CHAPTER 5
TRACY
Tracy stepped into her emerald green stilettos and walked over to the full-length mirror. She’d paired the green shoes with a white pencil dress. In Tracy’s opinion, it worked out well. After checking her makeup and fluffing her feathered hair with her fingers, Tracy exited her walk-in closet. Her intention was to have a glass of wine before she left, but the sound of her doorbell sent her in the other direction.
Tracy opened the door, fully expecting Will to be on the other side, but it was Francis’ smiling face that greeted her. Her body instantly reacted. It was the same unexplainable reaction that she had every time he was near. Francis was only forty-two, but his polished good looks, along with the wisdom that came with maturity, set him apart from other men. Tracy appraised his muscular frame underneath the perfectly tailored suit a little longer than she had intended.
“Sei bellissima,” he complimented, breaking the trance brought on by his masculine beauty.
“Th-thank you,” Tracy responded, looking past his broad shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to escort you to Natasha’s birthday party,” he said as if it should have been obvious.
“What? No. Francis, I have a date. He’ll be here any minute.”
“No, Bella. He won't,” he responded with an easy grin.
Tracy looked past him again and noticed several men in black suits lingering by three dark Land Rovers.
“Francis, what are you talking about? Why is my date not coming?”
“As he exited his flashy automobile, he got a call. Some sort of emergency I assume. Si, it had to be an emergency for him to flee from a woman so beautiful.”
Tracy narrowed her eyes. Despite his sexy smile and the deep rasp in his voice, she was suspicious of his explanation. If there had been an emergency, Will would have called. He’d been asking Tracy out for a year, and she doubted that he would just leave without so much as an excuse.
“I need to call him.”
“Si. Call him on the way. Get your things.”
It wasn't a request.
Tracy folded her arms and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Excuse me?”
“Your things,” he repeated. “Do you have a purse? Keys?”
“Francis, I’m only gonna say this once, so you listen well.Youdon't tell me what to do.”
Francis closed his eyes as if he was trying to conjure patience and muttered, “Donne Americane.”
Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “What about American women? You got a problem with American women?”
“No,donna. I don't have a problem with American women. Which is why I’m standing on your porch trying to escort you to a party. Your ways are different. I must admit that I am somewhat unaccustomed. I apologize. Now,per favore, get your things. I’m growing tired of standing in your doorway. Please,donna, andiamo. Let’s go.”
Tracy chuckled. His reasoning was pure bullshit. Italian women were feisty as hell. No, they were outright bossy. Francis was really trying to use the fact they were from different cultures to justify his overbearing behavior. But who was she fooling? Her panties were wet at the first sight of him. She grabbed her purse and keys from the table by the door, cut the living room light off, and stepped out of her house.
Francis gently grabbed her hand to lead her down the steps. A warm sensation instantly traveled through her. Her body was hypersensitive to his touch. When they cleared the steps, he placed his hand on the small of her back. Clearly, Francis had no idea what he was doing to her. Thankfully,or not, the physical contact was severed when she slid into the back seat of the SUV. Tracy needed to get her hypersexual senses in check before she found herself mounting the big Sicilian.
Only Francis could elicit a desire that she hadn’t felt in years, not since the murder of her beloved fiancé. Before Steve, Tracy had never been in love. Before Steve, Tracy thought the idea of love at first sight was fairytale bullshit. But meeting him had proved her wrong.
When Tracy thought of Steve, she remembered him the way he was the night that they met. He was extremely tall, extremely muscular, and extremely intimidating to all that didn’t know him. But in reality, Steve was the gentlest of souls. He was kind, considerate, and very affectionate. And his end had felt like the end of her. Then Francis came along and shocked her system, reminding her what it was like to experience a relentless sense of desire. He couldn’t have possibly known that the more she wanted him, the guiltier she felt. It was as if she was betraying the man she loved by wanting another.
It had all started with one kiss.
It was a night, not too long ago. Tracy and the rest of the ladies had been confined to the Storm estate because they were being hunted down by Katya Romanov, a Russian she-devil who was trying to kill them all. All of the women were hanging out on the patio. They laughed, danced, and passed around a large bottle of Jack Daniels. Needless to say, they had become out of control. It was the most fun that Tracy had had since Steve died. But, eventually, the party had to come to the end. The men had come to put their drunken wives and girlfriends to bed, which had left Tracy to fend for herself. Or so she thought. But now that she was looking back, it was Francis that had sent everyone to their rooms. And when all the couples parted ways, it was Francis who’d walked with her to her guestroom, holding on to her elbow because she hadn’t been steady on her feet. Tracy remembered that once they’d reached the door to the room she’d been assigned, she reached for the doorknob only to have Francis pull her hand away. He turned her around and pushed her back against the door. Since he was so tall, she remembered craning her neck in order to look at him. He lowered himself so that his face was close to her neck. The tickle of his warm breath caused Tracy to melt against the door. Francis placed his lips to her neck, and Tracy could remember how soft they’d felt against her skin. Francis kissed just under her chin, along her jawline, then finally her lips. By the time his tongue entered her mouth, Tracy was moaning uncontrollably, and she didn't give a damn who heard.
Francis wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his hard body. Tracy squirmed in his arms, desperately trying to grind her body against all of his hardness. Francis sucked her lips, licked her tongue—he was fucking her with a kiss. Tracy would bet anything that had Francis not ended their kiss, she would have come. She’d been in a state of arousal that she had not even known was possible.
Francis had attempted to step back, but Tracy was having none of that. She grabbed him forcefully by the collar and tried to pull him back, but Francis didn't budge. He held her in place by her waist and told her that he would never take her to bed while she was drunk and that his only intention was to give her a goodnight kiss at the door. Francis went on to tell her that they were going to pick up where they left off once she was sober. He then opened the door, and Tracy entered the room horny, mad, and maybe even a little embarrassed. She’d avoided him ever since. Well, tried to at least.
