Dante's Honour-bound Husband

He lifted her into his arms and carried her rapidly to the car. “I need to get you warm,” he warned. “We have to get you out of these wet clothes.”

She was too far gone to process his words. He set her down again and she winced the instant her feet hit the pavement. He silently swore again. D’Angelo would pay for every last scratch on Gianna…and pay dearly. Reaching behind her, he fumbled for the closure of her halter gown. Unable to figure it out, he dealt with it in the simplest, most expeditious way. He ripped it off her.

“Easy, piccola, easy,” he soothed. “I’m just trying to get you dry and warm.”

He stripped her in one swift move, steeling himself against her distress and confusion and weeping protests. Then he yanked off his own shirt and tux jacket and helped her into them before urging her to the passenger side of the car. The instant he had her buckled in, he cranked up the heat.

It took her three tries to speak. “You scared me for a minute there, but I get it now,” she murmured in a low, shaky voice. She waved a hand to indicate his shirt and jacket. “The undressing and dressing to warm me up thing, I mean. Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” He shook his head at his own stupidity. “Foolish question. I should say, did d’Angelo… Did he hurt you?”

He couldn’t use the real word for it. But he could tell from her expression she understood what he meant. She folded her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself for warmth no doubt. She splayed blue-tipped fingers in front of the air vent and released a blissful sigh, before answering his question.

“I got away before he could.”

He probably shouldn’t push. Not now. But he couldn’t help himself. “How did you manage it? To escape, I mean? I’m surprised you weren’t out cold the entire time.” Her head jerked around and unspoken questions filled her gaze in response to his observation. He shrugged. “I know d’Angelo drugged you. He’s done it before.”

Her eyes widened, went black with shock as she assimilated the information. “I would have been out cold,” she confessed after a long moment. Her wet hair curled wildly around a face gone bone-white. “At least, that’s what David said. But I didn’t finish the champagne. It tasted…off. So, I didn’t get a full dose of whatever he’d given me.”

Madre di Dio. Luck. It all boiled down to sheer, unadulterated luck. “When did you wake?”

“Right before he stopped for gas. He…he was going to compromise me so that Primo would insist we marry.” Apparently she couldn’t use the actual words for what d’Angelo had almost done, any more than Constantine could. It was too soon. The words too vile. The events still so new and raw that they defied full comprehension. “It probably would have worked if I hadn’t escaped while he was running his credit card through the gas pump.”

It had been close. Unbelievably close. If she’d finished her drink, she wouldn’t have woken until far too late. If David hadn’t needed gas, he wouldn’t have stopped the car until they reached his lodge. If Gianna had been too frightened to keep her wits about her, to think and plan and act on the spur of the moment, she’d never have run when the opportunity had presented itself. Providence had smiled. On both of them.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he asked gently.

She managed a shaky smile. “Yes, please.”

He put the car in gear and headed south toward the city at a far more circumspect speed than the trip north. “We should call Luc and let him know you’re safe. I’m sure he’s going out of his mind with worry.”

“My cell is dead.”

He fished his out of his pocket and handed it to her. She placed the call and spoke at length to her brother, making light of the experience, describing it as an unfortunate “misunderstanding.” When she disconnected the call, Constantine shot her a sharp look, one she avoided.

“Why did you lie to him?”

She released an exhausted sigh. “You know why. If I told Luc what really happened, my brothers would take David apart limb by limb.”