In all of their time working in Italy and the Americas, Orsino Security had never worked for a fashion house. But their secretary, Paloma, had an unnatural fascination with the show Project Runway and had all but shoved him out the door when Giovanni Durante had called for an appointment. He was told to make sure that he acquired a pair of tickets for the show in SoHo.

To hear Paloma talk about fashion design, it was hours of cruel insults, theft of designs, and ‘fashionable’ looks that bore more resemblance to modern art than actual wearable garments.

So, spending the better part of a day at the entrance of the Durante workroom should have been mind-numbing. Should have been.

The workroom was a lesson in organized chaos. While he'd watched, nearly two dozen models came into the workroom. Each of the women was assigned a garment and shown to a changing room, and they changed while their portfolios were studied and then set into piles on a side table.

Women walked… and walked… and walked. The hardest thing for Salvatore to do was to keep his bear calm during all the activity. All the pacing back and forth drew the animal’s attention like prey, urging them to hunt. To counter the flurry of activity, his bear sought out the purpose of their visit.

“Natale,” he felt her name rumble over his tongue as if he could feel her skin instead of just the sound. He drew in a breath and swore he caught her scent in his lungs. As he watched the way she controlled all the movement in the room, he found he respected her as much as he craved her.

His bear chuffed within him, the large and powerful beast hunkered down to enjoy the view. Salvatore agreed wholeheartedly.

She wore a black skirt that caressed her body, not tight enough to make her movements uncomfortable, but enough that he could see the swell of her hip under the soft and yielding fabric. Her blouse, a deep garnet color that made her skin luminous even in the windowless room, was styled like that of a men’s dress shirt. The fold-over collar open and laid flat over her luscious curves, made them look even more feminine in contrast.

He could tell by the crease between her brows and slight purse of her lips that something wasn't right. Before he made a conscious decision to move, he was already off the counter-height stool, straightening to his full height.

More than a few heads turned in his direction. He saw curious glances and a few cautious ones as well.

Salvatore stopped and met Natale’s eyes with his own. He waited, watching her, and saw the rising color in her face. It wasn't fear. He had embarrassed her.

His bear didn't like that and asserted a fair amount of control over him, turning him back to his chair with a low rumbling growl deep within his head.

Before he could sit back down, he felt someone touch his back. Whirling around he made a grab for their hand, and ended up with Natale’s wrist in his grasp.

He heard an indrawn gasp and saw her eyes widen in reaction.

“Wow.”

A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“For a big guy,” she blushed a little, “you certainly are fast.”

“I have to be,” he answered back, “I need to stop the people trying to hurt you.”

He watched his words wash over her like the tide at the beach, and he wondered how close she was to going under.

And then he found out.

He knew his height was enough to give others pause, it was what made his work in security a little easier. People rarely tried to go toe to toe with him. Natale drew her hand back from him and he let go as she raised her eyes to his face.

“I'm fine.”

“You were upset.” He wanted to draw her close into his embrace, but he knew he'd not only shock Natale, but her staff, and the models. He’d promised that he wouldn’t interfere, and that was going to upset her. He was tempted to pull her close enough to breathe her in. His bear would have been more than happy to try, but he knew Natale wouldn’t feel that way. Not one bit.

His bear continued to push him. He wanted to stake their claim at that very minute, wrap her up in their arms and carry her off to their den.

A moment later, the war within came to an abrupt halt. Natale smiled at him, and the bear settled down again, pleased that she was pleased.

“I get upset often when I'm in the workroom.” She gestured at the room with one hand and touched her other hand to his chest. “This is only going to get more frustrating leading up to the show, so you need to let me work.”

The bear inside of him pushed forward, and he leaned against her hand for warmth. Before he could stop himself, he felt a growl roll from his throat, vibrating from his chest. It wasn’t one of anger or fear. He was barely holding back the bear from reaching out to touch her. The word he heard so clearly in his head was, ‘mine.’

Almost as if she sensed the struggle within him, she leaned closer and smiled at him. A smile that made the bear push even harder to get through his skin, but Natale parted her full lips and he felt his bear roll over in his chest, baring its belly for a scratch. The sudden movement pushed his whole body forward pressing most of his weight onto her hand and surprisingly, Natale held him, the subtle pressure of her hand coupled with incredible strength and a look in her eyes that made him forget to breathe.

“Now sit down,” he didn’t think she knew that her voice was purring from her lips, “and let me work.”

He didn’t want to, not when her heat was burning through his shirt, but his bear had already become her pet. Eager to please her, his bear nearly shoved him back down on the seat.

