Shadow Rider

by Christine Feehan

  His hand snaked out, fingers curling around the nape of her neck and he yanked her to him, his mouth fastening on hers. It wasn't a nice kiss at all. Brutal. Merciless. Savage even. He was claiming her all over again and she knew it. Reveled in it. Drowned in it. She loved his mouth and the way he could use it. She was fairly certain no one else in the world could kiss like him. She didn't care if he devoured her. She wanted him to. She loved it when he got all macho and manly on her. Fear receded quickly when his mouth was on hers because inevitably, no matter how the kiss started, it always ended with her feeling as if he loved her. Wanted her. Even needed her.

  When he lifted his mouth from hers, he pushed his forehead tight against hers. "You have to know how important you are to me, Francesca. My ring on your finger, everyone knowing we're engaged, these are ways to protect you. No one can fuck with you and live. It just wouldn't happen and anyone who knows me knows that. I need to know you're safe at all times."

  "Emilio and Enzo will look after me," she soothed, moving away from him to pick up her clothes. She had to get dressed and get to work before Pietro decided she was fired, Stefano Ferraro's fiancee or not. "I won't take off my engagement ring, I promise. But it does bother me that Emilio and Enzo are with me instead of with you. I know they always looked after you."

  "I can take care of myself, but you don't have to worry. I have more than two cousins who work as bodyguards. Tomas and Cosimo Abatangelo will be working with me. Ordinarily, they keep their eye on Emmanuelle. She's always giving them the slip and making them angry, but because of that, they're very, very observant."

  "Why does Emmanuelle need a bodyguard?" She pulled on a pair of jeans. They fit like a glove and yet were very comfortable.

  Stefano frowned at her as he began to dress as well. "Dolce cuore, wear that really beautiful skirt for me. The one with all the ruffles that falls to your ankles. I've wanted to see it on you from the moment I purchased it."

  She paused in the act of zipping up the jeans. Her eyes met his. His gaze had darkened. Was sexy. Sensual. Hooded. Speculative. He was up to something. She glanced toward the closet where the skirt hung. She knew exactly which one he was talking about. She loved that skirt, but it seemed a little too nice to wear to work. Still, if it meant that much to him, and she could see by his expression it did, then she didn't mind in the least accommodating him.

  She slid the jeans back down over her hips, watching his face. Watching the approval. The satisfaction. The sudden blaze of heat in his eyes.

  "You won't need those sexy panties with that skirt, Francesca." His voice was pitched low, almost a growl. So sexy she felt the damp heat instantly.

  "I'm going to work, Stefano." She tried to be firm. She couldn't just give him every little thing his heart desired, could she? He'd walk all over her.

  "I was hoping to stop by work to see you, but I'll have less than an hour. No panties saves time."

  She shivered. Her breasts ached. The heat between her legs burst into a full-out burn. Leaving her panties in place, she crossed to the closet and pulled down the skirt. "You could call me on that phone you gave me and give me the heads-up. I'll go to the restroom and remove my panties and be all ready for you. That way, I won't be dripping all day in anticipation."

  "I like the idea of you dripping in anticipation all day. I could lick all that honey off your thighs when I come to see you."

  She pressed her thighs together, trying not to squirm. "I'm wearing my panties, Stefano, so call when you want them off." She pulled on a matching blouse, one that didn't quite hide the necklace he'd given her. She touched one of the dark smudges with her fingertip. "I look like I'm in high school."

  He laughed. "I'll be calling and texting, bambina, so keep your phone close and fucking answer it."

  "What part of 'I'm working' don't you understand?"

  "What part of 'fucking answer your phone when I call' don't you understand?" he countered. "I don't like you working, but I'm giving you what you want, so you give me this."

  "You are exasperating," she informed him, pulling on knee-high boots. They were navy blue with three leather ruffles down the backs. They matched the skirt perfectly. "I'm leaving, but I'll keep my phone close."

