His Rules: Ludlow Nights - Book1 (A Ludlow Nights Romance) (9 page)

Anastacia closed her eyes and just felt the love.

However, enough was enough.

Any minute now she was going to disgrace herself and start blubbering like a baby.

"You know guys," she said in a wobbly voice. "All this touchy feely stuff is making me feel icky. Do you think you could just dial it back, just a little?"

A doctor entered and saved her friends from responding.

They all moved back to give the medic room as he read his notes before checking out her eyes.

"So, you wanna leave the best hotel in town?" he joked in an Aussie accent. "No probs. But, you passed out for a couple of minutes, so we need someone to stay with you for the next forty-eight hours. No excitement. Lots of peace and quiet. If you feel dizzy or nauseous or have blurred vision or they can't waken you then you need to come straight in. No messing.
Capisce
?"

"
Si, dottore
," said an obstinate looking Olivier.

He moved into Anastacia and scooped her up in his strong arms.

Of their own volition her arms slid around his neck and her tired and aching head dropped to his shoulder. He smelled fantastic so she took a nice long sniff. She really should argue and tell him that her legs were perfectly fine, but the way he held her and the determined expression on his handsome face warned her not to push her luck.

As Olivier strode through accident and emergency with her friends hot on his heels, T.C. wanted to know if he wanted her stay with Ana, too?

Olivier turned to T.C. as Nico guided them to his double parked Range Rover.

"No. I am staying at Nico's apartment in Anastacia's building. She can stay with me for a couple of days. I will take care of her."

What?

Something like panic unfurled in her gut as her eyes rose to meet his.

"But..." Anastacia began, then her words dried in her throat at the burning look Olivier gave her.

"
Silenzio!"
he snapped in a do-not-test-me-woman voice.

Ooooookay.

Her friend's eyes bugged in their heads, but they nodded.

"Okay. We'll check in with you tomorrow, Ana. Try and get plenty of rest," said Danni as she patted Olivier on the back in a there-there gesture.

Anastacia slid into the back seat of the Range Rover and was joined by Olivier, who pulled her onto his knee and clicked the seat belt around them. Nico was in the driving seat and he turned to study her face.

"Are you sure you are feeling okay?"

She nodded, gave him a pitiful little smile.

"I'm fine."

Then he spoke to Olivier. "You are flying to Milan on Monday?"

"
Si.
I will take care of her until then."

Nico's eyes held hers.

"And I do not want you back in the office before Wednesday. No arguing, Ana."

Anastacia shut her mouth. What was the point of arguing with two alpha males who appeared to live under the collective delusion they had the right to tell her what to do and when to do it?

No point.

Too tired to care, Anastacia decided that she'd give Olivier a few home truths tomorrow, after she'd had a rest. She closed her eyes and let the purr of the engine and the beat of the strong heart under her ear lull her to sleep.

The next morning, Anastacia awoke in a strange bed in a strange room.

She blinked up at the most awesome chandelier she'd ever seen in her life. It was constructed of metal and amazing shards of glass that curved as they reached for the ceiling and right there she wanted one for her sitting room. And made a mental note to ask Bronte where she'd found it.

Sunlight danced through white sheers hanging at great floor to ceiling doors that opened onto a wide deck area. The familiar sounds of the boats on the river Thames and traffic crossing Tower Bridge drifted into the room. Her face ached. And memories of the night before swam into her muzzy mind.

She rose to her elbows, shoved back the heavy weight of her hair and studied the room.

It was quite beautiful.

The walls were white-washed and held colossal art works slashed with vivid colors. Not exactly restful. There were a couple of large sofas covered in a thick linen fabric the color of mouse that groaned under a collection of linen cushions in various shades of gold.

The sheets and summer weight comforter on the bed were of white linen edged with gold, too.

Very nice.

And she realized she was wearing nothing but her panties and a man's white T-shirt.

Since she didn't own such a thing, the T-shirt must, she surmised, belong to Olivier.

The question then became, what was the time and where was Olivier?

Anastacia cocked her head to listen, but the penthouse was quiet.

Taking it nice and easy she slid to the edge of the bed and tested her feet on the marble floor. She took it as a good sign that the room remained steady.

Then she made her way down a narrow corridor she supposed led to the bathroom.

Bingo.

Her jaw dropped.

Wow, the bathroom space was stunning. Walls of ivory marble towered right up to an atrium that bathed the room in sunlight. Two square sinks made of marble sat under vast windows with views over the city. She did her business, washed and dried her hands and found sealed toothbrushes and toothpaste in the smart glass cupboards tucked under the sinks. Then she turned to look at her reflection in a floor to ceiling mirror and the sight that met her eyes brought her fingers to her mouth to hold in the screech of utter horror.

