by Reina Torres
“All you’re doing is irritating me.” She leaned both hands on the counter top and let out a huff of breath. “Please, can’t you just wait outside?”
“It’s too far from you.”
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, struggling to get herself under control. She didn’t need to snap at him. It wasn’t his fault that her father had dragged him into the whole situation. “I have work to do, and if you’re hovering near me,” she sighed, “I can’t.”
“Can’t?”
The echo of his voice touched her skin like a caress.
“No,” she answered him, “I can’t.”
“Why?”
She felt the heat of his skin against her cheek, the weight of him against her back, even though they weren’t even touching.
He took a step closer, and she held out her hand, flattening her palm against his chest. The touch was enough to steal her breath. “Stop. Don’t come so close to me,” the words whispered from her lips, “I can’t think.”
She didn’t have to look up into his face to know he was smiling. She could feel it. And she wanted to wipe that smug look off of his face, but she knew that touching his bare skin would be a huge mistake.
“Look, I don’t want to argue. I know you’re only here because of my father. And I appreciate that, Mr. Orsino-”
“Call me Salvatore.”
Whoa, add that to the list of things she was not going to do, ever. Calling him by his first name was definitely not going to happen. She was trying to fire him, not make a personal connection between them.
“Mr. Orsino,” she repeated, “you can stay in the workroom, until I talk to my father and get this all worked out. But you will sit or stand beside the door. The front door,” she clarified, “and I expect you not to distract anyone from their work.”
He nodded, a short movement that said he agreed to her terms. “I just need to know that you won’t leave the workroom without me.”
She gave him a look that told him exactly what she thought of his edict. “The only ways I get out of this space are that front door, or a window onto a catwalk,” she turned and gestured in the direction of the south wall, the rest of her words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them, “and I only used the catwalk when we had a fire on an upper floor. I nearly had to grease my hips with butter to get them out of the window.”
Realizing what she’d just said, she looked back up with a hot flush in her cheeks, only to find her built bodyguard taking a long thorough look at her hips. When he lifted his gaze back to her face, she saw his eyes go dark again.
She didn’t care if it made her crazy, but she liked the way he looked at her. And that made Salvatore Orsino even more dangerous than the reason he’d been hired.
“So,” she struggled to steady her hands as she gestured to the door, “you’ll remain at the door and try not to disrupt our workroom and I agree that once we’re done for the day, we’ll talk over this assignment you think you have to take care of me.”
He opened his mouth to speak and she held up her hand.
“Nod or shake.”
He moved closer, leaning toward her until she was nearly breathing him in. His eyes roamed over her face, a lazy smile curving his full lips between his mustache and beard. When his lips passed within a hair of her palm he grinned until his teeth shone white between his suntanned skin and firm lips. He tilted his chin down in a nod. The rough scratch of his mustache tickled down her palm, sending shivers through her body.
And then he was gone, walking to the door with confident strides, and all she could do was stare at the way his suit hugged his form. Sure, she’d been all straightforward sass with him, but she couldn’t deny to herself that Salvatore Orsino was one man who could take her mind off of Fashion Week. This persistent bodyguard could do more damage than anything else if she let him.
She watched him pull the door open and wait for her to leave the room, his intense chocolate stare warming her all over. Lifting her chin in the air, she walked past him with a resolute stride and her heart quickening in her chest.
Chapter Two
In all of their time working in Italy and the Americas, Orsino Security had never worked for a fashion house. But their secretary, Paloma, had an unnatural fascination with the show Project Runway and had all but shoved him out the door when Giovanni Durante had called for an appointment. He was told to make sure that he acquired a pair of tickets for the show in SoHo.
To hear Paloma talk about fashion design, it was hours of cruel insults, theft of designs, and ‘fashionable’ looks that bore more resemblance to modern art than actual wearable garments.
So, spending the better part of a day at the entrance of the Durante workroom should have been mind-numbing. Should have been.
The workroom was a lesson in organized chaos. While he'd watched, nearly two dozen models came into the workroom. Each of the women was assigned a garment and shown to a changing room, and they changed while their portfolios were studied and then set into piles on a side table.
Women walked… and walked… and walked. The hardest thing for Salvatore to do was to keep his bear calm during all the activity. All the pacing back and forth drew the animal’s attention like prey, urging them to hunt. To counter the flurry of activity, his bear sought out the purpose of their visit.
“Natale,” he felt her name rumble over his tongue as if he could feel her skin instead of just the sound. He drew in a breath and swore he caught her scent in his lungs. As he watched the way she controlled all the movement in the room, he found he respected her as much as he craved her.
His bear chuffed within him, the large and powerful beast hunkered down to enjoy the view. Salvatore agreed wholeheartedly.
She wore a black skirt that caressed her body, not tight enough to make her movements uncomfortable, but enough that he could see the swell of her hip under the soft and yielding fabric. Her blouse, a deep garnet color that made her skin luminous even in the windowless room, was styled like that of a men’s dress shirt. The fold-over collar open and laid flat over her luscious curves, made them look even more feminine in contrast.
