Shadow Flight Read online

  He reached past her and opened the heavy front door, crowding her just a little with his taller body so that she stepped into the cool foyer.

  “Is it easy to access the roof? I noticed that Amo is having a difficult time lately climbing stairs. Even just the three back stairs from the alley entrance. He’s far slower, although he always plays it off like it’s no big deal. I try to carry the heavier boxes for him, but that just upsets him more, so I make sure the car is pulled up very close to the stairs and try to shove them up onto the platform so he doesn’t have to actually carry them up the stairs themselves.”

  He wished he’d gotten her talking about her foster parents earlier. She never seemed to notice what was happening around her when she did that. The foyer had opened into the much more spacious front room. If he hadn’t been sold on the acreage and rooftop, he would have immediately been sold on that room alone. The high ceiling was pure art form, with the carved galaxy chiseled so elegantly into the white-blue marble that one had to look several times to notice the entire universe mapped out overhead in all its splendor. The universe spread across the huge milky-blue ceiling, culminating at the top into what appeared to be a round circular “knot” but was really a door that opened onto the roof. His house was that great.

  He kept his gaze on Nicoletta’s face and his fingers threaded through hers, wanting to keep her moving. It was late and they were both tired. She could get the big tour the next day, but tonight he wanted to establish that they’d both be sleeping in the master bedroom. It wasn’t going to be the easiest thing to do, not when she was so skittish, and he knew what she was the most worried about—with good reason.

  “There’s an elevator to the roof that Amo and Lucia can take,” he assured her. “I’m glad you mentioned that he was beginning to have problems. I’ll keep a closer eye on it and tell the others to watch out for him as well. He has a lot of pride.”

  For the first time, he saw a genuine smile reach her eyes. “All of you men do. I think there’s something in the drinking water.”

  He flashed an answering grin. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

  “We’re walking too fast, and you’re not letting me look at anything.”

  “You can look tomorrow. It’s late, and we both need sleep. If you don’t, I do. My arm is hurting like a son of a bitch.” It wouldn’t hurt to remind her he’d been shot and was in no shape to jump her—although that wouldn’t stop him for a second if she gave him the go-ahead, which wasn’t likely.

  The hallway was wide. He liked open space, and the house gave him that. The master bedroom was its own suite. He could just live there and be happy. The hallway ended at the wide double doors. Nicoletta stood staring at them without saying a single word. There were dim night-lights spilling shadows from sconces above their heads and decorating the halls with familiar tubes that called to him, but he kept his eyes on his reluctant little bride.

  “Nicoletta.” He said her name softly and just waited. Breathing in and out. Willing her to turn and face him. Willing her to breathe with him when he could feel the tension in her rising all over again.

  She stood staring at the double doors and then looking down at the beautiful stonework in the floor before she finally turned around, her long lashes fluttering before she lifted them to look at him with her astonishing dark eyes.

  “I’m still the same man I was when I first got on the plane with you. Nothing has changed since then. What are you afraid of?” He asked the question as gently as he knew how. She wasn’t just afraid, she was terrified, and Nicoletta terrified could be anything—a runaway, or just plain lethal.

  Those long lashes fluttered again, and along with them, his stomach muscles did the same. She didn’t look away. She might be terrified, but she had courage and she stood her ground, just the way Emmanuelle would have done. His heart nearly broke for her. She was magnificent. Beautiful. Tragically so. It was all he could do not to sweep her into his arms and hold her to him. Her chin lifted a little defiantly.

  “That’s not true, Taviano. You tied yourself to me. You married me.”

  He wasn’t certain what the big deal was. “We’ve always been tied together. You knew that. You’ve always known it. I sat on your bed every night for three years, piccola. I held you when you cried. I listened to the horror of what those bastards did to you, and I let you use me as a punching bag when you needed to. I rocked you when you couldn’t sleep. We’ve been tied together for years, Nicoletta.”

  He waited a heartbeat. “Even after, even when we didn’t talk because we both knew what was between us, we were tied together these last two years. You felt it. Don’t tell me that you didn’t.”

  Color swept into her face, but she didn’t look away. “I detest that you know what those men did to me. I really do. I’ve come to a place of acceptance, I think, at least I’m getting there, but I still hate that you know all the details. It makes it difficult to look you in the eye, or to think about ever . . .” She trailed off, clearly embarrassed to bring up the real reason she was so upset with being alone with him now.

  Sex. He’d never pushed his needs or desires on her. He wanted her with every breath he took, but he was careful not to ever make it a thing with her. His need of Nicoletta wasn’t just sex, and it never would be. He could wait until it developed naturally with her, and he was confident it would. She might be afraid it wouldn’t happen because she was so traumatized, but she was attracted to him, and she wanted him with the same urgency. She just got spooked when it came down to it. He was determined to be patient.

  He’d talked to some of the best rape counselors in the world on what to do and how to handle the situation between his woman and him. The answer was always the same: She needed to handle it. She needed to set the pace. She needed to feel in control, and he had to let her. That was a hard one for him, when he needed to feel that same control, but he loved her that much to give it to her. Where and when that had begun, Taviano wasn’t certain, but the emotion had grown until it was so strong, he knew his path was locked with hers.

