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Wrong.
She understood them, all right. She understood that women were expected to acquiesce to whatever a man wanted, in bed and out, and that was so not a problem because early on, she’d discovered that what she wanted from men, in bed and out, was to go her own way.
Especially in.
She was human. She had needs. Every now and then, she fulfilled those needs. With men who liked her attitude and if they didn’t, so what? She didn’t see them again. In fact, that was the best way to treat sex. As a basic need. As a one-time thing.
She never went back for more.
She looked up as Luca came through the door carrying a small basin and a washcloth. He’d discarded the jacket of his tux and loosened his tie. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled back, exposing his forearms: muscular, tanned, and lightly dusted with hair.
How could a man look so masculine and so beautiful at the same time?
Her belly tightened.
No.
She never went back for more. One man, one woman… That wasn’t her thing.
So how come she’d had sex twice today, okay, almost twice today, with this man, a man she didn’t even like?
The question was jarring. That he was kneeling before her, reaching for her foot, was even more jarring.
Cheyenne jerked her foot away.
He reached for her foot again. She tried to pull it back, but he was stronger and instead of letting go, he propped her heel on his thigh, tilted her foot and peered at the sole.
“It’s a cut,” he said.
“Thank you for that brilliant diagnosis, Dr. Einstein.”
He looked up, a smile playing over his lips.
“Better that than Dr. Frankenstein.”
She almost laughed. Good thing she didn’t. Laughing would have been a big mistake.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to clean the cut,” he said as he wrung out the washcloth. “Your foot is dirty.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You try walking on a Manhattan sidewalk and see how clean your feet will… Hey!”
“Does that hurt?”
“Yes, it hurts! Stop pinching me!”
“I’m not pinching, I’m squeezing. I want to be sure there’s nothing stuck in the cut. Gravel or glass, maybe.”
“I can check for myself,” she said, tugging her foot free of his hands, grabbing it, angling it, bending over and peering at the cut.
She looked up.
“It’s bleeding,” she said.
And, just that quickly, the floor tilted, the room spun and the world turned grey.
“Hell,” Luca said gruffly. He caught her by the shoulders and she sagged against him.
“I’m fine,” she said in a tiny voice.
“Yes,” he said, even more gruffly. “I can see that. Take a deep breath. Again. And no, do not try to sit up, dammit! Keep your head down.”
She did as he’d said. What choice did she have? If she sat up, he’d win the argument over who was and who wasn’t in charge.
But, God, she felt like a fool. Such a ridiculous thing, to go woozy at the sight of blood. She wasn’t a coward, and only cowards reacted to things like that.
She shuddered.
Luca felt it happen, the delicate tremor that went through her, just as he felt the soft exhalation of her breath against his throat.
His arms tightened around her. He held her that way for a long minute, her body warm in his embrace, her heart thudding against his heart.
Then he frowned, drew back and he held her away from him with the impersonal concern of a good Samaritan—which was, after all, his part in this scenario.
Why would it be anything more?
She was not a woman who expected tender gestures, nor was he a man to offer them.
“Better?” he asked, his tone brisk.
She nodded, but he doubted if that was true. Her face was pale; he suspected she was only now reacting to what had happened on the street. Delayed shock, or something close to it.
For a heartbeat, he almost drew her close again. Fortunately, logic overcame that flash of inexplicable foolishness.
He set her back on the loveseat and got to his feet.
“I’ll get a bandage for your foot. And a cold compress.”
She nodded. What was the point in arguing? The best thing to do was regain her strength and get the hell out of here.
She was tired. That explained everything. Tired from the endless day and the long walk that had grown more and more wearing as the neighborhood went from busy and upscale to less crowded and more commercial and then to the last couple of blocks where everything inside her shouted, You’re a fool! Such stupid pride! You should have accepted a ride home. At least flag down a cab and once the driver gets you to your building, tell him he’s just going to have to wait five minutes while you go inside and get his fare.
But before she could, those men had stepped out of the shadows and she’d prayed she could tough it out and then, like a miracle, Luca had appeared.
