Shadow Rider (13 page)

No one had ever made her body come to life like he did. Just looking at him. Just smelling his cologne. It was humiliating. She knew she should be outraged that he was there in her apartment, but something was wrong. She could see it in his eyes. Her hand flew defensively to her throat.

“Joanna,” she whispered. “Did something happen to her?” She would never forgive herself. Never. She shouldn't have come. She thought she'd covered her tracks, but money talked and if someone was still looking for her, they'd eventually find her—and anyone who helped her.

“She's fine, Francesca. You need to get up and come with me now.”

She glanced beyond him to the door of her bedroom. Someone was in her front room. She couldn't make out who, but she saw a shadowy male figure.

Shoving back her hair with one hand, she held tightly to her sleeping bag with the other. “Just tell me, Stefano.”

“You can't stay here.”

Her heart stuttered at his expression. Grim. Implacable. His jaw tightened as though anticipating her argument—and she was going to argue.

“Well. No. This is where I live.”

Something dangerous flickered in the depths of his eyes. He suddenly looked feral. Predatory. In that moment she could almost believe he was some sort of crime lord. He wasn't the kind of man to take no for an answer.

“
Bambina
, you've got two choices. You can walk out of here dressed, or I'm carrying you out just the way you are. You fucking decide, because I've had it with this hellhole.”

She swallowed hard. He wasn't joking. She held up one hand to ward him off. “How did you get in here?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your fucking door wasn't even locked, Francesca.”

He was
really
furious to throw so many F-bombs at her. “No. It was. I locked it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I'm not stupid, Stefano. I locked the door. How did you get in here?”

“I raised my hand to knock and the door opened on its own. There's a piece of tape over the mechanism to prevent it from locking.”

There was the ring of truth in his voice and she felt panic rising. Her gaze skittered across the room toward her bedroom door. That door didn't lock. Only the main apartment door locked. “Who would do that? That doesn't make sense.” Fear made her heart pound and put a strange taste in her mouth. “Just tell me what's going on.”

“I'll tell you after I get you out of here and to somewhere I know you're safe. Come on,
dolce cuore
, get up.” His features softened.

She moistened her lips. His eyes were so beautiful they took her breath away. She would do anything to see that look on his face. Anything at all for him. With the exception of getting up and allowing him to see the shirt she wore. She couldn't just go with him without an explanation. That wasn't even reasonable. She found it far worse that he could see how little she had. The last thing she wanted was for him to pity her. Sheesh. This was so humiliating.

“I want you to leave. We can talk about this in the morning.” She forced decisiveness into her voice. He couldn't really
force
her to go with him. No one would actually carry out such a ridiculous threat.

His entire expression changed. His extremely masculine features went from soft to stone in the space of a single
heartbeat. She knew immediately she was in trouble. He reached for her, hauling her into his arms, sleeping bag and all.

“Ricco, get my coat and her things. We'll be at the penthouse.” Stefano tossed her easily over his shoulder and stood up as if she didn't weigh more than a sack of rice.

She caught at his shirt, upside down, staring at his backside. Clutching his jacket, she struggled against the iron band across her thighs. He ignored her and strode right out of the bedroom, past Ricco, who, when she lifted her head, smirked at her. Clearly, Ricco was another brother. They all looked alike, smug and full of arrogance.

“Put me down right this minute,” she demanded. Breathless. Her belly was over his shoulder and he felt a little like an oak tree with no give.

“Too late, Francesca. Be still.”

He stalked down the hall, and she caught glimpses of men falling into step behind him. Good God. Maybe he was part of a human trafficking ring and he was kidnapping her. What was wrong with her? She screamed. Loud.

His hand came down hard on her butt. She felt the sting right through the sleeping bag, although it didn't really hurt, but it did shock her into silence.

“I told you I'd get you to safety and then tell you what's going on,” he snapped, his voice grim. “Just be still. I don't give a damn if you want to scream, but it's rather pointless. Do you really think in this apartment building anyone is going to stick their neck into our business?”

He was moving fast now, taking the stairs effortlessly. She felt a little dizzy and she clutched at his jacket harder.

“You're scaring me, Stefano,” she admitted, hating that her voice trembled, but she was frightened.

