Defying Her Billionaire Protector. Angela Bissell

      ‘Nico?’

      Marietta’s hand twitched in his, jerking his thoughts back to the present. He refocused, realised his thumb was stroking small circles over her skin. Abruptly he broke contact and stood. ‘Stay here. Keep Lina with you.’

      She wheeled back and looked up at him. ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘Your apartment.’

      She frowned, a smudge of colour returning to her face. ‘Not without me, you’re not.’

      ‘It is better that you stay here,’ he said evenly.

      ‘Why?’

      When he hesitated a fraction too long, her fine-boned features twisted into a look of horror.

      ‘Mio Dio. You think he might be there, don’t you?’ She stared at him accusingly. ‘But you said the note was just a scare tactic.’

      ‘Could be,’ he corrected. ‘I won’t know for certain until I’ve checked it out.’

      ‘Then I’ll come with you.’

      ‘I’d prefer you didn’t.’

      Her shoulders snapped back, her eyes, wide with shock and fear only seconds before, now narrowing. ‘It’s my apartment. I’m coming whether you prefer it or not.’ Her delicate chin lifted. ‘Besides, you need me. You won’t get in without my security code and key.’

      ‘Both of which you are about to give to me,’ he told her, keeping his voice reasonable even as he felt his patience slipping. He was unaccustomed to people arguing with him—especially women.

      Marietta folded her hands in her lap. The gesture combined with her conservative attire—a sleeveless high-necked lilac silk blouse, long black pants and, perhaps less conservative, a pair of purple high-heeled suede boots—made her look almost demure. Yet there was nothing demure in the set of her shoulders or the bright glint of defiance in her eyes.

      ‘Do people always jump when you bark?’

      He crossed his arms over his chest. Outwardly he was calm. Inside, impatience heated his blood dangerously close to tipping point. ‘Oui,’ he said, injecting a low note of warning into his voice he hoped she had the wisdom to heed. ‘If they know what is good for them.’

      Her eyebrows rose at that, but the shrug that rolled off her shoulders was careless. ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you—’ she looked pointedly at her legs and then back at him ‘—but you might have noticed I can’t jump very high these days.’

      Nico flattened his mouth, returned her stare. Channelled his trademark control—or tried to. ‘You are wasting time, Marietta.’

      ‘Me?’ Somehow she managed to look utterly innocent. ‘You’re the one holding us up, Nico. We could have been halfway there by now.’

      He sucked in a breath and exhaled sharply. Leo had warned him that Marietta could be stubborn. Resolute. Headstrong. No doubt those qualities had served her well through some difficult times, helped her overcome the kind of obstacles most people, if they were fortunate, would never have to face in their lifetime. He respected those qualities, admired them, but right now he’d settle for a lot less lip and a great deal more acquiescence.

      The determined glitter in those liquid brown eyes told him he had zero chance of getting it. Nico couldn’t decide if that surprised him, impressed him, or angered him.

      People did not defy Nicolas César.

      They obeyed him.

      Fortunately for Marietta he had neither the time nor the patience to stand there and argue. He uncrossed his arms. Muttered an oath. ‘Wait here,’ he growled. ‘I’ll bring my car to the front of the gallery and collect you.’

      A smile broke on her face that almost made the pain of his capitulation worth it. He blinked. Mon Dieu. Did she give that smile freely to everyone she met? If so, he wouldn’t be surprised to find a thousand infatuated admirers lurking in the wings.

      ‘No need,’ she said, and rolled her chair forward to a small cabinet beside her desk. She pulled out an enormous leather handbag. ‘I have my car in the lane out back. I’ll drive myself and meet you there.’

      Lina reappeared at that moment, minus the roses. She tossed her blonde hair over one too bony shoulder and gave him a smile that lacked even a fraction of the impact of Marietta’s.

      ‘Can you please close up tonight, Lina?’ Marietta said to the girl. ‘I doubt I’ll be back. Call me if you need anything. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She lifted her gaze to Nico’s. ‘I suppose you already know my address?’

      ‘Oui,’ he said, and noted with a small punch of satisfaction how her pretty mouth tightened at that.

      ‘Okay. Well, I’ll see you there, then.’ She wheeled past him, towards the rear of the gallery.

      ‘Marietta.’

      She stopped, glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘Si?’

      ‘If you get there first, wait for me. Do not go in.’

      Her mouth pursed. ‘Is that an order?’

      ‘You may consider it one.’

      Only the flare of her fine nostrils betrayed her annoyance. ‘Very well,’ she said, then continued on her way.

      For a moment Nico watched her go, her long dark hair swinging behind her, her olive-skinned arms, defined by muscle yet still slender and feminine, propelling the wheels of her chair forward with strong, confident movements.

      She disappeared through a rear door and Nico spun away, making his own exit through the front of the gallery and down a short flight of stone steps. He strode along the wide tree-lined street to where he’d parked the silver sports car Bruno had had waiting at the airport for him this morning when his jet had landed.

      He wrenched open the driver’s door and scowled.

      He would very much enjoy giving Marietta a lesson in obedience, but he had no doubt her brother would kill him—slowly and painfully—if he knew the methods Nico had in mind.

       CHAPTER TWO

      MARIETTA DROVE HER bright yellow sedan into the basement of her apartment building and swung into her reserved space near the elevator. She cut the engine, pushed the door open and used her arms to shift herself around until her legs dangled out of the car.

      She loved her modified car. In addition to its customised hand controls, the rear passenger door on the driver’s side had been altered to open in the reverse direction, so she could reach around from the driver’s seat, open the door and pull her wheelchair out of the back. She did so now, and with a little shuffling, some careful hand placements and a couple of well-executed manoeuvres she transferred herself out of the car and into her chair.

      It was a routine refined and perfected through years of practice, and one she could probably perform in her sleep.

      She put her handbag in her lap and took the elevator to the lobby, confident Nico couldn’t have beaten her there despite the extra minutes she’d needed to get in and out of her car. He probably had a faster, flashier set of wheels, but she knew the roads between here and the gallery like the back of her hand—not to mention half a dozen shortcuts only a local would know to use.

      And yet when she rolled out of the elevator onto the lobby’s shiny sand-coloured marble, there he stood. She frowned, confused as much as miffed. The building, she knew, was secure, the double doors from the street controlled by keypad access day and night. ‘How did you get inside?’

      ‘One of your neighbours was on his way out and let me in.’ His voice was dark. His expression, too. ‘Imbécile.’

      His deep scowl