The truth was, she’d have been in deep trouble without him. She hated knowing it, hated admitting it, even to herself. She wasn’t made for the pathetic, damsel-in-distress routine. She absolutely hated it. The sense of helplessness, the admission that she was powerless….
Luca was back.
He knelt before her again and swept the hair away from the nape of her neck. A cool cloth replaced the brush of his fingers.
A small sigh escaped her throat.
“Good?”
“Good.” She hesitated. Then she looked up at him from under her lashes. “Sorry about that,” she said, hoping she sounded contrite and even a little embarrassed, the way anyone might after the foolishness of a near-faint over a bit of blood.
He shrugged, all business as he slathered an antibacterial ointment on the cut, then covered it with a bandage.
“Blood has that effect on some people.”
“Yes, well, I don’t usually—”
“And you’re reacting to what happened earlier. It’s only natural.”
His certainty infuriated her. They had come into each other’s lives only hours ago. What gave him the right to make decisions and now judgments on her behalf?
“Enough,” she snapped, grabbing the cold pack and tossing it into the sink as she rose to her feet. “I’m out of here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He clasped her shoulders. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”
She glared at him. He glared back. Then his expression softened.
“It’s not a crime to accept help, Cheyenne.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said… And then, to her horror, tears filled her eyes.
Luca muttered something, reached for her and gathered her into his arms.
This was surely the perfect way to end an evening. First, come close to fainting. Then, come close to a complete meltdown.
Not very good ways to impress a man.
Not that she wanted to impress this man.
Not that she’d ever wanted to impress any man.
Accept me on my terms or leave me alone. That had always been the standard by which she lived.
She shut her eyes.
What was wrong with her today? She wasn’t herself at all. She hadn’t been herself this morning or this evening, and certainly not now.
“It’s all right, cara.”
Luca’s voice was low, almost hypnotic. The feel of his arms around her was comforting. She wanted to stay in his embrace, let some of his strength seep into her bones.
“Cheyenne.”
She felt trapped. Felt the walls closing in. Her eyes flew open. She pulled back, jerked free of him. The room swayed a little, but she fought hard not to show it and she succeeded.
Just as she’d told him earlier, she was good at acting.
“Thank you for everything, but it really is time I left.”
“Not yet.”
She could feel her heart racing. He was too
close, too tall, too ruggedly beautiful. He brought out a weakness in her that she couldn’t quite define except to know it was a weakness and that, in itself, was terrifying.
“Really, I have to.”
“I’ll drive you home when it’s time.”
“Luca.” She forced a laugh. “It is time. It’s getting late and—”
“It’s just after midnight. Last time I checked, my car had not turned into a pumpkin.”
He put his hand under her chin and gently but deliberately urged her face up until their eyes met. He was smiling. And his eyes… Oh God, his eyes! Such a deep blue. Sapphire blue.
A tremor went through her.
“I have to leave, Luca.”
“Progress,” he said softly.
“What progress?”
“You, calling me by my given name.”
She forced a laugh.
“What else would I call you? Really, you have to step aside so I can—”
“You’ve been calling me ‘Bellini.’” His lips twitched. “And other things.”
“Yes? Well, I’m sorry about—”
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” His hand spread over her jaw, cupped her cheek, the slight roughness of his fingertips exciting against her skin. “I apologize for everything, bellissima.”
“That’s not necess—”
“I have treated you badly. Rudely. Unkindly.”
His fingers were in her hair threading through the dark, thick strands. All she had to do was turn her face and she could press her mouth to his palm.
“No. I mean, it wasn’t your fault. I should have accepted your driver’s offer…” She shuddered as he bent his head and brushed his lips lightly over hers. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Luca. Please—”
“Everything was my fault, especially what happened in the hotel tonight. I admit, I wanted you so badly that I couldn’t wait…but I should never have ended it as I did.”
“Stop. It’s over. Done with. What happened—”
“What happened,” he said, “should only have been the beginning. I should have taken a room. Or had my driver bring us here.” He lifted her against him, her feet dangling, her belly pressed to his erection. It felt hard and hot and more powerful than any she’d ever known. “I should have been inside you, bellissima, deep inside you so that we came together, you flying free even as I held you.”
