by H. M. Ward
Logan must be saying something Pete doesn't like, because the muscles in his jaw twitch and his fingers of his right hand tighten around the phone, while his left hand grips the steering wheel increasingly harder. That’s when I notice the thin white lines on his hands. Scars, old and new, marring the skin of his knuckles, proof he’s been in multiple fights.
"No, I didn't... we didn't." He says through clenched teeth. I can see his patience snapping away, strand by strand. He's a wild card. The other side of Pete, the fighter, is starting to show through. He looks like he wants to inflict bodily harm to whoever is on the other end of the line.
Eventually, he sighs and rubs his eyebrows with the fingers of one hand. His temper seems to simmer down a smidgen. "She's not like that. I—owe it to her. It's the right thing to do. Please."
His eyes look straight into mine as he speaks, and it's all I can do not to squirm in my seat.
He owes it to me? What was that about? Since when does a Ferro owe anything to anyone?
Maybe it was just a ploy, or maybe this is his way of apologizing for having been rude to me earlier when he invited me for a ménage à trois with the red head?
That’s doubtful. It’s something else. Pete’s dark gaze darts back to the road.
"Thanks. I owe you one. Bring whatever you would need for burns and don't mention this to anyone." Done with his call, Pete reaches over and puts the phone in the cradle in front of me. His arm brushes against mine and I'm suddenly very aware of his proximity, the heat radiating off of his body in the close quarters. I mean, the man is attractive, after all. There's a reason why women are always flocking to him.
I can totally see the appeal. Tall, strong, reckless, handsome, the bluest eyes ever, kissable lips...
He’s impossibly hot. No wonder why Erin calls him a sexy beast. Beautiful and strong. Rare combo. Too bad there are no brains in there.
“Pete, you shouldn’t take me home. In fact, you should drop me at my friend’s house.”
He laughs. “The grinder girl?” I don’t get it. He smirks. “Your friend had fun shaking her ass between two guys all night. She probably doesn’t even know there was a fire.”
“You saw who I was standing with?”
“I saw you. She was noticeable.”
That’s not the word used to describe Erin. I stare a hole in the side of his face waiting for more, but he doesn’t offer.
“Whatever. Drop me at her place. I can’t go home with you. People will talk and my parents will have you castrated. I don’t want to fend off the swarm of women hoping to have your babies, so just drive me to Erin’s.”
Pete laughs that deep chuckle of his. He glances at me quickly, amused. “I didn’t think you’d be into that.”
“Into what?”
“Your friend left with them. Odds are she’s getting nasty right now. If you walk in on that you’ll imply you’re open.”
“Open?”
“Yeah, like you’re open for business. Wrong message, Princess. Besides, everyone is asleep or passed out. Reporters can’t get on the mansion grounds, and Logan can discreetly help you with that cough and the other stuff. If you want to keep this between us, fine. Believe me, I can’t let people know I was seen with you. It’d ruin my image. You’re a fucking nun.” The corner of his mouth pulls up and he steals a glance my way.
I huff and try not to look at him. Arrogant asshole. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. “Fine, but let me call Erin. She’s dumb enough to run into the rubble looking for me.”
“Or call your parents.” Pete smiles and shakes his head. “Stop pretending you have no motives.”
“I don’t have motives, you just don’t need to know my business. And I could have been in a four-way.” Pete smiles, but doesn’t respond. I prattle on, irritated at his assumption of my purity. I’m not a nun. I could be slutty. “For all you know, I’m a nympho and I was trolling for fresh meat.”
Pete busts a gut laughing, which immediately turns into a coughing fit. My hand flies to slap his arm, but by the time it makes contact, he’s dealing with the aftermath of the smoke. I rest my palm on his arm for a second.
“Sorry. Are you okay?”
His gaze drops to my hand and then trails up my arm and to my face. His eyes dart between the road and my touch. I pull away because I can’t read the look he’s giving me. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I glance at his phone.
“Can I call my friend?”
