Shadow Reaper (Shadow Riders 2)

The aroma was a mix of coffee, sausage and fresh bread, making her stomach react. She hadn't eaten since she'd arrived in the United States. The entry was narrow, and it looked like there would be a long wait. Ricco didn't try to push his way to the front of the line, but the moment they stepped inside, all conversation ceased. Enzo and Emilio had squeezed in behind them, blocking the door, and she felt claustrophobic. She detested small places and now they were packed in like sardines in a can.

One by one heads turned until it seemed that every single person was staring at her. Ricco seemed to sense her dismay and he shifted, putting his body between hers and the rest of the room.

"Mr. Ferraro," the hostess said brightly. "Your table is ready. Emilio, we have yours ready as well."

"Thanks, Imeldia." Ricco sent the woman a smile and moved through the crowd, murmuring to several people.

Mariko noted Emilio and Enzo kept pace tightly behind him, as if they feared someone might try to hurt him--or that he might fall. She let her gaze sweep the restaurant as they followed the hostess back behind her small greeting table to another room that opened into a large floor space. The floor was tiled with wide red squares and the tables were very simple. Nearly every table was taken. Just as had happened in the entryway, every person looked up and conversation ceased.

"Does this always happen?" she asked as Ricco pulled out her chair. She was happy to see that the table was more secluded than the rest, one step up in a little alcove.

The hostess handed her a menu, hesitated, and when Ricco continued to look only at Mariko, walked away. Mariko realized that although Ricco had nodded to many of the customers, clearly knowing them, his attention had been centered on her. He made her feel as if she were the only woman he saw--maybe the only person.

"Does what always happen?" He seated himself across from her. "Everything is good here. Imeldia's parents are phenomenal chefs."

She picked up the menu because she needed to do something with her hands. She wasn't the nervous type, but she couldn't relax. She was just too aware of him and everything about him. She found herself looking for the shadows in the room. Immediately she realized this table was held for the Ferraros and it was where others couldn't overhear what was said. The shadows blurred their images so they had a semblance of privacy.

"Everyone staring at you."

He looked around. "I guess I don't pay attention anymore. We're in Ferraro territory, and most of those in here, I consider ours. If it bothers you, we can go somewhere else. I wanted you to get to know me, and these people are part of who I am."

She looked around as well. Most of those in the restaurant had gone back to eating, but Ricco Ferraro was clearly considered a celebrity. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had to sign autographs before he left. Enzo and Emilio were at a table close by and she realized they could--and probably would--stop anyone from bothering him as he ate.

"It doesn't bother me. I'm just not used to it. And they aren't just staring at you, they're staring at me, too."

"That's because I don't bring women home."

The admission was said in such a low tone she almost didn't catch it, but she heard the ring of truth. Her gaze jumped to his. "Never?"

"Never. This is part of my home. Our territory. My family owns quite a bit of the real estate here. I've known a lot of the business owners since I was a child."

She couldn't imagine him as a child. He was too intense. Even now, in a casual setting, he drew every eye. He exuded complete confidence, dominating the entire room without doing anything but sitting there. She knew she couldn't take her eyes off him.

"You didn't ask me to take my clothes off," Mariko blurted, her voice very low. He hadn't, and she didn't understand why.

He didn't pretend not to understand. "You don't know me. You would have been uncomfortable."

He used that word often. Uncomfortable. As if her comfort meant more to him than anything else. "You're not at all what I expected," she admitted.

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know exactly. Not you. Someone much more . . ." She almost said dominant, but he was. He had a hard authority about him, and when he wanted something from anyone, she was certain he got it. Dominant was a very good way to describe him, yet at the same time, he seemed incredibly gentle and thoughtful.

He waited. When she didn't speak he glanced up at the waitress, who'd brought him coffee and orange juice. Mariko knew immediately that he frequented Biagi's often for breakfast. The waitress stared at him, her mouth open.

