FRANCESCA
I was downstairs on the couch when I saw the headlights through the window. With miles between my villa and the next dwelling, I was out there alone, the stars so bright overhead it seemed like I was the only one on the planet.
The headlights disappeared behind the house then reappeared on the other side when the person parked at the front. I could see it drive by—a dark Range Rover.
I was in my pajamas shorts and a sports bra I wore while I did yoga, so I wasn’t expecting company. My heart did this weird somersault thing in my chest, and my fingertips went numb before my entire body became electrified in excitement.
Then he knocked three times.
I walked across the house and opened the door, seeing him on the other side in an unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt over a t-shirt, his ink climbing up his arms and down his wrists like black vines. He wore dark jeans and boots, looking like he was about to go out rather than get undressed.
Did he get hotter since I saw him yesterday?
His dark eyes retained their calm confidence, like he didn’t give a damn that he’d shown up at my door uninvited. Made himself right at home, did whatever the hell he wanted because this man did not give a fuck about anything. “I’m taking you to dinner.”
“Really? I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“I don’t need you to agree.”
No other man on the planet could pull that off. Every time he was a bossy dick, he was somehow hotter. No matter what he did, he got hotter. Even when he’d gotten shot, he’d somehow become sexier. “What part of that was a one-time thing do you not understand?”
“What part of I don’t give a damn do you not understand?”
Cristo.
He stared me down like he meant business. “Get dressed, and let’s go.”
“How about I get undressed and we just fuck instead?”
“We can do that after. I want to take you out.”
“Why?”
His eyes shifted back and forth between mine. “Because I want to.” He stepped inside the house even though he wasn’t invited and shut the door, probably because he didn’t want the insects to fly into my home.
He continued to try to pin me down, and I was running out of places to dodge. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now, so we can go out as friends—”
“We are not friends. I have no interest whatsoever in being your friend. I want to be the man who comes inside you, the man in your bed, the man who grabs your ass and turns your mouth blue when I kiss you too hard. Is that clear?”
I was stunned into silence.
“Capisiti?” His eyes were furious, like I actually offended him.
“Yes… Capisiti.”
“Now get your ass dressed so we can go.”
He opened my car door for me before he got behind the wheel and started the engine. It was a loud roar, so it was obvious he had some kind of special engine inside the vehicle. With one hand on the wheel, he drove down the dirt path, his high beams coming on automatically.
And then he reached his big arm over the center console, and his hand moved to the part of my thigh exposed by my dress, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His large fingers took up my entire thigh, Roman numerals inked on his knuckles.
He gave my inner thigh a masculine squeeze as he kept his eyes on the road, maniacally possessive with just his touch.
We made it to the main road, and he headed to the center of the village just a few miles away. It was quiet in the car because he didn’t play music. He didn’t make conversation either, unaffected by the silence between us.
A few minutes later, we arrived at the village, and he pulled over on one of the narrow streets, pretty much parking on the sidewalk, like he didn’t give a damn if he got a ticket or was towed.
Or maybe because he knew no one would do either of those things.
He came around the car and helped me out.
I wore a black dress with a slanted cut across my legs, exposing one thigh more than the other, and had added a gold bracelet.
His big arm wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me close as he walked me to the restaurant entrance. “You look hot as fuck in that dress,” he said in my ear before he approached the host. “For two.”
The host led us to our table inside, a quiet spot in the corner.
Wolfe pulled out the chair for me and scooted it into me when I sat down before he took the seat across from me, an enormous man in a small chair. “Let me know if you’re cold. I’ll give you my shirt.”
“I’m okay, but thanks.” The same man who’d cut his arm just to talk to me, who’d stolen a truckload of guns from our enemies, who’d told me this date was happening rather than asking for my consent, was also a perfect gentleman.
The waiter came over, and Wolfe immediately ordered a bottle of wine for the table and a bottle of still water.
Then we looked at the menus that were presented to us. Lots of pasta and fresh seafood and pizza.
He glanced at it and seemed to already know what he wanted.
Then he stared at me, stared me down like we were in the midst of a business meeting where he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted.
Predatory and obsessive and intimate. Didn’t seem to notice when the waiter uncorked the wine, poured the glasses, and left.
“What are you having?”
