HANNAH BROUGHT HER bike to a stop outside her small front gate and smothered a yawn. She felt dead on her feet. The Friday-evening traffic had only compounded what had been a very long week.
She dismounted and wheeled her bike up the narrow path to her front door. Just as she placed her key in the lock, a loud beep made her turn.
A huge, gleaming black motorbike with an equally huge rider came to a stop right by her front gate.
No way...
Stunned, she watched as Francesco strode towards her, magnificent in his black leathers, removing his helmet, a thunderous look on his face.
‘What are you doing here?’ Her heart had flown into her mouth and it took all she had not to stand there gaping like a goldfish.
‘Never mind that, what the hell are you doing back on that deathtrap?’
He loomed before her, blocking the late sun, his eyes blazing with fury.
Hannah blinked, totally nonplussed at seeing him again. Only years of practice at remaining calm while under fire from distressed patients and their next of kin alike allowed her to retain any composure. ‘I don’t drive.’
Breathing heavily through his nose, he snapped, ‘There are other ways of getting around. I can’t believe you’re still using this...thing.’
‘I’m not. It’s a new one.’
‘I gathered that, seeing as your old one crumpled like a biscuit tin,’ he said, speaking through gritted teeth. ‘I’m just struggling to understand why you would still cycle when you nearly died on a bicycle mere weeks ago.’
‘I don’t like using public transport. Plus, cycling helps shift some of the weight from my bottom,’ she added, trying to inject some humour into her tone, hoping to defuse some of the anger still etched on his face. Her attempt failed miserably.
‘There is nothing wrong with your bottom,’ he said coldly. ‘And even if there were—which there isn’t—it’s hardly worth risking your life for.’
The situation was so surreal Hannah was tempted to pinch herself.
Was she dreaming? She’d had so little sleep since returning from Sicily five days ago that it was quite possible.
‘Like every other human on this planet, I could die at any time by any number of accidents. I’m not going to stay off my bike because of one idiot.’ She kept her tone firm, making it clear the situation was no longer open for discussion. She was a grown woman. If she wanted to cycle, then that was her business. ‘Anyway, you’re hardly in a position to judge—do you have any idea the number of mangled motorcyclists I had to patch back together when I was doing my placement in Accident and Emergency?’
A cold snake crawled up her spine at the thought of Francesco being brought in on a trolley....
She blinked the thought away.
‘My riding skills are second to none, as you know perfectly well,’ he said with all the confidence of a man who knew he was the best at what he did. ‘In any case, I do not ride around on a piece of cheap tin.’
‘You can be incredibly arrogant, did you know that?’
‘I’ve been called much worse, and if being arrogant is what it takes to keep you safe then I can live with that.’
His chocolate eyes held hers with an intensity so deep it almost burned. Her fingers itched to touch him, to rub her thumb over the angry set of his lips.
No matter how...shocked she felt at his sudden appearance, there was something incredibly touching about his anger, knowing it was concern for her safety propelling it.
She looked away, scared to look at him any longer. ‘I appreciate your concern, but my safety is not your responsibility.’
Suddenly aware her helmet was still attached to her head, she unclipped it and whipped it off, smoothing her hair down as best she could.
God, since when had she suffered from vanity? Last weekend notwithstanding, not in fifteen years.
And why did she feel an incomprehensible urge to burst into tears?
It was a feeling she’d been stifling since she’d walked back into her home on Sunday night.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked again, her cheeks burning as she recalled the two phone calls she’d ignored from him.
‘That’s not a conversation I wish to have on your doorstep.’
When she made no response, he inclined his head at her door. ‘This is the point where you invite me into your home.’
Less than a week ago she’d invited him into her house, only to have him rudely decline.
Then, her heart had hammered with excitement for what the weekend would bring. Now her heart thrummed just to see him...
‘Look, you can come in for a little while, but I’ve had a long, difficult week and a very long, very difficult day, and I want to get to bed early.’ Abruptly, she turned away and opened the door, terrified he would read something of her feelings on her face.
The last word she should be mentioning in front of Francesco was bed.
She could hardly credit how naive she’d been in sleeping with him. Had she seriously thought she could share a bed with the sexiest man on the planet and walk away feeling nothing more than a little mild contentment that she’d ticked something off her to-do list?
What a silly, naive fool she’d been.
* * *
Francesco thought he’d never been in a more depressing house than the place Hannah called home. It wasn’t that there was anything intrinsically wrong with it—on the contrary, it was a pretty two-bedroom house with high ceilings and spacious rooms, but...