She turned back around to the workroom, giving her hands a clap. “Okay, folks, the show is over. Let’s get back to work.”

As she worked her way through the tables, he watched the sway of her hips, the hint of energy in her step, and as she turned to answer a question that one of her assistants called out to her, the plump flesh of her bottom lip had his teeth lengthening in his mouth. The nip of an incisor within his mouth drew blood and his bear salivated.

He wanted to taste her. He needed the salt of her skin on his tongue.

She picked up a tape measure and made quick work of a few measurements, calling out the numbers to one of her people. Notations were made and an outfit assigned. While he watched, two assistants helped the model from her streetwear and into the blouse and skirt ensemble. For a quick moment, the young woman dipped beneath the surface of the table and when she returned, tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she was transformed. Gone were the t-shirt and jeans skirt. The woman with a pale complexion and narrow shoulders was now a vibrant and elegant woman.

“She's just that good, you know.”

Salvatore turned and saw the woman he'd seen Natale with before.

She tucked her clipboard under her left arm and held out her hand.

He took it without hesitation, even though they’d already had an introduction. The woman had an easy smile and he could tell how much she cared for Natale. The two must have been friends for quite a while.

“You're Ericka.”

She grinned at him, squeezing his hand in hers. “You remembered.”

He nodded. “And I'm-”

“Delicious,” she finished. “I have eyes.”

Salvatore saw her smile, a broad grin that bared her teeth. He could see the flash of her earrings in the bright lights of the room and the way she leaned toward him. “And I,” he told her with a rumble of voice and words, “am not interested.”

That earned him a raised brow and a measuring look. She was summing him up the way he was used to doing on assignment.

“That’s good to know.” She tucked the clipboard in her arms close to her chest and leaned closer. “I saw the looks you’ve been giving Natale.” Her expression might have been light, but her tone was pointed. If it had been a physical object, her voice wouldn’t have been something as dull and messy as brass knuckles. Ericka’s voice was narrow and pointed, like a good old-fashioned stiletto dagger. “You don't look like you're trying to play her,” she bit into her lower lip showing him the tender side of her warning, “but if you do, it won't matter how big and sexy you are. I will hunt you down and cut off your-” A quick glance south of his waistband was enough to get her point across.

Still, he met her eyes without blinking. “I don't play.”

A long moment passed as Ericka seemed to mull over his words and what she'd heard in his voice. Finally, she smiled at him, nodding the littlest bit. “Then you have my permission to show my girl the best time she’s ever had… repeatedly.”

Again, all he sensed from her behavior, beneath the outrageous comments, was a genuine concern for her friend. He felt his bear second his decision to like the woman.

Ericka didn't wait for him to comment back. She turned on her heel and stepped up beside a trio of women who walked through the door.

He listened in as Ericka checked the women off the list of models scheduled for fittings and he nodded in tacit approval as she not only asked for identification from each woman but thoroughly examined their licenses before she called over someone to show them the changing room.

She caught sight of his approving look and arced a brow at him. “What?”

He set his hands on his thighs and leaned slightly forward. “You're good.”

She took in the compliment as if she was weighing the truth of his words. Finally, with a nod, Ericka raised her hand to her short-cropped curly hair and gave him pouty smile. “Don't I know it! But then again,” she tilted her head in Natale’s direction, “she deserves the best.”

A moment later, Ericka was swallowed up in the movement of the room as two of the women emerged from the changing room.

* * *

Natale couldn't help feeling like there wasn't enough room in the elevator. She'd tried to argue with Salvatore that she would be fine at home. The security in her apartment building was top notch, but that hadn't been enough for him. He'd insisted on driving her to her building and coming up with her to her apartment.

The instant they'd stepped into the elevator she'd felt a distinct worry set in. It wasn't fear. She didn't fear the larger-than-life man standing between her and the door.

She wished that were the problem. If it was, one call to her father would have seen Salvatore Orsino on his way. But ever since they'd left the workshop he'd been at her side, front, and back, watching the world around them and keeping her safe. It would be all too easy for her to give in and enjoy the moments, and maybe forget that the whole reason he was there was because some idiot had sent a bunch of letters with some crude comments and some thinly veiled threats to her.

Turning slightly, she took another look at her bodyguard. He must have some money, she decided. The clothes he wore were tailored - they had to be - no one walked into a store with his kind of physique and bought off a rack.

