Taming the Notorious Sicilian. Michelle Smart

didn’t want to change the fundamentals of it, but there was something so intoxicating about both Francesco and the freedom of his life. The freedom to wake up in the morning and just go.

      He could go anywhere right now.

      Hurrying to catch him, she followed in his wake, weaving through the sweaty bodies and then past the VIP tables.

      ‘Francesco,’ she called, panic fluttering in her chest as he placed his hand on the handle of the door marked Private.

      He stilled.

      She hurried to close the gap.

      He turned his head, his features unreadable.

      The music was so loud she had to incline right into him. He was close enough for her to see the individual hairs in the V of his shirt and smell his gorgeous scent, all oaky manliness, everything converging to send her pulse racing.

      ‘Why did you just do that?’ she asked.

      His eyes narrowed, the pupils ringing with intent, before he turned the handle and held the door open for her.

      Hannah stepped into a dimly lit passageway. Francesco closed the door, blocking off the thumping noise of the music.

      She shook her head a little to try to clear her ringing ears.

      He leaned back against the door, his eyes fixed on her.

      ‘Why did you do that?’ she repeated, filling the silence with a question she knew he’d heard perfectly well the first time she’d asked it.

      ‘What? Warn that man off?’

      ‘Threaten him,’ she corrected softly.

      ‘I don’t deal in threats, Dr Chapman,’ he said, his voice like ice. ‘Only promises.’

      ‘But why?’

      ‘Because he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I will not allow abuse of any form to take place on my premises.’

      ‘So you make a point of personally dealing with all unwanted attention in your clubs, do you?’

      His eyes bored into hers, his lips a tight line.

      Far from his forbidding expression making her turn and run away, as it would be likely to make any other sane person do, it emboldened her. ‘And did I really hear you say capisce?’

      ‘It’s a word that the man will understand.’

      ‘Very Danny DeVito. And, judging by his reaction to it, very effective.’

      Something that could almost pass for amusement curled on his lips. ‘Danny DeVito? Do you mean Al Pacino?’

      ‘Probably.’ She tried to smile, tried hard to think of a witty remark that would hold his attention for just a little longer, but it was hard to think sensibly when you were caught in a gaze like hot chocolate-fudge cake, especially when it was attached to a man as divine as Francesco Calvetti. If she had to choose, she would say the man was a slightly higher rank on the yummy stakes than the cake. And she liked hot chocolate-fudge cake a lot, as her bottom would testify.

      ‘Thank you for rescuing me. Again.’

      ‘You’re welcome.’ He made to turn the door handle. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me...’

      ‘Dismissing me again?’

      ‘I’m a very...’

      ‘Busy man,’ she finished for him. God, but her heart was thundering beneath her ribs, her hands all clammy. ‘Please. I came along tonight because I wanted to see you again. Five minutes of your time. That’s all I ask. If at the end of it you tell me to leave then I will and I promise never to seek you out again.’

      She held her breath as she awaited his response.

      He eyed her coolly, his features not giving anything away, until, just as she feared she was about to run out of oxygen, he inclined his head and turned the handle of another door, also marked Private.

      Hannah followed him into a large room that was perhaps the most orderly office she had ever been in. Along one wall were two dozen monitors, which she gravitated towards. It didn’t take long to spot her sister and fellow hens, all back at their table, talking animatedly.

      It occurred to her that she had simply walked away without telling Melanie where she was going.

      ‘So, Dr Chapman, you wanted five minutes of my time...’

      She turned her head to find Francesco staring pointedly at his chunky, expensive-looking watch.

      He might look all forbidding but she could sense his curiosity.

      How she regretted allowing Melanie to talk her into wearing the ‘hen uniform’, but it would have been churlish to refuse. She had denied her sister too much through the years. Dressing in a ridiculous outfit was the least she could do. Still, it made her self-conscious, and right then she needed every ounce of courage to say what she needed to say.

      She swallowed but held his gaze, a look that was cold yet made her feel all warm inside. Seriously, how could a man with chocolate-fudge-cake eyes be all bad?

      ‘When I was knocked off my bike I thought I’d died,’ she said, clasping her hands together. God, but this was so much harder than she had imagined it would be and she had known it would be hard. ‘I honestly thought that was it for me. Since then, everything has changed—I’ve changed. My accident made me realise I’ve been letting life pass me by.’

      ‘How does this relate to me?’

      Her heart hammered so hard her chest hurt. ‘Because I can’t stop thinking about you.’

      His eyes narrowed with suspicion and he folded his arms across his chest.

      Hannah’s nerves almost failed her. Her tongue rooted to the roof of her mouth.

      ‘What is it you want from me?’

      Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the thank-you card she’d given him. Seeing it there, displayed on his desk, settled the nerves in her stomach.

      Francesco had kept her card.

      He’d sought her out and rescued her again.

      She wasn’t imagining the connection between them.

      She sucked her lips in and bit them before blurting out, ‘I want you to take my virginity.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      FRANCESCO SHOOK HIS HEAD. For the first time in his thirty-six years he was at a loss for words.

      ‘God, that came out all wrong.’ Hannah covered her face, clearly cringing. When she dropped her hands her face had paled but, to give her credit, she met his gaze with barely a flinch. ‘I didn’t mean it to come out quite so crudely. Please, say something.’

      He shook his head again, trying to clear it. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You’re a virgin?’

      ‘Yes.’

      For a moment he seriously considered that he was in some kind of dream.

      Had he fallen asleep at his desk?

      Since the discovery of his mother’s diaries ten months ago, he’d been consumed with rage. This rage fuelled him. Indeed, for the past ten months, his drive had been working at full throttle. Only a month ago his doctor had told him to slow down, that he was at risk of burnout. Naturally, he’d ignored that advice. Francesco would not slow down until he had eradicated every last trace of Salvatore Calvetti’s empire.

      And to think he’d almost missed those diaries. Had he not given the family home one last sweep before emptying it for sale, he would never have found them, hidden