Chapter Four
Antonio carried Sophia’s limp body through the streets of Florence.
Guilt ate at him with razor-sharp teeth. It was his fault she was hurt. He looked down at her pale face, at the bright red blood staining her hair. She hadn’t moved since he’d snatched her up and leaped out the broken windows of Corus’ little club.
But she was breathing, and her pulse was strong and steady.
“Hang in there, cara.” Please.
He reached her apartment. It was in a butter-colored historic building not far from the Ponte Vecchio. He’d never been there but knew she lived on the top floor. Looking up, he saw a tiny balcony surrounded by a black wrought-iron railing. After checking that no one was in the street, he bent his knees and jumped. At the same moment, he called the wind and it gave him a gentle push.
They landed safely on the balcony, and he shifted Sophia in his arms as he dealt with the flimsy lock. Then he stepped inside.
When he looked down at her, he saw big blue eyes watching him. Something eased in his gut. “Are you okay?”
She slid an arm along his shoulders. “Head hurts.”
“I know. I’ll take care of you.” He moved toward the dove-gray couch and set her down gently. “Do you have a first aid kit?”
She nodded. “Under the sink in the kitchen.”
In a moment, he was back and when he saw her sitting up, he frowned. “You need to lie down.”
She touched her scalp. “I’m fine. It’s stopped bleeding.” She touched her left arm and winced. “I think I have some glass in my arm and shoulder.”
“Let me see.” He ripped open the kit, and sank down beside her. He slid a hand into her tangled hair and even in knots, it felt like silk. With his free hand, he picked up an antiseptic wipe from the kit and dabbed at the cut on her temple.
He studied the wound. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Still, the sight of it and the smears of her dried blood made his chest tight. He’d wanted to protect her, and now she was firmly in Corus’ sights.
Next, Antonio studied her arm and shoulder. Several small pieces of glass were embedded in her skin. His jaw tightened, but he fought to keep his touch light as he used some tweezers to remove the shards.
“You’ve never been here before,” she said. “How did you know where I live?”
“You’ve talked about how much you love this building and the view.” And he’d seen her address on her employment forms. His gaze swept the room. She had a few good quality art pieces, stylish furniture, and a bookcase bulging with art history books. “This place suits you.”
She shrugged. “I like it.”
His gaze fell on a print of a painting by the French painter Bouguereau. It showed an elegant, mostly naked man leaning over a beautiful woman. The man had butterfly wings on his back.
“Zephyr,” Sophia said. “One of the Anemoi. The Greek version of the wind gods.” Their gazes met. “Zephyr was god of the West Wind and known as Favonius in Italian.”
“My middle name,” he said quietly. He managed a small smile. “No wings, though.”
She cleared her throat. “Tell me about your brothers. What vices do they battle?”
Antonio cleaned her remaining cuts. “Lorenzo is the Keeper of the Winds. He keeps the Tempest Winds imprisoned on Isola del Vento.”
“Island of the Wind,” she murmured. “That’s where the Venti horse estate is?”
“Yes. Stromboli erupted three weeks ago and fueled the Tempest Winds. They escaped.” Antonio grabbed a small bandage and pressed it over a deeper cut. “The vices the Tempest Winds spread have been growing ever since. Dante battled pride, Soren fights greed, and Luca wars with anger.”
“That must be so difficult.”
Her calm, quiet voice washed over him and desire rose. He ruthlessly shoved it down and stared at the blood smudged on her cheek. “It is. But once we hunt down the Tempest Winds, we’ll imprison them again.
“How will you do that?”
“We’ll free them from their mortal bodies. Then my brothers and I will summon a storm to trap them back on the island. Dante has already beaten his wind.”
Now Antonio had to do the same. Before more people were hurt.
Against his will, he stroked Sophia’s hair. He would keep her safe. No matter what.
She shook her head. “I’ve collected and studied art pieces about the Warriors of the Wind. A part of me still can’t believe it’s all real.”