“Bistecca. You?”
“Thinking about getting the pistachio mortadella pizza.”
“Good choice.” He didn’t blink as he looked at me.
“Okay, we definitely aren’t friends. I get your point.”
A slight smirk moved across his lips. A small break in his intensity. “You look so damn fine tonight.”
“You always look fine.”
The smirk stretched.
“How’s your arm doing?”
“Which one?” he teased.
“The one that got shot.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine. Forgot about it already.”
“You must be in a lot of pain.”
“I don’t feel pain.”
“You sound like my father, stubborn as hell.”
He released a quiet chuckle. “I thought the same thing about you.”
“That I’m stubborn?” I asked incredulously.
“The most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not that stubborn.”
“It’s okay. I like it,” he said. “I love a proud woman. Everything about you turns me the fuck on. The way you push me away one moment and then pull me hard into you when you’re about to come…I love it all.”
I couldn’t believe he said that in the middle of a restaurant, but I guessed I could believe it too. I felt a flush in my cheeks and took a drink of my wine to cover it.
“Not sure how I’m going to fuck you when we get home. Any ideas?”
God, he was so pompous and arrogant and full of himself…and I loved it. “Ass up and face down.”
He didn’t actually move, but his entire body stilled after a subtle clench. His eyes hardened too, like he was shocked, but then they relaxed once more. His surprise turned to something else, like he was enamored. “Whatever my baby wants.”
“I’m not your baby.”
“We’ll see.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me with eyes full of unequivocal confidence. Cocked his head slightly as he looked at me, a ghost of a smile on his lips, like he wanted me to challenge him. Wanted a heated back-and-forth exchange that he wouldn’t lose.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Then tell me everything about you.” He cocked his head the other way. “I’m listening.”
“You still know more about me than I do you.”
“What do you want to know, Francesca?”
“The basics. How old are you? Where were you born? What got you into this business?”
“Thirty-three. Palermo. And I was born into it.”
“So your father was a crime boss?”
“No, that’s too generous a description. His brother got him into Cosa Nostra, so he was one of the fixers. Was with him since I could walk, so it’s literally all I know. Which is probably why I’m the best.”
“What about your mom?”
“She died before she had the opportunity to know me.”
“May I ask how?”
“She was murdered,” he said simply. “She was a prostitute.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked. “That she died or because she was a prostitute?”
“I’m just sorry about the whole thing.”
“There’s no shame in being a prostitute. The profession’s been around since the dawn of time. Most of the men who condemn it are paying customers. The problem is the assholes who think they can use them as punching bags or personal property just because they gave them a little bit of cash.”
It was obvious this was a touchy subject for him, so I decided not to say anything.
He grabbed his wineglass and took a drink. “Anything else?”
“Have you ever been married?”
“No.” He almost smirked as he answered.
“Any important relationships in your life?”
“No.” This time, he did smirk. “Interesting question from a woman who claims she doesn’t want to be mine.”
“I was just curious.”
“I sleep around a lot. That’s it.”
“Like flings?”
“No. I rarely do back-to-backs. Occasionally a weekend, depending on the circumstances, but that’s unusual.”
The waiter came to the table to take our order.
Wolfe ordered without looking at him. “I’ll take the Bistecca—medium. My woman will have the pistachio pesto pizza.” He handed over the menus and continued to look at me.
The waiter left, and we were back to the staring contest.
“Your woman?” I asked.
“Am I going to come inside you after this?”
I gave a slight shake of my head. “You’re really something else.”
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re a dick—”
“But you love it and you fucking know it.” He leaned over the table and lowered his voice.
“Just the way I love all that attitude, all that sass, the stubbornness and the pride and the way you run that mouth without giving a damn about what anyone thinks.” He sat back against the chair.
“I don’t fuck women bareback, so yeah, you’re my woman, whether you like it or not. ”
I’d never encountered a man like this. So intense and so bossy and so…possessive and territorial. Never met a man who was obsessed with me at first glance, especially one who was hot as fuck. “A bit presumptuous.”
“Would you like me to drop you off at home and hit the whorehouse? Pick up a woman at a bar in Palermo and fuck her at my place?”
It was completely theoretical and just a way to prove his point, but I didn’t like it at all.