He swore. “What the fuck, Emme? Why didn’t you say something right away?” His fingers brushed lightly over the damage.

Dario went to a pack and removed a first aid kit. “You can’t let damage like this go. You know better.”

“Are you both going to give me lectures every time I screw up?” she asked, closing her eyes, pretending she wasn’t sitting on a bed with her jacket open and two men looking at her black-and-blue naked body. At least she was spared having her brothers in the room.

“Yes,” Val and Dario said in stereo.

“That goes on the ‘con’ side of the list,” she murmured as Val spread some kind of cream over the bruising on her breasts.

“I want to go to bed, Emmanuelle,” Dario said. “But you have to give me your word of honor, no matter how mad he makes you, or how scared you get, you won’t kill him. Or even wound him. If you have to, take a little break and sleep in one of the chairs in here. But I need your word you won’t kill him yourself and you’ll stay with him and protect him while I get some sleep.”

Sometimes Val wanted to strangle Dario with his bare hands. He was the one protecting Emmanuelle, not the other way around. “Get the fuck out. I’m taking care of her. She doesn’t need to sleep in a chair and look after me. I can take care of myself.”

His phone vibrated and he looked at the screen. Keeping her in the room with you, idiot.

He looked up at Dario. Dario’s expression gave nothing away. He and Emme were in a staring match while Val smeared the cream on the bruising just below her breasts.

“Word of honor, Emme,” Dario insisted.

“You know I have a temper, Dario. It might be hard to keep. He makes me so angry sometimes.”

“I’m well aware.”

“He’s absolutely stubborn and wants everything his way.”

“Yeah. I’ve known him a long time. But I can’t let you kill him.”

“Not even a little wound? The gunshots didn’t do much to him. Stabbing him might straighten him up.”

Val tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help the smile. She sounded so sincere.

“Not a scratch. Word of honor, Emme. And you have to stay in the room with him.”

She heaved a sigh. “Fine, Dario, but you owe me.”

Dario shoved his phone into his pocket and had been turning away from the bed, but he turned back with a shocked expression. “What?”

“Yeah, if I have to behave, no matter how outrageous he gets, then you owe me. I’ll think about your repayment.”

Dario glared at Val. “I don’t know if you’re worth the crap I have to put up with sometimes.” He stalked out and shut the door just a little too firmly.

Emmanuelle burst out laughing. “I’ve never managed to rile him.”

Val tugged at the sleeves of her jacket. “Take this off. You can wear one of my tees. Dario grabbed a few we had at the lake house. You’ll be more comfortable. There’s some Tylenol on the nightstand. And just so you know, you’ve managed to rile Dario plenty of times.”

“I have?”

She slid off the bed, away from him, and the moment she was where he couldn’t reach her, he had that same feeling he always got—that he might lose her. He immediately threw back the covers and put his feet on the floor. He was far stronger than anyone thought. He had three wounds that were of any significance, one of which hurt like hell and two others that he certainly felt but were nothing in comparison to the one throbbing so painfully.

“Yeah, babe, you infuriate him.”

“I do? That’s great. Someone needs to infuriate Dario. I thought he was pretty much unflappable.”

“That’s what they said about me until you came along.”

He watched her as she sank into the chair her brother had occupied. She was beautiful. His Emme. He could breathe again, now that she was in the same room with him. Two long years where she wouldn’t even speak to him. Interestingly enough, she hadn’t blocked Dario’s number, but she’d blocked his. She’d kept that line open, his only faint hope.

Emmanuelle looked up from where she was bent over, unzipping her boot, a look of amusement on her face. She hadn’t yet covered up, and her full breasts tumbled forward, the bruising dark spreading out over her otherwise flawless skin. She could never be called thin, and he liked that. He had never wanted thin. He liked that she had breasts and hips. He liked her curves. He liked everything about her.

“Two fucking years, Emmanuelle.” He said it quietly.

“I know how long it’s been, Valentino.” She pulled off the boot and set it aside. Keeping her head down, she unzipped the second boot.

“You wouldn’t give me a chance to explain. To talk to you. That gutted me.”

Tags: Christine Feehan Shadow Riders Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net