FRANCESCO STRETCHED, LOOKED at his bedside clock, then turned back over to face the wall that was Hannah’s back. When they’d fallen into sleep she’d been cuddled into him, their limbs entwined.
The last time he’d had such a deep sleep had been his birthday ten months ago. That had been just two days before he’d discovered his mother’s diaries.
For the first time in ten months he’d fallen asleep without the demons that plagued him screwing with his thoughts.
Only the top of Hannah’s shoulder blades were uncovered and he resisted the urge to place a kiss on them. After disposing of the condom, he’d longed to make love to her again. He’d put his selfish desires to one side. She’d had a long week at work, little sleep the night before, and her body was bound to ache after making love for the first time. Instead he’d pulled her to him and listened to her fall into slumber. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, expelling a long breath.
If someone had told him just twenty-four hours ago that making love to Hannah Chapman would be the best experience of his life, he would have laughed. And not with any humour.
To know he was the first man to have slept with her made his chest fill. To know that he’d awoken those responses... It had been a revelation, a thing of beauty.
Francesco had never felt humble about anything in his life, yet it was the closest he could come to explaining the gratitude he felt towards her for choosing him.
Hannah hadn’t chosen him for his power or his wealth or his lifestyle—she’d chosen and trusted him for him.
To think he’d dismissed her when she’d blurted out that she wanted him to make love to her. She could have accepted that dismissal. Eventually she would have found another man she trusted enough...
It didn’t bear thinking about.
The thought of another man pawing at her and making clumsy love to her made his brain burn and his heart clench.
Suddenly he became aware that her deep, rhythmic breathing had stopped.
His suspicion that she’d awoken was confirmed when she abruptly turned over to face him, her eyes startled.
‘Buongiorno,’ he said, a smile already playing on his lips.
Blinking rapidly, Hannah covered a yawn before bestowing him with a sleepy smile. ‘What time is it?’
‘Nine o’clock.’
She yawned again. ‘Wow. I haven’t slept in that late for years.’
‘You needed it.’ Hooking an arm around her waist, he pulled her to him. ‘How are you feeling?’
Her face scrunched in thought. ‘Strange.’
‘Good strange or bad strange?’
That wonderful look of serenity flitted over her face. ‘Good strange.’
Already his body ached to make love to her again. Trailing his fingers over her shoulder, enjoying the softness of her skin, he pressed a kiss to her neck. ‘Are you hungry?’
His lust levels rose when she whispered huskily into his ear, ‘Starving.’
* * *
A late breakfast was brought out to them on the bar-side veranda. Their glasses from the previous evening had already been cleared away.
Wrapped in the guest robe, her hair damp from the shower she’d shared with Francesco, Hannah stretched her legs out and took a sip of the deliciously strong yet sweet coffee. Sitting next to her, dressed in his own dark grey robe, his thigh resting against hers, Francesco grinned.
‘You are so lucky waking up to this view every morning,’ she sighed. With the morning sun rising above them, calm waves swirling onto Francesco’s private beach in the distance, it was as if they were in their own private nirvana.
Breakfast usually consisted of a snatched slice of toast. Today she’d been treated to eggs and bacon and enough fresh rolls and fruit to feed a whole ward of patients.
Yes. Nirvana.
‘Believe me, this is the best view I’ve had in a very long time,’ he said, his eyes gleaming, his deep voice laced with meaning.
Thinking of all the beautiful women she’d seen pictured on his arm, Hannah found that extremely hard to believe.
Her belly twisted.
It was no good thinking of all those women. Comparing herself to them would be akin to comparing a rock to the moon.
For the first time in her life she wished she’d put some make-up on, then immediately scolded herself for such a ridiculous thought. All those women who had the time and inclination to doll themselves up...well, good luck to them. Even after the make-up lesson she’d been given in the salon, painting her face for their night out had felt like wasted time. Looking at her reflection once she was done had been like looking at a stranger. She hadn’t felt like her.
She supposed she could always look at it as practice for Melanie’s wedding, though—a thought that brought a lump to her throat.
‘You do realise you’re the sexiest woman on the planet, don’t you?’ Francesco’s words broke through the melancholy of her thoughts.
‘Hardly,’ she spluttered, taking another sip of her coffee.
‘I can prove it,’ he murmured sensually into her ear, clasping her hand and tugging it down to rest on his thigh. Sliding it up to his groin, he whispered, ‘You see, my clever doctor, you are irresistible.’ As he spoke, he nibbled into the nape of her neck, keeping a firm grip on her hand, moving it up so she could feel exactly what effect she was having on him.