“I know,
bambina
, but you'll be fine. I've got you now and I'm going to keep you safe. Which you weren't in this rattrap. Just trust me for a few more minutes and then I'll explain everything. Can you give me that?”

She laid her head against his back, feeling his muscles ripple as he moved into the foyer of the apartment building.
It wasn't as if she had much choice. The door to the owner's apartment was open and as they passed, she glimpsed men inside. The place was a wreck. Then they were out in the open air. He reached out and yanked open the door to the backseat of a town car. He was very gentle as he deposited her on the backseat, still cocooned in the sleeping bag. He slid in beside her, reaching to buckle her in.

The driver turned and tossed a cocky grin over his shoulder at her. “I'm Taviano, Stefano's brother. Nice to meet you, Francesca.”

“T
his is crazy. You're kidnapping me,” Francesca managed to say, finally catching her breath. She wasn't certain if she couldn't breathe because Stefano had just showed her his ruthless side, or because he was the most attractive man she'd ever met in her life and her entire body responded in a very intimate way when he'd revealed that ruthless side. Why being thrown over his shoulder and carried through a building like a Viking captive should make her body damp and needy made no sense, but she couldn't deny that she felt intensely alive and wildly attracted to Stefano Ferraro.

She caught at the safety belt to jerk it off of her, but Stefano's hand closed over hers, preventing movement. “Calm the fuck down and stop fighting me. It won't do you any good, and I'm already pissed off. I don't like repeating myself, either.”

Francesca subsided against the cool leather of the seats, shocked at his tone. At the sheer anger. Stefano was definitely skating close to an explosion. She didn't want to be anywhere around him when he detonated. “Wow. You wake me up in the middle of the night, without knocking on my door, I might add, and carry me out over your shoulder like I'm a sack of potatoes and you're the one angry.”

A little snicker came from the driver and she glared at him in the mirror, but he didn't look at her, his gaze studiously on the road. Still, she knew he was laughing.

“I was gentle with you,” Stefano reminded her. “So not like
a sack of potatoes. I explained about the door, not that it would have stopped me had it been locked. You don't belong in that building and you damn well know it.”

She winced at his tone. “Not everyone can afford to live at the Ritz.” She gave him tone right back.

“I live at the Ferraro, not the Ritz, which is where we're going now.”

Her mouth fell open. The Ferraro was considered the height of luxury. No one could afford it but the rich and famous. “You are not taking me to that place. I mean it.”

“Why not?”

Her mouth opened several times but no sound emerged for the longest time. “Are you serious? I'm dressed in a sleeping bag. You can't walk through those doors without looking glamorous. They'll throw me out.”

For the first time, a faint glint of humor crept into the deep blue of his eyes. “
Piccola
, I own the hotel. I doubt anyone could do that without losing their job.”

Total male amusement. She didn't think anything was funny about the situation. “No way. Drop me off at the nearest shelter.” She stuck her chin in the air.

Stefano looked down at her, and the impact of meeting his penetrating blue eyes felt like an arrow piercing her chest straight to her heart. Her heart stuttered and her stomach did a slow roll. All trace of amusement was gone, leaving his jaw hard and his eyes burning with a fierce anger that threatened to scorch everyone in the car.

“You are telling me that you would rather go to a shelter than come to my hotel with me?” He bit out each word separately from behind perfect white clenched teeth. “Would you like to explain why?”

No, she wouldn't like to explain why. First, if she told him it was because he was wealthy, that would make her sound prejudiced, which if she were being entirely truthful, she was. Second, he was the hottest, sexiest man she'd ever come across in her entire life and already, in the close confines of
the car, even upset at him, she couldn't stop her body's reaction to him.

“Do I have to have a reason?” She stuck her chin in the air.

Taviano snorted, and when she glared into the rearview mirror, he assumed an innocent mask.

“It wouldn't matter anyway, because your reason is as much bullshit as you staying in that firetrap of an apartment. The only reason the building hasn't been condemned is because Tidwell is related to the Saldis and they're notorious for bribing officials or threatening them.”

“Like you're doing to me?” she challenged.

“I'm not bribing or threatening,” Stefano denied flatly. “You just don't have a choice.”

