The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(28)

One seduction for another, it would only be justice. If Amanda Davies came to him, there would be no dishonor in it. And if her surrender happened to coincide with his most virulent desire, well, that would be his good fortune.

He would have to think about it.

It was possible he could not stop thinking about it.





6


The hospital room was empty. The atmosphere was sterile, quiet and dim. The bed lay flat with its sheets carefully tucked and pillow smooth and neatly aligned.

Jonathan was not there.

Panic squeezed Amanda’s chest. Whirling, she ran back out into the hall. Nico was far down its length, walking toward his sister’s room. She forgot how angry she was with him, forgot how autocratic she considered him. All she could think of was the power he held to make things happen.

“Nicholas! Nico!”

He spun around with quick concern in his eyes, came quickly back toward her. “What is it? Tell me!”

“Jonathan — he’s not here. He’s gone!”

Those few words were all that was required. Within seconds, Nico had summoned a nurse to his side. He fired succinct questions, received answers.

Though flustered and apologetic, the woman could not tell them the whereabouts of the English signor. No, no, he was not in the morgue as his sister seemed to fear. He had been allowed to get up, to walk a few steps with crutches. The orderly had left him sitting in a chair beside his freshly made bed no more than a quarter hour ago.

No, indeed, there had been no visitor to take him away. Signor Davies must have walked away under his own power, such as it was. He could not have gone far. Allora, had he not passed out, or very near it, while taking his first few steps since the accident?

Amanda looked at Nico as a thought struck her. “Jonathan pulled out his IV before because he was determined to see Carita.”

“Ah. Yes.” Taking her arm, he walked quickly with her toward his sister’s room. They pushed inside with a quiet sigh of the pneumatic door.

Jonathan hovered over the bed, his voice a low murmur as he spoke in broken phrases. He was ghostly pale and his eyes suspiciously moist. His tousled hair hung over his face, he carried his injured leg bent at the knee and his hand gripping the crutch that supported him was bloodless. He had wedged the other crutch into his armpit and was caressing Carita’s still face with the back of one knuckle.

“What are you doing?” Nico demanded. Releasing Amanda, he strode forward and clamped a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder to pull him back.

Her brother winced away, over-balancing at that sudden change of position. Like some toy that had lost its power, he twisted at the waist, began to fall.

Amanda screamed, plunging forward to grab Jonathan’s arm and a handful of his robe. She couldn’t hold him. It was Nico who threw an arm around her waist and grabbed Jonathan’s crutch with the other, using it as a brace.

Together, he and Amanda supported Jonathan until he could struggle upright again. They stood in a rigid circle of three, breathing hard.

Nico recovered first. “Mi dispiace,” he said in rough-edged apology. “I didn’t think. I just saw you—”

“It’s all right, I’d have done the same,” Jonathan answered. His smile was valiant but edged with agony, both physical and emotional, as he looked from Amanda to Nico. “I shouldn’t — probably shouldn’t have touched her. It’s just I wanted so badly for her to hear me? I wanted her to know I’m here for her.”

Nico’s face tightened, though he made no reply. With one hand still supporting Amanda’s brother, he looked around for a chair, pulled it toward them and helped lower him into it.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in brusque concern. “Do you need something for pain?”

Jonathan shook his head. His gaze went to the girl in the bed, and it was as if no one else existed. If he was curious at all about their sudden appearance, he didn’t show it.

“Bene.” Nico signaled to the nurse who stood in the open doorway, an imperious gesture which asked that she come back later. He helped Jonathan slide further back in the chair then, and set the crutches out of the way, though not so far that they couldn’t be reached in case of need.

Amanda watched while contrary feelings collided inside her. Though she was furious with Nico de Frenza for causing her brother to fall, she was also grateful for his quick action that saved him from hitting the floor. His highhanded way of issuing orders rankled, but she was grateful he had not insisted Jonathan return at once to his own room.

Beneath these things ran fervid awareness. She could still feel the imprint of where his arm circled her while they supported Jonathan, was shaken by the impact of his effortless strength, also his fierce, protective tenderness toward his comatose sister.

How she longed for those things, almost against her will. She was capable of looking after herself, of course she was, yet she ached to be relieved, at least now and then, of the burden of responsibility she’d carried since her parents died. She wanted to be held close while finding the surcease of intimate bodily contact. In his arms, it seemed, everything would be all right. He would make it all right.

Such foolish thoughts, when she had been so angry with him earlier. Turning sharply away from Nico, she moved to stand looking down at his sister.

This was the first time she had seen Carita de Frenza, the girl with whom Jonathan had fallen so completely in love. She was a slender shape under the sheets, petite and fragile. Masses of dark, curling hair trailed from under the bandaging on her temple, and dark lashes, curling at the tips, made a fringe along her closed eyes. Her features were elegantly Roman, with a narrow feminine nose and high cheekbones. Her mouth was beautifully formed, with a sensual lower lip that seemed a family trademark. Even in her comatose state, there was a sweetness about her that reminded Amanda irresistibly of her twin.