She chose soft, vintage faded jeans and a camisole that was pale green with satiny straps. The camisole emphasized her small rib cage and tucked-in waist. The color was great against her skin and really brought out her eyes. The only real problem was shoes. She wore heels all the time. She hesitated, looking at a pair of strappy green designer heels, her favorite paired with the camisole. She didn't want to look as if she were trying to be his type. Still, she needed confidence and heels gave her that. She shrugged and strapped them on.
Biting her lip, she stared at her wild hair. How in the world was she going to tame all that hair? There was nothing else for it on such short notice. She swept it all back away from her face into a long ponytail. She left all jewelry off.
Looking into the mirror, she practiced. "I'm on my way to the gym and just stopped by to deliver your birthday gift from Nonno. I'm sorry it's late, but my school didn't let out until this week and Nonno likes me to personally deliver . . ." Siena groaned. That made her sound like a silly schoolgirl when she was twenty-four. "Damn it," she whispered, and turned away from her image. She looked like a silly schoolgirl. She needed a lot more inches and a lot less curves to be the type Elijah Lospostos went for, so really, why was she bothering?
She caught up her gym bag and hurried down the stairs before she did something crazy like change her clothes again. She rushed back toward the sitting room her grandfather seemed to occupy more than ever these days, but stopped abruptly when she heard the whispered but furious conversation between her grandfather and his first-in-command. They kept their voices low, but lately she'd noticed her hearing seemed to be very acute. At the same time, her vision messed up, so that she saw in weird bands of color. Whenever that happened, she felt restless. Edgy. Need burned hot and wild between her legs.
She held the back of a chair just outside the sitting room, her grip so hard her knuckles turned white. She took in long, deep breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control. Her bones ached. Her fingers curled, and she felt that strange feral entity unfolding deep inside of her. Her skin itched, a terrible wave that refused to stop, and she swore something was pressing on her from the inside out, needing to escape. She was afraid of that something. It was wanton, hungry and in terrible need.
She put her head down and breathed more, desperate for the feeling to pass. She was very happy Paolo was nowhere near, because the sound of his voice seemed to trigger a deeper reaction in her.
"I'm telling you, Tonio, this is not a good idea. Something could go wrong."
"You worry too much, Paolo. Always you worry. She's young. Beautiful. His mind will be on her. Not my reserve. Not what day of the month it is. On her."
"I don't know why you have such an obsession with making certain you exact your revenge. You are putting not only Siena in jeopardy, but you as well. If evidence is left behind . . ."
"Marco knows what he is doing. Always you worry," her grandfather repeated.
"She is close to the Han Vol Dan. I feel it. My other feels it. She's very close."
"You saw evidence of this?"
"No evidence, just a feeling. She can't do this, Tonio. Stop her. I'm telling you, something could go wrong. If the timing is off, if she lingers . . ."
"She's a good girl. She will do as she's told and then go to her gym where many witnesses will see her there."
Witnesses? She is close? What did that mean. Evidence? What were they talking about?
"Tonio." Paolo bit out the name between his teeth.
"Paolo." Her grandfather did the same. "The subject is closed. Go find her. Tell her the wine is in her car and she must go now."
Paolo swore in Italian, but she knew he would obey. Everyone obeyed her grandfather. He'd built an empire with his wineries and his amazing grapes. He had more money than he knew what to do with, and he'd made good friends and many enemies along the way.
The breathing helped and the wildness in her subsided. She turned away from the sitting room to make her way to the landing at the top of the stairs, acting as though she hadn't come down already. She had no idea why she did that, but it was instinctive. She knew her grandfather and Paolo would both be upset if they knew she heard their strange conversation. The knowledge came from the tone of their voices in their whispered exchange--almost as if they were involved in a conspiracy.
"Siena." Paolo's voice came up the stairs. "I'd like a word with you before you go. Your grandfather wants you to get moving. He says he doesn't want you to miss Elijah."
