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.
“Tell me your thoughts,” Francis pressed in a bedroom voice that did nothing to quell Tracy’s desires.
“Um…nothing. I was thinking of Will. I hope everything’s okay with him,” she lied.
Will hadn’t crossed her mind once. Not since Francis’ hand made contact with hers.
Tracy had chosen Will as her escort because he was safe. He was a fairly good-looking colleague that had been asking her out for a long time, but she had no sexual attraction to him whatsoever. She wasn’t at all interested in having anything more than a professional relationship with him, and she’d told him as much. However, Tracy didn’t want to attend another event solo and endure looks of sympathy from other attendees.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Francis mumbled dismissively.
Before Tracy could respond, the SUV was pulling over in front of Hugo’s Frog Bar, Natasha’s favorite restaurant. Apparently, it was where she and Gianni had gone on their first date.
The door opened, and Tracy moved to get out, but Francis grabbed her elbow, halting her movements.
“Always let me exit first, donna. It’s safer this way.”
“Yeah…okay,” Tracy responded, sitting back.
She would’ve questioned his overly cautious behavior, but after witnessing, first hand, the hell that Victoria and her family had been through, she didn't dare. Someone once said, “Just because they call you paranoid, doesn’t mean that no one is after you.”
Francis got out and walked around to open the door for Tracy. When he offered his hand, Tracy placed her smaller hand in his. And she, again, was immediately affected by a jolt of excitement that she received from the connection.
Francis walked her into Hugo’s Frog Bar and several women, alone or accompanied by a man, were openly ogling the sexy Sicilian. But if Francis was aware of his effect on women, he hid it well. He escorted Tracy up the winding staircase without so much as a glance in their direction. Admittedly, the thought of Francis ignoring the thirsty women made Tracy smile on the inside.
As soon as they made it up the stairs, Tracy spotted Natasha and Victoria. They were in what seemed to be a humorous conversation with their husbands. Tracy marveled at how much Gianni and Jack looked alike. Since their fathers were identical twins, the cousin’s resemblance was uncanny. Whereas Jack was polished but rugged, with eyes as blue as the sea, Gianni was a total badass with emerald irises. Nonetheless, both were definite head turners. But lately, Tracy’s head only turned for Francis. He had an air of authority. In fact, in the Storm and Savelli families, Francis’ word was law. He never raised his voice, he hardly ever cursed, and he never argued. He had a way of simply instructing others on what they were going to do, and somehow, he was never refused.
A boss.
That was what he would’ve been referred to in the hood. This was strange to Tracy since Luca was the alleged mob boss. Maybe he commanded respect simply because he was a few years older. Maybe that was the way Sicilian families worked.
“Go. Talk with your friends,” Francis said, releasing her hand.
Tracy felt a cold sense of loss from the disconnection, but she wasn’t about to show it. She smiled up at him and said, “Thanks for the ride.”
Francis stared pointedly at her as if he understood that that was Tracy’s way of reminding him that they weren’t on a date. He smiled, showing perfectly white teeth. His smile was neither sweet nor playful, but devilish.
“Thank me later,” he responded, looking past her.