Pete keeps his eyes on the road as he considers my request. Without a word, he reaches over and I feel him brush up against me once more. That feeling is still there, that awareness of having him so close, the sense of his warmth. My fingers twitch, wanting to touch him again, just a little bit.
"Yes, you're safe. I'll make sure of it. What's your friend's number?"
I blink, not realizing that he is no longer reaching in front of me, but sitting straight behind the steering wheel once more, pushing buttons on his screen, smirking. Does he know what I was just thinking? I clear my throat and feel my face burning up. What the heck is wrong with me tonight? I shake the feeling off and give him Erin's number. The ringing comes through the sound system once more.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Erin, it's me." I try to talk as loud as I can so that she can hear me, but my voice is still fairly weak.
"Holy freaking hell! Gina! Are you okay? Where are you? I was looking all over for you! I went outside to have a smoke and then all hell broke loose. I couldn't find you outside, so I came back to my place, but you weren't here either and you weren't answering your cell and I thought you were dead and I practically crapped my pants I was so worried! Don't do that to me again, bitch!" Her voice is frantic, screeching, words coming out rapidly without a breath in between them.
"Erin, Erin! Stop! I'm ok. I made it out of the building safely." And then it hits me. I made it out of the building safely. But how? I was locked up, in a remote room, and I’m fairly certain I was unconscious. When I came to, I was outside in Pete's arms. Did he get me out? If so, why and how? How did he know to look in that tiny hidden space? He saved my life.
"Where are you, Gina? I'm coming to get you."
"No. Don't. I'm fine. Listen. Whatever you do, don't mention my name to anybody and stick to the original plan. I'll make sure I get back to your place... soon, and then we'll figure out what to do with my father. Just don't worry about me okay?"
"If you say so. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, Erin. I'll be just fine."
Erin lets out a snort, "This has been quite the night, huh?" Her voice has a bit of a smirk to it. Leave it to her to find the humor in something so horrific.
"Yes, it has." My voice is more somber than hers, and we both go silent for a while. Eventually, I hear her stretching and yawning on the other end.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm beat and in need of a distraction. I think I may take a little trip downstairs to Ricky’s before catching some zzz's. You know, take the edge off a bit? Hey! I think I may pretend he’s Pete and think about how Ferro was driving it home tonight. Man that was hot as Hades! He can ram into me in a dark corner like that any day. You gonna picture that next time you're stuck starfishing with Dr. Missionary?"
Oh.
My.
GOD!
If my eyes could pop out of my skull they would. With those few words, Erin took mortification and brought it up to levels of epic proportion. I dive for the phone, wanting desperately to hang up on her and end this nightmare of a phone call, but my seat belt jams and throws me back against the seat. The impact makes me start another fit of coughing, and Pete grabs the phone before I can. I reach out and try to swat at him repeatedly, desperately trying to grab that phone. He even has the audacity to chuckle. I'm dying of embarrassment, and the man is frigging laughing!
"Hey. It's Erin, right? Hi, Erin. Pete Ferro, here. Just to let you know, I'll be taking very good care of your friend Gina. She's in extremely good hands. You don't
have to worry about a thing." The way he says it, it's laced with sexual innuendos of the sexy sexual type. "Oh, and by the way, I'm glad you found me so inspiring, but there is NO substitute for the real thing. Just sayin'."
Pete smiles a wicked, crooked smile and hangs up, but not before I can hear Erin let out a high pitched "eeep".
NO SUBSTITUTIONS OR EXCHANGES
3:21 am
Pete leads us silently through the endless maze of hallways inside the Ferro mansion. The interior is stunning. I had seen the grounds before during social events, but had yet to set foot inside. I catch my reflection in an intricate gilded mirror somewhere down one of the hallways. I'm a mess. I look like a hobo. My white sleeveless blouse is tattered and stained, my hair looks like road kill and my mascara has run down my cheeks, leaving dark black streaks along my face. Pete, on the other hand, looks wonderfully rumpled and filthy. Life is so unfair. His hair is a beautiful floppy brown mess, and his soot-stained face makes him look like he's Mr. June in a sexy firefighters calendar.