  "Wait for Emilio and Enzo. They'll come up and get you and take you to the other elevator." He caught her chin in his palm and kissed her. Hard. Perfect. "I'm calling them up to meet you now."

  Francesca felt a little dazed when he released her. She nodded and forced herself to walk out of the bedroom. She got halfway down the hall when he called her. She turned back and he was leaning against the doorjamb, watching her. Naked. He looked gorgeous. Tough. Dangerous. Completely hot. And he was all hers. She quirked an eye at him, wishing she had his confidence. It didn't bother him in the least to be naked. She knew if the elevator doors opened and a crowd emerged, he wouldn't care.

  "What time is your first break?"

  "Around ten."

  "Go straight to the restroom and lock the door."

  Her entire body tightened. It was the way he said it. The look in his eyes. She couldn't imagine anyone sexier. She couldn't find her voice, her mouth had gone dry and the air seemed to have left her lungs. She just nodded and turned back toward the great room, to wait for Emilio and Enzo.

  She was grateful for the bodyguards as the car she was in drove past the entrance of the hotel. Paparazzi were everywhere, a three-deep crowd laying siege in an effort to get pictures of her or Stefano, preferably both of them. In spite of the tinted windows she ducked down automatically.

  "Is his life always like this?" she asked Emilio. She was becoming rather fond of both Emilio and Enzo. She knew they were devoted to Stefano and she liked them all the more for that.

  "Yes," Emilio answered. "Don't worry, Francesca. We won't let them near you. Just stay away from the windows and if we warn you, leave the counter and go straight to the back. Pietro knows to protect you. He'll come out and handle customers. No one is going to talk about you or let on in any way that you're working there."

  She shook her head. "The paparazzi pay good money to people for information. Don't count on it, Emilio."

  Enzo snorted. "Seriously, Francesca? Do you really believe anyone would dare cross Stefano Ferraro? Hell no. No one in the neighborhood would be that stupid."

  She frowned. It was back to the "mafia"-type warning. What did it matter if Stefano was upset with someone if they got paid an exorbitant fee for selling information? What would he do to them? Surely no one was that afraid. She shivered, remembering how he could look. One moment he was soft inside, looking at her with such a sweet look and the next, he was cold and distant, without expression. Scary.

  The car pulled up behind Masci's Deli. She reached for the door handle but Emilio stopped her. "Wait until we clear the area. We'll give you the okay to get out, but you don't move until then."

  She subsided against the seat with a little sigh. Becoming engaged to Stefano had changed her world all over again. She'd gone from homeless to being engaged to a very wealthy man in a very short time, and she felt like her mind couldn't quite catch up. She was very glad to get inside the deli, where only Pietro was waiting. Together they put everything in the cases and set up for the early-morning crowd.

  She loved that it was so busy, keeping her from thinking too much, but by the time the first wave had come and gone, she found she was having to struggle to keep her mind from straying to Stefano and what he had planned for her ten o'clock break.

  Joanna came in around nine, and since there were only a couple of people left to serve, Pietro told her to grab a coffee and visit for ten minutes. She did, slipping into the chair across from Joanna, feeling only a little bit of guilt that her boss was allowing her extra break time, but not too much because she wanted to show off her ring.

  Joanna squealed loudly and appropriately. "I can't believe this. My best friend is going to marry Stefano Ferraro. That rock on your finger is worth a small house--you know that, don't you? It'
s beautiful. You're beautiful. I'm so happy for you, Francesca."

  Francesca looked down at her ring. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" She found herself smiling at Joanna, so happy she wanted to cry. "How did things go with Mario?"

  Joanna wrapped her arms around her middle. "Oh. My. God. He's so good in bed. Honest to God, Francesca, I'm having a mini-orgasm just remembering. He's the best dancer, and after you left, Emmanuelle and her cousins didn't desert us or make us feel as if we didn't belong. They were so nice. They picked up the tab for all the drinks and invited us back with them again. It was an amazing night. I would have been walking on air for months just from that alone, but then Mario took me to his apartment and I stayed there with him all weekend. He treated me like a princess. I could totally fall in love with him."