There was no feeling to it. Her furniture was minimal and bought for function. The walls were bare of any art or anything that would show the owner’s tastes. It was a shell.
Hannah shoved her foldaway bike in a virtually empty cupboard under the stairs and faced him, a look of defiance—and was that fear?—on her face. Her hair had reverted back to its usual unkempt state, a sight that pleased him immeasurably.
‘I need a shower,’ she said.
‘Is that an invitation?’ he asked, saying it more as a challenge than from any expectation.
She ignored his innuendo. ‘I’ve been puked on twice today.’
He grimaced. ‘So not an invitation.’
‘Give me five minutes, then you can tell me whatever it is you came all this way to discuss. While I’m gone, you can make yourself useful by making the coffee.’ Thus saying, she headed up the wooden stairs without a backward glance, her peachy bottom showing beautifully in the functional black trousers she wore....
Quickly he averted his eyes. Too much looking at those gorgeous buttocks might just make him climb into that shower with her after all.
Besides, a few minutes to sort their respective heads out would probably be a good idea.
Hannah’s reception had not been the most welcoming, but what had he expected? That she would take one look at him and throw herself into his arms?
No, he hadn’t expected that. Her silence and polite rebuff by text message had made her feelings clear. Well, tough on her. He was here and they would talk whether she wanted to or not.
Yet there had been no faking the light that had shone briefly in her eyes when she’d first spotted him. It had been mingled with shock, but it had been there, that same light that had beamed straight into his heart the first time she’d opened her eyes to him.
Then he’d ruined it by biting her head off over her bike.
He cursed under his breath. If it took the rest of his life, he’d get her off that deathtrap.
He heard a door close and the sound of running water.
Was she naked...?
He inhaled deeply, slung his leather jacket over the post of the stairs, and walked into the small square kitchen. He spotted the kettle easily enough and filled it, then set about finding mugs and coffee.
As he rootled through Hannah’s cupboards, his chest slowly constricted.
He had never seen such bare cupboards. The only actual food he found was half a loaf of bread, a box of cereal, a large slice of chocolate cake, and some tomato sauce. And that was it. Nothing else, not even a box of eggs. The fridge wasn’t much better, containing some margarine, a pint of milk, and an avocado.
What did she eat?
That question was answered when he opened her freezer.
It wasn’t just his chest that felt constricted. His heart felt as if it had been placed in a vice.
The freezer was full. Three trays crammed with ready meals for one.
The ceiling above him creaked, jolting him out of the trance he hadn’t realised he’d fallen into.
Experiencing a pang of guilt at rifling through her stuff, he shut the freezer door and went back to the jar of instant coffee he’d found and the small bag of sugar.
No wonder she had wanted to experience a little bit of life.
He’d never met anyone who lived such a solitary existence. Not that anyone would guess. Hannah wasn’t antisocial. On the contrary, she was good company. Better than good. Warm, witty... Beautiful. Sexy.
Before too long she emerged to join him in the sparse living room, having changed into a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt.
‘Your coffee’s on the table,’ he said, rising from the sofa he’d sat on. He would bet the small dining table in the corner was rarely used for eating on, loaded as it was with medical journals and heaps of paper neatly laid in piles.
‘Thank you.’ She picked it up and walked past him to the single seat, leaving a waft of light, fruity fragrance in her wake. She curled up on it, cradling her mug.
Now her eyes met his properly, a brightness glistening from them. ‘Francesco, what are you doing here?’
‘I want to know why you’re avoiding me.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Don’t tell me lies.’
‘I haven’t seen you to avoid you.’
‘You said you were busy this weekend, yet here you are, at home.’
Her head rolled back, her chest rising and falling even more sharply. ‘I’ve only just got back from work, as you well know, and I’m on the rota for tomorrow’s night shift. So yes, I am busy.’
‘Look at me,’ he commanded. He would keep control of his temper if it killed him.
With obvious reluctance, she met his gaze.
‘Last weekend... You do realise what we shared was out of this world?’
Her cheeks pinked. ‘It was very nice.’
‘There are many words to describe it, but nice isn’t one of them. You and me...’
‘There is no you and me,’ she blurted, interrupting him. ‘I’m sorry to have to put it so crassly, but I don’t want to see you again. Last weekend was very nice but there will be no repeat performance.’
‘You think not?’ he said, trying his hardest to keep his tone soft, but when she dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone, the red mist seemed to descend as if from nowhere. ‘Do not turn that thing on.’
Her eyes widened as if startled before narrowing. ‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You’re not my father.’
‘I’m not trying...’
‘You certainly are.’
‘Will you stop interrupting me?’ He raised his voice for the first time.
