His hand went to her scalp, his strong fingers doing a slow massage that somehow kept the throbbing pain at bay enough that she could tolerate the rest of the ride without wanting to be sick. Neither said anything more until she felt the car slow.
Opening her eyes, she saw the vehicle was going down what was obviously a thousand-foot driveway with woods on either side. She started to sit up straighter to get a better view. She’d heard of places like this one along Lake Michigan, but she’d never actually seen one of the beautiful wooded estates. The moment she moved, wrenching pain radiated from her shoulder throughout her body. Her stomach reacted with a frightening lurch and she couldn’t quite suppress the sound that was torn from her throat in spite of her every effort not to cry out.
Vittorio immediately caught her body and steadied her. “You can’t move around yet, Grace. Dr. Arnold was very clear that the car ride had to be smooth. No jarring you. That means when you shift positions, you have to take it very slow. Let me know ahead of time so I can help you.”
She bit down on her lip and struggled not to cry. She refused to be a baby in front of him. She was exhausted and wanted to lie down. More, she wanted the pain to stop, just for a few minutes, just long enough to allow her to catch her breath.
“It looks so beautiful, Mr. . . .” She hesitated. She was unsure what to call him. “Mr. Ferraro” sounded a little formal for being engaged—even when the engagement was pure fiction.
“Vittorio,” he supplied, his hand moving to the nape of her neck, massaging slowly to help ease the tension from her. “It isn’t that difficult to say my name, is it, gattina?” Amusement spilled over from his laughing eyes to his voice. “I’ve been waiting to hear the way my name sounds when you say it.”
She didn’t understand how he could look and sound and even smell so sexy and still, somehow, make her feel beautiful. Desirable. How did he do that when she was such a mess?
“The property looks so beautiful, Vittorio. I wanted to see it better.”
He smiled down at her and once again leaned in to brush a kiss along her temple. “Saying my name wasn’t that hard, was it?”
The car had come to a halt, but she was caught in his eyes, staring up at him, feeling as if the world around her was spinning and he was the calm center. “A little,” she admitted truthfully. “I feel like I know you, but the reality is . . .” Again she trailed off. The reality was he’d been her fantasy man for so long, she felt like she was caught in a bizarre dream. Between the painkillers and her overactive imagination, she was a little afraid of what she might blurt out.
His smile twisted her insides into knots of anticipation. She loved to see that smile, the way it transformed his face from rugged, dangerous, very masculine beauty to something much softer and approachable. She could pretend he was hers alone and that look was reserved for her. Still, she knew the difference between fantasy and reality and she wasn’t going to be so ridiculous as to believe in something not real. In the meantime, she was going to keep pretending.
“Don’t move, Grace. Let me come around and get you. I’ll describe the house and property to you, if you’d like.”
He slid across the seat, putting distance between them as one of the bodyguards she recognized—Emilio—opened the door for him. She was familiar with quite a few of the Ferraro bodyguards because they accompanied each of the Ferraros to the fund-raisers KB Events put on for their clients. The names were always on the lists and their faces became familiar out of necessity.
The moment Vittorio slid across the seat to the door, she felt unsteady and alone. Once again, the pain in her shoulder and arm was overwhelming, as if somehow his mere closeness had taken some of the agony from her. She watched him go around the hood and then he was opening her door and bending in, those incredible eyes of his moving over her face, assessing how bad the pain was just from the ride to his home.
“I’m so grateful to be out of the hospital,” she assured him, wanting to take some of the worry from his eyes.
“You don’t have to pretend everything is all right with me, Grace.”
Vittorio very gently unsnapped her seat belt. She tried not to feel like a child, wanting him to see her as a woman, not a broken thing that he had to take care of. She inhaled his scent, all that alluring woods and spice that shouted pure power and danger. Grace pressed her lips together to keep from blurting out again how good he smelled. Instead, she took another deep breath, wanting to concentrate on him and how good it felt to be cared for when she knew the lift out of the car was going to be excruciatingly painful.
