She did, which came as a huge relief to Constantine. He waited until she was deeply unconscious, then slipped from the room and placed a call. When he finished, he returned to the bedroom. He paused at the foot of the bed, gazing at Gianna, and made a silent vow.
No matter what it took, he’d keep this woman safe from harm. He knew that part of the drive to protect came from this peculiar Inferno which connected them, the link so strong it didn’t give him any other option. But it went much deeper than that. When she hurt, he hurt. When she hungered, he felt the need to feed her. What gave her joy, he was driven to provide for her. Her wants and his were so tightly bound that they were almost indistinguishable.
Even as he acknowledged those binds, they chafed, stealing his independence. He hadn’t asked for this connection. And though he wanted Gianna, he didn’t want to be controlled by her. It felt unnatural.
Well, that would change soon enough.
What David d’Angelo had set out to accomplish would happen, just with a different man. Instead of d’Angelo being honor-bound to take Gianna as his bride, Constantine would be the one. Oh, his bride-to-be wouldn’t be pleased with his ruthlessness. But she hadn’t given him any other choice. She’d inflicted him with The Inferno, infecting him with its fever and desperation. Then she’d had the unmitigated gall to change her mind and allow d’Angelo to come within inches of harming her.
Now she’d deal with the consequences. Her family would take care of the problem from this point forward, sweep them up in an unbreakable net of demand and propriety and cart them to the altar—willingly or not.
And then he would be in charge of The Inferno. He would find a way to douse the fire. At the very least, he’d wield the flames instead of suffering from the constant burn of its touch.
Gianna woke a few hours later with a panicked gasp, swimming to the surface from a terrifying nightmare landscape filled with monsters and screaming tires and bogs of quicksand that sucked at her legs and prevented her from fleeing from some unseen threat. Before she’d shuddered out a single breath, Constantine joined her on the bed, pulling her into the warm protection of his embrace.
“Easy now,” came his steadying voice. “You’re safe. He can’t get to you.”
His mouth drifted across the top of her head in the lightest of caresses. Reassuring. Passionless. Compassionate. Although she appreciated the reassurance and compassion, she didn’t want passionless. She wanted to feel something other than fear. She curled tight against his bare chest. His warmth surrounded her, easing her bone-deep chill, while the calm, steady beat of his heart soothed her.
“Nightmare,” she explained through chattering teeth. “Bad.”
“I gathered.” She thought he might have feathered another kiss across the top of her head, though she couldn’t be certain. But it gave her hope. “It’s not real,” he soothed.
“I know. At least, part of me knows. The other part—”
She broke off with a shrug. Unable to help herself she pressed closer, sliding her arms around his waist and clinging. To her relief, he didn’t push her away, though she sensed a serious internal debate raging. Not that she cared. She was scared and alone, and tired of being both. It wasn’t a case of “any port in a storm.” She needed Constantine. Only Constantine.
“Stay with me,” she whispered.
He swore in Italian, a soft, intently masculine comment that under other circumstances would have made her laugh. “Gianna, this is dangerous.”
“I’m not asking you to make love to me.”
“I may not be able to help myself.”
“You’re not David.”
He stiffened. “No, I’m definitely not d’Angelo. But I’m still a man. You’re vulnerable right now. It’s late and I’m tired. And you’re not wearing many clothes. For that matter, neither am I.” He adopted a reasonable tone. “Admit it, Gianna. Given our reaction to each other, it’s a volatile combination.”
True. That didn’t change anything. “I swear I won’t take advantage of you.” To her relief, he released a snort of laughter. “But right now I need someone to hold me.”