Too Devious to Tame (The Giovanni Clan) (11 page)

With a string of Italian curses and one last punch to Renzo's gut, which had the piece of woman-beating filth satisfyingly crumbling, he threw the gun down, and faced the man, who had been more of a father to him than his own flesh and blood. Not that it would mean much considering what he still wanted to do. What he would do to honor his promise.

"Damn it, you're asking too much."

His breathing heavy, his body was suddenly aware of every punch Renzo had managed to land, before blind fury over Jemima had given him the strength to beat the heavier man. He stared the older man down, his heart beating a painful rhythm against his chest bone, caught between his loyalty to the Don, who had given him a home, and the woman he once loved.
He was such a goddamn fool.

The Don's face was grave, his tone even chillier then before, his next words a kick in the gut.

"And your expecting me to protect your whore is not asking too much? If I hadn't given Giada my word ... though, what she sees in her."

"She can be useful to you." Giorgio interrupted, before Jemima could. He noticed with an inward sigh of relief Alfonso had his hand over her mouth. Alfonso nodded at him over her head, and Jemima quietly struggled to get free. When all this was over he owed the man a crate of his finest wine at the least.

A dry laugh accompanied Luigi's next words. "So you keep saying. All I can see is trouble, dividing my men, and causing unrest at Maria's party. And all for something that may be useful in this pretty brain that she may remember at some point? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end this right now."

The quietly issued demand to release her had Alfonso handing her to Luigi. Alfonso's eyes connected with Giorgio over her head and held a silent apology, which made him break out in a cold sweat.
No.

The gun connecting with Jemima's head brought with it an anguished whisper, from her or him, he couldn't be sure exactly, as his gaze sought hers.

Dio Santo, he wouldn't.

Grinding his teeth together, red-hot fury churned with fear in his gut, and he took a small step toward them, dimly aware of the protection team hauling a leering Renzo to his feet and dragging him away. It left just the four of them in the barely lit cellar, the earlier gunshot having obliterated the main lights.

"If you kill her now, you will never find out what she knows. Considering who's after her, you know it must be important. You have a lot at stake here. Remember who you are protecting." Desperation made his voice hoarse, and cold sweat blurred his vision. "I will find out what she knows. It just takes time."

The Don's eyebrows rose at that, and his eyes grew speculative and cold. He ran the barrel of the gun along Jemima's jaw, his eyes assessing Giorgio's reaction. 
Dannazioni
, he felt her nervous swallow as though it was his own. Her eyes were huge and pleading, and still locked with his.

Cazzo!
He had to make him see sense. This couldn't end here; he wouldn't let it.

"Luigi, she's my responsibility. Let me deal with this in my own way. I won't let you down."

He held his breath, all too aware of the coiled tension in the other man's arms, before he finally lowered his gun and shook his head. He threw Jemima toward him.

"Keep her under wraps. If anything like this happens again, you know what I'll ask you to do. And you." His cold eyes rested on Jemima's face for an instant. "For your own sake, I suggest you remember something useful. Not all of us are taken in by a pretty face. You have a week, son."

With one last disgusted look at both of them, and a nod to Alfonso, they both turned on their heel. He was left alone with this trembling version of Jemima. Her tentative hands ran over his bruised face, and her tears soaked into what was left of his shirt.

"Please tell me you're okay, Giorgio. I was so frightened he would hurt you. Please, are you okay, really? I am so sorry. This is all my fault."

He jerked her away from him in surprise. Her wince of pain cut through him, and he could see the sincerity behind her words in her huge, tear-stained eyes. She scanned his face, her emotions clear to see.

Danazioni, what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Chapter Eleven

Jemima woke up with a start. She blinked in the late afternoon sun filling her bedroom, heart pounding in her ears. How could she have fallen asleep? With every blink, the sickening memories increased with the dull ache in her throbbing cheek where Renzo's fist had struck. She bit down on the whimper threatening to escape as a new awareness seeped through her sleep fogged brain. She wasn't alone. The sleepy male grumble, accompanied a strong arm sneaking across her waist. It pulled her back into his warm body, and her muscles tensed in fright, before Giorgio's familiar scent enveloped her, and she relaxed into his embrace. His warm breaths skittered along the sensitive skin of her neck and sent her heart into overdrive again. Her muscles clenched for an entirely different reason. Need rose up deep within her core, and she sucked in a breath to hide her obvious reaction.

"Go back to sleep,
cara."
The sleep-roughened words, coupled with his bare leg sliding between hers, effectively pinning her to his long frame hitched her breathing. He was naked
?

Confusion warring with longing, Jemima froze until his even breathing told her that he was once again fast asleep. Holding her breath she carefully moved his arm off her hip, and with another moaned growl Giorgio rolled away, giving her room to sit up.

The sheet had slipped down to his waist, exposing a muscled torso covered in spectacular bruises from his earlier fight. Jemima winced at the state of his face. One eye was now so swollen, she was sure he wouldn't be able to open it once awake. His nose looked as though it might be broken. Dark purple shadows spread across his cheekbones, and she recalled the bone-crunching hits Renzo had landed with gut-clenching clarity.

Relief that bruises were the only thing he had been left with had fresh tears falling, as she closed her eyes to relive the earlier events again.

Giorgio had held her away from him in an iron grip, his face unreadable back in that gloomy cellar. He'd then proceeded to pick her up, and had found their way out of the murky tunnels. She'd buried her face in his chest, not wanting to see anything else, just focusing on his runaway heartbeat under her ear, until Giada's muttered curse, had made her look up.

"
Dio Santo,
get yourselves away, both of you. I have a houseful of guests. I'm going to kill Luigi for allowing this to interfere."

Eyes of steel had bored into hers, and Giada had cut off Giorgio's muttered apology with a flick of the hand.

