The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding(6)

The bathroom smelled of soap and a men’s cologne so tantalizing that she breathed deep in the need to identify it. She had never come across it before she was sure, not even in the most exclusive men’s boutiques. He might have had it custom blended, she thought, but it could also be that it was inextricably mixed with his distinctive male scent.

In any case, it was intoxicating in close quarters. It made her feel almost light-headed as she used the facility, washed her hands and face, ran her fingers through her hair and pressed her lips together to add color.

And she refused to think that it might have been the man who wore it that caused her dizziness. It was the last thing she needed.

~ ~ ~

His guest emerged from the bathroom as Nicholas was pouring wine. He had topped off his glass that he had been drinking while waiting for her, and now reached to fill hers.

“None for me,” she said as she regained her seat.

He sent her a brief look, but she refused to return it. A veil of soft color lay across her cheekbones.

A wry smile touched a corner of his mouth. She was still embarrassed then. It was unexpected, for she could hardly be an innocent, must be in her late twenties if he had to guess. Of course, Americans were not as comfortable with nudity as most of his countrymen. Perhaps that was it.

At least she was no longer quite so oblivious of him. It pleased him that he could shake her composure. Purest machismo, of course, but he had enjoyed the look on her face, her wide eyes and parted lips, the soft rose flush of awareness and, yes, reluctant arousal.

These things completely destroyed the effect of the cold shower he’d just taken, but what did it matter? They were worth it.

Nico wondered what it would take to provoke that reaction from her again. And winced inwardly at what the thought of getting naked in front of her, say for a mutual shower or midnight swim, did to his straining body.





3


They went directly from the airport to the hospital in spite of the predawn hour. The decision was made by Nicholas, but was exactly what Amanda wanted. She was grateful for his highhanded action this time, glad that she had no need to press for it.

The closer she came to seeing Jonathan, the tighter her throat grew and the heavier the weight in her chest became. He was all she had. Even when he was a continent away, she knew he thought of her often, just as she thought about him. They had protected each other while on the road. She had been his shield against bullies and he had warned her about older boys who collected girl’s underwear for souvenirs. They had learned to swim, to ride horseback and to ski together. They had stood together beside two graves. He always hugged her when he left her. She loved him as she loved no one else in the world, and had no idea what she would do if he was no longer in it.

She longed to see him, yet hated the thought of his vulnerability, just as she knew he would hate it. And his regret and self-blame for the accident would be almost as hard to bear as his pain.

The Mercedes limo that had met them at the airport slowed for the turn into the entrance court of the hospital complex. Nicholas, bending his head to see out the tinted windows in the pale light from a street lamp, cursed under his breath, or so Amanda thought from the sound of it. Following his gaze, she saw the cause all too easily.

Paparazzi.

The men and women armed with notebooks and cameras were already piling out of their cars and trucks. Nicholas spoke to his driver and the limo picked up speed, barreling past the swarming horde. It spun around a corner and through a parking lot, and then made for the canopied doorway which led to an emergency entrance.

The instant the limo came to a halt, Nicholas shoved open the door beside him. Snagging Amanda around the waist, he pulled her out in a smooth movement and drew her to her feet, holding her against him.

“Don’t look at them, don’t answer questions, and above all, don’t stop. Keep moving, no matter what happens,” he said in a hard undertone. Shielding her from the oncoming camera flashes with his wide shoulders, he made for the double doors ahead of them.

It was good advice, as Amanda well knew. Though her father had done his best to protect her and Jonathan from his racing fame, it had not always been possible. She had almost forgotten the odd panic from being pursued, of being the target of endless camera flashes, the sense of privacy being stripped away as if she had no right to it.

Jonathan must have gained more of a following in Europe than she had imagined, she thought in breathless wonder. Who would have guessed his accident would bring out the vultures.

Putting her head down, she clung to Nicholas’s arm that clamped her to him. She matched her steps to his long strides as best she could while shouts and yells exploded from all sides.

