Taming the Notorious Sicilian

Francesco had spent his entire life idolising his father. Sure, there were things he’d never been comfortable about, but Salvatore was his father. He’d loved and respected him. After his death four years ago, certain truths had been revealed about aspects of his father’s business that had taken some of the shine off his memories, like discovering his drug importing. That in itself had been a very bitter blow to bear, had sickened him to the pit of his stomach. But to learn the truth of what he’d done to his mother... It had sent Francesco’s world spinning off its axis.

The walls of the spacious office started to close in on him. The air conditioning was on but the humidity had become stifling, perspiration breaking out on his back.

* * *

Hannah stared intently into those beautiful chocolate eyes. Only years of practice at reading her patients allowed her to see beneath the hard exterior he projected. There was pain there. A lot of it. ‘What is it about me that scares you so much?’

His lips curled into a sneer. Rising from his chair, he strode towards her like a sleek panther. ‘You think you scare me?’

‘What other reason is there for you to try so hard to frighten me off and go out of your way to try to make me hate you? Because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Trying to make me hate you?’

He stilled, his huge frame right before her, blocking everything else out.

She reached out a hand and placed it on his chest. ‘I bet you’ve never treated a woman like this before.’

‘Like what?’ he asked harshly, leaning over and placing his face right in hers, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. ‘You’re the one with the foolish, romanticised notions about me. I warned you from the start that you didn’t belong in my world, and yet you thought you knew best.’

‘So this is all to make me see the real you?’

‘We had a deal, Dr Chapman,’ he bit out, grabbing her hand, which still rested against his hard chest, and lacing his fingers through it. He squeezed, a warning that caused no physical pain but was undoubtedly meant to impress upon her that, if he so chose, he could hurt her. ‘I made you a guarantee that by the end of our time together I would be the last man you would want to give your virginity to.’

Squeezing his fingers in return, her mouth filling with saliva, she tilted her chin a touch. His mouth was almost close enough to press her lips to....

‘If you really want to prove it, then hurt me, don’t just give me a warning. You’re twice my size—it would take no effort for you to hurt me if you really wanted.’ Oh, but she was playing with fire. She didn’t need Francesco to point that out. But no matter what she had seen in the two hours she’d been in his country, deep in her marrow was the rooted certainty that he would never hurt her, not in any meaningful sense.

If eyes could spit fire, Francesco’s would be doing just that. But there was something else there, too, something that darkened as his breathing deepened.

‘See?’ she whispered. ‘You can’t hurt me.’

‘Where does your faith in me come from?’ His voice had become hoarse.

‘It comes from here,’ she answered, pulling their entwined fingers to her chest and pressing his hand right over her heart. ‘I’ve seen the good in you. Why do you have so little faith in yourself?’

‘I have no illusions about what I’m like. You have dedicated your life to healing sick children, whereas my life revolves around power and money, and all the seediness they attract.’

‘Your power and money mean nothing to me.’

A groan escaped from his lips and he muttered something she didn’t understand before snaking his free hand around her neck and pressing his lips to hers.

All the air expelled from her lungs.

She’d had no notion of what kissing Francesco would be like, could never have envisaged the surge of adrenaline that would course through her veins and thicken her blood at the feel of his firm lips hard against hers, not moving, simply breathing her in.

Returning the pressure, she placed a hand to his cheek, kneading her fingers into the smooth skin as she parted her lips and flitted her tongue into the heat of his mouth.

Francesco’s breathing became laboured. His hold on her neck tightened then relaxed, the hand held against her chest moving to sweep around her waist and draw her flush against him to deepen the connection. When his own tongue darted into her mouth, she melted into him, two bodies meshed together, kissing with a hunger that bloomed into unimaginable proportions.