Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1) (21 page)

I lose all self-control when I’m with this man. He’s like a poisonous snake, one bite, and I’m incoherent, unable to think clearly, in a constant daze. I’m like butter and melt just from his touch. I love the way he holds me in his arms, close to his body, warm and inviting. How his kisses turn me inside out, making every limb in my body go weak.

I squeeze him tighter, feeling safe, secure, and at home, and yet the need to be cautious. He could be like Danny, but the more I’m with Michael; those fears I had in the beginning are starting to disintegrate into ashes. I have to trust my gut, my sixth sense or whatever you want to call it.

He releases me, placing his forehead to mine. We rub noses. “I’m going to miss you, Ariana,” he says with a despondent tone, breathing in deep, his eyes squeezing shut.

“And I you, Michael.” I whisper, not ever wanting to lose this feeling.

He gazes into the crystal-clear sky, deep in thought, taking deep breaths, and his chest expanding into mine. He lowers his face and gazes at me with a mischievous expression. “I should leave before I kidnap you.” He smiles, and I burst out laughing.

“Okay, I get the picture. You had better go. I wish you a safe trip, Michael, and good luck.”

“You too, Ariana. I’ll be calling you.”

“I look forward to it.” His tall, muscular form steps into the limo with ease, and Joe shuts the door, making the good-bye final. They pull away from the curb. My eyes begin to water and a tear rolls over my cheek. I quickly wipe it away and watch Michael waving and blowing kisses through his back window. I reciprocate until he fades into the morning traffic. I don’t know why, but suddenly an empty, forsaken loneliness douses over me like a bucket of cold water.

Chapter 18

Italy

We land in beautiful Naples, Italy. Before I get into the private car. I catch a glimpse of a woman getting into a taxi. I’m sure that’s Janet because she smiled and winked at me as she stepped inside. I’m grateful for Trent and everything he is doing to find the maniac who’s tormenting me.

I spoke with Sean and left Michael a voicemail to tell them both of our safe arrival. I’m awestruck at the majestic beauty of this small village.

We arrive at the hotel, which is situated in the center of Positano on the Amalfi Drive, only fifty kilometers from Naples. Their rooms and terraces, seventy meters above the sea, are an invincible sanctuary of peace and serenity.

The lavish landscape property leaves me breathless.

I am taken back by the breathtaking view of Positano. How can you not gape at its spectacular architectural structures painted in a multiplicity of colors wedged into the cliff overlooking the stunning Amalfi Coast or the terrain covered in layers of picturesque greenery and vivacious, colorful flowers?

As soon as the crew and I step out of the car, the staff members greet us with warmth and kindness, taking us in as part of the family.

The lobby’s décor blends in with their age-old architectural styles and antiques, captivating you with their masterpiece portraits, beautifully hand-painted tiles, and prodigious floral arrangements mixed with a profusion of exotic flowers, and vines of ivy cascading throughout the premises.

The anticipation of touring the building is killing me. I am so looking forward to filming the property. Le Sirenuse is a family-owned, five-star luxury boutique hotel, gifting you the atmosphere of a home.

We follow our host to our suite, which is found on the seventh floor and find our luggage and equipment have already been transported to our room.

We’ve been granted their two-bedroom luxury villa with a separate lounge area, decorated with antique and contemporary furniture crafted in Europe and the East. Three private baths are adorned with marble and handmade titles. One of the bathrooms has a dual whirlpool bathtub, which overlooks the Mediterranean Sea.

“This is beautiful. I can’t wait to explore the rest of the hotel and its amenities,” I exclaim out, excited to be here.

“Me too. I’m so thrilled to be here,” Mandy chimes in, jumping in on the excitement of being in Italy. Mandy’s one of our interns for audio sound. She’s a tiny little thing, around five feet with short, wavy blond hair.

“Ditto for me,” Jackie calls out.

“Count me in,” Willie says and they give one another high fives.

Jackie is our makeup artist. She’s in her late fifties with gray eyes and black shoulder-length hair, but she appears and acts much younger, full of life and spunk. Age is a number, she always states.

Willie is in charge of lights. He’s fresh out of school, graduated from the New York Film Academy. He’s tall, slender with short black hair and an abundance of energy.

Blake is in charge of the camera and videotapes the segment as well as editing the digital takes.

I rush over to the desk and pick up a binder filled with information on the hotel and its amenities.