The automatic doors slid open as they neared them. A detail of security police stood just inside. The men parted, allowing them through, and then closed ranks behind them. The sounds of pursuit died away.

Nicholas tossed a few words with the sound of appreciation over his shoulder, but did not pause. He swept Amanda through a reception area crowded with curious patients. Beyond it was another door with an automatic lock that buzzed and released at their approach. It gave onto a hallway. They plunged down it, rounded a corner, and came to a halt in a long corridor that stretched blessedly empty and quiet ahead of them.

In the sudden silence, two things were brought home to Amanda. It was not only Jonathan’s name the paparazzi had called out as they bayed after them like hounds. With the confusion and hubbub of Italian, she had not quite grasped why they had their sights set on the De Frenzas, but assumed it was a combination of impressive wealth and the drama of the accident.

“My apologies,” Nicholas said, raking his fingers through his hair in a gesture of angry exasperation. “I ought to have realized the incident would be leaked.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You should not have been subjected to that, not now.”

She gave a dismissive shake of her head. “Jonathan,” she said, speaking the thought uppermost in her mind, “when can I see him?”

“Now, I believe,” he answered, and gestured down the hall where two white-coated physicians were coming to greet them.

The preferential treatment was welcome, but Amanda barely registered it. In fact, it was almost expected after the way Italian customs had boarded the De Frenza plane for a private immigration check, also after they were whisked away in a waiting limo and chased by paparazzi. Her main concern was for her brother, and she was only grateful that introductions were brief before she and Nicholas were led toward his room.

The two physicians strode at Nicholas’s side down gleaming, marble-floored corridors, speaking in rapid Italian while Nicholas fired questions, nodded at the answers and shot back more. Amanda hurried to keep up with them, running a few steps now and then. When she began to lag behind, Nicholas paused, swept a hard arm behind her back and set off again.

“What is it?” she asked breathlessly as she tried to keep up. “What are they saying?”

“You should learn Italian,” he said without slackening his pace.

“I won’t be here that long,” she snapped back with some annoyance. “Is Jonathan all right? What are they telling you about him?”

“It isn’t about him,” Nicholas answered with a bite in his voice, and turned back at once to the medical briefing.

The news was about his sister, then. It didn’t appear to be good.

Chill distress moved over Amanda. She wanted to offer comfort, but could think of nothing to say. She would be the last person he would want to hear it from anyway, as he blamed her brother for his sister’s critical condition. Without another word, she allowed herself to be led to Jonathan. She couldn’t get there fast enough to suit her.

Her brother’s bed was surrounded by monitors and he lay in what appeared to be a tangle of tubing that ran into his veins. He was so still and pale under the sheet that it was difficult to be certain he was alive. Stitches made a black line across his right temple. Bandaging wrapped one shoulder and his chest, and his leg in its cast was propped on a foam support that looked far from comfortable. Gloom filled the small, square room, the only light coming from a long, dim fixture above the bed and a glimmer of dawn light through the window blinds.

Amanda moved to take Jonathan’s lax hand, staring down at him for long moments. He looked so young, with his lashes resting on shadows as dark as bruises that lay beneath his eyes and all care smoothed from his brow. He might have been a boy again, as when she had rocked him to sleep. She lifted his hand to her lips for an instant, since that seemed the only place on his body that might not hurt. Releasing him, she drew up a chair and sat down beside the bed.

She was alone. Nicholas had delivered her to this private room and then walked on with the doctors who escorted them. No doubt he was with his sister by now. She hoped he had found her in no worse shape than Jonathan.

Would the Italian return for her later? She had no idea, but it didn’t matter. She was where she should be, where she needed to be.

“Mandy?”

She roused at that whisper, aware that she had closed her eyes while allowing her mind to drift, coming somehow to the moment on the plane when she had walked in on Nicholas de Frenza. Banishing it, she leaped to her feet and moved close to the bed.

“You’re awake,” she said in husky greeting. “I thought they were keeping you sedated.”