  Francesca studied her face. Joanna had dated all the time and she hooked up with men often, but Francesca had never seen her like this. Her face was glowing and she couldn't stop smiling.

  "So do you have another date with him lined up?"

  Joanna nodded. "He made a point of saying he wanted us to be exclusive. He said he'd been waiting for an opportunity with me and he wasn't about to pass it up. He also said he wasn't about to let any other man edge him out, now that he had me."

  Francesca was happy for her. "That's so awesome. I love that for you."

  Joanna smirked. "Me, too. He's just everything I thought he would be and more." Her head went up and she widened her eyes. "I forgot. Were you listening to the news at all this morning? The three women arrested at the club, those singers who were so rude when they came to the table?"

  "Stella, Janice and Doreen. The Crystals."

  "Yep. That band. They pleaded guilty. Just like that. And there were multiple charges. No one does that. I've never heard of anyone so stinking rich with money to pay a really great attorney pleading guilty to that kind of charge. They aren't going into rehab--they're getting jail time. Why would they do that? And why in the world did their attorney allow them to? It doesn't make any sense at all."

  "I didn't know they'd even go before a judge that fast other than to maybe set bail," Francesca murmured, unease creeping into her mind in spite of the happiness that had permeated her world all morning. Her fingers found her engagement ring and she absently played with it, trying not to think about what might cause three vindictive and very entitled women with the money to pay for a great attorney to plead guilty and allow a judge to sentence them without a trial.

  "They're actually going to prison. Not jail. Prison," Joanna continued. "You just don't ever want to mess with the Ferraros. Anyone stupid enough to cross them has really bad karma."

  Francesca didn't know what to say to that. "My former landlord was murdered," she blurted. "He was inside Giuseppi Saldi's home when he was murdered."

  "I read about that. It was on the news as well. That was just weird, too."

  Francesca nodded. "His aunt was actually swimming in the pool and when she got out, he was dead on the lounger, his throat cut."

  "See? He messed with you and you're going to be a Ferraro and now he's dead. Do you think the Saldis killed him because they didn't want a war with Stefano's family?"

  Francesca inhaled sharply. "I don't think it had anything at all to do with Stefano. He and his entire family were at the club, celebrating."

  "Your engagement? I didn't even know it was an engagement party," Joanna said, sulking.

  Francesca burst out laughing. "Neither did I."

  Joanna stared at her a moment, wide-eyed and then she pretended to swoon. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard of."

  Francesca rolled her eyes and went back to work as another wave of customers entered the store. She couldn't help but watch the clock as she waited on the various people. They were all very sweet to her and seemed to want to chat a little before handing over their money or credit cards, but she didn't mind in the least, other than she needed to keep the line moving.

  Her heart beat very fast when Pietro came from the back room to take her place so she could have her break. She pulled off her apron and hurried to the restroom. The moment she had the door closed and locked, she removed her panties, bunching them into her hand. An arm came around behind her and took them away. She nearly screamed with shock, but his scent told her exactly who was there.

  The room was fairly large but completely open. There was nowhere to hide. A sink, a toilet and a mirror were really all that was in the room, and yet Stefano had to have been somewhere. Maybe she'd been so eager she hadn't seen him when she hurried in. She started to turn.

  "Stay still."

  A clear order. She shivered, and remained facing away from him, growing damp and needy without anything else but the sound of his voice. She watched in the mirror as he bunched her panties into the palm of his hand and shoved them into the pocket of his suit.

  He reached around her and began to undo the little pearl buttons of her blouse. The edges gaped open to reveal her breasts nestled in the lacy, satin-soft bra. Leaving her bra in place, he reached in and pulled out her breasts so they jutted up and out over the material, her blouse framing them. Francesca's breath caught in her throat as he reached down and took her hands in his, sliding them up her rib cage to press her fingers to her nipples.

  "Work them for me, dolce cuore. You know how I like it. Rough. I want to see you panting. Needy. I love to see your hands on your body."

