His stare dropped to her now bare feet. For some reason, the sight of them made his taut features tighten even more.
Locking the bedroom door, he put the key in his pocket and said, “I’m going to take a shower. I won’t be long. You can use the bathroom when I’m finished.”
“You’re such a gentleman.”
He strolled into the ensuite bathroom without another word.
Gino showered in record-quick time. He didn’t trust his aggravating hostage an inch, certainly not enough to leave her alone in a room for any length of time, not even one where the door and windows were all locked. Francesca was much, much more intelligent than he or his men had given her credit for.
She’d worked out in minutes the best way to needle him, and thrown herself into doing just that. Not even two glasses of wine had slowed her down. So much for wine giving her a fuzzy head.
He needed to come up with a new plan for handling her or the next week really would be hell. Half the problem, he reluctantly admitted as he brushed his teeth, was that he found her amusing. He didn’t want that. If she’d behaved in the way he’d anticipated, with tears and pleas to start with, followed by resignation and compliance when reality set in, he could remain dispassionate. That’s what he’d expected. After all, although he’dexpected a meek, naïve hostage, Francesca was a member of the Esposito family, which meant being the target of kidnap was an occupational hazard. She would know that all she had to do was sit tight and trust her family to comply and earn her freedom.
This Francesca was no one’s idea of meek or naïve. She was forcing him to respond with his brain. Forcing him to engage. Challenging him at every turn, with her words and with her eyes.
They were beautiful eyes. Not just pretty but beautiful, a light, almost translucent brown that seemed to reflect whatever she was feeling. In barely five hours, he’d seen terror, understanding, amusement, steel and glee in them. Glee had been the most prevalent. Incredible as it was to believe, she was enjoying all this.
Could she keep this up for a whole week, he wondered, then decided it was better not to know. Better to find a way to handle her. He didn’t want to engage with her, but ignoring her only seemed to make her worse.
His mood didn’t improve when he left the bathroom, now in black pyjama bottoms and a black t-shirt bought specifically to make him seem non-sexually threatening to his hostage.
As soon as she saw him, she jumped chirpily to her bare feet. “You smell nice. Is there a toothbrush for me or should I use yours?”
“There’s a spare on the sink for you.”
“Am I allowed to shower?”
“Go ahead.”
“What shall I do with my stinky clothes?”
“Put them in the laundry chute. They’ll be cleaned by the morning for you.”
“Can’t you ask them to incinerate them for me?” she said, bounding with even lighter steps than before into the bathroom. She closed the door with a cheerful, “Don’t miss me too much!”
That he would have the time or space to miss her.
Why the hell hadn’t he hidden her away in a fortified building in the middle of nowhere? That had been an option. It was still an option, except it increased the danger. Francesca wasn’t just Gino’s hostage; she was his shield. Say what you like about the Espositos, for them, family really did come first. They wouldn’t want to risk harm coming to her, especially not when she held such high currency for them. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t be seeking a way to rescue her and eliminate Gino – that was a given – but keeping her glued to his side decreased the chances of them finding it.
Double-checking the bedroom windows were locked, he got into bed. Everything was secure. No one could get into the apartment, and Francesca couldn’t get out. Gino was a light sleeper. For her to escape the bedroom, she would have to go past his bed to reach the door, and would have to search for the key to unlock it. If she was able to do all that without waking him, she then had to get past the men posted in the apartment, along with the men guarding the entrance and the men guarding the elevator and garage. Quite honestly, if she made it past all that, not even the men vigilantly patrolling the exterior of the building would be able to stop her, and Gino would call Mattia and tell him to hand his crown to his youngest cousin because he would never be able to keep it if she decided she wanted it for herself.
The shower had stopped running. Somehow, it only made the silence in the bedroom louder, and suddenly the image of Francesca’s feet pushed into his mind. Gino was no foot fetishist. He never even noticed feet. And yet when his hostage had removed her clumpy shoes and childish white socks to reveal dainty feet with toenails painted a deep, cherry red, he’d noticed them, and that had infuriated him as much as everything else about her infuriated him. Who the hell found a pair offeetattractive? The only thing he could think to explain it was thecontrast of such ugly footwear to the reality of what had been hidden inside them.
It was a thought that resonated even more strongly when she bounded out of the bathroom with the same energy and cheerfulness that she’d entered it.
As ill-fitting on her as her ugly dress, his white t-shirt drowned her slender figure, but at the same time enhanced it. Breasts released from the confines of her bra jutted out with matching perkiness to her bounce across the room, much fuller than the clothes she wore had hinted at. Though the cotton fell to her knees, the movement of her body beneath it more than hinted at the peachiness of her backside, and he wasn’t quick enough to tear away the thought that Francesca didn’t just have a trim little body, she had a killer body.
Furious with himself, he turned on his side so he didn’t have her in his line of sight.
“I’m thirsty,” she said brightly.
He lifted an arm out of the duvet and pointed at the sideboard that, in his quest to keep Francesca out of his line of sight, was in his line of sight. “There’s a jug of fresh water in there.”
“Not worried I’m going to smash the jug over your head?”
“You’re welcome to try.”
Her giggle was light. “Maybe I will.” She went straight to the sideboard, straight into his line of vision, and opened the door. “Would you like me to pour you a glass?”