“Don’t tense up, bella. Let me do the work. Just slide your arm around my neck and I’ll bring you out. We don’t want your shoulder jarred at all. Doc said he stabilized it very well, but you weren’t to move it yet.”
“I can’t believe you call him Doc.” She had to say something. Anything. She didn’t want to feel what was coming.
“Look at me.”
He waited until she did, his arm around her back, the other arm under her legs, his face very close to hers. That close he looked . . . intimidating. Reassuring.
“Breathe, gattina. I’m not going to hurt you.”
It was almost automatic to follow his order. She was used to trusting him when she didn’t trust anyone else, and she didn’t even know how she got that way. The moment he told her to breathe, to relax, her body was already doing it. Tension eased from every muscle and air filled her lungs and exited. His smile sent familiar heat swirling through her bloodstream. As a reward, she thought it was an excellent one.
He slid her out of the car as if she were the most delicate piece of porcelain there was. She was out and blinking up at the clear blue sky before she realized he’d moved her. She’d been lost in his smile. In his eyes. The shadow on his jaw, all that delicious dark stubble she was tempted to touch.
Grace hadn’t thought it was possible to move from the car to the outside without jarring her shoulder, but somehow, Vittorio managed to do it. He cradled her against his chest, turning her so she could see the house. She knew her mouth dropped open and she wasn’t even embarrassed.
The exterior of the structure was blue-gray stone. A New England–style two-story house with a rounded turret that gave it the feeling of a castle—at least to her. It was a sprawling mansion complete with a five-car garage.
“You live here?” Her voice came out a squeak. “Alone?” Anyone would get lost in that house.
“I do. I like privacy and peace. This house has both.”
“It’s massive.”
“I have a staff.”
“A staff?” she echoed faintly, her fingers involuntarily curling around the nape of his neck. They were moving closer to the front entrance, where a very ornate door drew the eye. The car had driven up the circular drive in front of the house to allow Vittorio to get close to the door. She could see it looming up in front of them and she suddenly had the desire to leap out of his arms and make a run for it.
“What’s wrong?” He stopped moving instantly. “Grace? Talk to me.”
The rounded turret was to their left and he began walking that way, taking her into a private patio space that was large enough to have not one, but two double glass doors separated by several feet. In the center of that space set into the blue-gray stone was a very large shield carved out of wood. Before she could get a good look at the shield, he took her to one of the chairs set up for an intimate conversation. He sank down onto a wide glider facing the forest.
The sounds of birds and water reached her. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees and turned them into a silvery dance. She was acutely aware she was out of her depth here, but how did she say that to someone who was being so wonderful to her?
“Grace, talk to me. Something is upsetting you. If you don’t tell me what it is, I can’t fix it. Look at me, gattina.”
She both loved and detested that command. It didn’t matter that he spoke in a low, gentle tone, it was definitely a demand and one she co
uldn’t seem to resist. She also knew that once she looked into his eyes, where all that liquid blue was, she would be lost.
“If I do, you’re going to get your way.” She made a small attempt to save herself. She could fall hard for Vittorio Ferraro and that would shatter her heart. Probably her soul as well.
“Most likely, but is that so bad? What’s the worst that can happen? You look at me and tell me what is upsetting you and I fix it. That can’t possibly be so bad.”
“That’s what’s bad, Vittorio. I don’t belong here. I wouldn’t know what to do in a house like this. It’s intimidating.”
There was a small silence and her gaze jumped to his. He studied her face with eyes that seemed to see everything, see right into her, every fear she had. “Houses are just that, Grace. A place to live. This one appealed to me and I think, if you give it a chance, you’ll like it.”
Was she seeing hurt in his eyes? That was the last thing she wanted. “It isn’t a matter of liking it, Vittorio. It’s beautiful.” It wasn’t the house and they both knew it. She was used to working with wealthy clients and staff.
He studied her face and she had the urge to bury it against his shoulder, but she refused to be a coward.