  She licked at her lips, her breath already ragged. She wasn't certain how he could do that, make everything feel so sexy, reduce her to a needy, melting woman wanting to beg him to hurry and take her. The fire built between her legs, scorching hot, and to her shock, she could actually feel the liquid need on her inner thighs as she complied with his order, tugging and rolling her nipples, watching him watch her in the mirror.

  His hands went to either side of her hips, fisting the material of her skirt. Very slowly he began to pull it up, gathering it into his hands as the hem rose first over her boots and then her thighs and finally to her waist. He tied the skirt at her back, a quick twist and then a knot to keep it in place, his gaze never leaving hers.

  "Harder, bella, pretend your hands are mine." His foot kicked her left leg wider and then her right. "I could hardly think straight this morning. Trying to work, go over reports, when all I wanted to do was get back to you. I thought about fucking you right on my desk at work. Or have you under it, sucking me off while I conducted business." His hand moved over her rounded cheeks, lingering on the marks he'd left there earlier. One hand pressed her head toward the floor.

  She started to reach down and he stopped her. "I'll hold you. Trust me, Francesca. You keep working those nipples." His arm locked around her waist and then his hand was at her entrance, scooping out the honey and licking it off his fingers. "You taste so fucking good. Do you think I would have the control to talk on the phone, or have someone in the room while you were there, under my desk, my cock down your throat? Could I keep it together?"

  "I hope not," she panted. "I hope I'd be making you feel so good you couldn't."

  He'd already opened his trousers. When had he done that? She hadn't noticed because she was too busy trying to keep from melting into a hot little heap on the floor at his feet. He pressed the broad head of his cock into her entrance and her breath caught in her throat.

  It felt like a red-hot brand. Too thick to fit. Stretching her. She pushed back against him, needing him inside. She held her breath. Her heart pounded. A sob escaped. "Stefano."

  "There it is," he said softly. "Tell me what you want."

  "You. Right. Now."

  "Me what. Be specific."

  She blushed, but it didn't matter. "You inside me."

  "More specific."

  Her breath hissed out on a thin wail. "Stefano. Please. Your cock inside me right now. Before I go up in flames."

  "Since you asked so nicely. Of course next time, bambina, I'm going to make you beg me to fuck you. You'll have to say fuck just like a bad gi
rl."

  She couldn't form a coherent thought. If that's what it took to get him moving, she would have gladly asked him using his favorite word. He thrust hard. Deep. Buried himself to the balls. She felt them slapping against her. She let go of one breast and jammed her fist in her mouth to keep from screaming. Fire raced through her. Then he was moving, slamming into her over and over, a jackhammer, thick and long, driving through the tight folds of her body, until she came apart over and over.

  She didn't think he'd ever stop, sending one orgasm crashing into the next so that her body tightened around his and milked, strangling his cock. He swore in Italian, his voice as strangled as hers as she finally took him over the very edge of his control.

  She closed her eyes, savoring the strong quakes, the contractions and convulsion of her sex around his. She had no idea how many times he'd forced her body to climax because eventually she couldn't tell where one started and the next began. But they were in the restroom long enough for Pietro to pound on the door and ask her how long a break she was taking.

  She began laughing as Stefano helped her to stand. "I think you just might have that kind of control, honey. The kind where I could wrap my mouth around you, take you down my throat and work you while you conducted business. We might have to put it to the test sometime. Maybe even make a wager." She said it just to be wicked, but his eyes flashed at her as he reached around her to get a towel wet with warm water. He handed it to her and took another for himself.

  "I like the idea. We'll set a date for you to come to my office."

  That was so not happening, although she had to admit, as long as she was hidden and no one could see her, the idea was a little exciting. Once she was clean, Stefano untied her skirt so it would drop down and cover her. He leaned down and took her mouth gently.

  "I'll see you at home, amore." He smiled. "I love saying that. Now that you're there, I have a home. You go out first. Don't say anything to Pietro. He doesn't know I stopped in and I don't have time to talk."