Pride (In Wilde Country Book 1) (11 page)

That she’d made good time was at least partly because she’d taken off the lethal stilettos. They dangled by their straps from her left hand.

The street was not crowded.

There were only a few pedestrians, and none gave her more than a curious glance. Only tourists were ever naïve enough to stare. New Yorkers wouldn’t have made eye contact with Saint Peter and a choir of angels on a Manhattan street.

Evidently, there were only New Yorkers walking here tonight.

Cheyenne was fine.

Angry—Luca could tell that from the imperious angle of her chin. Determined—her stride assured him of that. But untouched, as far as he could see. No bruises. No signs that she’d had to struggle with predators.

Even as the thought went through his mind, a posse of men materialized from a dark doorway a few yards ahead.

Cheyenne saw them; Luca could tell because her steps faltered, but only for a second. Then she quickened her pace.

Aldo was maneuvering the Mercedes into a tight parking space. Luca was not about to wait. He flung his door open.

“Cheyenne!”

Either she didn’t hear him or she’d decided to ignore him. He shouted her name again, hurried out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

The men spread themselves in a lazy line ahead of her. There were eight of them.
Cristo,
eight!

Cheyenne kept moving.

“Hey, baby,” one of them said. Another made a smacking sound with his lips.

Cheyenne showed uncertainty for the very first time. Her steps slowed; her spine stiffened. Her gaze raked the line and Luca knew she was searching for a way around or through it.

He also knew that there was none.

“Cheyenne,” he said quietly.

“Cheyenne,” one man said. “What kind of fuckin’ name is that?”

The others laughed.

Luca did a quick assessment. They were in their early twenties, and they were big. They were also drunk. Or high. Maybe both. Even at a distance, he could smell beer and weed.

“Cheyenne,” he repeated. “Come to me.”

“Ooh, Cheyenne,” another man said in a mincing voice, “ooh, baby! Come to me.”

They laughed again, and closed into a loose semi-circle around her.

Luca could feel his adrenaline pumping. He moved toward her.

“Get behind me,” he said in a low voice.

She flashed him a look that suggested he was crazy even to suggest it.

“Dammit, woman, get behind me!”

Cheyenne switched one of the stilettos to her right hand. She held it with the long, sharp heel extended, brandishing it the way Luca had seen men in Sicily hold knives when they were ready to fight.

“One of you fuckers takes another step,” she said, “you’ll wish you were never born.”

“Oooh,” the men said, in mock terror.

“The lady’s gonna kill us.”

“Yeah. With her shoe.”

The comments drew snickers of laughter.

“You touch me,” Cheyenne said, “I’ll take your eyes out.”

More laughter.

Luca made a sound that was closer to a growl than anything else. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to applaud the lady for her balls or turn her over his knee and spank her for her foolishness.

“Cheyenne,” he said, “dammit, get over here!”

“Lookit him,” one of the men said, “the tough guy in a fancy suit!”

“Hey, tough guy,” another said. “You lookin’ for a phone booth so you can pull off that suit and turn into Superman?”

The men roared with laughter. Then the biggest of them took a step toward Luca.

“What you gonna do, Superman? Huh? What you gonna do?”

There was no laughter now. No snickering. The mood was hard and vicious, and Luca knew there was no way this could end well unless Cheyenne did as he’d ordered, but she was completely ignoring him.

By now, Aldo was standing beside Luca.

Two against eight. Bad odds, but Aldo had been a soldier in what he sometimes described as another life, and Luca had fought his way through two boarding schools and, for kicks, worked out on a speed bag a couple of times a week.

Besides, he had the blood of Sicily in his veins.

“Cheyenne,” he said, “get in the car.”

Maybe there was something in his voice. Maybe it was the ever-tightening circle of men. Whatever it was, Cheyenne looked at Luca for the first time. Then she looked at her tormentors.

“
É
škȯseeséhotame
,”
she said, and spat at the one who seemed to be their leader.

His shoulders hunched. “What you call me, bitch?”

Luca was wondering the same thing, but this wasn’t the time to ask. This was the time for action.

“Aldo,” he yelled, “the car.”

Aldo took off, running. Luca stepped forward, drew back his fist and landed a blow directly on the punk’s jaw.

It was a good shot. Damn near perfect, the still-rational part of Luca’s brain acknowledged in admiration.

The man dropped like a stone.

The others stared at Luca. At their fallen leader. At each other. Then one of them yelled “Get him!” but by then, Luca had grabbed Cheyenne’s hand and started running for the Mercedes. He shoved her into the back seat, climbed in and shouted “Go!” at Aldo, who gunned the engine.

The car shot away from the curb.

Luca looked back. Then he and Aldo exchanged glances in the mirror.

Both men grinned.

“Nice job, boss,” Aldo said.

“Nice job?” Cheyenne sputtered. “Nice job?” She made a fist and punched Luca’s shoulder. “Damn you, Bellini! I was doing fine by myself!”

Luca sighed. “You’re welcome,” he said dryly.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard. I also heard you say something to those hoodlums. Esko…” He looked at her. “What was that?”

“I called him a pig. In Cheyenne.”

Luca raised an eyebrow. “You speak Cheyenne?”

“I speak maybe a dozen words, and don’t change the subject. What gave you the right to interfere?”