She winced at that hard authority in his voice. He was becoming more and more bossy with her. When she'd been a teenager, he'd been less so. Now, he watched her all the time. She wasn't certain why. She looked young, so he might think she was still a teenager. She'd just turned twenty-four while she was away at school, and no one, not even her grandfather, had remembered her birthday, so how could she expect Paolo to know? Still, she had studied oenology and viticulture for years and had so many degrees you would think Paolo would consider her intelligent, but he always spoke as if she were a child. Of course no one had come to her graduations--not any of them--so maybe he didn't know that either. Maybe they all still thought she was in boarding school.
"Coming, Paolo," she called, as she once more gripped her gym bag and began her descent. "Did Nonno have someone put the wine in my car?"
She hurried down the stairs again and immediately felt the impact of his gaze like a hard punch. He reached out and caught her arm, jerking her close to him, his fingers a vise.
The instant he touched her, the wild unfurled in the pit of her stomach. Something dangerous and scary. She heard her heart thundering in her ears. She felt the need to rake and claw at him. She stayed very still, breathing hard.
"You changed?" He growled it. "To see Lospostos, you changed your clothes?"
"I could hardly wear my workout clothes on an important call for my grandfather, Paolo," she pointed out, keeping her voice even and calm when she uncharacteristically wanted to rake her fingernails down his face. "You're hurting me. Let. Go." She stared straight into his eyes. His eyes were weird. Scary. He looked as if he might kill her any moment.
"Not until you listen to the rules of this visit." He pulled her from the staircase, away from the sitting room where her grandfather watched television and into the foyer.
"Paolo." His bruising grip really hurt and she was fairly certain he knew it. She decided on another tactic. "Why do you dislike me so much? I thought we were friends. What did I do to make you so angry with me all the time?" She forced herself to ask the questions, mainly because she knew he would relax his hold on her, but partly because she really wanted to know.
It was the right way to approach him. Instantly his grip loosened and his face changed. Grew softer. "I don't dislike you, Siena. Don't be silly. You're grown up now, and you know your grandfather has all but promised you to me. I don't like you running around looking like you do where other men might take advantage of you."
Siena wasn't certain how to respond. She knew her grandfather was always matchmaking, and she couldn't deny he always said when he was gone, Paolo would look after her. He sometimes went so far as to tell her he would plan the wedding of the century for them.
"Paolo." She took a deep breath and let it out. "Nonno is always pairing me with someone. Just a few minutes ago he told me it was time for Elijah Lospostos to settle down." Something dangerous moved in his eyes and she was suddenly afraid. "I'm not old enough to settle down. I still have to learn the business end of the winery right here at home. I'm not looking at anyone right now. Yes, I go to clubs to dance, but I'm careful about drinking and I don't take men home. You know I don't. One of Nonno's men is always looking after me. I know they report back to you."
"You go to his house and give him the message from your grandfather and give him the wine. You do not go inside with him. He's a dangerous man. Your grandfather thinks everyone is his friend. Lospostos is not. Deliver the wine, talk a few minutes and get out of there. Do yo
u understand me?"
"I hardly think I'll be . . ."
"Do you understand me?" He roared it. His fingers sank deep again, and he gave her a little shake.
Siena nodded submissively when all she wanted to do was kick him very hard in the shins and claw his eyes out. She kept her head down so he wouldn't see the rebellion in her eyes. "Yes, Paolo."
He stared down at her another minute and then let her go. Siena forced herself not to rub at the finger marks on her arm. She knew she would have bruises and she was tempted to march in to her grandfather and show him what Paolo had done to her. The only thing was--she was beginning to think he wouldn't do anything other than ask her why she would upset such a good man. In his eyes, Paolo could do no wrong. As she'd gotten older, her beloved grandfather had gone from doting to watchful as well. She didn't know what they were all waiting for, but the longer they waited, the more upset everyone got.
"The wine's in your car," Paolo said. He caught her chin in a firm grip. "You be careful, Siena."