He could tell by the crease between her brows and slight purse of her lips that something wasn't right. Before he made a conscious decision to move, he was already off the counter-height stool, straightening to his full height.
More than a few heads turned in his direction. He saw curious glances and a few cautious ones as well.
Salvatore stopped and met Natale’s eyes with his own. He waited, watching her, and saw the rising color in her face. It wasn't fear. He had embarrassed her.
His bear didn't like that and asserted a fair amount of control over him, turning him back to his chair with a low rumbling growl deep within his head.
Before he could sit back down, he felt someone touch his back. Whirling around he made a grab for their hand, and ended up with Natale’s wrist in his grasp.
He heard an indrawn gasp and saw her eyes widen in reaction.
“Wow.”
A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“For a big guy,” she blushed a little, “you certainly are fast.”
“I have to be,” he answered back, “I need to stop the people trying to hurt you.”
He watched his words wash over her like the tide at the beach, and he wondered how close she was to going under.
And then he found out.
He knew his height was enough to give others pause, it was what made his work in security a little easier. People rarely tried to go toe to toe with him. Natale drew her hand back from him and he let go as she raised her eyes to his face.
“I'm fine.”
“You were upset.” He wanted to draw her close into his embrace, but he knew he'd not only shock Natale, but her staff, and the models. He’d promised that he wouldn’t interfere, and that was going to upset her. He was tempted to pull her close enough to breathe her in. His bear would have been more than happy to try, but
he knew Natale wouldn’t feel that way. Not one bit.
His bear continued to push him. He wanted to stake their claim at that very minute, wrap her up in their arms and carry her off to their den.
A moment later, the war within came to an abrupt halt. Natale smiled at him, and the bear settled down again, pleased that she was pleased.
“I get upset often when I'm in the workroom.” She gestured at the room with one hand and touched her other hand to his chest. “This is only going to get more frustrating leading up to the show, so you need to let me work.”
The bear inside of him pushed forward, and he leaned against her hand for warmth. Before he could stop himself, he felt a growl roll from his throat, vibrating from his chest. It wasn’t one of anger or fear. He was barely holding back the bear from reaching out to touch her. The word he heard so clearly in his head was, ‘mine.’
Almost as if she sensed the struggle within him, she leaned closer and smiled at him. A smile that made the bear push even harder to get through his skin, but Natale parted her full lips and he felt his bear roll over in his chest, baring its belly for a scratch. The sudden movement pushed his whole body forward pressing most of his weight onto her hand and surprisingly, Natale held him, the subtle pressure of her hand coupled with incredible strength and a look in her eyes that made him forget to breathe.
“Now sit down,” he didn’t think she knew that her voice was purring from her lips, “and let me work.”
He didn’t want to, not when her heat was burning through his shirt, but his bear had already become her pet. Eager to please her, his bear nearly shoved him back down on the seat.
She turned back around to the workroom, giving her hands a clap. “Okay, folks, the show is over. Let’s get back to work.”
As she worked her way through the tables, he watched the sway of her hips, the hint of energy in her step, and as she turned to answer a question that one of her assistants called out to her, the plump flesh of her bottom lip had his teeth lengthening in his mouth. The nip of an incisor within his mouth drew blood and his bear salivated.
He wanted to taste her. He needed the salt of her skin on his tongue.
She picked up a tape measure and made quick work of a few measurements, calling out the numbers to one of her people. Notations were made and an outfit assigned. While he watched, two assistants helped the model from her streetwear and into the blouse and skirt ensemble. For a quick moment, the young woman dipped beneath the surface of the table and when she returned, tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she was transformed. Gone were the t-shirt and jeans skirt. The woman with a pale complexion and narrow shoulders was now a vibrant and elegant woman.
“She's just that good, you know.”
Salvatore turned and saw the woman he'd seen Natale with before.
She tucked her clipboard under her left arm and held out her hand.
He took it without hesitation, even though they’d already had an introduction. The woman had an easy smile and he could tell how much she cared for Natale. The two must have been friends for quite a while.
“You're Ericka.”
She grinned at him, squeezing his hand in hers. “You remembered.”
He nodded. “And I'm-”
“Delicious,” she finished. “I have eyes.”
Salvatore saw her smile, a broad grin that bared her teeth. He could see the flash of her earrings in the bright lights of the room and the way she leaned toward him. “And I,” he told her with a rumble of voice and words, “am not interested.”
That earned him a raised brow and a measuring look. She was summing him up the way he was used to doing on assignment.
“That’s good to know.” She tucked the clipboard in her arms close to her chest and leaned closer. “I saw the looks you’ve been giving Natale.” Her expression might have been light, but her tone was pointed. If it had been a physical object, her voice wouldn’t have been something as dull and messy as brass knuckles. Ericka’s voice was narrow and pointed, like a good old-fashioned stiletto dagger. “You don't look like you're trying to play her,” she bit into her lower lip showing him the tender side of her warning, “but if you do, it won't matter how big and sexy you are. I will hunt you down and cut off your-” A quick glance south of his waistband was enough to get her point across.