His voice was very low, velvet soft so that the tone played over her skin like fingers. She shivered and burrowed deeper into the threadbare sleeping bag.

“It's called kidnapping if I don't want to go with you.”

“I don't give a damn what you call it,
dolce cuore
, just so long as you're safe.”

That was hard to argue with, especially since she was a little bit freaked out and unsure of what just happened. She was beginning to panic. “Taviano, you tell him he can't do this.”

“Nice of you to join us tonight,” Taviano said, glancing back in the rearview mirror. “I must say, my brother has good taste.” The teasing note in his voice calmed her. “Even my parents gave up trying to tell him what he could or couldn't do when he was around ten,” Taviano added, with a quick grin thrown at her through the mirror.

There was no help there, but then she'd been pretty certain Stefano's own brother wasn't going to get her out of this mess. Clearly he found the situation amusing.

She glanced at Stefano and then away, unable to meet his eyes. “I don't have any clothes.” The confession slipped out. Low. Under her breath. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor of the vehicle.

“Francesca, look at me.”

Her heart jumped and then began to pound again at his authoritative tone. She couldn't imagine anyone disobeying him. Her gaze jumped to his before she could stop it. It was a mistake. His eyes were glittering with a kind of menace she couldn't conceive. That, and something that made her stomach coil and the burn at the junction of her legs grow hotter.

“You're safe. Just settle. I'm pissed as hell and you aren't doing yourself any favors by trying to defy me.”

She sucked in her breath sharply. “
Defy
you?” She forgot all about being afraid or intimidated by him. “Like I'm some errant child you have to reprimand? You have got to be the most arrogant, annoying, bossy man I've ever encountered.”

“That about sums him up,” Taviano agreed, his grin widening. “We're here.”

To her horror, he had really pulled up in front of the Ferraro Hotel. Taviano drove the car right up to the red carpet extending from the building, where several valets waited to jump into action the moment a car glided close.

“I'm not getting out,” Francesca declared. “I'm dressed in a sleeping bag for God's sake. Really, Stefano, just take me to a shelter.”

She should have known better than to expect Stefano to comply. Apparently he really didn't argue when he wanted his way—and he wanted his way. The valet opened the passenger door. Stefano slid out and reached for her.

“I'll scream.”

“Go ahead,
bambina
. Make a scene. I don't mind. You're still going up to the penthouse with me.” His tone was implacable.

“Stefano.” She wasn't above pleading.

He ignored her, his hands gripping her right through the sleeping bag. He was enormously strong and there was no prying his fingers off of her. He dragged her out of the backseat, tossed her over his shoulder again and without saying a word to anyone, he walked right up to the double
glass doors. The doors were already open for him, the doorman grinning and giving him a little salute.

Going into the Ferraro Hotel was the most embarrassing thing Francesca could possibly imagine. Clamping her mouth shut so she wouldn't scream in sheer frustration, she buried her face against his back, holding tightly to his shirt. She stayed very still, not wanting anyone to see her, but knowing everyone was looking. For one thing, Stefano Ferraro was hot and superrich and owned the entire hotel. Okay, maybe his family did, but still, who would expect him to be carrying a woman over his shoulder, upside down, cocooned in a sleeping bag? It was mortifying.

He went straight to a private elevator, keyed in a number and stepped inside. The doors glided closed. “Are you all right?”

“What do you think?” she snapped, pouring sarcasm into her voice. “You just carried me through the lobby of a luxury hotel in a sleeping bag.”

His hand shifted from her thighs to her butt. She felt his palm right through the material of the sleeping bag. Her breath caught in her throat. She was furious. And scared. The way he had his fingers splayed wide over her bottom affected her more than she cared to admit. She was so aware of him it was a sin.

“I did give you a choice. I told you that you could get dressed and come with me or I was carrying you out.” There was no remorse at all in his voice.

“
God.
Seriously, Stefano? That wasn't a choice.” She wanted to pinch him really hard or sink her teeth into him, but he'd already smacked her on the butt once; she wasn't going for a second time. Mostly because she had a strange reaction to his hand connecting with her even through the thin layers of material. Heat had rushed through her, arcing straight to her sex. Every cell came alive. Between her legs she felt damp and needy. She had a difficult time pulling in air. All from that brief contact.