  “We’ll have sex when you’re ready for it, Nicoletta,” he assured her. “There’s no hurry. We’re still back on step one. Let’s get comfortable with each other and remember we’re best friends—”

  She shook her head. “You never give me anything of yourself, Taviano. Nothing. You know everything there is to know about me, the worst things one human can know about another human, but you don’t ever give me back anything that would make me feel as if I was special to you, a part of you.”

  Everything in him stilled. Came to a complete halt. His heart even seemed to cease beating. He had always known this moment would come. There couldn’t be the two of them without it, yet it could tear them apart as surely as it had torn apart his family. He couldn’t look at her. There was no meeting her eyes any more than he could meet his own eyes in the mirror in the morning when he got up. He couldn’t look at his mother when she walked into a room, and he had never looked at his father. Never. Now everything in his life came down to this one moment. This heartbeat of time.

  If he gave her the truth of himself, shared his past with her as she had shared hers, would she give him the same acceptance or reject him the way his parents had rejected him? He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose riding the shadows, it was all he had. He was a rider. That was who he was . . .

  He ducked his head and stared at the toe of his immaculate shoes, breathing deeply, trying not to think that she could be in any way like his mother. Trying not to believe that his Nicoletta could in any way be like Eloisa or Phillip. Still, if he didn’t choose to give himself to Nicoletta, share who he was, what he was, any part of the real truth behind the man who was Taviano Ferraro, then what he had with her would never be more than a sham. He didn’t want that with her, and she was far too astute to believe any lie he came up with.

  Cursing in his native language, Taviano re
ached past Nicoletta, fingers settling around the doors to push them open, his taller body forcing her smaller one to step inside the master bedroom. He was more aggressive with her than he’d ever been. He felt aggressive. Belligerent. Angry. Fearful. So many emotions. But then he’d been feeling them ever since Stefano had demanded to know why he’d allowed Nicoletta into the shadows with him.

  “You want to know about me? Something no one else knows? Not Stefano? Not my brothers or Emme? Only my lovely mother, Eloisa? Or my now-dead, loving father? Do you want to know how she chose her husband and riding shadows over her son and his mental and physical well-being? Do you want to know what my father had to say about his own son?”

  With every word his heart pounded and his chest hurt. Adrenaline poured into his body until he was shaking so hard he could barely control himself, when he was all about control. He suddenly couldn’t breathe. He slammed the doors closed with the flats of his hands and strode past her through the bedroom, straight to the bar.

  With trembling hands, he reached for the bottle of Scotch. Hell, he didn’t need a glass. Nicoletta’s hand got there first. She took the bottle from him and set it back on the bar.

  “Don’t tell me, Taviano. If it hurts that much, you don’t need to share it. I understand what pain and humiliation are. I know what letting someone see the worst of your shame is. It isn’t worth you drinking, not to me.”

  He caught both of her upper arms and dragged her close, looking down into her upturned face. She was fearless, looking back at him, her eyes wide. She met his gaze without flinching, no matter that he deliberately let her see the unrelenting fury that burned like a raging volcano, deep and wild, ready to explode.

  She ignored the rage in him, the fact that everyone knew the famous temper the Ferraro brothers shared and that she was alone in a house far away from everyone else with him.

  Nicoletta laid her palm gently against his rough jaw. “You can tell me something humorous about yourself. Something everyone but me knows, Taviano. It doesn’t have to be a secret you don’t want to share.”

  If she didn’t have his heart already, he would have surrendered it right then and there. He pulled her in tight against him. “This is our home, Nicoletta. I want you to love it, so if you want to change anything about it, feel free to do so. I’ll get your name on the accounts tomorrow morning. That way, if you want to go furniture shopping, or anything else, you can immediately.”

  He kept holding her, knowing he was going to tell her there in their bedroom, the place they would sleep together. He looked over her head toward the long row of glass that looked out toward the woods, where there was a riot of green even in the dark. The various shades shimmered in the faint lights created by the custom night-bulbs coming off the eaves from the roof. Each light was dim and cast multiple shadows depending on the angle. It had taken years for one of his very talented relations from one of the other branches of Ferraros to develop those bulbs.

  “And you’re going to be the only person I tell my secrets to. I’m not big on sharing.” He whispered that truth into her ear, hoping she understood that the things he told her, he wanted kept between them.

  Nicoletta stepped back and he reluctantly released his hold on her, feeling as if he were giving up his lifeline. She’d thought he’d been hers. All along, she’d been his. She tipped back her head and looked up at him. She understood. He saw more than understanding in her eyes. Compassion. That look that he’d seen so many times for others.

  She’d never understood that he’d watched her closely. The Ferraros protected her because she was capable of producing rider children. That meant she was guarded carefully as the treasure she was. If she wasn’t for him, or one of his cousins, they would have put out the word and other riders would have come to meet her, hoping they would connect with her. As it was, Taviano knew he had been the reason their shadows had tangled together so quickly.

