Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

It was a taxi. It had to be. Who but a cabby would stop outside the house and blast his horn like that? It was the loud, impolite, “I’m here—where are you?” language of cab drivers everywhere.

A taxi.

Nick cursed and raced for the villa. “Dammit,” he said as he ran, “dammit to hell, Alessia…”

The front door opened just as he reached it. And yeah, there she was, overnight bag in hand.

She was leaving him. Leaving him! How dare she? Did she really think she could take a step like that without first asking him if he’d let her go?

He stood at the foot of the steps, fists planted on his hips, eyes hot with anger.

“Where in hell do you think you’re going?”

Alessia narrowed her eyes, gave him the same sort of princess-to-peasant look she had at the airport a million years ago.

“Get out of my way, please.”

Please? He snorted. The “please” might as well have been a four-letter word.

“Signore Orsini. I asked you to—”

The taxi horn blasted. Nick shot the cabby a furious look, then turned back to Alessia.

“You are not to move,” he growled.

She laughed. Laughed, damn her, and came down the steps. He caught her arm, leaned down, his face an inch from hers.

“I’m warning you, princess. Do not take another step.”

“Who are you to give me orders?”

“I’ll tell you exactly who I am. I am Nicolo Orsini. And unless you want to find out what that means, you will not, under any circumstances, move from this spot. Capisce?”

“How dare you give me orders? I am a princess. I am descended from kings. And you—you—”

Nick kissed her. Hard. Deep. He forced her head back and she gasped and struck him with her free hand and he caught that hand, brought it behind her back and went on kissing her until she moaned into his mouth and her lips parted to the possessive thrust of his tongue.

Then he let her go.

She stood motionless as he trotted down the steps, dug out his wallet and stuffed a handful of bills into the cabby’s extended hand. The taxi roared away. Nick stood still for a couple of seconds before he returned to confront Alessia.

“Where,” he said grimly, “did you think you were going?”

“It’s none of your—”

“You tell me you’re having my baby. Then you turn tail and run.”

She drew herself up. “What is this ‘turning tail’ thing?”

“It means you were afraid to stay and face me.”

“I am not afraid of you. I was—I was simply going away.”

Nick folded his arms. “I’ll ask you again. Where were you going?”

Where, indeed? Alessia swallowed hard.

“Away.”