“Am I intimidating to you?”
Was he? She nodded slowly.
“Because of who I am? My money? This house? What is it?”
That was a good question. A fair one. She wasn’t going to answer fast, he deserved better than that. It was difficult to think when her shoulder throbbed and burned, radiating pain throughout her body, but she was determined to think the questions through. Was she intimidated by his money? No. She was used to putting together fund-raisers, and men and women running in Vittorio’s circles were the clients her company targeted. She catered to them, designed food, drink and themes around their particular likes and dislikes.
“Not your money.” She was decisive. “I don’t even think that much about it. When it does enter my head, I just dismiss it because you can’t help what you have and I’m not in that category and never will be. It doesn’t matter.” Her world would never be about money. “I might get lost in the house, but it’s beautiful.”
“And intimidating. You used that word. So, it’s me. You find me intimidating.”
She nodded. “Doesn’t everyone?”
He gave her a small smile. “Is it so bad to be a little intimidated by me?”
“I feel off-balance.”
“It could be just the hardware in your shoulder.”
She blinked. It took a minute to register what he’d said, and she couldn’t help laughing. Real laughter. One minute she’d been afraid to go inside, and now the strange tension was gone and she was looking forward to seeing the interior, even though it honestly felt as if she was giving herself to him.
“How do you do that? You make everything okay so easily . . .” She stumbled over saying his name.
“Vittorio,” he said firmly.
She made a face at him. “You’re always ‘Mr. Ferraro’ on the guest list.” It took effort not to wince when her shoulder was throbbing.
He brushed his mouth against her temple. “You’re my guest this time and I refuse to call you Ms. Murphy.”
The touch of his lips set her heart stuttering. “I would hope not. I much prefer Grace.” Or whatever he called her in Italian. That rolled off his tongue all sexy. Like a caress.
He stood, except it was more like he flowed to his feet, not a single jarring move and with her in his arms. Lifting her with him was effortless. “Let’s go in. You need to rest.”
The inside of the house was every bit as breathtaking as the outside. She looked up at the cathedral ceilings and gleaming floors.
“There’s a very large master bedroom suite,” he informed her. “And seven bedrooms, so plenty of space for a family and guests. I’m putting you in the guest room downstairs so there won’t be the necessity of climbing up and down stairs, although there is a lift.”
“Of course there is,” she said faintly, looking around. Wide-open spaces, a stone fireplace that was enormous but fit with the size of the house. She wanted to see the house, but she wanted to lie down and rest. The pain in her shoulder was difficult to ignore.
“Nine thousand square feet of house, plus a temperature-controlled garage. The pool is heated, of course, and the views of the lake are outstanding. I purchased the properties on either side of this one, so we have complete privacy, and the staff have homes they can live in as well.”
She might have to take it back that his money didn’t intimidate her. He said it all so casually, as if everyone could afford to buy multimillion-dollar properties. The problem was, she was at her limit. If he didn’t get her somewhere she could lie down and take more pain meds, she was going to start vomiting all over his beautiful house.
“Vittorio.” That was all she could get out before she had to clamp her lips together.
He took one look at her pale face, the sweat breaking out—so attractive—and picked up the pace, using long strides to take her down a very wide hall to a room at the end. She managed to look around as he placed her on the side of the bed.
Her bedroom was huge, glass on one wall, giving her an incredible view of the lake. She caught a glimpse of the dazzling blue as the sun danced off the surface when Vittorio lowered her to the bed. All she wanted to do was lie down, but she realized immediately she was in trouble. She looked up at him a little helplessly, her tongue touching her upper lip.
“I really need to go to the bathroom.” She had no idea why it was so embarrassing to admit it. Everyone had to use a bathroom, but it wasn’t a glamourous function. Admitting it to the sexiest man she’d ever met just added to her growing misery.
“I should have thought of that,” he said immediately and lifted her again.
