Chapter 2
Francesca
I was full.
That didn't mean I stopped eating.
Mostly because I knew about Stefan's—plans.
And I knew the second I said I was done eating—he would move onto the next part of his—plans.
And even though I really, really, really wanted to take part in his next—plan—I was also more than a little nervous.
Which was stupid.
Stefan had seen every bit of my body. And from what I remembered, he enjoyed every one of those bits.
A lot.
But that didn't mean I was fully prepared to do what he wanted to do.
I'd never had sex with him before.
I'd never had sex with anyone before. Stefan knew that.
And he also was catching on to my game. Because he said, “Are you still hungry? Or are you just stalling?” His voice was steady and calm. No hint of annoyance or anger.
I bit my lip. “Stalling,” was all I said as my heart sped up.
Stefan laughed in a low, smexy tone as he shook his head.
Then he unceremoniously stood up—plate and fork in his hands—and walked to the back of the plane again.
Not a minute later, I heard a popping sound that alarmed me.
I jumped and looked over to where he was.
Stefan's eyes found mine. He held up the bottle in his hands.
“It's just champagne. I should have warned you.”
My heart started beating again, and I took a deep breath and shrugged.
“It's okay,” I said, even though it was absolutely not okay.
The last thing in the world I wanted to hear on my first flight was a loud popping sound.
I watched as he poured two long flutes nearly full.
The whiskey he'd given me earlier had worn off.
And now he was going to insist I have a glass of champagne.
It might help my nerves, though. And since I wasn't getting off this plane for several hours—I imagined that was going to give Stefan more than enough time to complete his mission.
He walked back to me—two fluted glasses in one hand and the bottle of champagne in the other. He set the bottle in a round holder on the table and handed me a glass. After Stefan sat back down beside me, he turned and said, “To my beautiful wife,” and clinked his glass to mine.
His use of the word “wife” completely took my breath away. I mean, yes, I knew it was fake. I wasn't really his wife. Well, legally I was. But that was only to save me from Raul. I knew full well that Stefan wouldn't have married me if a madman wasn't currently after me.
Even so, that word—wife—weighted the air so heavily I felt like I could hardly breathe.
Stefan took a long sip from his glass. I followed suit, bringing the tall glass to my lips.
A sweet, citrusy scent floated up my nose as a flurry of tiny bubbles burst against my skin.
I grinned and took a quick sip. A surprising creamy vanilla taste filled my mouth.
I'd never had a drink like this before. I tipped the glass back and took a longer drink this time.
“Do you like it?” Stefan asked before he finished off his glass and reached for the bottle.
I swallowed and nodded. “It's delicious,” I told him honestly. I'd never been big on champagne. But I also guessed that Stefan didn't buy this bottle from the discount section of a crappy grocery store.
“We get it from a family friend in France.”
I giggled, then finished off my glass. “Of course you do,” I said dryly as I gazed around once again at the private plane we were on.
The idea that I was a married woman—flying on a gorgeous plane—with the most handsome man I'd ever seen in my life—was so ridiculous my brain couldn't compute what was going on.
“Here.” Stefan steadied my glass and slowly poured more of the bubbly drink inside. “Have some more.” He jerked his head slightly before filling up his own glass again.
“Thanks,” I said, and took another sip. The champagne infused all my senses—much like Stefan did. That thought made me laugh. Maybe the alcohol was affecting me more than I realized.
“What's so funny?” Stefan asked. He grazed my arm with the tips of his fingers. Even though he'd hardly touched me—goosebumps erupted instantly.
I smiled at him sweetly. “Nothing. It's just kind of crazy that I'm sitting here—” my free hand drifted out with a small flourish, “in a wedding dress. Drinking champagne with—” my voice caught in my throat, “you.”
There was no way to disguise the heat behind Stefan's eyes. I'd seen it many times before. I knew what he wanted—what he wanted from me.
I also knew what I wanted from him. At least I thought I did.
“Why?” he asked, a look of confusion falling over his face. Probably a lot like the confusion I felt at the moment, too.
“What do you mean—why?” I frowned and squinted at him while I took a nice long sip of my drink.