She blinked rapidly, trying not to show fear. Or anger. Or any other emotion. She felt as if her life was turning upside down and she didn't even know why. His eyes searched hers.
"Did I hurt you?" His voice was gentle. "I'm worried for you, and sometimes my temper gets the better of me. Your nonno and I disagree about some of the things he asks you to do. I don't ever like the idea that you could be in danger."
"Paolo, I'm just delivering his wine. He's asked me to do it each time I've come home on a break, and I have. It's the least I can do after all the things he does for me. It's no big deal, honestly. I don't mind. And I'll be careful. It's possible Lospostos isn't home and I'll leave the wine and a note."
Siena knew she was placating him, but she did it anyway. She didn't understand the dynamics of her household anymore. Maybe she'd just been gone away so much she never really knew what they were.
Her parents had died in a car bombing. Siena understood why her grandfather was so protective of her. He'd never really gotten over his son's death. When she was little, she had her grandmother, who doted on her. When her grandmother passed away, she was immediately sent to a very private and exclusive boarding school. She'd been six and terrified, but no amount of tears would convince her grandfather to keep her at home.
Of course she was home every holiday, and he spoiled her rotten. She sat with him, laughed with him, played games until all hours, and he seemed to delight in her company. His men were always close, always watchful, and when she asked, he told her that there were bad people out there who didn't like that he'd been so successful with his wine making and vineyards. He needed to make certain she was protected, so he had bodyguards watching her.
When she was ten years old, she found out the hard way he was right. Men broke into her room at the school and dragged her, kicking and screaming, into the night. She had spent two nights in an old abandoned warehouse, terrified, in the dark, a blindfold over her eyes, tied to a bed. One of her kidnappers had been kind and given her water and reassurance, but the others were terrifying. Her grandfather's men had come, and there was a terrible gunfight. Two of the men who had been holding her were shot and killed. The other two had been outside the building and got away. She knew her grandfather had hunted for them for two years.
When she was fifteen, someone had tried kidnapping her again. Alonzo had stopped them. She didn't remember much about it, but she had terrible nightmares. One day, after she told her grandfather her nightmare, he simply said she didn't have to worry anymore and to stop. The nightmares didn't stop, but she never told him about them again.
"Stay out of his house, Siena," Paolo warned her again.
She nearly startled, so lost in her thoughts she had almost forgotten he was standing in front of her. Paolo had always helped her grandfather. She guessed he was fifteen to twenty years older than she was. He had been one of the men to rescue her from the first kidnappers, assigned as her bodyguard back then before he moved into the number one position.
He was handsome, she supposed, now that she was really up close to him. She had never thought of him that way, but she wasn't attracted to him. Not really. So why did that edgy feeling begin to creep back over her?
"I will," she agreed, turned and left without a backward glance. What was wrong with her? Paolo had manhandled her. She shouldn't have noticed that he was good-looking. She shouldn't have felt tingles anywhere on her body. Not a single place.
She drove fast with the top down and the wind in her hair. She didn't care if the long strands got tangled and she looked terrible when she arrived at Elijah's house. She needed the cool air on her hot skin. She needed to breathe, far away from the house that had once been her home but was now a prison. Everyone watched her. Waiting. She detested that her every move was scrutinized. It was the reason she didn't use the state-of-the-art gym her grandfather had put in for her, instead choosing to have a little respite from all the eyes on her ever since she'd returned home.
Elijah owned a large estate not far from where her grandfather lived in the hill country west of San Antonio and Austin. His property was close to Jake Bannaconni's huge, sprawling ranch. It was where all the millionaires lived, although Bannaconni was a certified billionaire according to Forbes. Most of the bigger estates and ranches were out away from the city. She knew Bannaconni took a helicopter to work. She didn't know what Elijah did, but she wondered.