“Hey, guys, check this out. There is a nightclub called the Africana, which has an eclectic mix of music. It’s known as Amalfi Coast’s most famous nightclub in Praiano, one of the coast most picturesque villages. The club is created inside a natural cave, almost at sea level. Now here’s a place I want to explore tonight. Are you guys in?”

“I speak for both Jackie and me, and we’re in,” Mandy responds enthusiastically.

“Hell yes, damn straight I’m in. I love dancing,” Willie exclaims.

I glance over to Blake and get no response. I sense his strong vibes of disapproval. He doesn’t seem too pleased about my plans.

“Ariana, can we go outside for a moment?” Blake asks and makes his way toward the terrace double doors, and I follow. We are granted a stunning view of the sea, with its crystal-blue clear waters splashing small ripples against the rocky shore, along with a blast of the sweltering heat.

“Ariana, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go to a nightclub.” He points out.

“Why? Because of the updated information I gave you about the lunatic?” I say, looking at him, all wide-eyed.

“Yes, of course. Doesn’t it worry you that he may be deranged enough to fly out here?” He treads around the terrace anxiously, his hands on his hips, broad shoulders expanding as wide as the doorway.

“I never really thought . . . I mean . . . .Why would anyone want to spend a considerable amount of money to provoke or bedevil me?”

“Ariana, I’m not comfortable with this. Please, can we skip the nightclub?” He asks with a grave look on his face.

Think, Ariana. I would hate to disappoint Mandy, Jackie, and Willie. It’s my idea and big mouth that has them excited about it in the first place.

“To put you at ease, Trent hired a bodyguard who followed us here. I know because I saw her for a quick moment. If the situation is still making you uncomfortable, we’ll have a late dinner and afterward head to the Africana, dance a few songs, and then you and I will leave. The rest can stay as long as they want. Our filming doesn’t begin until two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Does that bring you some relief?”

“Very well, but two dances, no more than three, Ariana,” Blake orders, mimicking Mr. Bulldozer. “I’m serious.”

I salute him in agreement to his terms, and we walk back into the suite. I check my watch and realize I need to change it to the correct time zone. It’s one-thirty in the afternoon, and jet lag seems to be setting in.

We decided to have dinner at the Africana. Although we had the option to go by car, I decided it would be fun to get there by boat. Blake wasn’t too happy, but he went along for the ride and held my arm the whole way there, as if someone was going to burst from the open sea and snatch me away from him. I guess having Janet on the same boat with another couple from the hotel didn’t put him at ease. Mandy, Willie and Jackie probably thought he was a little skittish on boats.

We walk up a long staircase, making it feel like you’ve climbed several flights of stairs. Thank God, they had iron railings. The music grew louder as we got closer, causing my heart to race and my body to move with the rhythm. I turned and glanced at the village admiring its lights that glittered like stars over the ripples of the open waters, which gave it a tranquil, yet, an eerie feel to it.

Our jaws dropped with fascination when we entered the nightclub. The atmosphere was filled with music, laughter and glasses clinging. The uneven crevices of the cave gave it an old worldly appearance. Lights beamed off the walls and floor. The tables were situated on a panoramic veranda with glass panels, where you can enjoy the view of the underlying sea. The food was cooked with top-quality ingredients, and the fresh catch of the day, leaving your palate crying out for more.

After our extraordinary meal, we took to the dance floor, which is huge. The rock beneath us is covered with crushed glass and portholes, giving you an undying view of the water splashing against the walls of the grotto. The club is decorated ultra modern, white leather sofas’ and chairs are scattered throughout the place.

My blood began to singe with anticipation as I watched all the colorful lights reflecting off the walls and floors with every beat. The DJ is nonstop, pumping thrilling, jaw-dropping, eclectic mix of music that you have no choice but to dance.

“Blake isn’t this fantastic,” I scream out through the music, feeling my heart exhilarated with excitement and dancing like I never danced before as my blue sequin dress glimmers under the dim flashing lights of the club.

“Yes it is,” he yells into my ear, but never looking at me once because he is too busy scoping the area for anyone suspicious in the club.

“Would you, please relax, Blake. Come on, dance, and loosen up a little. Let yourself go.” I beg him.

“How can I relax, Ariana, I’m afraid if I let my guard down, something will happen,” he yells out, his voice strained, jaw taut and eyebrows knitted together.

I take his hands, spin him around, and swing him back to me. He laughs. Finally. He continues to dance, feeling less stressed. I glance over at Jackie, Mandy and Willie, all screaming with arms in the air and dancing their little hearts out, dressed to kill in their little black dresses and Willie in his hot black jeans and white shirt.