His eyes scanned my blushing face for a long moment. Then he finally said, “You would have been on this plane months ago.” He tilted his head back and gulped his entire glass in no time flat. He sighed while his eyes focused on my lips. “If you hadn't left me.”
His words ricocheted around in my heart endlessly. I saw the hurt in his eyes.
The hurt I'd done my level best never to see. Because, yes—when I left, I knew I'd cause him pain. But I also knew that if I'd stayed, I'd have caused him even more. Which I'd more than proven tonight.
There was an awkward silence between us. One that I felt deeply.
One that I could tell Stefan wanted me to end.
With an explanation.
Of why I left.
Instead, he cleared his throat. “But you're here now.
And that's all that matters.” His gaze trailed down my face to my cleavage.
He wasn't shy about staring at my chest. When he dragged his gaze up to my eyes again, he smirked.
“I'm really fucking glad I found you, Francesca.” Stefan licked his lips.
And just that one action made my nipples harden and my lower belly clench. In a good way.
No.
In a great way.
I bit my lip for a second and then said, “I'm really glad you found me, too, Stefan.” My voice cracked as my eyes filled with tears.
Tears of relief—that he'd been there to save me.
Tears of sadness—for all the months I'd missed him.
And tears of joy—that I had this second chance to be with him again. After everything he'd been through in the hospital. I'd never forget how touch and go his recovery had been. Or all the worry he'd caused me.
And now—here he was. Not the sick, weak—dying man I'd happened upon in the ER.
No.
Stefan was—strong, vital—and hungry.
For me.
I heard him let out a loud breath. I couldn't see him because my vision was clouded with tears.
In one instant—the glass in my hand was removed—and then Stefan's lips were on mine. His tongue swept into my mouth—erasing any doubts or nerves I'd had a second ago.
This was Stefan.
My Stefan.
His mouth knew mine just as well as mine knew his. I kissed him back with a ferocity I didn't know I had. I wanted him.
I wanted this man.
I knew he'd be gentle with me. And I knew this because of each and every physical encounter I'd had with him. He never took advantage of me. He made sure my pleasure was his top priority. I'd always felt that. Even if he had been just holding me in bed.
“Fuck,” he mumbled as his hand grasped me behind my neck. “You taste so fuckin' good.” He pulled me tighter to him—so tightly I could barely breathe. But I didn't care. Not one little bit. He pulled away just long enough to say, “I missed you so much, Chesca. So fuckin' much.”
And somehow—hearing those words come out of his mouth—made me surrender any lingering inhibitions I had.
I set my hands on his chest, slowly moving upward, feeling his warmth radiating through his dress shirt.
I needed to feel what was underneath it, though.
And I needed to feel it now. So, I began unbuttoning his shirt while we kissed.
When I finished the last button, my hands dove inside, finally touching his bare skin. He felt like—Stefan.
But stronger.
So much stronger.
I felt the vitality beneath his skin. And it had a heady effect on me.
Nothing was going to stop us tonight.
Not location.
Not Stefan's weak, sick body.
It was just us.
No restrictions.
“Let's go to the bedroom.” His lips moved down my chin. Then he kissed my neck, and I nearly melted. I'd forgotten what wonderful sensations his mouth and tongue could create. “I want to spread you out on the bed.”
I blinked and pushed away from him slightly.
“There's a bed in here?” I asked, wondering where the heck an entire bed would be hiding.
Maybe one of these tables folded out or something?
That didn't seem very romantic—but at this stage I'd take anything.
As long as Stefan was with me, it didn't matter.
He chuckled and kissed me quickly on the lips. “In the back. Follow me.” And then he stood, grabbing my hand in his.
It wasn't like I had a choice in the matter. But even if I did—I'd still gladly follow him. He pulled me down the aisle until I said, “Wait, I'm stuck.” My dress—I mean, Giselle's dress, had wound around something. If I kept walking, I might rip it.
Stefan turned his head and stopped. After he dropped my hand, he took in the situation. “Here,” he said, and spun me around so my back was facing him.
I twisted my head to see what he was doing.
