When Falcone's World Stops Turning (Blood Brothers 1)

Her eyes widened when she took in a naked Rafaele, strolling out of his bathroom and rubbing his hair with a towel. For a long moment he just stood there, and Sam’s eyes were glued to that broad, magnificent chest. Instant heat bloomed in her belly.

With a strangled sound she lifted her eyes and held the dress out. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

With supreme nonchalance Rafaele secured the towel around his waist and quirked his mouth sexily on one side. ‘It’s amazing how you can still blush, cara.’

Sam gritted out, ‘Don’t call me that. I’m not your cara. Why do you still have this dress?’

Rafaele’s face was inscrutable. He shrugged. ‘It seemed a shame to throw it away just because you didn’t want it.’

Bile rose inside Sam. ‘And how many lucky women have worn it since me?’

A muscle popped in Rafaele’s jaw. ‘None. I thought you’d appreciate blending in with the crowd tonight instead of appearing in your habitual tomboy uniform.’

To Sam’s disgust she felt tears prick her eyes. ‘I’ll try not to disappoint you, Rafaele. After all, I know what an honour it is to be taken out in public with you, because you never deemed it appropriate before.’

She whirled around and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Rafaele winced and put his hands on his hips. His chest was a tight ball of blackness. He cursed himself. He should have followed his head and thrown that dress out as soon as he’d realised she’d left it behind—instead of sending it to her, almost intrigued as to how she might respond when even then he’d known that he couldn’t have anything more to do with her.

When it had arrived back with the torn note, then he should have thrown it out. But instead he’d instructed his housekeeper to hang it up and had refused to analyse why he’d done such a thing.

It was just a dress.

Thoroughly disgruntled now, and regretting the impulse he’d had earlier to ask Sam to accompany him this evening, Rafaele got dressed.

* * *

Sam was still tight-lipped in the back o

f one of Rafaele’s chauffeur-driven cars about an hour later. She was as far away from him as she could get without falling out of the door, and she hated the electric awareness that pulsed between them.

As they’d been leaving Milo had been holding Umberto’s hand in the grand hallway of the palazzo and he’d gasped. ‘Mummy, you look like a princess.’

Sam had gone red, and then grown even hotter when Rafaele had appeared, looking stupendously gorgeous in a classic tuxedo. Suddenly she’d been glad of the effort she’d made. She needed all the armour she could muster.

Her hair was up in a topknot, held in place with a jewelled pin loaned to her by Bridie. She’d put on more make-up than she’d normally wear, outlining her eyes and thickening her lashes. And wearing the vertiginous heels that had come with the dress Sam reached to Rafaele’s shoulder.

He hadn’t touched her while they were leaving. He’d merely indicated that she should precede him and, feeling horribly exposed under his cool gaze, Sam had walked out, praying she wouldn’t fall over.

Now they were pulling up outside the glittering façade of a building with men in uniforms waiting to assist all the guests in their finery. Butterflies swarmed into Sam’s belly.

She felt her arm being taken in a warm grip and showers of electric shocks seemed to spread through her body. Reluctantly she looked at Rafaele, and the momentarily unguarded look on his face took her by surprise.

‘I should have told you earlier... You look beautiful.’

‘I...’ Sam’s voice failed. ‘Thank you.’

And just like that she felt the animosity drain away. She realised that as soon as she’d seen the dress hanging up she’d harboured a very treacherous wish that Rafaele had kept it for sentimental reasons, and that was the basis for her lashing out at him. It had been anger at herself for her own pathetic weakness.

Rafaele had let her go. Sam’s door was being opened and someone was waiting for her to step out. When she did so, Rafaele was standing there, his face unreadable again. She wondered if she had imagined what he’d just said...

He took her arm and led her inside and Sam was glad he was supporting her, because nothing could have prepared her for the dazzling display of wealth and beauty as soon as they walked in.

She felt instantly gauche: both underdressed and overdressed. Rafaele got them drinks and almost immediately was surrounded by gushing acolytes—a mixture of men and women. As they stood there the number of women seemed to increase. They shot Sam glances ranging from the curious to the downright angry—as if he had no right to come here with a woman.

Clearly Rafaele was a prize to be fought over, and Sam really didn’t like the way her own hackles rose and her blood started to boil in response. She felt a very disturbing primal urge rise up within her to claim him in some way. The fact that she had borne his child seemed to resonate deep within her, and she wanted to snarl at the women to back off.

With a lazy insouciance that did nothing to help cool her blood, Rafaele reached out and drew her to his side. The level of malevolence coming from the women increased exponentially.