“The Warriors have existed since the now-lost time of the gods. That’s when Jupiter gave control of the winds to man in order to defend again the Tempest Winds. The Warrior of the North Wind always has five sons who each inherit the power of the wind.”
“Amazing.”
Her fascination could end up getting her killed. He forced himself to move away from her. “Your cuts are all clean now. I’ll keep an eye on you today and stay on your couch tonight.” It might kill him, being so close to her and not touching her. “Tomorrow, you’ll take the first flight out of Florence.”
“No.”
Antonio sat back and scowled. “What do you mean, no? Corus is dangerous. You saw what he can do. I have to stop him and if you’re here, he’ll use you to get to me.”
“I can help you—”
“Like you did this morning?” He gripped her shoulders. “You almost got yourself killed and I almost—” Dio. He heaved in a breath.
Her fingers wrapped around his wrists. “You didn’t hurt me, Antonio.” Her thumb brushed over his pulse. “And I’m honest enough to admit I enjoyed the kiss, and every time we touched.”
Antonio closed his eyes. “You shouldn’t even be close to me.” His chest was so tight he could barely breathe. “I could have raped you, right there in front of Corus.”
Blue eyes watched him steadily. “That would never happen.”
Like a rush of wind, Antonio moved fast. He yanked her against him, his face close to hers. “You don’t know me, Sophia. You don’t see the rot taking me over inside. The only thing I can focus on right now is defeating Corus.”
“And kill yourself in the process?” She pushed him away and rose shakily. “I can hear it in your voice. You’ll sacrifice your life if you have to.”
Antonio’s jaw tightened. “I’ll do what I have to do to protect the world. It’s my duty.” And to protect this woman who touched something inside him he hadn’t ever felt before.
She paced a few steps, then spun to face him, eyes sparking. “I can help you. I’ve been collecting art and items related to the Warriors of the Winds for years. Maybe there’s something in there—”
Antonio rose. “I don’t want your help.” He advanced on her, and she backed up. When her back hit the wall, he continued until his chest pushed against hers. Her eyes widened and he realized he was still shirtless and her gauzy shirt did nothing to stop him from feeling her. His cock tightened and he gritted his teeth. “What I want is to fuck you, Sophia. Sink my cock so far inside you that you’ll feel me for a week.”
She sucked in a breath.
He tried not to, but he had to touch her. Just a little. He nuzzled her neck, drawing in the scent of her. He didn’t know if it was the lust talking, or him, or both. He was so tired of fighting, so tired of feeling like he was losing.
“I just want to screw your brains out. That’s all I want from you.” He looked up and saw angry tears glistening in her eyes. The sight cut through him. “Is that what your married lover said to you?”
“You bastard.” A shaky whisper.
She tried to hit him but he caught her wrist. He had to push her away. Had to make her want to get on the damn plane back to the US. “Is that all he wanted?”
One glistening tear slipped down her cheek. “He told me that he loved me and I fell in love with him. But yes, he was already married and just looking for a fuck.”
Her pain made Antonio want to sweep her up and soothe her. To tell her the asshole was an idiot. But Antonio kept his mouth shut. Her safety was more important. “You’d make a good one.”
She wrenched her hand free and slapped him. The sound was loud in her small apartment. “I was pregnant when James’ wife tracked me down to inform me I was just another in a long line of gullible sluts.”
Madre de Dio. “Sophia—”
She shook her head, her lip trembling before she firmed it. “I lost the baby. And I vowed that I would never, ever lower myself like that again. Now get out.”
Antonio didn’t hesitate. He went back onto her balcony and in a single move, leaped over the railing.
He landed in a crouch, then crossed the street and entered a narrow alley between two buildings. He stopped and sank against the brick wall.
Looking up, he saw her curtain fluttering in the gentle breeze. She deserved so much better than him. He scraped a hand down his face. Damn, he was tired. He let the weathered brick take his weight. He’d stay here and make sure Corus left her alone until she left Florence.