His fingers worked quickly and nimbly on something around my waist. A few seconds later, the back half of the dress floated to the floor.
“What did you—” My hands swung behind me, touching to see what exactly he'd removed.
But all I felt was my dress, still intact.
“It's a removable train. Relax.” His lips touched my neck and made me shiver.
“How did you know that?” I asked, turning around to face him.
He grinned down at me and set his hands on my waist. “I helped Giselle pin it on months ago when she was sewing it.”
I quirked my head while I imagined Stefan kneeling down, pinning the train to Giselle's dress. “What? Why would you do that?”
He shrugged and answered, “Eve was out with Nick. And she didn't want Carlo to see the dress, so she couldn't ask him for help. And all the kids were napping, so—”
Something warmed in my heart, and I smiled. “Did you help her sew it?”
He let out a laugh. “No. Giselle is too smart to ask me to do that. I'd have ruined her dress.”
My eyes fell to his chest. There was a spattering of hair there that I very much wanted to touch again. “I see. And if it wasn't her wedding dress, would Carlo have helped Giselle?” I wasn't sure why I asked that. But something inside of me really wanted to know the answer.
Stefan cleared his throat. “We've all helped Giselle with her creations from time to time. That's what friends do—” he paused for a second, “isn't it?”
My eyes drifted up to his. “I suppose so. But does Carlo sew? Or just pin?”
He chuckled. “Sewing—no. Pinning—yes. He also crochets.”
My eyebrows rose as I imagined Carlo doing any of those activities—but especially the last one. “He crochets?”
Stefen nodded and then pulled me into him. “Giselle taught him.”
My hands touched his chest again, and I sighed. I'd wanted to do this for months. Since the second I stepped out the door of my crappy apartment. “Is he any good?” I gazed up into Stefan's eyes—into the most handsome eyes I'd ever seen in my life.
Carlo laughed, making my body bounce with his. “Nope. And anything he does, Giselle just unravels and redoes when he's not around.”
That information made me giggle. Just thinking about that large man holding a tiny crochet hook in his big hand nearly caused my heart to explode. And knowing that Giselle taught him how to crochet—gosh. It was all too cute.
“And do you crochet, too?”
A huge smile crossed his face. One hand slipped to my lower back and the other behind my head. “I'm concerned you may no longer be sexually attracted to me after I answer this question.”
I laughed so hard tears formed in my eyes, and I had to blink them away.
“I don't think that's possible.” My hands slipped up his chest and around the back of his neck.
“I'm pretty sure there's nothing you could tell me that would turn me off sexually.” I rose up on my tiptoes, and he met me for a kiss.
“I'm still not going to risk it.” He kissed me and grinned. “Let's go to bed,” he whispered into my ear.
I shook my head and laughed. “Not until you tell me if you know how to crochet or not?”
He let out a puff of air against my neck. “Fine.” He pushed away slightly. “Giselle gave me one of those kits. You can make animals and shit.”
My brain raced as I thought about what the heck he meant. And then I remembered an ad I'd seen. “Oh, you mean the Izzydoos kits?”
Stefan rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah.”
I smiled so hard I thought my face might crack. “What did you make? A dog? A giraffe?”
His eyes held mine. “A pig.”
I burst out laughing.
And couldn't stop. Even though I tried.
“Don't laugh. It was harder than I thought. Even following the directions on the online videos was difficult.”
Oh.
My.
Gosh.
Not only had Stefan crocheted—he'd also followed online directions. And struggled with them.
“Have you ever tried making them? It's not easy.” He squeezed me closer to his body.
I simmered down and shook my head. “No, those kits are way too expensive. My grandma tried to teach me to make a scarf once. But it ended up being a large triangle instead. And I never tried to crochet again.”
Stefan leaned down and took my lips with his. “That's a very sad tale. Are we done with craft talk? Because I'm more interested in bed talk at the moment.” And then he kissed me.
Deeper.
Once again, stealing my breath away.
But I was happy to lose it as long as Stefan was the thief.
A minute later, he dipped me, one hand behind my back—and one under my knees. “I can't wait anymore. I have to be inside you.”