  He had taken his shifts protecting her like the other family members, but in watching her, he had paid particular attention to how she treated others. That was very important to him. Even when she first came as a foster teen, a wild, angry, hurt and humiliated young woman, she had been so careful with Lucia and Amo. She’d responded to them almost immediately and was never disrespectful to them. He watched her help them in the store and work hours to help take the load off of them. She pitched in to clean and even cook. She spent time with Lucia in her favorite tea garden and helped her pull weeds around her koi pond.

  Nicoletta never failed to be polite to others, but more than that, she was genuinely good to children in the parks, stopping to help them if they needed it. He saw her tie shoes, push children on swings, brush away tears, sort out problems and help them with whatever was needed. Little boys and little girls flocked to her.

  She read books to children and often watched them, giving young mothers or single fathers a much-needed break while she ate her lunch in the park. She developed a regular grocery program for the elderly in the community fairly quickly, checking with them before shopping for Lucia and Amo. One neighbor had turned into two and then four. At last count, there were sixteen elderly couples or single men and women living in the neighborhood she checked with before going to the grocery store. And she was always patient.

  She often picked up dinners for various people at odd hours. Mostly it was single mothers, but sometimes, again, it was the elderly. She even cooked meals at their homes. She never talked about doing it for them. Not to anyone. Lucia hadn’t known until one of her friends accidentally let it slip. She’d been sworn to silence.

  The look on her face when Francesca had put Crispino into Nicoletta’s arms for the first time had been enough for him. She’d looked as if she’d totally fallen in love with the little boy, so spellbound by him. He wanted her to look at their child like that. He wanted her for his wife and the mother of his children. He wanted the kind of compassion she showed for the neighborhood elderly and single parents to extend to those they knew, no matter their circumstances. He had looked for that trait in a wife his entire life, as long as he could remember, and she’d turned up in a ratty little apartment in the worst of circumstances, and now he was taking a chance on losing everything.

  “The things you—or your family, for that matter—tell me, I would never share with anyone else. It isn’t their business, but you in particular. You’re my . . .” She trailed off and looked around the room, as if that might give her an answer as to who he might be to her.

  “Husband,” he supplied. In spite of the churning in his gut and the bile in his throat, he couldn’t help the small amount of amusement rising. “I’m your husband.” He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her ring. “If nothing else, this should help you remember.”

  She pulled her hand away and glared at him. “I remember. There’s nothing wrong with my memory. Where are you sleeping? Because I’m going to throw myself on the bed, and as soon as I do, I’m going to sleep.”

  She wouldn’t be, he could almost guarantee that, although maybe that would be a good thing. If he stalled long enough, they’d both fall asleep and the moment would pass. She was giving him every out. If he took it, there would be no going back, and their relationship would never be what he wanted or what either of them needed.

  “The master bath is through those doors.”

  The doors were glass, and once opened, revealed the enormous two-person double sink with a marble top and gold faucets. A deep Jacuzzi tub dominated the side of the room facing the woods, along with the wide double shower and the rows of various showerheads.

  “Who lives like this, Taviano? There are so many dials and things, I couldn’t possibly figure out how to use the shower,” Nicoletta said.

  “I’ll show you.” She made him want to laugh. The way she glared at him like it was all his fault that the man who constructed the house had built it as if with Taviano in mind. “But not tonight. You’ve had a sh
ower. You can just brush your teeth and hop into bed. Your clothes are already in the drawers and closet. Emmanuelle and Lucia added more.”

  Before she could protest, he added one of the best reasons she couldn’t protest. “As riders, we have to wear certain fabrics. All of your clothes are best constructed in those materials. You can’t just get them off the street. My family makes them specifically for riders.”

  “Right, okay, that makes sense.”

  He heard the relief in her voice. He turned to the door to the left of the double sink. “This leads to my closet. The right door is yours.” He didn’t look at her face as he opened the door and walked into the enormous room that opened up even more as he walked inside. One could fit a small apartment in the closet. He didn’t look back to see what she was doing. He was damned tired, and he needed to pull himself together. Too long in her company was wreaking havoc on his body, and now, the emotional overload was adding to his fatigue.

  Coming out of the shadows always brought on a rush of sexual urgency. It was hot and it was powerful. Having Nicoletta right there only added to the immediate need he had fought off for hours. The pain in his arm had been pushed back, and now it came rushing to the forefront, just to add to the fact that tonight was officially going to be a bitch of a night.

  He didn’t like to sleep in clothes. He was a restless sleeper and he often got up and walked around the house in the dark and then went back to sleep. For Nicoletta’s modesty he pulled on a pair of loose-fitting drawstring silk pants that were designed to slip into the shadows if need be. There was never a time that the attack on their family was forgotten, and the riders were provided with every type of clothing to get them into the shadows under any circumstances no matter where they were should they be attacked.

  When he walked out of the closet to the double sink, Nicoletta was already back, brushing her teeth, her hair in a messy knot on top of her head, the way she often wore it before braiding it to go to bed. She wore a little pair of boy shorts and a short tank by one of the newer designers. It was sexy chic, and on Nicoletta, Taviano had to admit it worked. The material was thin and nearly transparent, an ombre effect that started light and ended in a darker color at the bottom, just at the end of the short little shirt.