He wanted her to go, but the thought of her leaving made him feel like his insides were being carved out with sharp claws.
Apparently, he could feel something more than lust.
Misery.
***
Sophia stepped outside her building and blinked in the sunlight. After a night spent tossing and turning until her sheets were a twisted mess, she knew she looked tired. She’d seen the dark circles under her eyes in the mirror. She smoothed her hands down her fitted skirt.
Inside, she was a mess of conflicting emotions—anger, sadness, worry, fear, and dammit, desire.
Sophia was hoping work would take her mind off things.
She set off down the street. It was still early enough that not many people were about yet. Most Italians didn’t appear to be morning people. The old buildings made her smile. She loved Florence—the beauty, the history, the architecture. The birthplace of the Renaissance oozed a sense of history that spoke to her.
One block later, she realized someone was following her. Her pulse leaped and she quickened her steps. Expecting to see Corus, she glanced over her shoulder.
A dark figure. With familiar broad shoulders.
With a huff of breath, she stopped. When Antonio reached her, she noted he was dressed in one of his usual suits. Then she saw his face and gasped. “You look horrible.” His face was drawn and his olive skin was pale.
He shrugged. “Long night.”
She knew in an instant that he’d watched her place all night. Dammit, knowing he’d watched over her left her warm inside. But he just wants sex, remember?
“I’ve organized a flight back to D.C.”
She stiffened. “I’m not leaving.”
He stepped closer. “Si, you are.”
Oh, no. She was done letting any man—whether it be an evil Tempest Wind or a sexy, infuriating Warrior of the Wind tell her what to do. She poked a finger into Antonio’s chest. “I don’t take orders from you.”
She spun and headed toward the museum. Antonio followed behind her, a dark, brooding presence. The front façade of the Museo Venti came into view. She sighed. It was gorgeous. The historic building was carved from gleaming white stone, with a set of wide steps leading up to the ornate doors. Elegant burgundy banners hung above, advertising the latest exhibitions.
She strode up the steps, and nodded at the security guards. She headed for her workroom and assumed Antonio went upstairs to his spacious office.
Her workroom wasn’t huge and was dominated by the enormous table she’d pushed up against the window. Shelves lined the space, loaded with all her tools, paints, and other things she needed for her restoration work. It wasn’t neat, but she knew where everything was.
Sophia moved over to the painting she was restoring and pulled the protective cover off. Everything in her relaxed. She sat down on her stool and got to work.
Several hours later, she dipped her paintbrush in the pot and watched remnants of the varnish she’d been removing suspend in the fluid. Over the years, the varnish on the painting had turned opaque, obscuring the artwork it was supposed to preserve. She leaned over the painting, staring at what she’d uncovered.
Another version of the Birth of Venus. This wasn’t Botticelli’s famous painting, hanging in the nearby Uffizi Gallery. But from the quality, she guessed this one had come from his workshop.
She didn’t focus on the gorgeous naked Venus with her flowing locks. Her gaze moved to the man flying through the air on the left-hand side, a beautiful woman clutched in his arms—Zephyr or Favonius. The West Wind. The woman in his arms was some sort of wind nymph who controlled the breezes.
In the painting, the man was handsome and proud. In control. Like nothing could touch him. But time had ravaged the paint, leaving it cracked and worn.
Just like the real-life man.
Sophia pressed her hands to the table. She’d always imagined the Warriors of the Wind as all-powerful, almost god-like. Now she knew they were just men. With thoughts and feelings, strengths and weaknesses.
And now that she’d had time to think, she realized that Antonio had made her angry on purpose. He’d been trying to push her away and protect her.
She released a breath. Men. With a sigh, she leaned back and looked at the door. Outside, the hall led to the grand staircase leading up to the museum’s offices. Antonio had been locked in his office all day.
She sighed and pulled the cover over the painting. How much longer could he hold out against the lust? She bit down on her lip.
Sophia. Her name drifted in the air and a light breeze ruffled her hair.