She'd made her share of men’s clothes in design school. Her teachers believed that a designer wasn't really a designer if they were able to utter the words, “I've never made a suit before.” Her eyes drifted over the cut and fit of the pants and knew her first assessment was right. Without seeing what was under his suit, she could still tell that he was fit. The work that had been done to make him look as effortless as he did and not make his muscular body look comical, like an oversized sausage, had been done by a talented tailor. She struggled not to speak up and ask Salvatore for the name of his tailor. She wanted to send the man a thank you note for a job well done.

The elevator chimed and opened on her floor. She waited while Salvatore stepped off and looked down both sides of the hallway before he gestured for her to come out after him.

As they walked together down the hallway, he spoke to her in low tones that made his voice sound rough enough to be a growl. “Until we catch this man, one of us needs to be with you at all times.”

“One of us?” She nearly tripped over her feet. “How many of you are there?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he held out his hand for her keys at the door and made quick work of unlocking it. He paused for a moment with the handle in his hand. “I want to check the apartment before I let you come in, but I can't leave you standing here in the open.”

She could tell by the tick of a muscle in his jaw that it wasn't just something he said. The idea of leaving her in the open bothered him.

Nodding, she looked up at him. “So what do we do now?”

“You follow me,” he explained, and his tone brooked no arguments, “stay behind.”

He didn't wait for an answer. Quite frankly, she didn't think he needed one.

Salvatore started to move forward, and she set her hand on his back. He held still for a moment, looking back over his shoulder at her. He wasn't upset. If anything, the look on his face told a different story. He liked her touching him.

The trouble was, she liked it too.

She followed him into the apartment and through the living area, wincing at the stack of magazines on the table, gossip mags that she swore she only read for the fashion.

The kitchen, with its appliances that she could almost claim were retro instead of old.

The back hallway, which completed a square that would bring them back around to the living area. He opened the doors to each room and looked into each of the two bathrooms before he stopped back in the living room.

“We’re alone.”

And instead of making her feel safer, it only ratcheted up her anxiety. In her home, she felt his presence more, because even though she refused to acknowledge it, it felt good to have him there.

No. Good didn't even come close to covering how it made her feel.

Having him there, toe to toe with her, drawing his scent in with every heady breath, made her ache for all of this craziness to be over. She was sure that all of the stress and strain of the upcoming show and the letters were responsible for her ridiculous feelings. Salvatore Orsino was a man who commanded attention and she was a woman who spent a good deal of her life being invisible. On an every day basis they didn’t exist in the same universe.

“Natale?”

She heard her name on his tongue and she met his gaze.

His lips lifted slightly at the corners, and as Natale looked at him, she felt a flash of heat roll through her and as she locked onto his eyes she saw the whites bleed to black and back to white again. She knew that her mind was playing tricks on her. What she had seen couldn’t be real. She need rest or to cut back on caffeine. Something.

Still, she couldn’t look away. He was a gorgeous man, but he was also a feast for her eyes. This close to him, the strong features she'd noticed before were suddenly made of chiseled granite or marble.

But, cold stone wasn't what she felt when he was close to her, and even across the room at the workshop, she'd felt his eyes on her. Sought him out with her eyes when she had a moment.

Being this close to him only solidified her gut reaction to him.

He was, in a word, lickable. ‘Head to toe, over the abs and butt, and – oh my god, what is wrong with me?’

“I need to know-”

She licked her lips and took a long deep breath in. “Yes?”

“Where do you want me to sleep?”

“Sleep?” She heard her voice squeak out of her throat. “Aren't you leaving?”

He leaned closer, his hands latching onto her upper arms. “I’m not leaving you.”

She shook herself, but he didn't let go. “You got me home safe,” she agreed, “but we have good security in the building. I can give your name to the doorman and he can let you up in the morning.”

“I'm not leaving you. My brother will arrive some time tonight-”

“Wait, what? Two of you?” She pulled away and put some distance between them. “You can't-”

“Uberto will be staying at our home in the city,” he explained, “but I'm going to be with you every step of the way.”

“Until the show,” she added on for him. “you mean you're going to be with me until the show.”

“As long as you need me.” He kept his tone level, but she knew there was something behind his words. She wanted to ask him again, but she was sure that he wasn't going to reveal anything more.

And she was too tired to argue.

“Fine.”

His eyes darkened again and she laughed, a soft embarrassed chuckle. She was sure she was hallucinating, but she was hoping she’d manage to enjoy it while it lasted. She needed more sleep, that was it. Right?

Before she could say a word, her stomach growled. Not in a cute little gurgle of sound. No, her stomach made its stance very clear. It was empty and not happy about it.

Instead of curling up his lip in distaste like some might, Salvatore's manner changed again, softening as he smiled at her.

“You need to eat.”