A thrill of heady power rushed through her. Heat pooled between her legs, her breath deserting her.
They’d already made love twice since she’d awoken. She’d thought she was spent, had assumed Francesco was, too.
With his free hand he tugged her robe open enough to slip a hand through and cup a breast, kneading it gently. ‘You also have the most beautiful breasts on the earth,’ he murmured into her ear before sliding his lips over to her mouth and kissing her with a ferocity that reignited the remaining embers of her desire.
‘What...what if one of your staff comes out?’ she gasped, moving him with more assurance as he unclasped her hand and snaked his arm round her waist.
‘They won’t.’ Thus saying, he slid his hand under her bottom and lifted her off the chair and onto the table, ignoring the fact that their breakfast plates and cups were scattered all over it.
Francesco ached to be inside her again, his body fired up beyond belief, and such a short time after their last bout. It was those memories of being in the shower with her, when she’d sunk to her knees and taken him in her mouth for the first time....
Just thinking about it would sustain his fantasies for a lifetime.
Dipping his head to take a perfectly ripe breast into his mouth, he trailed a hand down her belly and slipped a finger inside her, groaning aloud to find her hot and moist and ready for him.
Diving impatiently into his pocket, he grabbed the condom he’d put in there as an afterthought and, with Hannah distracting him by smothering any part of his face and neck she could reach with kisses, he slipped it on, spread her thighs wide, and plunged straight into her tight heat.
Her head lolled back, her eyes widening as if in shock.
Silently he cursed himself. Such was his excitement he’d totally forgotten that until a few short hours ago she’d been a virgin.
‘Too much?’ he asked, stilling, fighting to keep himself in check.
‘Oh, no.’ As if to prove it, she grabbed his buttocks and ground herself against him. The shock left her eyes, replaced with the desire he knew swirled in his own. ‘I want it all.’
It was all he needed. Sweeping the crockery this way and that to make some space, he pushed her back so she was flat on the table, her thighs parted and raised high, her legs wrapped around his, and thrust into her, withdrawing to the tip and thrusting back in, over and over until she was whimpering beneath him, her hands flailing to grab his chest, her head turning from side to side. Only when he felt her thicken around him and her muscles contract did he let himself go, plunging in as deep as he could with one final groan before collapsing on top of her.
It was only when all the stars had cleared that he realised they were still in their respective robes, Hannah’s fingers playing under the Egyptian cotton, tracing up and down his back.
She giggled.
Lifting his chin to rest it on her chest, he stared at her intently.
‘That was incredible,’ she said, smiling.
He flashed his teeth in return. ‘You, signorina, are a very quick learner.’
‘And you, signor, are a very good teacher.’
‘There is so much more I can teach you.’
‘And is it all depraved?’
‘Most of it.’
She laughed softly and lay back on the table, expelling a sigh of contentment as she gazed up at the cobalt sky. He kept his gaze on her face. That serene look was there again. To think he was the cause of it...
* * *
A late breakfast turned into a late lunch. Francesco did not think he had ever felt the beat of the sun so strongly on his skin. For the first time in ten months he enjoyed a lazy day—indeed, the thought of working never crossed his mind. The rage he felt for his father, the rage that had boiled within him for so long, had morphed into a mild simmer.
In the back of his mind was the knowledge that at some point soon he would have to arrange for his jet to take Hannah back to London, but it was something he desisted from thinking about too much, content to make love, skinny-dip, then make love again. And she seemed happy, too, her smile serene, radiant.
Kissing her for what could easily be the thousandth time, he tied his robe around his waist and headed back indoors and to his bedroom for more condoms.
The box was almost empty. He shook his head in wonder. He’d never known desire like it. He couldn’t get enough of her.
When he returned outside, Hannah had poured them both another cup of coffee from the pot and was curled up on one of the sofas reading something on her phone.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked, hiding the burst of irritation that poked at him.
This was the third time she’d gone through her messages since they’d awoken.
She’s a dedicated professional, he reminded himself. Her patients are her priority, as they should be.
For all his sound reasoning, there was no getting around the fact he wanted to rip the phone from her hand and stamp on it. After all, it was the weekend. She was off duty.
She looked up and smiled. ‘All’s well.’