There were rumors, of course. Her grandfather was Italian. He'd actually emigrated from Italy with his wife to raise his family in the United States. He'd worked hard for his winery and, although he made his money legitimately, the rumors persisted. They did about Elijah's family as well. His family was Spanish and had come from somewhere in South America. Because she knew her grandfather was a good man who had worked hard all of his life for his family, she didn't judge Elijah or the whispers surrounding him.
The high wrought-iron gates to his ranch were closed, and she leaned over to look into the camera and state her business. There was a moment of silence while her heart pounded. She twirled a thick strand of hair from her ponytail around her finger, which she often did when she was nervous, but couldn't help it. The gates swung inward. Heart pounding, she drove through and up the long, winding driveway to his house.
She knew this wasn't the family home, the huge one Elijah's father had owned before he'd been murdered. Rumor had it that his own uncle had ordered the hit on his father and then his uncle had been killed, leaving Elijah the head of his family business. No, this was the house Elijah bought to entertain his women in. His tall, thin, blond, beautiful women. She sighed, knowing she spent far too much time at school where she had developed low self-esteem for a variety of reasons. It hadn't helped living in her grandfather's house with all the men coming and going.
She'd always felt like an outsider. Not always, she corrected herself. Not when her grandmother was alive, but she could barely remember those days anymore. She'd spent her school years fairly isolated. There was no having friends at school, her grandfather's men saw to that. Having two hulks go with her everywhere made her seem pretentious. Even some of her professors balked at them entering the classrooms. It had left her without many social skills. She didn't exactly relate well to others and kept to herself most of the time, even at home, although she did go dancing because she loved to dance.
The drive up to Elijah's house was very long and winding. It was paved, but on either side, the land rolled away, wild and filled with trees and brush as far as the eye could see. This wasn't at all like her grandfather's manicured estate. The only flowers growing were wildflowers. She glimpsed a couple of oil wells as she drove along the fence line of his property, and she wasn't surprised. Bannaconni, his closest neighbor, was noted for finding oil, even in the most obscure places.
She slowed her car and pulled to a stop to stare out over the wild land. A part of her longed to leap out of her seat and just start running, lose herself there, in the middle of all that rough terrain.
She sat there a long time, feeling tears on her face. She was lonely. Lonely at school. Lonely at home. Just plain lonely. She didn't have girlfriends to go out clubbing with. She didn't have boyfriends to take her to dinner or sit and watch movies with.
She had her grandfather, who these days seemed far away, cut off from her, more under the thumb of Paolo and Alonzo. She rarely saw her grandfather without one or the other of them close. In fact, her last three visits, she'd never really been alone with him. They were continually at his side. Alonzo was ice-cold. Paolo stared at her hungrily, like an animal scenting something weak and ready to pounce.
She didn't consider herself weak. Just lost. She had no real direction. She had just finished school and had no more excuses to stay away. She'd spent most of her summers and vacations gaining hands-on experience in the vineyards, learning to care for the grapes. She stood to inherit everything. The vineyards and the winery. All of her grandfather's businesses. She had no other living relative. None.
She stared out into the wild, beckoning land. She needed to take some control in her life. She'd escaped to school, she realized. Ran away. She didn't want to be home anymore. It wasn't a sanctuary or a haven; it was an alien place filled with men who walked all over her. She needed to talk to her grandfather, without either Paolo or Alonzo around, and explain she was due a lot more freedom.
She had her own money. Her grandmother had left her a trust fund. Her parents had left her a second trust fund. She didn't need to stay under her grandfather's thumb if he disagreed with her. She needed to get some guts and actually confront him. It was time to get rid of the bodyguards. She was tired of living her life under the scrutiny of his army of men. She actually thought of them like that. Soldiers.
With a small sigh she took a deep breath and started up the drive again, toward the house. Her heart beat hard in anticipation of seeing Elijah. She hadn't really been close to him since that last dinner, when she was nineteen. Just as when she was fifteen, his gaze had rested on her more than once, making her heart pound just the way it was doing now. Given that her body seemed to be raging with runaway hormones, this wasn't the best time to be alone with him.