“Too bad you don’t speak Italian.”

“What?”

“If you did, I’d tell you that you were
pazzo
. Hell, I’ll tell it to you anyway.” His voice rose. “You’re crazy if you think a shoe could hold off eight stoned fools.”

She glared at him; he glared back. Finally, she swung away, folded her arms and stared straight ahead.

“How did you find me?”

He gave a lazy shrug.

“We didn’t. We were en route to my place and there you were. Pure good luck.”

He caught Aldo’s eyes in the mirror. Poker-faced, Aldo looked away and concentrated on the road.

“Really?” she said sweetly.

“Really. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking otherwise.”

“No. Why would I do that? Just because you live in that building on Fifth Avenue and 75
th
…”

She caught herself, but it was too late. A glance told her he was looking at her the way a cat might look at an especially interesting canary.

“You researched me?”

Until this moment, he’d seen the
Times
doing a piece on the building and naming him as one of its residents only as a violation of his privacy. Now, he saw it as fascinating.

Cheyenne gritted her teeth.

She thought about denying it, but what was the point? She
had
researched him. She always Googled the people she met—it wasn’t about him, personally. You just couldn’t be too careful in this world…

Okay. It
had
been about him, personally, but why wouldn’t a woman want to know more about a man she’d slept with?

So she sat back, arms still folded, eyes still straight ahead, and wondered, now that there was time to wonder, if the sharp pain in the sole of her left foot meant she had stepped on a piece of broken glass somewhere back in the 50’s.

“I checked,” she said, making it sound like a careless act, “yes.”

“Because?”

“Because if it turned out we lived anywhere near each other, I wanted to be prepared for the distinctly unpleasant possibility of bumping into you.” She shot him a nasty look. “Too bad I didn’t Google what charities you’d been dragged into supporting.”

“Nobody dragged me into
Horse Sense
.” Well, it was the truth. He’d stumbled into it, but that wasn’t the same thing. “I’ve always supported animal welfare organizations… What’s so amusing?”

“Is that what you think
Horse Sense
is? An animal welfare charity?”

“I don’t think it. I know it.”

She laughed again. He didn’t like the sound of that laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

A lie. He knew it, but he wasn’t going to plead for an answer. All he’d do was take her home and deliver her safely to her door.

“Aldo has your address as 55 Sloane, off West Houston,” he said curtly. “Is that correct?”

“It’s correct. How do you know that?”

“I looked you up in the phone directory.”

“You couldn’t have. My number is unlisted.”

He shrugged again.

“Take it up with the telephone company.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she looked at him again.

“What you did tonight…” She poked out her bottom lip and blew a breath over it. How could something so simple make his belly tighten? “It was contemptible.”

He leaned forward, pressed a button and the privacy screen slid into place.

“I was angry.”

“Do you always force yourself on women when you’re angry?”

“I did not force myself on you. And I wasn’t talking about what we did. The sex.”

“The sex.” Her tone was cruel. “That’s a charming way to describe rape.”

He could feel his anger growing.

“I no more raped you tonight than you raped me this morning, McKenna. We both wanted what happened.”

She stared at him. Why deny it? She
had
wanted him, both times, but that second time, in the hotel…

That had frightened her.

He had overwhelmed her.

Possessed her.

Controlled her.

She didn’t like to be with men that way.

Which was why the hot excitement she’d felt in that hotel corridor made no sense. The hunger that had all but consumed her. The memory of his hands on her, heating her blood, even now…

“I can read your eyes,” he said in a voice gone husky.

“Good. Then you can read my disgust at what you did.”

A nerve jumped in his jaw. “You’re right. I’m disgusted at what I did, too.”

“I’m glad you admit it. Forcing me into sex—“

“I’m talking about letting you flee the hotel without considering that you had no money for cab fare. But you were foolish. Worse than foolish. Refusing my driver’s offer to take you home or, at least, to get a taxi for you…”

Her chin rose.

“Did you actually think I’d accept anything from you?”

His mouth curved in a thin parody of a smile.

“Would you have preferred a note?”

Her face colored. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Give me a break. McKenna. You know exactly what I mean.”

“The note I left you was perfectly polite.”

Luca folded his arms over his chest. “’Sorry, but I have an appointment in Dallas,’” he said tonelessly. “’I checked—there’s a phone number for a cab service in the directory on the desk. And thanks for your help.’”

Her mouth opened, then closed. The color in her face heightened. Good. He was glad her own words made her uncomfortable.

“As I said, the note was perfectly acceptable.”

“Finding a note instead of the woman I’d just made love with was a little… disconcerting.”

“Sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“We had sex. We didn’t make love.”

“That’s an unusual distinction. Most women—”

“I am not ‘most women.’ I have a healthy attitude toward sex. Actually, it’s the same attitude men generally have. I find sex pleasurable, but I don’t see a point in confusing the needs of the body with society’s need to pretty it up by clouding it with supposed emotion.”

Luca stared at her.

“Do you really believe that? That emotion and sex are separate things?”

“I know it.”

“Then I feel sorry for you,
bellissima
. Emotion is, or should be, the best part.”

“You misunderstand. There’s emotion in sex, of course. Pleasure, fulfillment, satisfaction… All of that is part of the experience.”