“If your grandmother had ties to the Archambault line, and Stefano is your first cousin, that means he also has the Archambault blood in him as well.” She couldn’t help wandering around the floor. The room was extraordinary, just like the rest of the floors. The architect who had designed the apartment was famous for his work and rightly so. There was a second grand piano, this one smaller than the one downstairs but no less impressive.
“Yes. All the cousins have a bit of the Archambault blood in them, thanks to our grandmother.” Geno reached out and gently shackled her wrist. “You’re going to fall down. I can feel that headache getting worse. You can ask me all kinds of questions, Amara, but at least lie on the bed. Our grandmother was a cousin several times removed. Still, she had the bloodline and passed it to us.”
He tugged her gently toward the elevated bed. It was much larger up close than it looked from a distance. When she hesitated, he picked her up and placed her facedown in the middle of the king-sized bed, coming down beside her. With a single click of a remote, he lowered privacy screens to darken the room. She hadn’t realized the light was contributing to the headache.
“Thanks, that’s better already,” she murmured, closing her eyes.
Geno’s hands went to her shoulders. He had big hands with strong fingers, and he seemed to know exactly where to find knots that were only making the headache worse.
“You must have a headache, too, Geno.” It suddenly occurred to her that he had taken on more of the poison than she had. Despite the antidote, there were aftereffects. Or maybe the antidote caused the aftereffects. “Why can’t I feel your headache?”
“Don’t you think feeling your own headache is enough? I don’t want you feeling mine.”
“You’re sharing mine. It’s only fair.” She couldn’t helpthe little spurt of amusement. Geno was such a law onto himself. “You do know you’re going to drive me crazy with your arbitrary decisions.”
“They won’t be arbitrary most of the time. We’re going to be partners. You have an incredible gift, and I’d be insane not to recognize that you’re worth your weight in gold.”
She couldn’t help the laughter that escaped. The sound was muffled against the duvet, but it was genuine. “I don’t weigh very much, Geno.”
He bent his head and nipped at her earlobe with strong teeth. The sting changed her undignified giggle to a yelp and then back to real laughter.
“The point,la mia danzatrice ombra, is I’m looking forward to your input in every discussion. I think you’re going to drive me crazy, not the other way around. I have the feeling you’re going to get your way in all things.” His phone played a little melody, and he removed it from his pocket.
“Hmm. That would be a miracle.” His fingers were working magic on her headache. “I’m getting sleepy.”
“Then go to sleep. You’re safe.”
“I’ve never slept with anyone in the same room. Or in the same house, for that matter, not that I can remember.”
He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “It’s time you started getting used to it. I’ll be a perfect gentleman—at least for now. It seems the priest is on a retreat. He’s out of the city. Donte Latini texted me. He’s one of my bodyguards.”
“I find it extraordinary that shadow riders have bodyguards.” She was so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open. “Where were your parents’ bodyguards? Why didn’t they see anything that night?”
“Technically, my parents were no longer shadow riders. They were greeters and didn’t require bodyguards, so they didn’t use them. We don’t have a lot of resources, so we’re careful to use them only where we have no other choice.”
She would have rolled over and put her arms around him, hearing the pain, regret and even guilt in his mind. Itwasn’t in his voice, but he felt it. He thought he should have insisted his parents have bodyguards while he went without, regardless of the rules of the riders.
“Geno.” The need to comfort him was paramount, but she didn’t know how. She had no knowledge of such things, and it left her frustrated and feeling lacking as a partner. She was always confident. To feel as if she wasn’t good enough disturbed her.
“Don’t, Danzatrice Ombra. You’re giving me exactly what I need just by staying in my bed. Settle for me. I need to hold you.” He curled his body around hers, wrapping one arm around her waist and laying his head close. “Just sleep, woman.”
She drifted for a few minutes, but then it came to her, what she’d wanted to tell him. “Geno. They don’t kill like riders. They may use shadows, but they don’t serve justice.”
His lips moved against the nape of her neck. “No, baby, you’re right. They don’t kill clean. They’re out for revenge, not justice.”
“I don’t think they’re trained riders,” she said. “Not in the accepted sense of the word.” Her hunch. She hadn’t put that in a report because it made no sense, but she was certain she was right, just like she was certain the killers were turning their attention to New York. And that they wanted to kill Geno Ferraro.
They can’t have you, she whispered into his mind as she drifted off.
CHAPTER FIVE
Amaranthe felt as if she were waking up in a different world. She lived a very strict life, one of routine and duty. She worked out. Meditated. Practiced her ballet. Stretched. Worked out more. She rarely had downtime. She didn’t have breakfast on a terrace overlooking the water watching the sun come up with a man who made her laugh at the outrageous stories he told her.
She’d never before had anyone come to her small apartment with cases filled with clothing she never could afford to look at, let alone purchase. Geno sat in a chair on the ninth floor with a faint smile on his face while she tried on so many outfits, she thought her head might explode. Right there, in the middle of the great room, a fitting room had been set up for her to change in so she could put on the dozens of types of clothing from casual to formal.
This material is the same as the material our rider clothing is made from. What company is this?Amaranthe was excited.
She was from France and preferred to do most of hershopping there. It was difficult to find clothing suiting her diminutive size that made her feel like a woman and not a child. This was a gold mine find—not only beautiful clothing in the perfect size, but pieces she could safely disappear into a shadow with.
