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After Annabelle had stomped off the terrace last night, leaving him standing there alone, Stefano had been shocked. He’d never been refused by a woman before—and in such a way!
You’ll never have me, Stefano.
Why was he failing? What had he done wrong? He’d been so close to taking her in his arms and kissing her senseless. He’d thought he read her body’s signals correctly. He’d seen the flush of desire on her skin and the deep yearning of her eyes in the moonlight. Cupping her face in his hands, touching her soft skin, he’d felt her tremble. Even her words had confirmed what he’d already known from her body: she thought he was charming. Sexy.
Powerful. In short, she’d been putty in his hands.
Then she’d run away from him, practically sprinting in those two-inch heels.
Scowling, Stefano tried to straighten the cotton sheets twisted around his feet. He generally rose early in the morning, taking the rhythm of sunrise and sunset for his work on the ranch. He only made exceptions when he had been up all night making love. But the exception had not been required.
Never.
Irritated by how much her words bothered him, Stefano plumped his pillow, turned on his side and tried to get comfortable. After her rude rejection, he’d gone to bed early, but it had taken him a long time to fall asleep. Now … he looked at his clock—2:00 a.m. And his mind was already filled with the way she’d mercilessly crushed his pride. How she’d exposed his arrogance for what it was—unfounded.
He set his jaw. She was even infiltrating his dreams. He’d awoken when he imagined he’d heard her scream. Clearly it was only his own injured pride that was so shocked by her rejection that—
Then he heard it again.
Annabelle was screaming.
He leaped to his feet and raced barefoot down the hall in only his boxer briefs, his feet slapping against the cool tile floor. Cold fear gripped his heart as he pushed open her door and ran across the darkened room to the four-poster bed.
He found Annabelle asleep, her eyes squeezed shut, as she twisted and turned on the mattress. Her fingers clutched the white blankets, her body tense. In the shadowy darkness of the room as she gave a sudden heartbreaking cry.
“Annabelle,” he said urgently. Sitting on the bed beside her, he gripped her shoulders.
“Annabelle! Wake up!”
With a gasp, she opened her eyes. Her gaze was wide, terrified. Then she saw him and burst into tears. Not quiet, ladylike tears, either, but great gulping sobs.
Stefano felt his throat go tight. He pulled her into his arms.
“Shh,” he whispered, stroking her hair, comforting her like a crying child. “You had a bad dream, but it’s over. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
He repeated those words over and over as she clutched him like a life preserver that would save her from drowning in the cold ocean.
She held him tight, weeping against his bare shoulder.
As Stefano held her, he looked down at her in the dim shadows, unable to clearly see her face pressed against his chest. “What did you dream?” he asked in a low voice. “What happened?”
She clutched him closer, her fingers pressing against the bare skin of his back. When she spoke, her voice was sodden and muffled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Seeking to comfort her, he reached for the small light on the nightstand. But her arm whipped around him, quick as a flash to turn it off.
“No light,” she choked out.
No light? He frowned, looking down at her head. “I only want to chase away your fears. Whatever dark terrors filled your night, queri da,” he whispered, stroking her soft hair,
“they cannot hurt you now. Not while I am here.”
He felt her tremble. “Thank you,” she whispered almost too softly to hear.
He held her for a long time; he did not even know how long. As the thin slant of moonlight slowly moved across the far wall, she gradually relaxed in his arms
. Her breathing became steady and even. But still she held him tight, like a desperate child.
He could hardly believe this was the same woman who’d so coldly pushed him away just hours before. Where were all her vaunted defenses? Where were her armored walls?
