Shadow Warrior (Shadow Riders 4)

She’d read the tabloids as well as any news article. She’d searched the Internet for anything at all on him. Some things she’d dismissed as pure gossip, but it hadn’t mattered. The compulsion to read everything had been too hard to resist. She would have kept pictures like a stalker, but Haydon would have realized her interest in Vittorio and she didn’t want that.

She knew from every article that the Ferraro men had ferocious sexual appetites. That couldn’t be all made up. Maybe their criteria for a bride could match them so that they never had reason to stray. She didn’t like that thought. Francesca couldn’t have sex, not with her pregnancy. Stefano was never far from her. She couldn’t imagine him cheating on her. So, it wasn’t about sex. She almost wished it was, because she could have checked that box. Once the door had been opened, she found herself wondering about all kinds of sex, and in every erotic fantasy, Vittorio had been her partner.

Criteria aside, what did she need in a partner? If she took out fantasy and really tried to look at the man Vittorio was, would she want him? Strip away the hot body and the gorgeous eyes. His voice, so smooth he could stroke her skin with every note. Take away the fact that he was the wealthiest man she knew, what was there about him that she craved? Needed?

Safety was paramount. She knew that. She knew she would always need to feel safe because she never had. The feeling that her partner wanted to form a family unit with her, she’d never had that, either. She wanted freedom to do her work and follow her dreams with her partner’s full support. At the same time, she didn’t want to have to be the “bad guy” all the time. She was at work. She didn’t want to confront anyone at home. She liked the idea of her man taking charge when she was home. That relationship appealed to her along with most of what came with it. It both excited her and scared her a little, which she liked. She craved the feeling of being a man’s whole focus in every aspect of their relationship. Some would say it wasn’t healthy, but it was for her. It was what she knew she needed when she’d never been anyone’s anything before. She wanted to be her man’s everything.

The huge question was . . . as she got older, would she still need it? If Haydon Phillips was out of her life, would she want the same things in a relationship? She would sexually; she knew the idea of Vittorio taking charge was more than exciting. She liked being taken care of. Was it because she’d never had care as a child? Maybe. That was a real possibility, but did it matter the reason? She might have been born wanting total care from her partner.

She knew she was the type of woman who would always look after her man and her children. She was a detail person. Meticulous about details. She noticed everything around her and what made people comfortable and when they weren’t. That was what made her so good at her job. She would be even more so at home with the people she loved, if given the chance.

Her eyes flew open. She wanted the chance to care for Vittorio Ferraro in the same way he cared for her. That didn’t mean making decisions she didn’t want to make. Or forcing herself to make demands in the bedroom. It meant seeing to the details that made him happy. Giving him whatever it was that made his life full and contented. If anyone was capable of doing just that, it was Grace Murphy.

“You ready to get out of there, bella?”

His voice cut through every doubt, if any lingered. She wanted to hear that voice for the rest of her life. She knew he only saw her. That tone was reserved only for her. She forgot about being embarrassed that she was naked. She knew he liked looking at her body and she didn’t mind in the least giving that to him—or tempting him.

“I’m ready.”

“I’ve got your clothes laid out. We’re going to eat on the back patio. I’ve set up a small table and the screens are in place so we’ll be insect-free.” He let the water out and reached for her, his hands around her waist.

She put one hand on his shoulder. He was in his casual clothes, this time soft drawstring pants and a thin button-up shirt he left unbuttoned. As usual in his home, he was barefoot. Her sex clenched and this time the heat moving through her seemed like lazy molasses that spread slowly, taking over her veins one by one until it reached her core, settling there like a smoldering fire waiting to flare.