“Ariana DiMarco.” An unfamiliar voice echoes around us. Blake swings me into his arms, his hold tightens and my breath is caught in my lungs.

“Blake, loosen up a bit, please. I can’t breathe.” He releases me, but not far.

“Can I help you?” Blake asks the intruder, looking grim and probably scaring her to death with his don’t-come-near-me look.

“I’m sorry, I don’t usually do this, but can I have your autograph Miss DiMarco, and a picture with my friends. I’m a big fan of yours,” a young woman asks timidly.

“Absolutely.” I smile and take her pen and pad. I wish her the best and sign my name.

She hands Blake her camera. “Would you, please take our picture,” she begs and her voice is a little shaking.

Blake puts on a fake smile, not happy about the whole thing, but he sucks it up and does it anyway. Five of her friends stand alongside the young woman and me, and Blake snaps a few pictures.

“Thank you so much,” she says graciously and moves away giggling with her friends.

“Ariana, we danced three songs. It’s time to leave,” Blake says firmly, giving me a look that he means business.

I make a face, not wanting to go, but we made a deal. Blake and I leave Africana’s, the rest of the group stayed behind. I was not so pleased, I was warming up, but a promise is a promise.

We arrive at the hotel. The whole ride back, Blake seemed deep in thought and just stared out the window watching everything rush by as we swerved around the winding roads of the Amalfi coast. He never uttered one word, and I didn’t want to initiate a conversation in case he started talking about the psycho. That’s one subject I wanted to stay far away from. It feels great not having to worry or think about him and his spine-chilling calls.

We walk towards our suite. I wrap my fingers around my wrist and realize I left my watch on the nightstand. “What time is it?” I ask Blake as I place the key in the door to our suite.

He glances at his watch. “Two in the morning, love.”

I head for the bedroom, collapsing on one of the beds. Jackie and I are sharing a bed. Mandy is a restless sleeper, and neither Jackie nor I want to sleep with her. We usually don’t. Most of the time we get our own rooms, but since the hotel offered bedroom suites; this was more practical and cost-efficient.

“I’m going to sleep, Blake. I’ll see you in the morning,” I yell out.

He walks in, yawning. “So am I, long flight, extended night, and major jet lag,” he mutters and yawns again.

I have no clue what time Michael arrives in Hong Kong. I’m sure he’s arrived by now, but he’s six hours ahead of us, and I hate to call him up at seven thirty in the morning. Michael’s probably heading for meetings or having breakfast with a few of his clients. I’ll give him a jingle later this afternoon.

***

A bizarre sound has my heart jumping into my throat. The curtains are still drawn shut, making the room dark. I’m all disoriented. I peek through my lashes, and my arm is lying over Jackie’s leg. I sit up on my elbows and find she’s sprawled out, her head on the other end of the bed, still wearing her dress. She looks wasted. I laugh.

I gasp again from the same sound that startled me. I reach over to the nightstand and glance at the digital clock. Oh, shoot, eight in the morning. I grab for my phone, which is illuminated showing four missed calls from Michael. Damn, I spring out of bed and pull the robe over me. He must be going frantic. I’m surprised he hasn’t called the security desk to have a search party out looking for me.

I step out of the bedroom, and Blake is drinking a cup of coffee, looking all hot in his black jeans and white dress shirt. “You’re up late.” He smirks jokingly.

“Ha. I might have slept longer if the phone hadn’t woken me.”

“Speaking of which, lover boy called here looking for you. He said he tried your cell several times, and when you didn’t answer, he called the suite.” Blake smiles, wiggling his eyebrows.

I tilt my head to the side. “You can be such a smart-ass,” I say, narrowing my eyes deviously at him, walking over to get a drink of water. “What did he say?”

He takes a sip of his coffee and flashes me his thousand-watt smile. “He received your voicemail letting him know you arrived and was returning the call. After several attempts, he panicked. I told him you were sleeping like a baby . . . due to jet lag.” He snickers, lifting his cup of coffee in the air.

“Thanks, for not telling him we were at a nightclub. He would have died on the spot. I’m going outside on the terrace to call him back.” He grins with a lift of his eyebrows. I place the glass of water on the counter and walk out through the double glass doors. A gentle warm breeze and a breathtaking view of the sea greet me. I plop on one of the chairs, admiring the sun’s reflection shimmering over the glistening waters, which bring a unique peacefulness to my soul.