Shadow Reaper (Shadow #2)(26)

She dressed Western, in slim, dark jeans and a cream-colored thin sweater. She wore elegant boots. They were made of soft leather and gave her several advantages. She slid a knife down into the specially made sheath. They also had a bit of a heel, which gave her a little more height.



He was waiting just outside her room, leaning against the wall, looking amazing in his suit. His gaze jumped immediately to her face and she felt the impact as if it were physical. He didn't need to touch her in order for her to feel his fingers on her. He straightened, his eyes moving over her.



"You didn't sleep well. What do you need to make you more comfortable?"



His voice poured over her like heat. Instantly she was aware of him, the wide set of his shoulders, his height, the muscles moving beneath the soft gray shirt. Everything. Just like that her body came to life.



"I was quite comfortable, thank you." She took a breath and forced her body to relax. "It's a new place, and I'm a little nervous committing to this project when I don't really know what to expect."



Being honest was always the best policy. She found that she wanted to give him honesty. Something. Anything. She'd come to him in full-blown panic, a state so unusual for her that she hardly recognized herself. Now she had a place to stop and think about things. To force panic from her mind and begin to hunt for solutions.



He held out his hand to her. Her heart quickened. God, he was gorgeous and intimidating when nothing and no one intimidated her. He didn't snap his fingers or insist, he simply held out his hand and waited, leaving the decision to her. She wasn't used to human contact. She hadn't exactly had a lot of it. It wasn't as if she'd had a mother who put her arms around her and held her. She couldn't remember a time when someone had held her.



She put her hand in his, and he smiled. It was as if, for her, the sun had come out. His smile took her breath and made her inexplicably happy because, she sensed, he rarely smiled and it was like a gift. His fingers closed around hers and he pulled her close to him, almost beneath his shoulder. She had the strange illusion of feeling safe. 



"We'll take the car to a small café I know for breakfast, and you can ask me any questions. It's important to build trust between us and the only way to do that is to get to know each other."



She nodded. "I've read quite a bit on the subject of Shibari, but no two poses seem alike, and I wasn't certain what to expect."



"It isn't about posing, Mariko," he said.



He reached to open the door for her. As she stepped through, his hand went to the small of her back. It felt intimate, his palm burning a brand right through the thin weave of her sweater. He smelled masculine. That same, strange outdoorsy, after-a-rain scent that she loved.



"When I come to you to ask you to be my model, whatever mood I'm in, the way you look, how your hair sweeps across your neck, those kinds of things determine how I'm going to tie you, which color of rope, the material of the rope. What you need."



She glanced up at him from under her lashes. His expression was very serious. "I don't understand. What I need? Why would it be about what I need?"



A dark town car waited for them. A man, looking very similar to Emilio from the day before, opened the door for them. Ricco smiled at him. "Enzo, this is Mariko. Mariko, my cousin Enzo. Emilio and Enzo are my keepers for the moment. I was in a car accident and my family is afraid I might faint and crack my head on the sidewalk, isn't that right, Enzo?"



She liked the easy camaraderie in his voice when he spoke to his cousin. She wasn't used to that easy. There was no laughter in her home growing up. Only duty. She also had read about the "car accident." He'd gone into a concrete wall at well over two hundred miles an hour. The video had been on the Internet and she'd replayed it over and over, watching the car fly apart and flames leap into the air as metal flew in all directions. She had no idea how he'd managed to live through such a thing. Even the surgeon, when he'd been interviewed, had called Ricco's survival a miracle.



"That's right, Ricco. We're supposed to chase after you with a pillow and get it under your head before you hit the ground." The man laughed and closed the door.



It was only then that she saw Emilio emerge from the drive, up close to the gates, to hurry and slip into the front passenger seat. Emilio turned and smiled at her. It wasn't quite as sincere as she would have expected, and that sent up a tiny red flag.



"Mariko," he greeted.



"Emilio," she answered, using a shy, demure voice. She allowed her long lashes to sweep along her high cheekbones, a gesture that usually put men at ease automatically. It didn't seem to work on Emilio. She saw his gaze flick toward the rearview mirror, clearly watching them.