Grace slid her arm around his neck, her mind racing frantically. She was dressed in a skirt, and a top with the sleeve cut out of it. There had been nothing easy about getting into the top or skirt and she didn’t want to ever have to take them off. Still, going to the bathroom wasn’t going to be easy, either, and she hadn’t done it yet on her own.
Vittorio set her down right in front of the toilet and she found she couldn’t look at him, her face turning a particularly unattractive shade of red. He bunched her skirt in one hand and pushed it into her fist. “Stand still and wait for me to help. I don’t want you to jar your shoulder. You’re about done in.”
“You can’t help me.”
He was already crouched down in front of her, his hands hooking into the waistband of her panties. His eyes met hers and once again, her stomach did a peculiar flip. “Someone has to, and I’m all you’ve got. I like helping you, Grace. It’s a privilege. This is just part of life. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed.”
“It isn’t very sexy,” she groused before she could stop herself. If she’d had any choice at all she would have insisted on doing it herself, but she knew she’d fall on her face. She had to lie down as soon as possible and she just wanted this over.
He slid her panties down, and then stood to help her sit. “There isn’t much about you that isn’t sexy, bella, but I understand what you’re saying.” He walked away from her, leaving her in the room with the toilet, but with the door open. The rest of the bathroom was enormous, so much so that she was fairly certain her entire apartment could fit into it. She’d glimpsed a double sink, all gleaming marble with gold faucets.
She didn’t have any choice. If she’d been thinking about it, she would have protested coming to his home, but she was just so grateful someone else had taken over and she didn’t have to think too much about anything. This was a huge lesson. She tried not to cry, because she knew it had been a long, terrible day with the revelations about Haydon and the things he’d done. The fact that he was crawling around in the hospital vents, which she knew might happen, made her uneasy for Vittorio’s family. If Haydon could get into the hospital, why couldn’t he get into their homes?
She managed to stand unsteadily, swaying, feeling as if she might fall over at any moment, but wiping was disastrous until she figured out how to tuck her skirt under her arm while she took care of business. How did people do this when they didn’t have help? If she’d gone home to her apartment, she would have been in a real mess. She needed to be grateful, not worried about her dignity.
“You ready, il mia gattina?”
“Yes. I just have to wash my hands. Hand. Whatever.”
“You look exhausted. I’m sorry it was such a long drive. I was afraid if I took you in the helicopter it would be too jarring when it set down.”
“You have a helicopter?”
“Yes, of course. I have to get places fast at times. We all have one close for transport.” He lifted her and carried her through to the twin sinks, so she could wash her hand. The other was cuffed out of the way, holding her arm stable. She knew he couldn’t fail to feel her body trembling. Every movement was jarring now, no matter how careful and smooth he was. She clenched her teeth together to keep from making a sound.
“Don’t do that, Grace. When you’re hurting, you need to tell me. I’d like you to make an effort to share what you’re feeling, good or bad, with me. I’ll do the same. If we’re honest with each other in our communication this will work for us.” He set her on the bed and went down on one knee to remove her shoes.
“I’d be the biggest whiner in the history of mankind.”
“To tell me the honest truth about what you need?” His eyes met hers. “I don’t think so. I think that’s called communication. I’m asking you to try. For me. That’s what I need from you. Honesty.”
“I thought you’d have staff, a housekeeper, someone who would do this while you worked.” Tiny beads of sweat formed on her forehead and trickled down her chest. She wanted to close her eyes and just go to sleep, but the pain was swamping her to the point there was a roaring in her ears and chaos beginning in her mind.
“Would you prefer them to me?”
There it was was again, that hurt in his eyes. Maybe hurt. Something. Sadness. That was it. She detested that look. He shouldn’t ever feel unhappy. It was more than unhappy. Desolate, as if he was completely alone and she’d taken his last joy from him. It wasn’t the truth anyway. Of course she would prefer him to help her. If it meant so much to him, who cared about her dignity? What was she thinking? That he’d find her sexy and want to spend the rest of his life with her? Now she was believing the fiancé lie.
Shadow Warrior Page 10