Grace woke choking in the dark, fighting, pinned down, trying to kick her way free. Her legs were tangled in the sheets. Her body was drenched in sweat, so much so that her hair was clinging to her head in a damp mess. Her heart pounded wildly, and her lungs refused to work properly. She heard sobbing and knew she was the one crying, but she was so disconnected from it that she couldn’t find a way to stop.
Grace, you’re okay. I’m right here.”
The voice came out of the darkness. Low. Gentle. Calm. She barely heard over the roar of her blood in her ears. Still, the sound caught at her and she clung to it like an anchor in a storm.
“Open your eyes for me, gattina. I’m right here with you. I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder. I want you to feel my touch, know it’s me.”
There was no mistaking Vittorio’s voice or his touch. His voice was like velvet, wiping away every bad memory. The sound filled those places inside her that were empty and frightened, a child cowering in her room, waiting for the demon to destroy her. It seemed as if Haydon had always been there, crouched like an evil entity, ready to rip her to pieces. Vittorio had found a way to push that relentless fear she’d been conditioned to feel into the background.
His hand moved lightly on her good shoulder, and at once she felt his calm spread through the panic gripping her. She fought the sensation of choking and struggled to take a breath, to allow his quiet composure to calm her. The pads of his fingers traced down her cheeks and then brushed at the tears there.
“He’s not here, Grace. I am. He can’t get to you.” He snapped on a low light, one that didn’t hurt her eyes, but allowed her to see around the room. “I want you to look at me, bella. Really see me. I don’t want you to have any illusions about who I am.”
Her gaze darted fearfully to every corner, then to the vents before coming to rest on Vittorio’s face. It was a strong face and it held masculine beauty, as if a sculptor had carved his finest work. She made herself really study his face, get past the beauty to see what was really Vittorio, the man. There was the stamp of ruthlessness. Danger. Power. He looked invincible. Implacable. So many things that could be negative. She could also see his protective streak. His caring. His sense of responsibility. Vittorio Ferraro was a man of mystery, but she was beginning to think of him as hers. She probably should have been afraid of him, but he brought her such a sense of well-being that fearing him was impossible.
“I’m going to get these sheets off of you and move you to the chair.”
He had a tone that indicated he was in complete charge and could be relied on to solve any problem. She knew, because in her business, that was the role she played—problem solver—and she was very good at it. She found it was especially tempting to be able to just not think, to let him do it for her. Her mind was in chaos and she just wanted to be wrapped up in his protection, just for a little while, until she gained her strength and will to fight back.
Vittorio pulled the sheets off her, unwinding them from her legs and stripping the top sheet from the bed. He slid her off the mattress, lifting her easily so that she was cradled against his chest.
“I need a shower.”
“You’re fine. We’ll take care of that tomorrow morning.”
“You’re not showering with me.” She was a little shocked at herself. The image of him naked in the shower with her was . . . intriguing.
His laughter was low and carried sensual undertones that seemed to slide under her skin to wreak havoc with her nerve endings.
“As much as the thought is tempting, I’ll wait until you’re fully healed.”
She should have laughed it off, but she found her gaze meeting his. “Are we going to shower together?”
“Yes, Grace. We will definitely be showering together.”
Her heart thudded. “We’re not really engaged, Vittorio.”
“Yes, we are really engaged, but we wouldn’t have to be to shower together, my little innocent. Since we are, you don’t have to look so shocked.”