Taming the Notorious Sicilian

‘Hardly,’ he said harshly. ‘You’re a doctor. That takes dedication.’

‘For me, it’s taken everything. I’m not naturally bright—I had to work hard to get my grades, to learn and to keep learning. In the process I’ve been so focused on my career that I’ve allowed my personal life to go to ruin.’ The same groove he remembered from the other evening reappeared on her forehead. ‘I don’t want to die a virgin.’

Francesco rubbed his neck.

It seemed she was serious.

Of course, she could be lying. Having discovered who he was, this could be a clever, convoluted game to access his life and wealth.

Yet her explanation made a mad kind of sense.

He remembered the expression of serenity that had crossed her face at the moment she’d opened her eyes and looked at him, remembered her words and the fuzzy feelings they had evoked in him.

Something had passed between them—something fleeting but tangible.

There was no way Hannah could have known who he was at that moment.

One thing he did know was that she had gained a false impression of him. If she knew who he really was, he would be the last man she would make such a shameless proposition to.

Regardless, he could hardly credit how tempted he was.

He was a red-blooded male. What man wouldn’t be tempted by such an offer?

But Hannah was a virgin, he reminded himself—despite the fact that he’d thought virgins over the age of eighteen were from the tales of mythology.

Surely this was every man’s basest fantasy? A virgin begging to be deflowered.

‘You have no idea who I am,’ he told her flatly.

‘Are you talking about the gangster thing?’

‘The gangster thing?’ His voice took on a hint of menace. How could she be so blasé about it? Was she so naive she didn’t understand his life wasn’t something watched from the safety of a television set, played by men who likely had manicures between takes?

Scrutinising her properly, her innocence was obvious. She had an air about her—the same air he saw every time he looked through his parents’ wedding album. His mother had had that air when she’d married his father, believing it to be a love match, blissfully oblivious to her husband’s true nature, and the true nature of his business affairs.

Hannah raised her shoulders again. ‘I’ve read all about you on the internet. I know what it says your family are.’

‘And do you believe everything you read on the internet?’

‘No.’ She shook her head to emphasise her point.

Deliberately, he stepped towards her and into her space. He brought his face down so it was level with hers. ‘You should believe it. Because it’s true. Every word. I am not a good person for you to know. I am the last person a woman like you should get involved with.’

She didn’t even flinch. ‘A woman like me? What does that mean?’

‘You’re a doctor. You do not belong in my world.’

‘I just want one night in your world, that’s all. One night. I don’t care what’s been written about you. I know you would never hurt me.’

‘You think?’ Where had she got this ludicrous faith in him from? He had to eradicate it, make her see enough of the truth to scare her all the way back to the safety of her hospital.

He straightened to his full height, an act capable of intimidating even the hardest of men. He breached the inches between them to reach into her thick mane of hair and tug the rabbit ears free. They were connected by some kind of plastic horseshoe that he dropped onto the floor and placed a foot on. He pressed down until he heard the telltale crunch.

She stared at him with that same serene look in her hazel eyes.

‘Tell me,’ he said, gently twisting her around so her back was flush against him, ‘how, exactly, do you want me to take your virginity?’

He heard an intake of breath.

Good. He’d unnerved her.

Gathering her hair together, he inhaled the sweet scent of her shampoo. Her hair felt surprisingly soft. ‘Do you want me to take you here and now?’

He trailed a finger down her exposed slender neck, over the same collarbone that had been broken less than two months before, and down her toned arm before reaching round to cup a breast flattened by the leotard she wore.

‘Or do you want me to take you on a bed?’ He traced his thumb over a nipple that shot out beneath his touch.

‘I...’ Her voice came out like a whimper. ‘I...’

‘You must have some idea of how you would like me to perform the deed,’ he murmured, breathing into her ear and nuzzling his nose into a cheek as soft as the finest silk. ‘Is foreplay a requirement? Or do you just want to get it over with?’