A short time later, Constantine pulled up outside of her row house. Gianna started to open the car door and he stopped her. “Will my Porsche fit in your garage or do you use the space for storage?”
She stared at him blankly. “My garage?”
“I’m staying the night and I don’t want to spend the next several hours searching for a legal place to park,” he explained patiently. “Will my car fit in your garage?”
He could see the progression of her thoughts written in her expression. Confusion. Dawning comprehension. Stubborn refusal. “That’s not necessary.”
“D’Angelo is still out there. I’m assuming he was seriously ticked off when he left you. I’m not going to take the chance that he may come by while you’re sleeping off the last of whatever he gave you. Your choices are…” He held up a finger. “One. We go to the emergency room and get you checked out. At the very least, they should look at the cuts on your feet.”
She instantly shook her head. “There’s no need. I’m fine. Like I told you, I didn’t get a full dose of the drug.”
He refused to let her get away with the lie. “What you mean is… If you tell the doctors what happened, they’ll call the police and you want to avoid that particular complication.”
She sighed. “Something like that.”
“Exactly like that. Fair warning, if those cuts are bad you’re going to the emergency room whether you want to or not.” He held up a second finger. “Two. I take you to the relative of your choice and you spend the night there.”
She immediately shook her head. “You know what will happen if I do.”
Yes, he did. “All hell will break loose and—surprise, surprise—they’ll insist on calling the police.”
“Or, more likely they’ll want to take matters into their own hands. I can’t risk that happening.”
That was going to happen anyway. She just didn’t realize it. Yet. He held up another finger. “Three. I come in and spend the night. Someone needs to be available in case you suddenly get sick and need to go to the emergency room. Or if d’Angelo follows you here, you need someone who can take him down. That would be me, in case you were wondering.”
She blew out a sigh. “I sort of figured out that part.”
“I’m glad to hear it. So.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Which option do you choose?”
“Three,” she conceded grudgingly. She fished through her purse and pulled out a key. “There’s an automatic garage door opener, but I don’t have the controller since I never use it.”
Constantine took the key she’d given him and opened the door manually. A short minute later, he had the car parked in the miniscule garage. After locking up, he led the way, making a swift search of her neat-as-a-pin home, one she’d thoroughly stamped with her unique personality.
The colors she’d chosen were as vivid as she was. Strong, bright blues and greens with splashes of lavender, all accented with crisp white trim. She’d blended antiques with contemporary furniture and pulled it off brilliantly. She definitely had an eye for color and balance. If she ever tired of working for Dantes, he could use her in his restoration firm.
He checked each and every room, including closets and beneath furniture. Anyplace a man might hide. He didn’t expect to find anyone. The house had an undeniable air of emptiness, but he refused to take any chances with Gianna’s safety.
“Do you really think David is hiding under the bed in my guest room waiting to attack me?” she asked near the end of his search, exasperation clear in her voice.
Even after the events of that evening, she still didn’t get it. “When it comes to d’Angelo, anything is possible.” He could hear the Italian in his voice deepening, thickening. “Since your safety is paramount, I search the house. The entire house.”
She instantly caved. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.”
She trailed behind him, a distracting sight in his shirt and tails. The outfit hung on her slender frame, giving her a vulnerable, disheveled appearance that stirred his most primal protective instincts. She didn’t look well, her face even paler than before. Without a word, he headed for her bedroom.
“Do you want a shower before bed?” he asked. “You’d probably feel better. Then I want to take a look at your feet and make sure you don’t need stitches.”
She pulled a leaf from her hair and wrinkled her nose at it. “My feet are fine. If any of the cuts were bad enough to require stitches I wouldn’t be able to walk. That said, I definitely want a shower. I’m filthy and I think I brought half the forest home with me.” She folded her arms across her chest, the ends of his tux dribbling off her fingertips. “But I don’t want to go to bed.”