The white cotton T-shirt was so big it looked ridiculous on her, like a little girl playing dress-up. Her hair looked as if birds nested there. Her eyes were too big for her pale face. But it was her poor face that made her eyes water. The bloodshot eye, almost swollen shut and the livid bruise that bled from her hairline to her jaw made her stop in her tracks.

Bloody hell.

Her cheek was swollen and a searing navy blue.

Her fingers hovered over the bruise to touch it, but she dare not.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Anastacia was so spooked, she yelped and spun around so fast that the room tilted.

Then she found herself back in Olivier's arms as he marched her back to bed. By the way he was holding her and words muttered in Italian under his breath, she had the distinct impression that he'd dearly love to toss her into the bed, but he sat her down very gently on the edge and stood back.

His hands were on his hips as he stared at her face. His jaw went rigid as dark narrowed eyes studied the livid bruise on her sore cheek.

His feet were bare and he was wearing pale blue jeans, ancient and soft, riding low on his hips and a pale grey T-shirt with a washed-out logo proclaiming Armani Jeans. And he looked absolutely gorgeous.

Anastacia firmly ignored the fast flutter of her heart as her cheeks and other parts of her heated. She turned to slide under the comforter then found herself lifted and sprawled on his lap. Strong hands turned her around until she straddled him.

"You gave me the fright of my life, sneaking up on me like that. I needed to use the bathroom and brush my teeth and see the damage. Okay?" Her voice wobbled a little bit by the time she'd got to
okay
and his dark eyes narrowed again as he stared into hers.

"Cut out the tough guy act with me, Anastacia. When you feel better, you and I are going to have a talk."

Were they indeedy?

And just who the hell made him the boss of her?

Who did Olivier Conti think he was to talk to her like that?

She tried to get angry with him, she did.

But the way his hands rested possessively on her hips, the way he was studying her face, seriously unnerved her, as did his scent. The scent of a man, shampoo and clothes freshly laundered, unnerved her even more. She gave a little shiver of delight and his hands tightened as they slid under the T-shirt she wore, his T-shirt, to span her tiny waist and pull her closer. Their bodies were touching. And now his hands were rough against her skin as his fingertips began to stroke lazy circles across her flat stomach, and all the while those dark eyes were glued to her face to gauge her reaction.

Her reaction was a face gone nuclear.

She couldn't help but catch her bottom lip between her teeth to prevent a tiny moan of pleasure, of approval, escaping from her throat. She settled her hands on his strong shoulders. Then she took her own sweet time studying his marvellous face, the sharp cheekbones streaked with heat, the strong jaw in need of a shave and that amazing mouth. And Anastacia decided right there that she adored his mouth, loved it in fact. What harm would one teeny tiny taste of that mouth do?

"Thank you for looking after me," she said in a soft whisper.

Eyes the color of a vivid violet blue held his and Olivier read sincerity in those eyes, and maybe even the merest hint of an apology. Her small hands on his shoulders were warm and soothing. He wanted to be soothed,
dio mio
, he needed to be soothed because it would be a very long time before he could forget the moment she'd been hurt, hit, by a huge and furious man with fists the size of dinner plates. And she was such a tiny little thing, with the heart of a warrior, and she'd fucking terrified him and made him so fucking proud all at the same time.

He drew in a very long and very shaky breath.

"Do not ever scare me like that again." He realized he'd stopped stroking her silky soft skin. Now he began again, the motion more drawn-out this time, circling lower, until his fingers lingered on the edge of her silk panties and right there his erection swelled and went rock hard. Oh well, there was nothing he could do about it so he didn't even try. She was hurt. This was not the way to woo her, he told himself, not the way to make her trust him.

"I'm sorry," she said, and her breath whispered over his mouth. If he moved, just a little, he'd manage to taste her. His focus was pinned on her pouty mouth now as he wondered what it would feel like to kiss her the way he desperately wanted to kiss her, which was probably why his brain packed in and he spoke without thinking.

"I failed you. I did not protect you,
cara
."

Those violet eyes went wide.

"You're being far too hard on yourself," she said quietly. "There were two of them and they were twice your size and they were armed and dangerous."

He tried for a smile and very nearly carried it off. Then he decided that that was plenty soul-searching for one day. Plenty. He couldn't do this with her sitting on his lap staring at him with those fabulous eyes set in a bruised and battered face. He was a traditional man who came from a culture where a man protected his woman. A culture where family took priority. And Olivier was finding it very hard to come to terms with the reality of his woman protecting him and herself.

