Her mouth opened then closed again. Eyes wide with animation, she put her fork down, mimed zipping her lips, then mimed making a call.
“Yes,” he agreed tersely. “Not one more word, and then in the morning, you can speak to your mother.”
Beaming, she held her hand out to him. When he ignored it, she tapped his arm.
Dear God, even in silence she was annoying. “You want me to shake on it?”
Still beaming, she nodded.
With an exaggerated sigh for no reason other than it felt like an exaggerated sigh was needed, he clasped his fingers around her small hand and gave it a quick but firm shake, releasing it immediately.
By the time he’d finished eating, Gino wished he’d made their deal contingent on Francesca keeping still, too. And not humming. It was like she had music playing in her head, her slender shoulders wiggling as if in time to a beat only she could hear, no words coming out of her mouth but some kind of vaguely melodic sound broken only when she swallowed her food and wine. The only positive he could take was that she’d now drunk two glasses of wine and would surely be ready to fall asleep at any moment.
With both their plates empty, he stacked them and carried them over to the sink. “Time for bed, Miss Marino.”
She dropped down from the stool with a salute. “I’m intrigued to see where you’re planning to sleep me, so lead the way, Mr Vicario.”
He should have made the deal contingent on her keeping quiet for the rest of the night.
The bedroom Francesca followed Gino into was as spacious as all the other rooms she’d explored, but much darker, with dark oak flooring and deep charcoal walls. Everything about it shouted masculine comfort and functionality.
“Now this is a room that clearly says to any woman who enters that her visit is only temporary,” she commented. Feeling his laser stare fall on her, she grinned. “Thishasto be your room.”
“Yes,” he confirmed in a clipped tone.
“In that case, I assume the camp bed’s for me?”
“Yes, but it’s not a camp bed, it’s a real bed.”
“And there was me thinking you’d lock me away in a cupboard.”
“As tempting as the thought is, I do not trust you to sleep unsupervised.”
“Very wise – I wouldn’t trust me either, not even with your goons on patrol. Still, that’s a very small bed in comparison to yours, so can I share with you?” she asked, already grinning to imagine his response.
He didn’t disappoint, fixing her with a basilisk glare. “Absolutely not.”
“But your bed is huge. Is it bespoke?”
“You will sleep in the single bed, Miss Marino. I can assure you of its comfort.”
“Then you sleep in it.”
He glared at her. “How the hell did you get so annoying. Did you take classes in it at school?”
She poked her bottom lip out. “Oh dear, is the poor kidnapper regretting his choice of victim? I did warn you I would do my best to make your life hell, now what am I to sleep in?”
“A nightshirt has been provided for you. It’s on your pillow.”
“All the creature comforts a girl needs.” She sat on her designated bed and tugged her shoes off. “I thought you didn’t have clothes for me?”
“The nightshirt is one of my t-shirts.”
Her socks were next to be removed. “I get to sleep enveloped in you? How fun.”
Thiswas fun. Every glare and foul look and clipped comment she received from him felt like a victory. She didn’t doubt things would be very different if she felt threatened by him, but she didn’t. Even if he wanted to hurt her, he couldn’t. She couldtorment him all she wanted, and he couldn’t lay a finger on her in retaliation or otherwise, which was just as well, as she intended to torment him for her entire stay. It was the least he deserved.
All the same, something told her that even if he hadn’t promised to return her to her family without a mark on her, he wouldn’t hurt her.
