Chapter 4 - The Heat of the Tiger
The heat inside the SUV hit me like a physical wave, but instead of relief, it brought a sharp, agonizing pain as blood slowly began forced back into my frozen extremities. I gasped, curling into myself on the wide leather back seat, my teeth clattering so hard I was afraid they would break.
"Easy," a deep, commanding voice murmured close to my ear.
Nicholas didn't just put me in the seat; he climbed in right beside me. He ripped off his heavy leather gloves, tossed them onto the floorboards, and stripped off his massive cashmere coat. Before I could process what was happening, he wrapped the thick, warm wool tightly around my shoulders, swallowing my small frame completely in his scent and heat.
"Turn the heat up to maximum," Nicholas ordered Marco as the driver slammed into gear and sped toward the side garage. "Get Dr. Vance on the phone. Tell him to be at the house in five minutes, or I'll have him thrown off my payroll."
"On it, Boss," Marco replied, rapidly dialing on his phone.
I lay tucked against Nicholas's side, unable to control the violent body tremors wracking my body. My fingers felt like they were burning, a deep, throbbing ache radiating through my hands and feet as the cabin temperature soared.
"It hurts..." I choked out, a tear sliding down my frozen cheek, turning ice-cold against my pale skin. "It burns..."
Nicholas wrapped a massive, warm hand around both of my trembling hands, enclosing them completely within his grip. He applied firm, steady pressure, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles to restore circulation without damaging the frozen skin.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
I forced my heavy eyelids open and looked up. For the first time, I saw his face clearly. He was striking—sharp, angular jawline covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, and dark brown eyes that possessed an intense, predatory focus. There was a faint scar cutting through his left eyebrow, giving him an air of danger that made the maid staff gossip in hushed tones whenever he visited the mansion.
This was Nicholas Grimaldiro. The man whose house I cleaned. The man who owned everything around us.
"You're okay," Nicholas said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unshakeable intensity that anchored me in the warm room. "You're safe. You're inside now."
"The... the vase," I whispered, my mind still trapped in the terrifying moments before the storm. "I dropped... the Italian porcelain... Mr. Caldwell said..."
"Forget the vase," Nicholas interrupted, his voice dropping lower, vibrating with a dark, suppressed rage that wasn't directed at me. "Tell me what Caldwell did."
"He... he said I ruined Christmas," I stammered, tears streaming freely down my face as the cold broke. "He locked me out... he said I had to stay outside until the dinner was over..."
Nicholas went dead silent. The atmosphere inside the SUV instantly plummeted into something suffocating and dangerous. Beside him, Marco met Nicholas's eyes in the rearview mirror and swallowed hard, recognizing the terrifying look on his boss's face.
"He locked you out in a blizzard," Nicholas repeated, every syllable laced with iron. "Over a piece of clay."
"I didn't mean to break it..." I pleaded, shrinking back slightly, terrified that my mistake would bring his anger down on me.
Nicholas caught my wrist gently, stopping me from pulling away. The intensity in his eyes softened just a fraction, replaced by something fierce and protective.
"You are not in trouble, Miss...?"
"Elena," I breathed. "Elena Turner."
May you like
"Elena," Nicholas said, pronouncing my name with a deliberate, smooth rhythm. "You are never going to apologize for a piece of garbage in this house again. Do you understand me?"
Before I could answer, the SUV screeched to a halt inside the heated underground garage of the estate.