‘Good.’ Sitting next to her, he plucked the phone from her hand and slipped it into his pocket.
‘Not again,’ she groaned.
‘Now you have satisfied yourself that your patients are all well, you have no need for it.’
‘Francesco, give it back.’
‘Later. You need to learn to switch off. Besides, it’s rude.’
‘Please.’ Her voice lowered, all her former humour gone. ‘That’s my phone. And I wasn’t being rude—you’d gone to the bedroom.’ She held her hand out, palm side up. ‘Now give.’
‘What’s it worth?’ he asked, leaning into her, adopting a sensuous tone.
‘Me not kicking you in the ankle.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in violence.’
‘So did I.’ A smile suddenly creased her face and she burst out laughing, her mirth increasing when he shoved her phone back into the pocket of her robe. ‘Now I get it—threats of violence really do work.’
He kissed her neck and flattened her onto her back. ‘The difference is I knew you didn’t mean it.’
Raking her fingers through his hair, she sighed. ‘I guess you’ll never know.’
‘Oh, I know.’ Hannah healed people. She didn’t hurt them.
But he didn’t want to think those thoughts. The time was fast approaching when he’d have to take her home, leaving him limited time left to worship her delectable body.
‘I’m going to be in London more frequently for a while,’ he mentioned casually, making his way down to a ripe breast. ‘I’ll give you a call when I’m over. Take you out for dinner.’ With all the evidence pointing to Luca Mastrangelo still sniffing around the Mayfair casino, Francesco needed to be on the ball. If that meant spending more time in London, then so be it. The casino would be his, however he had to achieve it. He would secure that deal and nothing would prevent it.
Hannah moaned as he circled his tongue around a puckered nipple.
At least being in London more often meant he could enjoy her for a little longer, too.
It never occurred to him that Hannah might have different ideas.
* * *
Hannah opened the curtains and stepped into the cubicle, pulling the curtains shut around her. She smiled at the small girl lying in the bed who’d been brought in a week ago with encephalitis, inflammation of the brain, then smiled at the anxious parents. ‘We have the lab results,’ she said, not wasting time with pleasantries, ‘and it’s good news.’
This was her favourite part of the job, she thought a few minutes later as she walked back to her small workspace—telling parents who’d lived through hell that their child would make it, that the worst was over.
Clicking the mouse to get her desktop working, she opened the young girl’s file, ready to write her notes up into the database. Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
She pulled it out, her heart skipping when Francesco’s name flashed up.
Time seemed to still as she stared at it, her hands frozen.
Should she answer?
Or not?
It went to voicemail before she could decide.
Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and rolled her neck.
Why, oh, why had she agreed to see him again? Not that she had agreed. At the time she’d been too busy writhing in his arms to think coherently about anything other than the sensations he was inducing in her....
She squeezed her eyes even tighter.
Francesco, in all his arrogance, had simply assumed she’d want to see him again.
An almost hysterical burst of laughter threatened to escape from her throat.
There was no way she could see him again. She just couldn’t.
Their time together in Sicily had brought him, her dream man, to life—the good and the bad. Being with him had been the most wonderful, thrilling time imaginable. She had felt alive. She had felt so much.
She had felt too much.
All she wanted now was to focus on her job and leave Francesco as nothing but a beautiful memory.
She would carry on seeking out new experiences to share with Beth for when the time came that they were together again. But these experiences would be of an entirely different nature, more of a tick box—I’ve done that, I’ve parachuted out of an aeroplane—experience. Nothing that would clog her head. Nothing that would compromise everything she had spent the majority of her life working towards.
But, dear God, the hollowness that had lived in her chest for so long now felt so full, as if her shrivelled heart had been pumped back to life. And that scared her more than anything.
It was easier to shatter a full heart than a shrivelled one.
‘Hannah, you should go home,’ Alice, the ward sister said, startling her from her thoughts. Alice looked hard at her. ‘Are you okay?’
Hannah nodded. Alice was lovely, a woman whose compassion extended from the children to all the staff on the ward. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘I’ll be off as soon as I get these reports finished.’
‘It’ll be dark soon,’ Alice pointed out. ‘Anyway, I’m off now. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Alone again, Hannah rubbed her temples, willing away the tension headache that was forming.
She really should go home. Her shift had officially finished two hours ago.
The thought of returning to her little home filled her with nothing but dread, just as it had for the past three days since she’d returned from Sicily.
Her home felt so empty.
