Excerpt
It was just her luck to be in the worst possible
circumstances when she met the hottest man in the entire world. Grace Murphy
wished the earth would just open up and swallow her, hospital bed and all. The
Ferraro family certainly had a strong sense of responsibility when it came to
someone getting shot in their parking lot. Even that was embarrassing, having
her own foster brother try to sell her into prostitution to pay his gambling
debts.
She was like everyone else, following the life of the
Ferraros in magazines bought at the grocery store or flipped through at the
beauty parlor. She’d always been drawn to Vittorio, finding herself reading
every single thing about him. Now, here he was in person, sprawled out in a
chair, more beautiful than the photographs could capture, as big as life.
Bigger even, the reality of him taking up an enormous amount of space, his wide
shoulders and long legs keeping her attention riveted on him.
She groaned aloud and covered her red face with one hand.
He’d been there every single day. Right there. In that chair. Pacing around the
room. Talking on his cell. It didn’t matter what he was doing, he saw to her
every need. He noticed before she did that her pain level was rising, and he
took care of it. He didn’t like the food they were serving her, and she was
given catered, very nutritious meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She
hadn’t been able to feed herself those first few days and he had been the one
to sit on the edge of her bed and feed her.
The first week after she’d been shot and operated on,
there’d been so much pain she could barely breathe, and she hadn’t been able to
fully comprehend who he was. Mostly, she’d slept and thought she was dreaming.
One of the nurses had referred to him as her fiancée and she had been confused.
She’d started to correct her, but then looked beyond her to see Vittorio
Ferraro hovering behind the woman.
Their eyes had locked. Had she known that eyes like his
existed in real life? She’d been captivated. Spellbound. Unable to think. Those
eyes had turned her brain to mush. Her heart had leapt to her throat. Grace had
felt as if he was willing her not to speak, not to contradict what the nurse
was saying—and she hadn’t. Then the morphine had kicked in and the pain had
gone enough for her to drift off.
“Grace?”
His voice. It was beautiful. Low. Soothing, yet at the same
time, there was absolute command, as if he ruled the world and knew it. She’d
heard that voice in the parking lot, stopping everyone, giving him the chance
to act, to save her from the two men Haydon was selling her to for his debts.
Vittorio remained silent after just saying her name. She
couldn’t help but look at him, that tone compelled her to raise her gaze to his
no matter how reluctant she was. It took her a few moments to gather the
courage to meet those eyes. Deep blue, like the deepest, clearest sea. She felt
as if she were drowning when she looked into his eyes.
She touched her tongue to her lips—the lips he’d personally
applied lip balm to—and lifted her lashes. At once she had the strange
sensation of falling, of tumbling into those dark depths, and there was no
saving herself. Her heart beat wildly and, in her veins, there was a rush of
heat that spread through her body like a wildfire.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
She had no idea how he could make her want to tell him the
truth, no matter that she wanted to hide it from him. She didn’t want to admit
that he was the problem, that he was that fantasy she went to bed with every
night, and now he was there, larger than life, and way more than she could ever
handle. She’d watched him at every charity event, sometimes nearly forgetting
her job, which was to stay behind the scenes and make certain everything ran
smoothly.
“Grace.”
Again with the name. It sounded so different when he said
it. She’d always thought her name plain. Old-fashioned. When Vittorio said it
in that enthralling tone, she liked the way it sounded.
It was just her luck to be in the worst possible
circumstances when she met the hottest man in the entire world. Grace Murphy
wished the earth would just open up and swallow her, hospital bed and all. The
Ferraro family certainly had a strong sense of responsibility when it came to
someone getting shot in their parking lot. Even that was embarrassing, having
her own foster brother try to sell her into prostitution to pay his gambling
debts.
She was like everyone else, following the life of the
Ferraros in magazines bought at the grocery store or flipped through at the
beauty parlor. She’d always been drawn to Vittorio, finding herself reading
every single thing about him. Now, here he was in person, sprawled out in a
chair, more beautiful than the photographs could capture, as big as life.
Bigger even, the reality of him taking up an enormous amount of space, his wide
shoulders and long legs keeping her attention riveted on him.
She groaned aloud and covered her red face with one hand.
He’d been there every single day. Right there. In that chair. Pacing around the
room. Talking on his cell. It didn’t matter what he was doing, he saw to her
every need. He noticed before she did that her pain level was rising, and he
took care of it. He didn’t like the food they were serving her, and she was
given catered, very nutritious meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She
hadn’t been able to feed herself those first few days and he had been the one
to sit on the edge of her bed and feed her.
The first week after she’d been shot and operated on,
there’d been so much pain she could barely breathe, and she hadn’t been able to
fully comprehend who he was. Mostly, she’d slept and thought she was dreaming.
One of the nurses had referred to him as her fiancée and she had been confused.
She’d started to correct her, but then looked beyond her to see Vittorio
Ferraro hovering behind the woman.
Their eyes had locked. Had she known that eyes like his
existed in real life? She’d been captivated. Spellbound. Unable to think. Those
eyes had turned her brain to mush. Her heart had leapt to her throat. Grace had
felt as if he was willing her not to speak, not to contradict what the nurse
was saying—and she hadn’t. Then the morphine had kicked in and the pain had
gone enough for her to drift off.
“Grace?”
His voice. It was beautiful. Low. Soothing, yet at the same
time, there was absolute command, as if he ruled the world and knew it. She’d
heard that voice in the parking lot, stopping everyone, giving him the chance
to act, to save her from the two men Haydon was selling her to for his debts.
Vittorio remained silent after just saying her name. She
couldn’t help but look at him, that tone compelled her to raise her gaze to his
no matter how reluctant she was. It took her a few moments to gather the
courage to meet those eyes. Deep blue, like the deepest, clearest sea. She felt
as if she were drowning when she looked into his eyes.
She touched her tongue to her lips—the lips he’d personally
applied lip balm to—and lifted her lashes. At once she had the strange
sensation of falling, of tumbling into those dark depths, and there was no
saving herself. Her heart beat wildly and, in her veins, there was a rush of
heat that spread through her body like a wildfire.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
She had no idea how he could make her want to tell him the
truth, no matter that she wanted to hide it from him. She didn’t want to admit
that he was the problem, that he was that fantasy she went to bed with every
night, and now he was there, larger than life, and way more than she could ever
handle. She’d watched him at every charity event, sometimes nearly forgetting
her job, which was to stay behind the scenes and make certain everything ran
smoothly.
“Grace.”
Again with the name. It sounded so different when he said
it. She’d always thought her name plain. Old-fashioned. When Vittorio said it
in that enthralling tone, she liked the way it sounded.
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