"Coffee? Tea? Orange Juice?" he asked Mariko. Ricco, not the waitress. The waitress was far too busy trying to get his attention by flipping her hair. Again, he seemed to only notice Mariko.

"Tea and orange juice would be lovely, thank you," she said. If he could ignore the ridiculous eyes the waitress kept making at him, so could she. It was much more difficult to ignore the fact that so many of the other customers paid more attention to Ricco than to those sitting with them. She had no idea why the waitress annoyed her with her blatant flirting, as if she wasn't even there, but for the first time in her life, she knew she didn't want another woman to catch his interest.

"Would you have taken off your clothes had I asked?" Ricco inquired once they were alone again.

His voice was soft and dark with a sensual magic that sent heat rushing through her bloodstream. She felt that voice as if it had penetrated every inch of her body until he was stamped inside her like a brand. He wouldn't have asked, she was certain of that. Had he wanted her to remove her clothes, he would have made it an order. The command would have come couched in a phrase that allowed her to make the decision, but she would know that if she didn't do what he required, he would have been very disappointed in her. She didn't know how he could do that with just his voice, but she found herself wanting to please him when she didn't much care about pleasing anyone.

"I don't honestly know," she admitted, because he would wait forever for her answer. She was beginning to recognize that he was always patient. She noted he didn't take anything in his coffee, just drank it black. "Will you ask me to be tied without clothes?"

"I would like that, but if we never get there, we don't. It's that simple. It isn't in the contract that you have to take your clothes off."

"Did you ask any of the other models applying to take their clothes off?"

He shook his head. "It wasn't necessary. The female body is beautiful to me. There is beauty in any body type and it inspires me. Sometimes I can be moody and edgy and my art reflects that. The rope designs always look beautiful to me against bare skin, but again, it isn't necessary. I might ask you, but Mariko, it is always your choice. Your decision. When I told you Shibari is a power exchange, that is exactly what it is. You have to get something out of it as well. Yesterday, when I tied your wrists, you liked it. You didn't expect to, but you did."

He had noticed. She didn't think he would miss much and his entire focus had been on her. Of course he had noticed her heightened breathing, the rise and fall of her breasts, her wild heart singing. "It didn't feel the way I thought it would," she confessed.

The waitress was back with her tea and a goblet filled with fresh-squeezed orange juice. She was so busy looking at Ricco that she nearly dropped the teacup into Mariko's lap. Ricco caught it before it hit her. Her hands were directly under his when the teacup fell into his palm.

He glanced up at the waitress even as he held the empty teacup. "Perhaps you would send Imeldia to me immediately."

The girl bobbed her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ferraro, I'm really sorry."

"You owe Ms. Majo the apology, not me," he said softly, but his voice was a lash and the waitress winced, her color rising.

She looked at Mariko. "I'm so sorry."

Mariko inclined her head. "No harm was done. I'm fine." She smiled up at Ricco, who settled back in his chair and gently put the teacup on the table. "Thank you." He had fast reflexes. He was across the table yet he'd risen and caught t

he teacup before she had--and she was fast. She'd always been fast. That was something she would have to remember.

The waitress hurried away, her head down, tears in her eyes.

"She's young," Ricco said. "Still in high school. This is her first job and she's a little starstruck. Some people really enjoy the races and drivers can be considered celebrities."

He was being modest. The Ferraro family owned a prestigious international bank, the Ferraro hotels, and several casinos. As a family, they were considered in the billionaire category. She'd done her homework. Not one single thing she'd discovered about Ricco had confirmed that he was a criminal. He played hard--too hard. He partied hard. He liked women--a lot of women. He was fearless. Dominant. In control when the world he played in seemed utter chaos. Even without all her problems, she could never keep up with a man like Ricco, or hope to satisfy him.

She liked that he recognized that the waitress was very young and he wasn't angry with her for acting so silly. She waited in silence while Imeldia hurried to their table.