"I shall have to tell everyone you were called away on urgent business or something. Stay out of sight, both of you, until you look presentable. I don't need the guests scared witless, and Maria will be so disappointed."

Jemima had managed to squeak a hoarse," I am so sorry, this is my fault." Giorgio's arms had tensed around her even more. Giada had pulled her chin up gently. Her eyes had blazed with barely concealed fury, when they'd rested briefly on her throbbing cheek, before she'd turned her attention on Giorgio.

"Take care of her. The girl has been through enough. I will send up first aid and food." She had ushered them up the stairs and to the bedroom.

Giorgio had released her the minute he'd stepped over the threshold. He'd put some distance between them, his breathing heavy, as he'd held one hand up. "Don't you dare touch me."

Jemima's heart had plummeted seeing the state he was in. His barely concealed groan, when he pulled his half destroyed shirt over his head, had had her rushing toward him regardless of the warning he issued again.

"Please, you're hurt. Let me see."

The young girl appearing just then had blushed profusely at the sight of a half-dressed Giorgio. She'd made a hasty exit at his snarled order to get out. His furious gaze had rested on Jemima's cheek and had set her heart into overdrive again.

"So are you. Let me sort that." One large hand had come up to cup her face gently, but she had shaken it off. 

"It's nothing, you're far worse."

She'd ignored his renewed growl and had given him a gentle shove toward the bed, before turning her back on him to grab the first aid supplies. The mere fact that he'd let her made it blooming obvious what state he was really in.

She'd felt his stare scorch her back, as she'd set about filling a bowl with warm water and ignoring the army of butterflies, which seemed to have taken up residence in her tummy, had straightened her shoulders, and had turned back to him.

"You don't need to do this."

Jemima's heart clenched again, looking across at the still sleeping Giorgio. She pushed his tousled hair away from his forehead, and a small smile played on her lips, remembering the panic she had heard in his voice, when she'd done just this earlier. It had given her the courage to press on with gently washing his cuts and bruises, dressing the worst of them as best she could. She'd been acutely aware of his every sharp intake of breath. Guilt had risen with every suppressed moan when her hands had slid over his marked skin. When at long last she had addressed every one of his injuries, his wary sigh had been her undoing, and she'd been unable to stop the flood of tears.

Wordlessly he had pulled her on his lap. His hands had fisted in her hair, and the murmured Italian endearments had soothed her troubled soul.

"
Ti prego, non piangere, cara.
"

His large hands had tilted her head up, and she'd been lost in the heat of his gaze. He'd swiped away the tears on her face with his thumb.

"It's over,
cara.
He won't hurt you again."

Once again chilled to the bone, a shudder had run though her, remembering Renzo's hands on her earlier, where Giorgio's now soothed in slow, lazy circles. She'd snuggled closer into his warmth, desperate to believe in the tenderness in his voice, laced with barely concealed anger.

His arms had tensed around her at her muttered, "What are they going to do to him?"

"Never mind,
cara.
He's lucky it's not me doing it." His growled response had her snuggling in closer. Exhaustion had seeped into her bones now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

She'd felt his chuckle at her barely concealed yawn.

"Time for you to clean up, and get some sleep."

He'd run her a bath, his own movements stiff and awkward, and she'd remembered his gentle insistence now with another small smile. She'd been so tired by then, she wasn't sure how she'd managed to get out of that bath and into bed, but she clearly must have managed it somehow.

Heat rose in her cheeks as another thought struck her. The last conscious thought she had, had been of Giorgio looming over her in the bath, his face once again unreadable, as he'd grabbed the sponge and had proceeded to rub her back.

Surely they hadn't? She would remember that, wouldn't she?

A hand run through her hair confirmed it was slightly damp still. The sheet she clutched to herself was the only cover on her naked body. Another glance towards Giorgio reaffirmed the fact that, he too, had to have at least showered. The hair curling over his forehead was still damp. Why had he done that? She had expected him to be treating her with disgust, not concern. It's only what she deserved after all.

He shifted in his sleep and groaned. She sat up straighter and traced the bruises on his ribs with her forefinger. Tears fell unbidden on his skin as she did so. His hand closed on hers in an iron grip as her hand slid lower.

"I said, don't touch me."

Her heart stopped as his one functioning eye, settled on her with ice cold fury.

****

Giorgio gentled the grip he had on her hand at her terrified expression. Fury coursed through his veins like molten lava at his body's immediate response to her nearness. His cock was so damn hard he could pound concrete with it, but far more damming than the sexual pull between them was the tight feeling constricting his chest. The rush of protectiveness and the raw stab of emotion he felt whenever he looked at her. He was not falling for this again. How he'd managed to keep his hands off her while he'd helped a half asleep Jemima out of the bath and into bed was beyond him. She'd fallen asleep the minute her head had hit the pillow, and it had taken all of his willpower to not simply climb in next to her. Her gentle hands on his body, taking care of his injuries, had been his undoing. Rightful anger had been chased away by her tears, until all he'd wanted to do was take care of her and chase her demons away. No matter how often he'd told himself he only felt protective toward her because of the promises he had made, his rock hard erection spoke of other needs entirely. The ice cold shower had done little to help. Neither had taking matters into his own hands. As he'd leaned against the tiled wall, his cock shaking with the physical release, it was Jemima's hands he'd wanted, her scent still in his nostrils, and he'd collapsed with a muttered groan of exhaustion.

By the time he'd left the bathroom the sight of her bare back rising softly in her sleep, one hand tucked up under her head, had him rock hard again in seconds, and unable to fight his body, he'd done the one thing he shouldn't have done. He'd climbed in next to her, pulled her soft frame against him, and had let her even breathing lull him into a fitful sleep.