Goosebumps covered her skin and she scanned her small workroom. Nobody was there.
Then she saw a shadow in the corner move and morph into the shape of a man. He looked so much like Antonio her heart jumped in her chest.
“You look gorgeous, bella.” Corus’ dark gaze raked over her navy skirt and pinstriped shirt.
“Don’t call me that.”
“But you are beautiful.”
He was a few feet away, but she felt his presence like a dark touch. The wind swirled around them, a living thing. It brushed over her and stroked her with seeking fingers.
He moved closer, but she stayed still, her hand curling. She wanted to run and scream for Antonio. But a part of her feared for him, facing this evil when his control was already stretched so thin.
She knew Antonio wanted to protect her, but she also wanted to protect him.
Lifting her chin, she shot Corus a cool look.
His smile was sharp and cunning. “So brave. The Warrior chose well.”
The Tempest Wind lifted a hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. She tried not to flinch. His fingers slid over her face, her lips, down her neck.
“Do you know how much he wants you?” Corus whispered.
Her eyelids grew heavy. She struggled to keep them open, but they fluttered closed. Images of Antonio filled her mind.
“His body cries for yours. And you crave his touch, don’t you, pretty Sophia?”
The hand touching her no longer belonged to an evil stranger, but to Antonio. It slid lower and cupped her breast.
“Do you want what I can give you, bella?”
That drugging voice was low. Antonio’s voice. “Yes.”
A finger flicked at her nipple. “I will give you pleasure, Sophia. I will slake your lust.”
Lust? She didn’t want lust. She wanted to show Antonio that he had more inside him than that. Her eyes snapped open.
And she looked straight into Corus’ smug gaze.
She felt dirty. She jerked backward. “I will never want you, Corus. Or the evil you offer.”
His eyes turned hard. “I offer you what the Warrior won’t.”
“You are nothing compared to Antonio.”
Corus hissed. “You think he is better than me? He is no different than me. All he can give you is the fire and heat of lust.”
“You’re wrong. He’s a good man. A man dedicated to his work and his duty. He protects, you destroy.”
“Fine.” Corus tossed his head back. “I’ll leave you to suffer. You will never have any satisfaction from Venti.” His dangerous smirk reappeared. “In fact, I think my nemesis is already too far gone. Not even you can save him now.”
Her eyes widened. What the hell was he talking about? She glanced at the door.
“You’re far too late.” Corus laughed as he melted away into the shadows. “Soon he will be exactly like me.”
Sophia ran. She slammed open the door and raced down the hall. Her heels hampered her, so she kicked them off. She clambered up the wide sweep of stairs, uncaring that two museum employees gawked at her like she’d lost her mind.
She ran past the desk of Antonio’s assistant, heedless of the woman’s call to stop, and skidded to a stop at his door. She rapped her knuckles against the wood. “Antonio?”
Ominous silence.
Heart in her throat, she turned the handle. The door opened and she slipped inside. She closed the door behind her and scanned the room.
A huge window showcased a perfect view of the terracotta dome of the Duomo and the rooftops of Florence. But the office was empty. No Antonio.
A shudder ran through her and she sagged against the door. Corus had been winding her up.
Then she heard a groan.
“Antonio?” Heart rapping against her ribs, she hurried across the room, skirting the big, glossy desk.
He was on his knees. Perspiration shone on his face and dampened his hair. He looked up at her through tortured eyes. “Sophia.” A spasm crossed his face. “Get out of here.”
She reached out, her hand hovering near his face. She didn’t know if she should touch him. “How can I help you?”
He shook his head, the movement slow. “I’ve lost control. The lust is…dragging me under. You need to go before I hurt you.”
She swallowed. She’d spent a year running from everything. Running from her heartache, her loss. Running from life. She’d closed herself off and stopped trusting herself.
It was time to trust herself again. To do what was right.
Right now, a good man needed her help and she was going to take the biggest risk of her life. She moved closer to him. “I’m not leaving you.”