If anything had happened to her...

His heart felt as if a large hand had fisted around it and squeezed tight.

She must have seen something in his eyes because her fingers kneaded his shoulders.

It felt quite wonderful.

"You weren't to know that I'm a Krav Maga black belt. I'm sorry I scared you," she said.

"Who trained you?"

"Danni and T.C. and I have attended a dojo in the West-End for three years."

"Why?"

Her hands were stroking his back now and he saw a sadness in her vivid eyes that made his own narrow.

"Four years ago Danni was assaulted... and no I'm not going to give you chapter and verse... but she needed to feel safe again, to regain her lost confidence, so we joined to support her and it all went from there."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his forehead so very gently on hers.

"Are you trying to tell me that your friends can do what you can do?"

"Yep. T.C. has some kick-ass moves. But Danni is fast, really fast, with her fists. Being able to protect herself has changed her life. I'm so very proud of how far she's come."

She wiggled her bottom against the hardness of his swollen erection and his body responded. How could it not? He inhaled the floral scent of her hair, of her soft skin, of warm and willing woman, and shuddered.

"If you do that again I will not be responsible for my actions," he said curtly.

"I know what you need," she said in a voice that whispered of wicked sin. He knew what he needed, too, and she was in no fit state to give it to him. Her hips moved against the hardness of him. "A hug. Fortunately for you I give really good hugs."

Cristo
.

The girl was killing him.

But it wasn't just hugs that he wanted, needed, from her.

"How about a diversion," he suggested, "because if you keep doing that I'm going to lose my mind."

"Oh yeah, I'm really good at diverting attention." Now her mouth was gently sucking on his earlobe and her hands slid down from his shoulders to his waist and created absolute mayhem underneath his T-shirt. "How am I doing so far?"

Then her mouth was on his, tantalising, tempting, teasing and trusting, and the world for Olivier simply melted away beneath the hard and heavy burden of his desire for her. But his need rose and so did his urge to bury himself deep within her; to take and take everything she had to give, until her name and her name only was wrenched from him.

He tried desperately to stop. He called on every single bit of self-control he possessed to keep his touch light and easy, to remember that she was injured and not ready for what he was about to do to her. Now he spoke and gathered strength from who knew where to delay certain destiny.

"You are hurt and not ready for this," he told her in a voice that wasn't quite steady as he caught a glossy strand of inky black curls around his fist.

"I feel absolutely fine," she responded as she pushed his T-shirt up and over his shoulders. He released her for a split second while he helped her to remove it, tossed it on the bed before reaching for her again. Then his mouth found the hectic pulse fluttering beneath her ear.
Dio
, she tasted wonderful, salt and sweet and warm and she smelled even better. And all the while he surged against her, his body unyielding and hard against her soft damp centre. He watched her as his fingers traced a path from the hollow of her throat, down to the edge of the T-shirt she wore, his T-shirt. Taking infinite care not to hurt her tender face, she raised her arms as he lifted and removed the garment, tossed it next to his and then feasted his eyes on her tight little breasts with those taut nipples all rosy and pink. Now his fingers traced the curve of soft and round breasts and he smiled his satisfaction when those vivid blue eyes went lazy and her nipples peaked under his searching fingertips.

"God." He sucked in a breath. "Is this what you call diverting me?" he murmured, leaning back a little, trying to create a little bit of space between them. Now her smile went wicked, as did her blue twinkling eyes as she looked her fill at him, too. And, he could tell, she liked what she saw. Olivier wasn't a vain man, unlike some sports super-stars, but he was incredibly thankful he was fit. Very fit.

"Look at those amazing abs. You are one gorgeous man, Olivier Conti." Her hands slid over said abs to the edge of the waistband of his jeans and he sucked in his quivering belly. "So hard, as if carved from stone. It's enough to make a woman weep with gratitude." She played with the top button of his jeans, her knuckles rubbing against his belly doing outrageous things to his shaft.

He smoothed his hands over her soft and silky shoulders, slid them down her slim arms until his hands found hers and he placed them palm to palm. His mouth twitched, he couldn't help it, at the contrast. Pale skin on gold skin and it thrilled him. She considered their joined hands with a small smile that told him she saw it, too. He wove his fingers through hers and lifted his hands wide so that he could look his fill at her beautiful and tight little body.

"You are not ready for what I want to do to you," he murmured.

"Probably not," she admitted, her eyes shy as she studied him the way he was studying her. "Something tells me I'll need to be at my best before we go to bed."

"You are absolutely right," he said in a low voice. "You will let me know when you are healed and ready for me to love you?"