Taming the Notorious Sicilian

Then, to his utter shock, Hannah levered herself so her torso was on the bar and pressed her lips to his.

They were the softest of lips, a gentle touch that sent tiny darts fizzing through his blood.

He caught a faint whiff of coffee before she pulled away.

‘Thank you. For everything,’ she said, slipping back down onto her stool then getting to her feet. Her cheeks glowing, she finished her coffee and reached for her bag, her eyes never leaving his. ‘I will never forget what you’ve done for me, Francesco. You have my undying gratitude.’

As she turned to leave, he called out after her, ‘Your sister—she has the same family name as you?’

She nodded.

‘I’ll leave word that Melanie Chapman’s hen party is to be given priority at the door on Friday.’

A groove appeared in her forehead. ‘Okay,’ she said slowly, clearly not having the faintest idea what he was talking about.

‘Your sister will know what it means.’ A half smile stole over his face. ‘Tell her she’ll be on the list.’

‘Ah—on the list!’ The groove disappeared. Somehow the sparkle in her eyes glittered even stronger. ‘I know what that means. That’s incredibly lovely of you.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ he dismissed, already regretting his impulsive offer, which had come from where he knew not, but which unsettled him almost as much as her kiss.

Francesco never acted on impulse.

That same serene smile that had curved her cheeks when she’d lain on the road spread on her face. ‘I would.’

He watched her walk away, his finger absently tracing the mark on his lips where she’d kissed him.

For the first time in his life he’d done an unselfish act. He didn’t know if it made him feel good or bad.

CHAPTER TWO

HANNAH STARED AT the queue snaking all the way round the corner from the door of Calvetti’s and sighed. Maybe the queue was an omen to stay away.

No. It couldn’t be. Even if it was, she would ignore it. Just being this close to his sanctum was enough to send her pulse careering.

Meeting Francesco in the flesh had done something to her...

‘Come on, Han,’ her sister said, tugging at her wrist and breaking Hannah’s reverie. ‘We’re on the list.’

‘But this is the queue,’ Hannah pointed out.

‘Yes, but we’re on the list.’ Melanie rolled her eyes. ‘If you’re on the list you don’t have to queue.’

‘Really? How fabulous.’ She’d thought it meant getting in for free—she had no idea it also encompassed queue jumping.

Giggling, the party of twelve women dressed in black leotards over black leggings, bright pink tutus and matching bunny ears hurried past the queue.

Three men in long black trench coats guarded the door.

Melanie went up to them. ‘We’re on the list,’ she said with as much pride as anyone with a pink veil and bunny ears on her head and the words Mucky Mel ironed onto the back of her leotard could muster.

Hannah had guessed Calvetti’s was popular but, judging by Melanie’s reaction, she could have said she’d got VIP backstage passes to Glastonbury. Her sister had squealed with excitement and promptly set about rearranging the entire evening. Apparently Calvetti’s was ‘the hottest club in the country’, with twice as many people being turned away at the door than being admitted.

Luckily, Melanie had been so excited about it all that she’d totally failed to pump Hannah for information on the man himself. The last thing Hannah wanted was for her sister to think she had a crush on him. It was bad enough knowing her entire family thought she was a closet lesbian without giving them proof of her heterosexuality—one sniff and they’d start trying to marry her off to any man with a pulse.

The bouncer scanned his clipboard before taking a step to one side and unclipping the red cordon acting as a barrier.

‘Enjoy your evening, ladies,’ he said as they filed past, actually smiling at them.

Another doorman led them straight through to the club, which heaved with bodies and pulsated with loud music, leading them up a cordoned-off set of sparkling stairs.

Her heart lifted to see one of the man mountains who’d been guarding the club the other afternoon standing to attention by a door marked ‘Private’.

Surely that meant Francesco was here?

A young hunk dressed in black approached them and led them to a large round corner table. Six iced buckets of champagne were already placed on it.