? crossed her mind. Brushing the momentary weakness aside, she called back, ‘Wait for me.’
‘Not for long,’ he assured her. ‘You’re not frightened of a little mud, are you?’ he added, taunting her as she teetered down the embankment.
Frightened of a little mud? He clearly hadn’t seen their farmyard recently. ‘What sort of wet lettuce do you think I am?’
‘You’d prefer me not to answer that.’
‘I’m not all sequins and feathers, you know!’ She kicked the hem of her gown away with one dirty foot for emphasis.
‘You don’t say.’ Ethan’s tone was scathing, and then she noticed their chins were sticking out at the same combative angle and quickly pulled hers in again.
‘There is an element of urgency to this. Paparazzi?’ Ethan reminded her in a voice that could have descaled a kettle.
And then car horns started up behind her. She was providing some unexpected entertainment for the male drivers of Rome, who were slowing their vehicles to whistle and shout comments at her. They must think she was still in evening dress after a wild night out with an even wilder man, Savannah realised self-consciously. A man who was threatening to make good on his promise to come and get her, she also realised, detecting movement in her peripheral vision. ‘Stay back,’ she warned Ethan as he took a step towards her. ‘I don’t need your help.’
It was a relief to see him lift his hands up, palms flat in an attitude of surrender. She had enough to do picking her way across the splintery walkway without worrying about what Ethan might do.
It was just a shame she missed his ironic stare. The next thing she knew she was several feet off the ground travelling at speed towards the boat. ‘Put me down!’
Ethan ignored her. ‘I can’t live life at your pace. young lady. If you stay around me much longer, you’ll have to learn to tick a lot faster.’
She had no intention of ‘staying around’ him a moment longer than she had to, Savannah determined. But, pressed against Ethan’s firm, warm body, a body that rippled with hard, toned muscle…‘Please put me down,’ she murmured, hoping he wouldn’t hear.
Ethan didn’t react either way. He didn’t slow his pace until they were onboard, when he lowered her onto the deck. Having done this, he surveyed her sternly. ‘The race is still on,’ he said, folding massive arms across his chest. ‘And I have no intention of giving up, or of allowing anyone to hold me back. Is that clear?’
‘Crystal.’
‘Good.’
Savannah smoothed her palms down her arms where Ethan’s hand print
s were still branded.
‘Well, Ms Ross, shall we take this powerboat on the river?’
‘Whatever it takes,’ she agreed, watching Ethan move to straddle the space between the shore and the boat.
‘I’m going to free the mooring ropes,’ he explained, springing onto the shore. ‘Can you catch a rope?’
Could she catch a rope? He really did think she was completely useless, Savannah thought, huffing with frustration. Ethan had got her so wrong. ‘I might have smaller hands than you, but I still have opposing thumbs.’
Was that a smile? Too late to tell, as Ethan had already turned away.
‘In that case, catch this.’
He turned back to her so fast she almost dropped the rope. It was heavier than she had imagined and she stumbled drunkenly under the weight of it.
‘All right?’ Ethan demanded as he sprang back on board.
‘Absolutely fine,’ she lied. Summoning her last reserves of strength, she hoisted it up to brandish it at him.
‘Now coil it up,’ he instructed, pointing to where she should place it when she’d done so.
‘Okay.’ She could do this. Quite honestly, she enjoyed the feel of the rough rope beneath her fingers—and enjoyed the look of grudging admiration on Ethan’s face even more. But she needed to even the playing field. Ethan was dressed appropriately for taking a powerboat down the river. She was dressed, but barely. ‘Do you have a jumper, or something I could borrow?’
Ethan made a humming sound as he looked her over. ‘I see your point.’
Savannah felt heat rise to her cheeks and depart southwards.
‘I’ll see what I can do for you,’ Ethan offered, brushing past her on his way across the deck. ‘I must have an old shirt stowed here somewhere…’
Her nipples responded with indecent eagerness to this brief contact with him, just as a fresh flurry of car horns started up on shore. Who could blame the drivers? Savannah thought. The sight of a decidedly scruffy girl in an ill-fitting evening dress onboard a fabulous powerboat in the middle of the afternoon with a clearly influential man of some considerable means would naturally cause a sensation in Rome. But why couldn’t Ethan notice her?
The Ruthless Billionaire’s Virgin Page 3