"You need to talk to our waitress, see if she can handle waiting on our table, Melda," he said, his voice indicating he was friends with the hostess. "I think she's having a difficult time of it."

"She said she nearly dropped the teacup in your friend's lap," Imeldia acknowledged. "Rita is friends with my youngest sister, Alessa, and insists she needs the work. Her parents were killed a few years ago, and she and her younger brother, Maso, have lived with us ever since. Rita wants to pay her own way and take care of Maso, although my parents insist the two of them aren't costing them any more than my sister and me. I think they both want to be part of the family business more than anything else and not be a burden to my parents--which they are not."

Mariko's heart clenched. For a moment she couldn't breathe or think. Chaos reigned in her mind. The waitress was a young girl trying to earn her keep as well as her brother's. She glanced toward Rita with new respect. She'd been that young girl and she knew how difficult it was to be the one always having to accept charity. In Rita's case, it sounded as if the people she was with genuinely cared about her. She resolved to find out.

"No harm done. Reassure her and see if she feels she can continue. Maybe tell her a little less hair flipping and more paying attention to my woman would get her a better tip." Ricco's voice was gentle.

Imeldia's eyes went wide with shock and she glanced at Mariko, her mouth forming a perfect O. Ricco didn't seem to notice what he'd called Mariko, or how possessive he sounded. He certainly was giving Imeldia the wrong impression, and word would spread like wildfire that Ricco Ferraro had claimed a woman if he wasn't more careful. She knew from reading the tabloids that it wasn't his style, he was the one-night-stand type, other than maybe the exception of the Lacey twins, actresses making a name for themselves, getting lots of publicity whenever they were with Ricco.

"She's a little starstruck, Ricco."

"Even with that she managed to remember everything without writing it down. I watched her wait on some of the other tables. She'll be an asset here."

"I think so as well." Imeldia turned away with a small smile, weaving her way through the tables, stopping every few minutes to talk to someone.

"That was nice of you," Mariko acknowledged. "Many people in your position would have been really ugly to the waitress, maybe even gotten her fired."

Something crossed his face, disappointment perhaps, she couldn't quite catch it, and then his features were entirely expressionless. "Is that what you think of me? That I would use my status as a Ferraro to get a young girl fired?"

His face might not give anything away, but his voice held just enough of that disappointment she'd seen slip across his features seconds earlier. The lash made her wince. His gaze held hers, forcing her to face him with her accusation. She had thought that just from reading the tabloids. Investigating a Ferraro was difficult. No one knew anything at all personal about the family. Everything was speculation or clearly made up for headlines. Maybe the rumor about the Lacey twins wasn't real, either.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you. I merely thought it was sweet of you that you didn't do what others in your position might." She chose each word carefully. She found she hadn't liked upsetting him and she didn't want him to think she thought badly of him. That wouldn't fit with the image of a woman taking such an intimate job with him--at least she told herself that was the reason she was so cautious.

He sat back in his chair, his gaze on her face. Compelling. Intense. She'd never been under such open scrutiny. "How is it you aren't with a man? You're beautiful. You're intelligent. You've got an amazing voice. I could listen to you talk forever."

He flashed a small smile at her and it lit up his dark eyes for just a moment. The lines etched deep in his face softened and that ghost of a smile made her stomach do somersaults and a flutter started deep.

"Not that you talk much."

"You're very intimidating." She had resolved to stick as closely to the truth as possible. "I didn't expect that."

His eyebrow shot up. "I'm intimidating?"

"You know you are." She was certain of that.

He burst out laughing, and even that was low and sensual. The man couldn't do anything without sounding or looking sexy. He had a way of focusing so completely on her that he made her feel as if they were alone and she was the only woman in his world. That low tone he used created an intimacy between them. She hadn't expected to like him at all. More, she hadn't, not even for one moment, considered that she might be attracted to him--and she was. The moment their shadows connected, the attraction had been intense, and it continued to grow with every moment spent in his company.