Her mouth dropped open.
‘It’s a bit much feeling as if I’m in competition with a phone,’ he carried on, uncaring that she had turned a whiter shade of white. He knew without having to be told that there was no competition, because the phone had won without even trying. Because as far as Dr Hannah Chapman was concerned, her phone was all she needed.
He rose to his feet, his anger swelling like an awoken cobra, his venom primed. ‘You hide behind it. I bet you sleep with it on your pillow.’
His comment was so close to the mark that Hannah cringed inwardly and outwardly. Dear God, why had he come here? Why hadn’t he just taken the hint and kept away?
She hadn’t asked for any of this. All she’d wanted was to experience one night as a real woman.
She’d ended up with so much more than she’d bargained for.
‘Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with nothing but a phone to keep you warm at night?’
‘What I want is none of your business,’ she said, her tongue running away as she added, ‘but just to clarify what I told you in your nightclub, I do not want a relationship—not with you, not with anyone.’
He threw his arms out, a sneer on his face. ‘Of course you don’t want a relationship. Your life is so fulfilling as it is.’
‘It is to me.’ How she stopped herself screaming that in his face she would never know.
‘Look at you. Look at this place. You’re hiding away from life. You’re like one of those mussels we ate in the casino—you threw yourself at me to experience some of what you’d been missing out on, got what you wanted, then retreated right back into your shell without any thought to the consequences.’
She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. ‘What consequences? We used protection.’
‘I’m not talking about babies—I’m talking about what you’ve done to me!’ If he’d been a lion he would have roared those last few words, of that she had no doubt. Francesco’s fury was a sight to behold, making him appear taller and broader than ever, filling the living room.
She should be terrified. And there was no denying the panic gnawing furiously at the lining of her stomach, but it wasn’t fear of him...
No, it was the fear of something far worse.
And this fear put her even further on the defensive.
Shoving her mug on the floor, she jumped to her feet. The calmness she had been wearing as a facade evaporated, leaving her jumbled, terrified emotions raw and exposed. ‘I haven’t done anything to you!’
‘You’ve changed me. I don’t know how the hell you did it—maybe you’re some kind of witch—but whatever you did, it’s real. I let a drug dealer escape without a beating last night, had my men turn him over to the police.’
‘And that’s a bad thing?’
‘It’s not how I work. That’s never been how I work. Drugs killed my mother. Drug dealers are the scum of the earth and deserve everything they get.’ Abruptly he stopped talking and took a long breath in. ‘You gave me the best night of my life and I know as well as you do that you enjoyed every minute of it, too. You can deny it until you’re blue in the face but we both know what we shared was special. You forced that night on me. It was what you wanted, and it’s me that’s paying the price for it.’
‘You knew it was only for one night.’
‘A one-night stand is never that good. Never. Not even close. But now you’re treating me as if I’m a plague carrier, and I want to know why.’
‘There’s nothing to tell. I just don’t want to see you again.’
‘Will you stop lying?’
‘I can’t have sex with you again. I just can’t. You’ve screwed with my brain enough as it is.’
‘I’ve screwed with your brain?’ His tone was incredulous. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?’
‘Oh, yes, let’s bring it all back to you,’ she spat. ‘The poor little gangster struggling to deal with his newly found conscience while I...’
Hannah took a deep breath, trying desperately to rein all her emotions back in and under her control. ‘After my accident, you filled my mind. You were all I could think about. When I met you it only got worse. I came to you partly because I thought doing something about it would fix it. I thought we would have sex and that would be it—my life would return to normal, I’d be able to go back to concentrating on my job without any outside influences...’
‘Didn’t it work out exactly as you envisaged?’ he asked, his tone mocking.
‘No, it did not! I thought it would. But you’re still there, filling my head, and I want you gone. My patients deserve all my focus. Every scrap of it. I want to experience more of life, but not to their detriment. This is all too much and I can’t handle it.’
‘I warned you of the consequences,’ he said roughly. ‘I told you a one-night stand wasn’t for a woman like you.’
Something inside Hannah pinged. Taking three paces towards him, she pushed at his chest. ‘You are a hypocrite,’ she shouted. ‘How many women have you used for sex? Double figures? Treble? How many lives have you ruined?’
‘None. All the women before you knew it would only ever be sex. It meant nothing.’
‘Ha! Exactly.’ She shoved him again, hard enough to knock him off balance and onto the sofa. ‘The minute the tables are turned, your fragile ego can’t deal with it...’
She never got to finish her sentence for Francesco grabbed hold of her waist and yanked her onto the sofa with him, pinning her down before she could get a coherent thought in her head.
