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‘Your touching concern for my welfare is duly noted. But I suggest you save it for yourself. Last night was merely you and your family being herded into the eye of the storm. The real devastation is just getting started.’
As nightmarish promises went, Zaccheo’s chilled her to the bone. Before she could reply, several pings blared from the tablet. She glanced down and saw more lurid posts about what real women wanted to do to Zaccheo.
She shut the tablet and straightened to find him slowly unwinding the gauze from his right hand, his gaze pinned on her. Silence stretched as he freed both hands and tossed the balled cloth onto the glass-topped coffee table.
‘So, do I get any sort of itinerary for this impending apocalypse?’ she asked when it became clear he was content to let the silence linger.
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘We’ll have breakfast in half an hour. After that, we’ll see whether your father has done what I demanded of him. If he has, we’ll take it from there.’
Recalling her father’s overly belligerent denial once Zaccheo had left the study last night, anxiety skewered her. ‘And if he hasn’t?’
‘Then his annihilation will come sooner rather than later.’
* * *
Half an hour later, Eva struggled to swallow a mouthful of buttered toast and quickly chased it down with a sip of tea before she choked.
A few minutes ago, a brooding Romeo had entered with the butler who’d delivered a stack of broadsheets. The other man had conversed in Italian with a freshly showered and even more visually devastating Zaccheo.
Zaccheo’s smile after the short exchange had incited her first panic-induced emotion. He’d said nothing after Romeo left. Instead he’d devoured a hearty plate of scrambled eggs, grilled mushrooms and smoked pancetta served on Italian bread with unsettling gusto.
But as the silence spread thick and cloying across the room she finally set her cup down and glanced to where he stood now at the end of the cherrywood dining table, his hands braced on his hips, an inscrutable expression on his face.
Again, Eva was struck by the change in him. Even now he was dressed more formally in dark grey trousers and a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her eyes were drawn to the gladiator-like ruggedness of his physique.
‘Eva.’ Her name was a deep command. One she desperately wanted to ignore. It held a quiet triumph she didn’t want to acknowledge. The implications were more than she could stomach. She wasn’t one for burying her head in the sand, but if her father had done what Zaccheo had demanded, then—
‘Eva,’ he repeated. Sharper. Controlled but demanding.
Heart hammering, she glanced at him. ‘What?’
He stared back without blinking, his body deathly still. ‘Come here.’
Refusing to show how rattled she was, she stood, teetered on the heels she’d had no choice but to wear again, and strode towards him.
He tracked her with chilling precision, his eyes dropping to her hips for a charged second before he looked back up. Eva hated her body for reacting to that look, even as her breasts tingled and a blaze lit between her thighs.
Silently she cursed herself. She had no business reacting to that look, or to any man on any plane of emotion whatsoever. She had proof that path only ended in eviscerating heartache.
She stopped a few feet from him, made sure to place a dining chair between them. But the solid wood couldn’t stop her senses from reacting to his scent, or her nipples from furling into tight, needy buds when her gaze fell on the golden gleam of his throat revealed by the gap in his shirt. Quickly crossing her arms, she looked down at the newspapers.
That they’d made headlines was unmistakeable. Bold black letters and exclamation marks proclaimed Zaccheo’s antics. And as for that picture of them locked together...
‘I can’t believe you landed a helicopter in the middle of a fireworks display,’ she threw out, simply because it was easier than acknowledging the other words written on the page binding her to Zaccheo, insinuating they were something they would never be.
He looked from her face to the front-page picture showing him landing his helicopter during a particularly violent explosion. ‘Were you concerned for me?’ he mocked.
‘Of course not. You obviously don’t care about your own safety so why should I?’
A simmering silence followed, then he stalked closer. ‘I hope you intend to act a little more concerned towards my well-being once we’re married.’
Any intention of avoiding looking at him fled her mind. ‘Married? Don’t you think you’ve taken this far enough?’ she snapped.