Rita was back, this time looking determined. Color had stolen up her neck into her cheeks, but she gamely smiled at Mariko. "Have you had time to look over the menu?"

"I'll have the vegetarian omelet," Mariko said. "It looks delicious. No toast or hash browns."

"And you, Mr. Ferraro?" Rita asked, her chin up.

"The scramble for me, and please include the hash browns and toast." He smiled at the girl and she nearly dropped the pad she hadn't been writing on. "How is your brother doing?"

"He's fine. He makes very good grades. He's been bussing here a couple of days a week." Rita nearly stumbled over the words, but she got them out.

Ricco nodded his head. "That's good. Boys can get a little wild as I'm sure you know. You or your brother need anything, you let me know." He handed her a card. "In case of trouble. Keep that with you."

She moistened her lips and nodded several times, pocketing the little card that held just a single number on it. "Thanks. I really appreciate it." She hurried away, a huge smile on her face.

"You just made a conquest for life," Mariko pointed out.

"She's not alone in the world. The Biagis are really good people, and they love Rita and her brother."

"You knew about her before the hostess ever said a word, didn't you?" she asked curiously.

He nodded. "My family owns quite a few of the buildings in this area and we lease them to the businesses. We like to know who the prospective tenants are before we do business with them. The Biagis have been here nearly as long as my family. Their parents owned the cafe before them. Bernado and Leah Biagi took it over about ten years ago. They were best friends with Rita's parents. She was eleven when her parents were killed in a botched robbery at their home. She took it very hard."

Mariko studied his face. He hadn't sounded any different than he had one moment earlier, yet there was something about the way he gave her the information that made her believe that botched robbery had been taken personally.

"Did they catch the robbers?"

"Murderers," he corrected. "They were murderers. And yes, they were caught and sentenced, but they escaped before they got to prison. They had brothers and parents every bit as brutal as they were."

"Were? I take it they were caught."

He shook his head. "They were found dead i

n an old abandoned warehouse along with two brothers and their father. The police speculated a rival gang had killed them. Their necks were broken."

She could guess how. The Ferraros had clearly considered Rita and Maso's parents under their protection. Shadow riders moved through shadows without detection, dispensing justice when the law couldn't. She didn't doubt for one moment that a rider or riders had extracted justice for the children.

She looked up at his impassive face. Expressionless. Tough. No one could ever doubt that Ricco Ferraro would handle his enemies with swift and certain death once he went on the hunt. A little shiver went down her spine.

"Hey."

Her gaze jumped to his. At once she felt the impact of those black velvet eyes. She couldn't look away from him.

"I shouldn't have brought up something so unpleasant. We're getting to know each other, and now you look a little afraid. That's the last thing I want."

Afraid? She looked afraid? That was impossible. She was very good at keeping all emotion from showing, wasn't she? Was she so shaken up that she wasn't able to keep him from seeing inside of her?

"Tell me about you," he encouraged.

She had to stick as close to the truth as possible. Every shadow rider could hear lies and, in most cases, compel the truth. "I guess hearing about Rita threw me for a moment. You already know about my mother. My brother is eighteen months younger than I am. We were taken in by a family, but I could never understand why."

Osamu had said her husband had noticed the shadows coming from her body even then, when she was three and on the street. That had been the reason given for the family having taken her in. They had known she could be trained as a rider.

"The family despised what my mother was and the fact that I look American. My brother looks Japanese. He was very . . . broken. His bones were smashed when he was very little. Sometimes they were good to him; other times, not so much."

For a moment she could hear the sound of Osamu Saito's voice telling the two children what a burden they were. Mariko had scrubbed their home from top to bottom daily, cooked and served the woman, but was beaten for being sloppy. She was reminded daily that her mother was a whore and she would likely become one as well--that the beatings were for her own good. All the while, she had trained as a rider. The more she excelled, the worse Osamu had treated her.