“I don't argue, Francesca. It's a waste of time. You were
in danger there. I told you when I had you safe, I'd tell you what was going on but you clearly decided to argue.”

“Do you think you could put me down?” It was sheer hell to be hanging upside down and trying to sound as if she were reasonable when all she wanted to do was bash him one.

“Are you going to hop like a bunny?”

Amusement tinged his voice and brought color spreading over her body. Her face was already red from hanging upside down. She couldn't see what floor he was going to, but the elevator ride was smooth and long. That meant they went up a
lot
of floors. The one thing she held on to was that he had carried her publicly through the lobby. “People may have witnessed my most embarrassing moment, but they aren't going to forget it. If you plan on selling me to some human-trafficking ring, someone will remember.”

“Good to know.” Sarcasm dripped.

It wasn't as if she really thought he was going to sell her to the highest bidder, but he didn't have to sound so patronizing.

The elevator doors glided open and he stepped into a foyer. It was quite large and opulent. She caught a glimpse of a mahogany table with a huge vase that looked like cut crystal with an enormous fresh flower arrangement in it. The floor was polished and seemed to be marble. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see any more. This was a nightmare. When Stefano put her on his black leather couch, he did so very gently.

She swept back her hair with one hand, holding on to the sleeping bag with the other. Her hair was wild from sleeping without braiding it, but she'd just been too tired. Mostly, she was exhausted from thinking about Stefano, having ridiculous, impossible, erotic thoughts about him that sent blood rushing hotly through her veins straight to her core. Her dreams had been worse, images she had no experience or knowledge of, but all with him.

It was his fault she hadn't been able to fall asleep easily. His fault that her hair was a big mess, after sleeping on it
and then being hung upside down. She glared at him, and if there was any justice in the world, he would have withered on the spot. Clearly there wasn't because he paced across the room, completely unaffected, like a caged tiger, poured himself a couple of fingers of liquor from a crystal decanter and threw it back as if it was water.

Francesca licked her lips. Something about the set of his shoulders, the line of his jaw and the fluid pacing took her breath. “Are you angry with me?”

His blue gaze jumped to her face. Slid over her and went back up to hold hers. Oh yeah. He was angry.

“What the hell were you thinking, living in a place like that?” His voice was low. Venomous. Packed with menace.

She winced and studied him from under her lashes, trying not to look as if she was staring. He was really, really good-looking, but she'd seen attractive men before and her body had never responded quite so eagerly. He was totally confident in himself, bordering on arrogance and that alone should have put her off of him. Not to mention he was filthy rich and she totally detested that sort of person—a man with so much money that he clearly felt the rules didn't apply to him. With all of that, she couldn't stop her body from going into full-blown meltdown.

“I don't see how that's your business.” She wasn't going to tell him it was that horrible apartment or a cardboard box in an alley somewhere.

Stefano opened his jacket, took out several DVDs, prowled across the floor and held them out to her. She kept her gaze on his face. He was angry.
Really
angry. He smoldered with a kind of rage she couldn't begin to imagine. Very slowly she allowed her gaze to drop to the DVDs in his hand. They were homemade, recorded off a machine. She took them reluctantly and turned them over to look at the labels. Her name was scrawled across the front of two of them. The third had no name, and the fourth was labeled
Vicki Wants It.

“What is this?”

“Your landlord is a fucking sex offender. He has cameras in the apartments and he spies on women undressing, showering and sleeping.”

Francesca felt the blood drain from her face. She knew she'd had a completely visceral reaction to Bart Tidwell from the moment she'd met him. He made her feel sick, but he owned the building and she needed a roof over her head. “Are you sure?” Her voice was a thread of sound, a whisper.

“Would you like to see the file we have on him?” Stefano poured himself another drink, downed it and turned back to face her. His features were a mask of sheer anger. “He also creeps into apartments and rapes the women and then blackmails them. He's connected to a very powerful crime family, the Saldis, and they protect that piece of slime so witnesses never testify. He was marking you for his next target. I'm fairly certain he planned on visiting you tonight. There was tape over the lock on your door.”