“No.”
“But I didn’t have wine with my dinner because I thought I’d be driving home. If I’d known I was going to be kidnapped, I would have made sure to have a glass.”
“We need to go.”
She pouted. “You’re no fun.”
That was something no woman had ever accused him of before, but he wasn’t about to invite a conversation as to why she wasn’t with him for fun. If she wanted to pretend this wasn’t a kidnap-hostage situation, then that was on her.
“Back to the car, Miss Marino.”
Curiosity flickered in her eyes. “What will you do if I start screaming that I’ve been kidnapped?”
He fixed her with a hard stare. “Ever heard of chloroform?”
“Oh yes. I read lots of crime books.”
“Good. Now back to the car, or I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you to it, and then I will chloroform you for some peace and quiet.”
She put her hands to her heart and fluttered her eyelashes. “And they say chivalry is dead.” Spinning on her heels, she strode off, deliberately swaying her hips and loudly saying over her shoulder, “Come on then, Mr Kidnapper. Back to the car.”
He genuinely didn’t know whether to laugh or shove her in the boot.
Following her into the car park, his critical eye noted her trim little figure beneath the ugly, drab black summer dress she wore.
Had the fact Francesca dressed like a nun on day-release played its part in his men’s opinion that she would be easy to control, he wondered. Had it influenced his own opinion? Seriously, what kind of grown woman wore clumpy black shoes that should have been left behind in infant school, let alone paired them with white ankle socks? Still, that was one trim little body beneath the ugly clothing. He supposed it was his good fortune that her mouth made her so disagreeable. It would take no effort at all to switch off the brain between his legs for the next week.
“You haven’t told me where you’re taking me,” his disagreeable hostage commented once they’d set off again. Gino had debated swapping places with his bodyguard in the front, but decided he valued him too much as an employee to do that to him.
“Milan,” he answered shortly.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Milan. Is it as glamorous as they say?”
“Compared to the town I took you from, yes.”
“Will you give me a tour of it?”
God give him strength. “I’m not taking you there for a holiday.”
“Then what will we do for the week I’m with you?”
“I will be working, and you will be quiet, and I would very much appreciate some quiet now.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
Clenching his jaw, he looked out of the window. If he ignored her, she would give up trying to strike conversation.
“Is it all gangster stuff?” she asked. “Is that where you got all the money that’s made you so powerful? By shooting people? Or did you earn any of it through your own endeavours?”
For some reason, this needled him. “I own nightclubs. Very successful nightclubs.”
“Good for you! I’ve never been to a nightclub. Will you take me to one of yours?”
“No.” If he’d known he couldn’t let her out of his sight for a moment before, it was doubly so now. Not all his staff had the restraint not to gag and lock her in a cupboard.
“But I would love to dance in a nightclub.”
“No.”