‘You know as well as I do that what we shared meant something,’ he said harshly, his hot breath tickling her skin. ‘And contrary to your low opinion of my sex life, I am not some kind of male tart. Until last weekend I’d been celibate for ten months.’
She wanted to kick out, scream at him to get off her, but all the words died on her tongue when his mouth came crashing down on hers, a hard, furious kiss that her aching heart and body responded to like a moth to a flame.
That deep masculine taste and scent filled her senses, blocking out all her fears, blocking out everything but him. Francesco.
Just five days away from him, and she had pined. Pined for him. Pined for this.
She practically melted into him, winding her arms around his hard body, clinging to him, pressing every part of her into him.
And he clung to her, too, his hands roaming over her body, bunching her hair, his hot lips grazing her face, her neck, every available bit of flesh.
Being in his arms felt so right. Francesco made the coldness that had settled in her bones since she’d returned from Sicily disappear, replacing it with a warmth that seeped through to every part of her.
In a melee of limbs her T-shirt was pulled over her head and thrown to the floor, quickly followed by Francesco’s. Braless, her naked breasts crushed against his chest, the last remaining alarms ringing in her brain vanished and all she could do was savour the feel of his hard strength flush against her.
His strong capable hands playing with the buttons on her jeans, her smaller hands working on the zip of his leathers, somehow they managed to tug both down, using their feet to work them off to join the rest of their strewn clothing, in the process tumbling off the sofa and onto the soft carpet.
Only when they were both naked did Francesco reach for his leathers, pull out his wallet and produce a now familiar square foil.
In a matter of seconds he’d rolled it on and plunged inside her.
This time her body knew exactly what to do. She knew exactly what to do. No fears, no insecurities, just pure unadulterated pleasure.
The feel of him, huge inside her, his strength on the verge of crushing her, Hannah let all thoughts fly out of the window, giving in to this most wonderful of all sensations.
Later, lying in the puddle of their clothes on the floor, Francesco’s face buried in her neck, his breaths hot against her skin, she opened her eyes and gazed at the ceiling. Hot tears burned the back of her retinas.
‘Am I squashing you?’ he asked, his breathing still ragged.
‘No,’ she lied, wrapping her arms even tighter around him.
Francesco lifted his head to look at her. There had been a definite hitch in her voice. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Stop lying to me.’
To his distress, two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I’m so confused. You confuse me. I’d told myself I would never sleep with you again and look what’s happened. You turn up and I might as well have succumbed to you the moment I let you in the door.’
Rolling onto his back, taking her with him so she rested on his chest, he held her tightly to him. ‘All it proves is that we’re not over. Not yet. Neither of us wants anything heavy,’ he continued. ‘For a start, neither of us has the time for anything heavy. But we enjoy each other’s company, so where’s the harm in seeing each other? I promise you, your patients will not suffer for you having a life.’
There was no room for Hannah in his life. Not in any meaningful way. The more he got to know her, the more he knew that what they shared could never be anything more than a fling.
Ever since he’d reached adulthood he’d assumed he would never meet a woman to settle down with. Even before he’d discovered his mother’s diaries and learned of his father’s despicable behaviour towards her, he’d known how badly she struggled to cope with his father’s way of life.
His mother had been a good woman. Kind and loving, even when she was doped to her eyeballs on the drugs his father fed her by the trough. Not that he’d known his father fed them to her—back then he’d believed his father to be as despairing and worried about her habit as he was.
Elisabetta Calvetti had no more fitted into his father’s world than Hannah fitted in his.
The women who did fit into Francesco’s world and thrived were like poison. The rarer women—women like Hannah who did not fit in—he’d always known should never marry into such a dangerous life. To marry into it would destroy them, just as it had destroyed his mother.
Deep down, he knew he should have accepted her rebuffs and left her alone, but the past few days...
How could he concentrate on anything when his mind was full of Hannah?
The wolves, in the form of Luca Mastrangelo, were circling the Mayfair casino and Francesco needed to be on the ball. Otherwise the deal that would symbolise above all others that Salvatore Calvetti’s empire was over, his legacy shrivelled to dust, would be lost.
He wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. Knowing Hannah was in his life meant he could focus his attention entirely on the purchase of the casino and not have his mind filled with her.
‘Okay,’ she said slowly, pressing a kiss to his chest. ‘As long as you promise not to make any demands on my time when I’m working, we can see each other.’
His arms tightened while the constriction in his chest loosened. He ignored the fact that her condition for seeing him—a condition he was used to dictating to his lovers and not the other way round—made his throat fill with bile.