He eventually stops in front of a door and turns to face me. I try to tame the wild animal that has taken refuge in my hair, and Pete just grins. I want to smack him. Jerk.
When he opens the door and leads me in, I stop in my tracks. It's a massive bathroom equipped with a gigantic shower of polished white stone, and an exquisite bath. After the night I've had, my body is aching to crawl into it and soak for hours. As with everything in this place, the tub is huge. It could easily sit four people very comfortably. I try not to think about how many people he's actually been able to entertain in it. In fact, I'm trying so very hard not to think about how I'm in an opulent bathroom with a beautiful man who is not my boyfriend and who is probably considering entertaining me in here as well. After the phone call fiasco with Erin, who knows what's going on in this guy's head? What the hell am I doing here?
Pete takes out not one, but two folded bundles from the cabinet and hands them to me.
My stomach is twisting in knots and I’m exhausted. Our fingers touch very briefly, and the caress is to die for. Instantly I blurt out, "I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!" I cringe as soon as the words come out. Oh yeah, I'm so smooth.
Pete lets out a laugh and shakes his head before saying teasingly, "Yes, and your friend Erin speaks very highly of him. Actually, I was thinking that maybe you would like to freshen up a bit before Logan gets here." After I shoot him a panicked look that is the equivalent of screaming I'm not into gang bangs, he laughs and explains, "He's a doctor and my cousin, I trust him. The least I can do is make sure you get some help before I send you on home, and he's promised not to say anything to anyone."
Okay, so now I feel like a moron. I automatically jump to the conclusion that he wants to jump me when all he’s trying to do is help me. I need a nap and a new brain.
Pete points to the shower adding, "You should find everything you need in there. Will you be okay on your own?" His voice is no longer teasing, so I know he's not offering to give me a sponge bath. He adopts a sense of reverence, like I’m untouchable, too respectable to be looked at. I don’t like it.
Maybe I’m reading him wrong. I can’t tell.
"I should be fine. I'm feeling better than I was earlier, but thank you for your concern." My voice catches when I start to talk, but I quickly recover.
Pete offers a friendly nod. "All right. I'll be back soon, then." He turns away towards the door, but hesitates before leaving. After scanning my body up and down, then moistening his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, he flashes a salacious grin and gives me a wink. "Are you sure you don’t need any help? You're not the only one who needs a little... cleaning up and I’m very thorough. Maybe we can help each other feel… refreshed." With that, he removes his shirt slowly, as if he was a male stripper, slowly teasing it up over his head.
“Omigod! Get out!” Before he has time to take a step closer, he gets hit in the face with one of the towels he handed me.
Taking the hint, Pete laughs and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I'm left alone, holding the other white fluffy towel, with thoughts of him... naked, wet and covered in suds. A smile tugs at my lips. What an idiot. He’s teasing me and seems to like it. I’m sure he knows he’ll get a rise out of me.
My mind strays back to Anthony. There’s no playful banter between us, nothing like this. It’s safe to assume Pete doesn’t like me that way, but he likes taunting me. I’m nun material, not something he wants to nail to the wall.
He’s just being nice. There’s nothing weird about this, but it feels weird. I shove the thoughts aside, strip and kick my clothes toward the door. The thought of putting them back on and smelling like a smoked pig again isn’t appealing. As the steamy water hits my face, I grab a bottle of body wash. After squeezing it into my palm, the scent hits me. Holy shit, it’s Pete Ferro in a bottle. I glance at it, wondering what it is, but it’s not a name brand and the label is in Italian. Maybe he patented it, “Ferro Wash, for all your dirty parts.” I laugh at my fake slogan and shut off the shower.
Feeling more like a human being, I step out of the shower and gently towel off, making sure not to aggravate any wounds. After a very unladylike session of coughing up crap from my lungs, I reach for my clothes, but they are gone. In their place is a white fluffy robe, the Ferro family crest embroidered on the left breast.
