“Why take a risk like this with your own people?” she asks, shaking her head like she doesn’t get it.
“I want to know you’re safe. Even if you don’t want to go to a winery with me.”
Francesca considers this a moment, studying my face, like she’s looking for visible red flags to be waving in my eyes or something. After a minute, she says, “Fine. If you really want Mark to stay, he can stay. But if he’s found out…”
I nod. “I know, it won’t be good.” I hold the phone out to her again. “Take this.”
“I won’t be able to use it out in the open,” she tells me.
“Well, not when your brother’s around, no, but when you’re alone in your room?”
She’s already shaking her head, almost apologetically. “Not even then.”
“You’ll find a way,” I tell her.
“What’s the point?”
“I want to get to know you, I told you that,” I remind her.
“Do you always get everything you want?”
I act like I have to think about it, but I really don’t. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“If we ever have sons, we’re not getting them any toys. Not a single one, ever.”
My face must betray some kind of horror at that unexpected statement, and Francesca grins, incredibly pleased with herself.
“Still wanna take me home?” she teases.
Oh, she’s getting playful.
Grinning, I tell her, “Actually, yeah.”
“You must be crazy.”
I give her a wink. “Crazy for you.”
Francesca feigns a gag and I laugh, moving forward and impulsively catching her around the waist. Her breath catches, the amusement in her face dying. She doesn’t try to pull back as I tug her against me, our bodies brushing. I like this. She’s the perfect height—shorter than me, but not too short—so I can gaze down into her eyes.
“You’re gonna go out with me, Francesca Morelli. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna get a yes out of you.”
Shaking her head, she sighs. Her hands move tentatively to my shoulders and she swallows nervously. I want to kiss her, but she looks so skittish I decide not to. Then, looking up into my eyes, she tells me, “If you keep showing up at this bakery, it just might be.”
“Will you cry at my funeral?”
Cocking her head to the side and considering, she finally says, “Mm… no. But I’ll definitely pull a sad face, like this,” she says, pulling her face into a ridiculously adorable pout. Oh, my god, those lips.
My cock stirs, imagining all the things I want those lips to do to my body.
“You have the most incredible lips.”
Now that I’ve complimented them, the pout is gone and she covers her mouth with one hand, like she wants to hide them. “I do not.”
“You do. Your whole face is… There’s a lot of incredible going on, but your lips. Jesus Christ.”
“Stop,” she says, covering her mouth with both hands now.
“When you get home later, you should send me a picture of you blowing me a kiss.”
“Oh, should I?” she asks, amused.
“It’d make my whole day.”
Since I’m still holding onto her around the waist, she indicates my hands with a feigned look like she’s offended. “And this isn’t? Greedy, greedy man.”
Smirking at her, I promise her, “You’ll see how greedy I am when I get between your legs.”
“Oh, will I?” she murmurs, glancing at my shoulder instead of my face.
“Oh yeah.” Since she’s still in my arms, not uncomfortable enough to pull away, I lean in to murmur in her ear. “I’m going to eat your pussy like it’s my favorite cupcake, Francesca. You just wait and see.”
She tries to laugh, but I can tell by the huskiness I’m turning her on. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, Salvatore.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re getting wet for me right now,” I tell her, tracing the curve of her ear with my lips. “I’m pretty sure you can feel my cock pressing against you, and you haven’t tried to move away.”
Francesca swallows, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move, either.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I tell her, breathing in the sweet scent of her, then lightly catching her earlobe between my teeth.
“Tell me something about you,” she says, seriously.
“Like what?” I ask.
“Something that’ll make me feel better about this.”
Well, shit, that’s a tall order.
I take a minute to rack my brain, because I’m not entirely sure what will make her feel better about this—about me. I understand why I look like a bad deal to her. On top of the already insurmountable roadblock of my being her brother’s competition, I am the kind of guy you expect to break your heart. I’ve never been especially shy about my romantic escapades, and being a person of interest, it doesn’t surprise me she’s heard about them. I come off as a bit of an asshole—a womanizer. Clearly some asshole hurt her, and that already pisses me off to consider. Not because it’s making my life harder, but because he ingrained enough pain inside her that she can look me in the eyes and say the kind of shit she says to me, about how I’m going to hurt her, and she doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed to be saying it—she says it like it’s a fact, like the sky is blue, or the planet is round. That I’m going to hurt her isn’t just a possibility, it’s an accepted fact, and since she really doesn’t know me, I have to assume it’s the same of all guys. I’m not special. I’m not the only guy she’s convinced will hurt her—it’s any guy, because of that guy.