by Kate Hardy
‘I want you so badly, it hurts,’ he whispered.
‘Then make love with me, Gio,’ she whispered back. ‘I’m going crazy here too. I need you. Inside. Me.’ A tremor ran through her body. ‘Now.’
He didn’t need telling twice. He rummaged in the top drawer of the little cabinet next to his bed—oh, please let that box of condoms still be there. To his relief, it was. A quick glance at the bottom reassured him they were still in date.
And then at last Fran was leaning back against a pile of pillows, her hair mussed and her lips parted and those beautiful cornflower-blue eyes all warm and inviting, and he was kneeling between her thighs. He dipped his head to kiss her as he eased into her warm, wet heat.
This was what they both wanted. Both needed.
Had he been dreaming about this when he’d been sleepwalking? Was that why he’d come here to his bed?
But it didn’t matter. Because the real thing was, oh, so much better than a dream. Watching Fran’s eyes widen with pleasure, feeling her breasts tightening against his chest, hearing the little breathy sighs she made as his thrusts took her higher and higher. He was aware of the pleasure rising through his own body, growing tighter and tighter. Of the softness of her skin. Of the way her body rippled round his, the tiny incoherent murmurs of pleasure she made—pleasure that echoed in his own body.
He heard her cry out his name, and then they were both falling over the edge, spinning down and down and down.
Afterwards he lay with her curled in his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin. It was the first time he’d felt at peace since the day he found his father lying senseless on the floor in the café. The black hole wasn’t there any more.
Had he just found what he’d been looking for, all this time?
And, if so…how did he get to keep her?
The questions spun in his mind, but gradually he drifted into sleep. And the last thing he was aware of was the warmth of Fran’s body against his. Completing him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE next morning, Fran woke to find Gio’s body curled round hers, and his arm was wrapped tightly round her waist, holding her against him.
Spooned.
Muscles she’d completely forgotten about were grumbling in protest this morning. But she couldn’t help smiling when she remembered last night. The promise of his kiss on Saturday night had more than been fulfilled. Incredible.
And then her smile faded. Now it was the morning. What now? Last night, they’d made no promises to each other. It had been the heat of the moment. And now…
‘Good morning.’ Gio pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck.
‘Good morning.’ Her voice sounded croaky. Nervous. Lord, this was awkward. What did she say now?
He could obviously feel the tension in her body, because he rested his cheek against hers. ‘I think we need to talk, honey. Turn round and face me.’
He released his arm from round her waist; for a moment, she lay still, but then turned on her right side so she was facing him.
‘So. About last night.’
Was this where he told her this was all a mistake and she’d have to find somewhere else to stay until her flat was habitable again?
He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘That wasn’t supposed to happen.’
Obviously he regretted it.
He smiled. ‘Though I’m glad it did.’ His eyes were very blue, very honest. ‘Very glad.’
So he didn’t regret it? That was good. But…‘What happens now?’
He stroked her face. ‘I don’t know, Fran. I can’t give you any promises.’
At least he was being straight with her.
‘But I would like to find out where this takes us.’ He drew her closer. ‘Right now, this is just between you and me. It’s nothing to do with anything or anyone else. Not my family, not the café—just us.’
The café. ‘What about work?’ Was she going to have to find a new job?
‘Wherever this takes us, it’s not going to change things at work. You’re still my right-hand woman.’ His lips quirked, and sheer mischief glittered in his eyes. ‘Though at this precise moment you’re perfectly at liberty to use your left hand on me, if you so choose.’
She placed the tip of her index finger against his collarbone, and drew a line along his sternum. ‘Like this, you mean?’
He caught her hand and brought it up to his mouth. ‘Oh, you tease.’ He kissed her palm and folded her fingers over the kiss. ‘Actually, you’re right—this probably isn’t a good idea.’ He smiled. ‘Because I’ll be late for work. I need a shower. And a shave.’
She stroked his face, enjoying the faint rasp against her fingertips. ‘Stubble. You look like a pirate.’
‘Hmm. Which means I should carry you over my shoulder and then ravish you.’ He eyed her speculatively. ‘I could carry you to the shower…’
‘And then you’d definitely be late for work.’
‘Want to know something terrible?’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I really don’t care.’
She laughed. ‘Tut, tut, Gio Mazetti. If you’re not careful, you’ll damage your reputation as a workaholic.’
‘I can think of a few people who’d kiss you for that.’ His gaze was fixed on her mouth. ‘I could always be their proxy.’
‘So you still want to kiss me?’
His gaze grew hot. ‘I want to do a lot more than kiss you, Francesca mia. But I have a business to run, and you need to find out what’s happening with your flat.’
