Pride (In Wilde Country Book 1) (10 page)

“What about your pathetic tendency to run? Is that what you always do when the stakes get too high?”

She stopped moving.

“I’m going back to the table.”

“Is that the reason you sneaked out of my bed? Because the stakes got too high?”

“It was a motel room bed, and I am done with this!”

Oh, she was full of fury! Eyes flashing. Mouth trembling. Pulse beating in her slender throat like the heart of a trapped songbird.

She was exquisite and—and,
Cristo
, he wanted her. Here. Right now. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life.

“Were you afraid of showing honest emotion, of giving up that act, that need to take control, to take charge, to run the show?”

She lifted her hands, formed them into fists and punched them against his shoulders.

“Let go of me!”

Luca grabbed her fists.

“Or were you afraid I was going to ask you a personal question? Something like, what’s your phone number? Where do you live? Or, even worse, may I see you again?”

The music changed. Now, it was something fast and hot. Couples were moving around them, dancing, laughing, and she was struggling against him. Maybe people thought they were dancing. Maybe not. He didn’t give a crap.

“You insulted me,” he said in a low voice. Until that instant, he hadn’t realized that that was the heart of the problem. Now, he did.

“I insulted you?” She laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “What’s your problem, Bellini? Do the women you screw usually stay around, applaud and write reviews?”

Why did her use of that word, screw, make him angry? Never mind the reason. It did. Everything about her made him angry, and he’d be damned if he’d let her avoid this confrontation.

“The women I screw, as you so delicately put it, don’t creep off as if they’re leaving the scene of a crime.”

“LET GO!”

He tugged her to him. It was easy. He outweighed her, outmuscled her. She fell against him, breasts, hips, thighs.

“Actually,” he said in a low, harsh voice, “you overestimated yourself,
bellissima
.
We had a good time. It was over. It was a relief to find you gone. I’m not much for saccharine goodbyes and—
Merda
!”

Her stiletto heel was like the strike of a knife against his foot.

She looked up into his eyes and batted her lashes.

“Oh,” she said sweetly, “did I step on you? I’m so sorry—What are you doing? Bellini! Bellini! Damn you, let go!”

He’d have sooner have let go of an asp poised to strike.

Hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, fingers digging into her flesh, Luca all but dragged her through the crowded dance floor, out the door and into the empty hall, though he wouldn’t have given a damn if it had been packed with partygoers. He pushed her back against a velvet-flocked wall.

He was angry. Angry? He was furious and he had been ever since the morning.

This time, he wasn’t going to let her get away.

She owed him.

For insulting him. For angering him.

For denying him what he’d needed in that motel room.

He could see the wildness in her eyes, the passion, and even as the civilized part of him asked him what in hell he thought he was doing, the savage part of him knew.

He wanted her.

Not because she was fighting him although yes, all that fire was part of it.

He wanted her because he had not had enough time, enough of her… And because he wanted her on his terms.

Submissive.

No. Not submissive.

Responsive.

He wanted her responsive. To him. Only to him. He wanted her to beg for release. To do whatever he asked of her.

He wanted to take her to bed and dominate her.

He wanted things he had never before wanted from a woman, and even as he tried to understand what was happening to him, he saw the change in her as she struggled against him, as her body brushed his.

He saw the fire turning to a flame that would consume them both.

He said something in a low, rough voice, clasped both her wrists in one hand and pinned them against the wall, high over her head.

“No,” she panted.

Too late.

His mouth came down hard on hers. His tongue sought entry and when she wouldn’t provide it, he sank his teeth into her bottom lip, hard enough to draw a moan of passion or pain from her throat.

Which was it? He didn’t know and it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that she bit him back—and then she groaned and opened to him and her taste was hot and sweet, and now there was no doubt that she wanted what he wanted.

This.

This kiss. This explosion of heat. This rush of blood as they moved against each other.

Yes
, he thought, yes,
Cristo
, yes.

He ran his free hand down the length of her, from her throat to her breasts to her belly.

“Luca,” she sobbed, “Luca…”

Her gown was slit to the thigh. He slipped his hand under it, and felt only skin.

She was naked.

No panties. No thong. Nothing between his hand and the elegant curve of her hip, the delicacy of her belly, the silken softness of her dark curls.

Another minute, he was going to explode.

“Open for me,” he whispered.

She gave a little sob.

Parted her legs.

He put his hand between her thighs.

She said his name and he kissed her, deep and hard.

And cupped her. Stroked her.

She screamed into his mouth and came against his palm. Hot. Wet. All for him. Only for him.

His vision blurred.

He reached between them for the zipper of his fly. All he had to do was free himself, push her gown up, thrust into her. Make her come and come and come.

Sanity, a cold kind of sanity with a cruel edge, stopped him.

He let go of her wrists. Took his hand from the hot dampness between her thighs. And stepped back.