Still, he met her eyes without blinking. “I don't play.”
A long moment passed as Ericka seemed to mull over his words and what she'd heard in his voice. Finally, she smiled at him, nodding the littlest bit. “Then you have my permission to show my girl the best time she’s ever had… repeatedly.”
Again, all he sensed from her behavior, beneath the outrageous comments, was a genuine concern for her friend. He felt his bear second his decision to like the woman.
Ericka didn't wait for him to comment back. She turned on her heel and stepped up beside a trio of women who walked through the door.
He listened in as Ericka checked the women off the list of models scheduled for fittings and he nodded in tacit approval as she not only asked for identification from each woman but thoroughly examined their licenses before she called over someone to show them the changing room.
She caught sight of his approving look and arced a brow at him. “What?”
He set his hands on his thighs and leaned slightly forward. “You're good.”
She took in the compliment as if she was weighing the truth of his words. Finally, with a nod, Ericka raised her hand to her short-cropped curly hair and gave him pouty smile. “Don't I know it! But then again,” she tilted her head in Natale’s direction, “she deserves the best.”
A moment later, Ericka was swallowed up in the movement of the room as two of the women emerged from the changing room.
Natale couldn't help feeling like there wasn't enough room in the elevator. She'd tried to argue with Salvatore that she would be fine at home. The security in her apartment building was top notch, but that hadn't been enough for him. He'd insisted on driving her to her building and coming up with her to her apartment.
The instant they'd stepped into the elevator she'd felt a distinct worry set in. It wasn't fear. She didn't fear the larger-than-life man standing between her and the door.
She wished that were the problem. If it was, one call to her father would have seen Salvatore Orsino on his way. But ever since they'd left the workshop he'd been at her side, front, and back, watching the world around them and keeping her safe. It would be all too easy for her to give in and enjoy the moments, and maybe forget that the whole reason he was there was because some idiot had sent a bunch of letters with some crude comments and some thinly veiled threats to her.
Turning slightly, she took another look at her bodyguard. He must have some money, she decided. The clothes he wore were tailored - they had to be - no one walked into a store with his kind of physique and bought off a rack.
She'd made her share of men’s clothes in design school. Her teachers believed that a designer wasn't really a designer if they were able to utter the words, “I've never made a suit before.” Her eyes drifted over the cut and fit of the pants and knew her first assessment was right. Without seeing what was under his suit, she could still tell that he was fit. The work that had been done to make him look as effortless as he did and not make his muscular body look comical, like an oversized sausage, had been done by a talented tailor. She struggled not to speak up and ask Salvatore for the name of his tailor. She wanted to send the man a thank you note for a job well done.
The elevator chimed and opened on her floor. She waited while Salvatore stepped off and looked down both sides of the hallway before he gestured for her to come out after him.
As they walked together down the hallway, he spoke to her in low tones that made his voice sound rough enough to be a growl. “Until we catch this man, one of us needs to be with you at all times.”
“One of us?” She nearly tripped over her feet. “How many of you are there?”
He
didn’t answer. Instead, he held out his hand for her keys at the door and made quick work of unlocking it. He paused for a moment with the handle in his hand. “I want to check the apartment before I let you come in, but I can't leave you standing here in the open.”
She could tell by the tick of a muscle in his jaw that it wasn't just something he said. The idea of leaving her in the open bothered him.
Nodding, she looked up at him. “So what do we do now?”
“You follow me,” he explained, and his tone brooked no arguments, “stay behind.”
He didn't wait for an answer. Quite frankly, she didn't think he needed one.
Salvatore started to move forward, and she set her hand on his back. He held still for a moment, looking back over his shoulder at her. He wasn't upset. If anything, the look on his face told a different story. He liked her touching him.
The trouble was, she liked it too.
She followed him into the apartment and through the living area, wincing at the stack of magazines on the table, gossip mags that she swore she only read for the fashion.
The kitchen, with its appliances that she could almost claim were retro instead of old.
The back hallway, which completed a square that would bring them back around to the living area. He opened the doors to each room and looked into each of the two bathrooms before he stopped back in the living room.
“We’re alone.”
And instead of making her feel safer, it only ratcheted up her anxiety. In her home, she felt his presence more, because even though she refused to acknowledge it, it felt good to have him there.
No. Good didn't even come close to covering how it made her feel.
Having him there, toe to toe with her, drawing his scent in with every heady breath, made her ache for all of this craziness to be over. She was sure that all of the stress and strain of the upcoming show and the letters were responsible for her ridiculous feelings. Salvatore Orsino was a man who commanded attention and she was a woman who spent a good deal of her life being invisible. On an every day basis they didn’t exist in the same universe.