The fact that someone came into the bathroom while I was in the shower doesn't go unnoticed. I pull on the robe, wrapping myself in its soft white fluffiness, and tie the belt tightly around my waist. Thanks to the person who took off with my clothes, I'm going commando and feeling more than a bit self-conscious.
After untangling my long brown hair with my fingers, I step into the corridor, barefoot. Pete is waiting for me, leaning against a wall, reading a book with a pen clamped between his teeth. He's ditched his clothes from earlier, and is now wearing a pair of dark blue lounge pants and a white V-neck shirt that clings to his muscular chest. His hair is wet and slicked back. Of course, he looks freshly showered and ready for bed. Pete’s scent fills the air, and my stomach dips with the realization that we smell alike. It implies something intimate happened, even though it’s not like that.
When Pete sees me approach, he smiles and closes his book, placing the pen inside to mark his page and tucking it under his arm. To my surprise, he extends a hand, "Hi, I'm Pete Ferro. Pleased to meet you. And you are?" His eyes have a bit of a gleam and the corner of his mouth lifts on one side, offering a friendly smile.
"Where are my clothes?" Yeah, I'm not going to win the prize for Miss Congeniality this year. Despite his attempt at friendly chitchat, I'm feeling very vulnerable, not to mention drafty in the nether regions.
I want my clothes.
Maybe Pete is one of those creepers who keeps trophies from each conquest. Maybe he has drawers full of women’s underwear and mine are the new addition? They’d be smokin’ hot. Bad pun. I’m too tired. My mind turns to pun pudding after two in the morning.
Pete's smile turns mischievous, and he takes another step forward. That scent fills the air between us. A coy look crosses his face, like he knows what I’m thinking, and how nervous he makes me.
"I've sent them to be laundered. They'll be brought back to you when they are ready. However,” he walks slowly around me, and I can feel his eyes appraising me up and down, “I like this look on you much better. Less hassle.”
He flicks a finger at the neckline of my robe, and I clutch it tightly to keep it shut. Gone is the man who was taking care of me before, and I am now confronted with the playboy the tabloids love to write about. This is the man who constantly tries to bed women, and he’s not looking at me like I’m his little sister anymore. I swallow hard, feeling the sting in my throat, and step back.
Pete steps toward me, closing the space, and extends his hand once more, “Now, seeing that we got off on an unusual start, let me do this again. Pete Ferro, and you are?"
I tentatively place my hand in his, and he gives it a bit
of a gentle squeeze. Despite his smugness, he's being careful not to hurt me. “Gina Granz."
He hums to himself once and releases my hand. We continue our trek through the mansion, me in a robe, Pete in his pajamas. He leads us into what appears to be a study, and stands in the doorway, letting me go in first.
"Have a seat and make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back." He motions towards a dark leather couch in the center of the room.
Make myself comfortable? I’m not naïve, I’ve seen movies. When a man asks a woman to make herself comfortable, it usually involves lingerie and a sexy pose that feels ridiculous.
“I meant, have a seat and relax. Damn, are you always this uptight?”
My jaw drops. “Are you always so rude?”
“No, it’s only after saving women who drown themselves in my body wash so they can secretly take me home with them.” The corners of his mouth twitch like he wants to smile. “Do we have a little crush, Miss Granz?”
“You wish. I’d rather smell like smoke than you. I didn’t realize what it was until I already dumped it out.”
His face drops. “You poured my soap down the drain?”
I can’t help it, I grin. What’s with him and this magical cologne? “Maybe,” I lie. “Was it infused with your body oil or something?”
“You can’t dump it down the drain! That stuff was like $800 for a little bottle!” He glances back at the bathroom with a forlorn expression on his lips. Is he pouting? I let him suffer for a second longer, then let him off the hook.
“I’m not crazy, Pete. I didn’t trash your stash of metrosexual products.”
“I’m not a metro.” I lift my eyebrows and fold my arms over my chest, making his eyes lower for a second, before meeting my gaze.
“Then what’s with the soap and the custom stuff?”
He grins a little bit, like he’s totally busted, and turns his back on me. “A guy just likes certain things, that’s all. I had that scent made for me in this little shop in Venice.”