“No,” she whispered. She was trembling. “Luca…”

He was trembling too, but that didn’t matter.

He dug into his pocket, took out his iPhone, hit a button, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Aldo,” he said. “A woman will be coming down to the lobby in a couple of minutes. She is dark haired. Tall. Very beautiful. Flag a taxi for her. No, I won’t be with her. Thank you, Aldo.” He put the phone away. Took out his wallet. Pulled out two hundred dollar bills and held them out. “That should cover cab fare.”

Cheyenne looked from his face to his hand. She snatched the bills from him, tore them in half and let them tumble to the floor.

“You’re being foolish,” he said calmly. “As you pointed out, your purse is back in the ballroom.”

“You are,” she said, her voice shaking, “you are despicable!”

“I’d have left you instructions on how to find a taxi,” he said, “but this seems more efficient.”

The blow, when it came, was hardly surprising. He’d been half-expecting it and he’d braced himself for it; still, the force of it made his head snap back.

“Good night, Ms. McKenna,” he said. “And thank you for an interesting interlude in an otherwise dull evening.”

Later, thinking back, he was sure she’d have hit him again, but just then the doors to one of the elevators slid open. A man and a woman stepped from the car, he in a tux, she in a glittering gown, her arm looped through his. They were laughing, but their laughter stopped as soon as they saw the scene before them.

“Oh,” the woman said.

It was, Luca thought, the only intelligent comment possible.

He knew what they saw.

Him, his color high, his breathing rapid, his clothes disheveled.

Cheyenne, her hair wild around her face, her eyes like black pools, her mouth pink and swollen from his kisses. He saw the stricken expression on her face and his gut twisted.

The right thing to do was step in front of her. Shield her from the strangers’ curious glances. After all, they’d just been making love…

His heart hardened.

They hadn’t been making love. They’d been doing exactly what they’d done this morning

No. Not quite. They’d fucked this morning, he thought with icy precision, but he’d deliberately kept that from happening this time.

The desire to protect her vanished.

The elevator doors started to close. He moved forward quickly and jammed his hand between them.

“I believe you were waiting for an elevator,” he said calmly.

Cheyenne’s eyes flashed with fire. It made her even more beautiful. He wanted to drag her into his arms, carry her into the car and finish what he had started.

Instead, he smiled politely and motioned her forward.

For the first time in his life, he understand that old expression,
if looks could kill
. If they could, he’d be dead on the spot.

Head high, she swept past him into the car and pressed the button for the lobby. The doors closed. He took a steadying breath before he turned around.

The man and woman were watching him the way snakes might watch a mongoose, fully aware that polite appearances could mask the worst possible intentions.

“Enjoy your evening,” he said pleasantly, and he opened the door to the fire stairs and took out his phone as he started down.

“Aldo,” he said brusquely. “The brunette. When you flag her a cab, give the driver a couple of hundred dollars. If she won’t let you do that, drive her home yourself. What do you mean, what if she protests? She
will
protest, Aldo. You are to ignore that and see to it she gets safely home. Do you understand?”

Halfway down the stairs, he paused. Her purse. Was it still lying on the table in the ballroom? Surely, her keys were in it.

He thought of going after it…and then he remembered the morning, how she’d used him, how she’d treated him tonight, as if he were part of an unfortunate memory she preferred to forget, and he kept going, straight to the lobby.

Wherever she lived, he thought coldly, she had a doorman. A superintendent. A building manager. Someone would let her into her apartment. Besides, it wasn’t his problem.

When he reached the lobby, he was still telling himself that he’d done nothing more than Cheyenne had deserved.

Then why was a voice deep inside him whispering
liar
?

CHAPTER SIX

A
ldo and the
black Mercedes were waiting at the curb.

“I take it the lady wouldn’t let you drive her home,” Luca said as he got into the rear seat.

Aldo nodded, checked his mirror and pulled into traffic.

“That is correct, sir.”

Luca sat back, arms folded, mouth thinned. Of course, she wouldn’t let him drive her home. No surprise there—but her reaction to the offer irritated him, which was ridiculous. Why would anything she did irritate him? Wasn’t he supposed to be feeling good at having evened the score?

“So, you saw her into a taxi instead.”

His driver hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?”

“She refused to go with me, or to get into a taxi. She said she was perfectly capable of walking.”

“Walking?” Luca’s voice rose. “Walking where?”

“To wherever it is she lives, Mr. Bellini,” Aldo said uncomfortably. “She didn’t say.”

“And you let her go?”

“Sir, I couldn’t stop her.” The driver cleared his throat. “She was—she was very determined. What she said…What she said made that clear.”

“Dammit, I’m not in the mood for games. What, exactly, did she say?”

“She told me precisely what I could do with my offers. What you could do with
your
offers. She said I was to be sure and give you that message.” Aldo’s eyes met Luca’s in the mirror, then skidded away. “Sir.”