The silence...how had she never noticed the silence before, when the only noise had been the sound of her own breathing?
For the first time ever, she felt lonely. Not the usual loneliness that had been within her since Beth’s death, but a different kind of isolation. Colder, somehow.
Even the sunny yellow walls of her little cubbyhole felt bleak.
* * *
Francesco’s phone rang. ‘Ciao.’
‘That young drug dealer is back. We have him.’
‘Bring him to me.’
Francesco knew exactly who Mario was on about. A young lad, barely eighteen, had visited his Palermo nightclub a few weeks ago. The cameras had caught him slipping bags of powder and pills to many of the clubbers. As unlikely as it was, he had slipped their net, escaping before Francesco’s men could apprehend him, disappearing into the night.
He rubbed his eyes.
No matter how hard he tried to remove the dealers, there was always some other cocky upstart there to fill the breach. It was like trying to stop the tide.
The one good thing he could say about it was that at least he was making the effort to clean the place up, to counter some of the damage his father had done.
Salvatore had been responsible for channelling millions of euros’ worth of drugs into Sicily and mainland Europe. How he had kept it secret from his son, Francesco would never understand; he could only guess Salvatore had known it was the one thing his son would never stand idly by and allow to happen. If Francesco had known, he would have ripped his father apart, but by the time he’d learned of his involvement, it had been too late to confront him. Salvatore had already been buried when he found out the truth. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that his father had been afraid of him.
Slowly but surely, he was dismantling everything Salvatore Calvetti had built, closing it down brick by brick, taking care in his selection of which to dismantle first so as not to disturb the foundation and have it all crumble on top of him. Only a few days ago he had taken great delight in shutting down a restaurant that had been a hub for the distribution of arms, one of many in his father’s great network.
While he’d been paying off Paolo di Luca, the man who’d run the restaurant on his father’s behalf for thirty years, he had seen for the first time the old man Paolo had become. A man with liver spots and a rheumy wheeze. The more he thought about it, the more he realised all the old associates were exactly that—old.
When had they got so ancient?
These weren’t the terrifying men of his childhood memories. Apart from a handful who hadn’t taken kindly to being put out to pasture, most of them had been happy to be paid off, glad to spend their remaining years with their wives—or mistresses in many cases—and playing with their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
There was a knock on the door, and the handle turned.
Mario and two of his other guards walked in, holding the young drug dealer up by the scruff of his neck.
With them came a burst of music from the club, a dreadful tune that hit him straight in his gut.
It was the same tune Hannah had been dancing to so badly in his London club, when he’d threatened the fool manhandling her.
The same Hannah who’d ignored her phone when he’d called and, in response to a message he’d sent saying he would be in London at the weekend, had sent him a simple message back saying she was busy. Since then...nothing. Not a peep from her.
It wasn’t as if she never used her blasted phone. It was attached to her like an appendage.
There was no getting around it. She was avoiding him.
He looked at the belligerent drug dealer, but all he could see was the look of serenity on Hannah’s face when he’d told her of calling the police on the casino cheat.
Hannah saved lives. She’d sworn an oath to never do harm.
What was it she’d said? Who makes the rules?
‘Empty your pockets,’ he ordered, not moving from his seat.
He could see how badly the drug dealer wanted to disobey him, but sanity prevailed and he emptied his pockets. He had two bags of what Francesco recognised as ecstasy tablets and a bag full of tiny cellophane wraps of white powder. Cocaine.
A cross between a smirk and a snarl played on the drug dealer’s lips.
Francesco’s hands clenched into fists. He rose.
The drug dealer turned puce, his belligerence dropping a touch when confronted by Francesco’s sheer physical power.
Who makes the rules?
‘You are throwing your life away,’ he said harshly before turning to Mario. ‘Call the police.’
‘The police?’ squeaked the dealer.
It was obvious that the same question echoed in Mario and his fellow guards’ heads.
First the stealing, cheating gambler and now a drug dealer? He could see the consternation on all their faces, could feel them silently wondering if he was going soft.
Naturally, none of his men dared question him verbally, their faces expressionless.
‘Yes. The police.’ As he walked past the dealer, Francesco added, ‘But know that when you’re released from your long prison sentence, if I ever find you dealing in drugs again, I will personally break your legs. Take my advice—get yourself an education and go straight.’
With that, he strode out of his office, out of his nightclub, and into the dark Palermo night, oblivious to the cadre of bodyguards who’d snapped into action to keep up with him.