She laughed in reply, her mood lightening in an instant. “Now that,” she declared, “I won't argue with.”

Moving toward the kitchen she headed straight for the counter and the drawer of delivery menus. She took out a small stack at the top of the drawer and spread them out on the laminate counter.

Salvatore stepped up at her side and eyed the selection with a grimace that he didn't even try to disguise. “Is that what you eat?”

She didn't even try to disguise her pointed look. “I get home and I'm wiped out. It's that or a box of puffy wheats and milk that I'm sure is probably curds by now.” She heard his silence like klaxons in the room. “So, I take it that you don’t want to go in on some egg fu yung from Mr. Chow?”

Now it was his turn to grimace again. “Not likely.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Then we are at a classic impasse. What do you propose we do, Mr. Orsino?”

Reaching for his phone where it was clipped on his belt, she saw the butt of a handgun visible beneath his coat and she was again reminded why he was in her apartment in the first place. Sobered, she watched him turn on his phone and swipe open an app.

With a low guttural voice command the phone began to ring.

A few repeats of the chime and the call was answered, calling Salvatore by name and with a smile in their tone. She listened in rapt awe as he ordered, some words in English and some in Italian. She couldn't catch all of it, some of her Italian was rusty having grown up in America, but she knew enough to hear the quantities that he was ordering. When Salvatore gave the man her address from memory and hung up, she reached out and poked him in the shoulder.

He furrowed his brow as he looked down at her hand, and then her face. “What was that?”

“That,” she echoed back, “was a lot of food you just ordered. Make sure your brother brings a cooler so you can take it back to your place.”

“That was hardly enough for a few days, and I only ordered that because we’ll be at your workroom for a good portion of the time.”

She gaped at him, that was all she could do.

“You really aren't going to go away.”

“No.” He leaned closer to her. “I made your father a promise, and even before I met you, I was going to keep it.” A text lit up his phone and he looked it over before looking back up into her curious expression. “is something wrong?”

She wanted to be a bit of smartass. The ability to sling comments back and forth with her staff lightened up the workroom on tough days. Instead, she shook her head slightly and asked him the question his words had elicited.

“You said ‘even before you met’ me. What happened? After you met me, what changed?” She couldn't understand why her middle twisted up into a knot before he'd even answered.

He gave her a smile that made her feel lop-sided and warm. “Everything.”

She struggled to understand what he meant. “What?”

“Meeting you was all the difference.” Salvatore lifted a hand and brushed a stray curl behind her ear and it took every ounce of resolution in her not to lean into his touch. “Once I saw you, I knew I’d met my mate.”

Natale was sure she’d misheard him. “Your match. That’s what you meant, right?”

He leaned closer and she didn’t even bother trying to move away. The look in his eyes was mesmerizing. And heaven help her, she wanted to be wrong.

“I meant what I said.” He tried to reassure her. “You, Natale Durante, are my mate. My people hold onto some of our archaic ways.”

“Archaic?” She grinned at him, grateful for the lift in the tone of the conversation. “That’s one way of putting it. It makes it sound like you’re going to drag me off into a cave and have your way with me.” She laughed, a full-throated sound that shook her shoulders and nearly closed her eyes. But she noticed just as quickly that she was the only one laughing. Opening her eyes, she met his gaze and felt her laughter die on her lips. He wasn’t angry. That wasn’t the edge of emotion she saw in his eyes. There was an intensity in his eyes that made her hold her breath. “Is the cave thing an option?”

She was really trying to dispel the tension in the room.

Salvatore looked back at her, and she felt the temperature rise by degrees. “If you’d like,” he drew in a trembling breath between his lips, “I can make it happen.”

Natale wanted to wave it off. Wanted to ease the tension, but with Salvatore she might want to buy into the fantasy.

“Know that you’re the one woman in the world made for me, and me alone.” His tone brooked no argument. “If you want me to spirit you away, I will. Whatever you need or want, Natale. You only have to ask.”

Natale stood there before him silent again. Salvatore certainly knew how to make her speechless. She almost laughed at the thought. Her father would consider that a miracle, but the idea that a man who could melt her panties off with a single look in her direction said he wanted her… wanted to give her anything she wanted… she knew she must be dreaming. Or maybe having a nightmare.

She just couldn’t tell.

“Go, Natale,” he gestured toward the back hallway, “change your clothes, get comfortable. By the time you’re done, I’ll have dinner started.”

His words sunk in, stunning her again. He was going to make her dinner. No man, not even her father, had ever cooked for her. And she didn’t want to miss it, so she would do what he asked, this time. Turning on her heel, she headed for her bedroom with a little skip in her step.