Luca almost laughed. He suspected her message had been crisp, clear and to the point.

Still, this wasn’t a laughing matter.

She had left without her purse. He’d known women who tucked a couple of bills into their bras, but she hadn’t been wearing a bra.

She hadn’t been wearing anything under that gown.

Just her lush body.

And then, his caressing hand.

Luca felt his throat constrict. If he shut his eyes, he knew that he’d be back in the hallway. That he’d know the sweet taste of her mouth. The feel of her body pressing against his. The heat of her burning against his palm.

He shuddered.

This was not a time to turn himself on.

It was a time to wonder how the woman he’d forced into the night without so much as a penny was going to get home, because one way or another, he
had
forced her out of the hotel; there was no getting around the truth.

And he didn’t even know where ‘home’ was.

Two blocks away? Ten blocks? For all he knew, she lived in the financial district. Or in Brooklyn. He thought of her in that gown, her body so elegantly outlined, and then there were those icepick heels, sexy beyond belief, but impossible if you had to manage a purposeful stride, and a purposeful stride was what you needed to guard against the predators that hunted on some of the city’s streets.

She was alone and vulnerable, and it was all his fault.

Idiota,
he thought grimly, and he leaned forward.

“Did you see the direction in which she went?”

“She headed downtown. At least, I think she did, but there was a lot of traffic and—”

“Turn around. Go back to the hotel.”

“Sir?”

“I said, go back to the hotel. Immediately!”

Aldo glanced in the mirror, saw his employer’s face, nodded, and all but stood on the brakes as he turned the wheel. Horns bleated as he made a U turn across two lanes of traffic.

When they reached the hotel, he pulled the Mercedes to the curb. Luca was out of the car before it had stopped.

One of the Skytop elevators was waiting in the lobby.

“Miracle of miracles,” he muttered, stepping quickly into the car and jamming his finger against the
up
button. “Come on, come on,” he said as the elevator made its climb. The doors slid open and he hurried into the ballroom and started across the dance floor.

“Luca!” Alene Beresford stepped away from her husband and caught hold of Luca’s arm. “Are you having a good time?”

“Alene. I’m very busy right now.”

“I hope you and Cheyenne are getting along.”

“Yes. No. We are…” Luca cleared his throat. “Do you know where she lives?”

“Cheyenne?”

Cristo,
he had no time for this!

“Yes. Do you have her address?”

“I don’t, no. She lives downtown somewhere, I think…or maybe in midtown. Why not ask…” Alene gave a sly laugh. “Oh, I get it. You want to send her flowers as a surprise. Really, that’s so charm—”

“Excuse me, Alene,” Luca said, pulling his arm free of her hand. “I’m in a hurry.”

“You still haven’t told me how the two of you are—”

Luca hurried to his table. Everyone looked up and smiled.

“There you are,” one of the shrinks said pleasantly. “We were beginning to wonder what—”

“Sorry,” he said, though he knew that the way he scooped up Cheyenne’s purse and ran back the way he’d come made it clear he wasn’t sorry at all.

The elevator was still there.

He got in and opened the bit of silk as the doors closed.

Cash. A tube of lipstick. A comb. A set of keys. A phone. That was it. Nothing else. No I.D., no driver’s license—

Wait.

He turned on her cellphone, pressed a button and brought up her phone number, but what good was that to him? It was virtually impossible to associate cellphone numbers with addresses.

Perhaps she also had a landline. Lots of people had both. He did. He could only hope that she did, too.

Through the lobby. Out the doors. Into his Mercedes, where he dropped her phone in his pocket and took out his own.

“Where to, Mr. Bellini?”

Luca shook his head. Dialed 411. Telephone information. Asked for a phone number for a Cheyenne McKenna in Manhattan.

He waited. And waited.

“Operator?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

Luca felt his heart sink.

“How about trying C. McKenna?” He knew that women often didn’t use their full names for telephone directories on the assumption the ruse offered some protection. “Or try Brooklyn. Or—”

“There is a Manhattan number, sir. But it’s unlisted.

“Unlisted?”

“Yessir.”

Luca all but pumped his fist in the air.

“Well, I need it. The address, not the number.”

“Sir. Unlisted numbers are—”

“Did you hear me? This is an emergency.”

“I am not free to give you that information, sir.”

“I just told you, this is—”

Click. The line disconnected.

Luca glared at the phone as if the fault were its and not his.

Now what? He had an attorney on retainer; the attorney surely could recommend a private investigator who could get him Cheyenne’s address. Or Matteo could recommend someone. He was certain that all lawyers had such connections—but by then, hours would have passed.

He tapped his cellphone against his knee.

He needed somebody who could bypass all the legitimate channels through which information flowed. Somebody who knew how to get information no one else could get…

“Caleb Wilde,” he said softly.

He had done background checks on all the Wildes.

Jake, the rancher, had been a fearless helicopter pilot who’d spit in the face of a cowardly superior officer, done what he knew was his duty and returned home a hero in the eyes of everyone but himself.

Travis, the financial genius, had been a hotshot who’d flown jets and had never met a situation he couldn’t control until he fell in love with a dying woman.

Caleb, the lawyer, had originally been recruited into a government agency so secret that only a handful of people high in the D.C. power structure knew of its existence, let alone its alphabet soup name.

Over breakfast, he’d overheard Matteo and Travis swapping quick stories about their siblings.

One of Travis’s stories had involved Jennie, the wife he obviously adored, and the miracles his brothers had done for him and for her.

Jennie had been sick, he’d said. Dying. But she’d lived, and it was because of them.

Jake’s connections with other wounded warriors had led them to a cure.

“But that was useless, unless we found Jennie. She’d run away, see, and…” Travis had cleared his throat. “Caleb found her. Nobody else could have done it so fast, but Caleb had all the right contacts and he located her in less time that it takes to tell the story.”

Luca narrowed his eyes.

Caleb was the man he needed.

But to ask a favor of his half-brother, of a man he still could not think of without a quick rush of anger…

Besides, this wasn’t a life or death situation.

This was simply a situation in which a woman dressed for a glittery party rather than the sometimes mean streets of the city was almost certainly out there on her own, heading in any one of a hundred different directions, and all because he’d been so fixated on getting even with her for what she’d done that morning that he’d behaved like a heartless fool.

Luca turned on his phone, brought up his contact list, found Caleb’s number and tapped it.

* * *

Caleb answered on the first ring.

Luca could hear a woman’s voice in the background, and the sound of a crying baby.

“Yes?” Caleb said, a little impatiently.

“Caleb. It’s Luca. Luca Bellini.”

“I know that. Your name came up on my screen. Listen, Bellini, if this is about your findings—”

“What findings?”

“The property you checked out for Travis. Sweetwater Ranch? You might want to talk with him. Or with the McKenna woman’s lawyer. See, I’m not her—”

“It isn’t about the ranch.”

The baby’s cries escalated.

“Bellini. Luca. Look, I’m kind of busy here…”

“It’s about the woman,” Luca said. “Cheyenne McKenna. I need her address.”

Silence. Even the baby’s screams stopped.

“I don’t understand.”

Luca could feel his face burning.

“I can’t explain. I mean, I could, but…” He took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. “We had a, uh, a falling out. She, uh, she walked away. It’s late and it’s not safe for her to be alone.”

“A falling out? At Sweetwater? You’re still there?”

Cristo,
why had he thought this was a good idea?

“Bellini? Where are you?”

“In Manhattan. So is she.”

The baby’s cries began again. “Shh, sweetheart,” Luca could hear a woman say. “I know teething hurts, but—”

“What I mean,” Luca continued, “is that we bumped into each other. At a party. We quarreled… Look, I don’t have time to go into details. We had an argument, okay? I told my driver to take her home, but that didn’t happen and now I’m concerned because she’s out there, alone at this hour and—and—and—” Hell. Another breath. Another expulsion of air. “If I give you her phone number,” he said grimly, “would you be able to get her address for me? Would you be willing to do that?”

This time, the silence was absolute.

At first, he wondered if Caleb had heard him. Then, he wondered if he’d heard him and hung up.

“Never mind,” he said, just in case Caleb was still on the line. “I never should have—”

“What’s the number?”

Luca shut his eyes with relief and rattled it off.

“I’ll get back to you in ten minutes.”

In the end, it took five. Caleb phoned, gave him the address, wished him luck…and, mercifully, asked no other questions.

“I owe you,” Luca said stiffly.

If they’d had a video connection, he’d have seen Caleb grinning.

“Yeah, dude, you do. Someday, I’ll want the whole story.”

Upset as he was, Luca barked a laugh.

“Don’t hold your breath,” he said, and after quickly running Cheyenne’s address through his head and becoming even more concerned when he realized how far downtown she lived, he instructed Aldo to head south. “Slowly,” he added, and hoped against hope that she had, by some miracle, found a way to get home without making the journey on foot.

* * *

He had almost despaired of finding her when, suddenly, he spotted her just passing under a street lamp.

“There she is,” he said sharply. “Pull over.”

Aldo turned the wheel hard toward the curb.

She’d gotten much further than he’d anticipated. He supposed, from her point of view, that was the good news.

The bad was that she’d left the glitzy upper realm of the east side behind and she was now walking through what he suspected a realtor would call a transitional commercial area.

Her pace was steady and brisk, head high, arms swinging as if there were nothing unusual in a woman wearing what was probably a five thousand dollar evening gown going for a solitary nighttime stroll.