He brushed his mouth against hers, and it turned into a long, slow, lingering kiss that heated her blood.
‘Hold that thought,’ he said huskily when he broke the kiss and looked into her eyes. ‘Until tonight. When I’ll make it a reality.’
He vaulted out of bed, completely unselfconscious. Well, after what they’d shared, the previous night, there was no reason to be shy in front of each other. She leaned back against the pillows and grinned.
He glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘Just thinking. I’d definitely pay your sister to have a sleepover at your place and stress you into sleepwalking naked.’
He groaned. ‘Oh, now that’s unfair.’
‘And it’s a ver-r-ry nice view from here. If I were an artist, I’d definitely book you as a life model.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that an offer to come and wash my back in the shower?’
She laughed. ‘A moment ago, you told me to hold that thought until tonight.’
‘I just changed my mind.’ Before she realised what he was going to do, he walked swiftly back to the bed, scooped her up, and carried her to the bathroom.
‘You’re going to be late,’ she warned, still laughing.
‘Don’t care.’ His gaze smouldered as he set her back down on her feet. ‘I want you. Wet and naked. And wrapped round me.’
Her heart skipped a beat at the huskiness in his tone. ‘That’s what I want, too.’
‘Good.’ He switched on the shower, stepped into the bath and took her hand. ‘Come with me.’ His eyes glittered. ‘And I mean that in more than one sense.’
Oh-h-h. Her nipples tightened at the thought. She stopped thinking and simply stepped into the bath next to him. The water sprayed down, droplets sparkling against his skin. Wet, naked, sexy male. She couldn’t resist touching him; she took the shower gel and poured it on to her palm, then started lathering his body. Starting with his shoulders, then his pecs, then down over his ribcage.
‘You’re playing with fire, here,’ he warned.
‘Actually, I’m playing with water,’ she corrected, and lathered his abdomen. She watched his pupils dilate as she traced the skin on his belly, just a few millimetres away from his erect penis. Just round the outline of his erection. Not quite close enough to touch, but close enough for him to imagine and want and need.
She had every intention of driving him as crazy as he drove her.
‘Francesca,’ he m
uttered hoarsely, ‘if you keep teasing me like that…’
‘You’ll what?’ She licked her lips, enjoying his shudder of desire in reaction. And then she poured more shower gel into her hand and slid it along his length.
‘Yes.’ The word was hissed between clenched teeth. ‘Please. Yes. Oh.’
She loved the fact he couldn’t even say the words in the right order. And she really hadn’t finished yet. She sluiced the lather from him, then dropped to her knees. Bent her head. Breathed on him so he could feel the heat of her mouth, the promise of what she was about to do.
‘Fran.’
It was the last coherent word he uttered. In a voice so gravelly, so out of control, that it gave her a real kick.
And then she licked him.
Teased him with her tongue.
Took him deep into her mouth, until he was quivering and tangling his fingers into her hair, urging him on.
And she loved the fact that she could make him lose control to the point where he was babbling.
‘Fran.’ Gio was torn between letting her take him over the edge and stopping her before it was too late.
The need to be inside her won.
Just.
Gently, he stopped her. Drew her to her feet. Kissed her hard, then lifted her so that her back was to the tiles. He slid a hand between her thighs, pushing one finger and then two inside her.
‘Gio.’ It was her turn to go incoherent as he found just the right spot with his thumb, circling and teasing until she was quivering, trying to buck her hips against him. Then, and only then, he cupped her buttocks with both hands, lifted her slightly, and eased his body into hers. Pushed deep. Jammed his mouth over hers to swallow her little murmurs of pleasure as his thrusts grew harder, faster, deeper.
He barely noticed that the hot water had run out; all he could think of was the way she felt around him. Like warm, wet silk. A perfect fit.
And as her body started rippling around his, tipping him into his own release, it felt like a thousand sparklers going off around them.
Gio was late for work. And when Fran finally picked up the voicemail message on her mobile phone, she only just made it back to her flat in time to meet the letting agent. Clearly he’d dealt with similar situations before, because he didn’t drag out the painful part of seeing just how much damage there was; he was methodical, but thankfully he was also quick. Ceiling, floor, walls, furniture: it was just a mess.
‘Keep a note of your hotel bills,’ he told Fran. ‘Because we’ll claim those back for you.’
‘I’m staying with a friend.’
‘That’s OK for now, but be aware that these things aren’t particularly quick to sort out,’ he warned. ‘We have to dry the place out, repair the ceiling and then check that all the utilities work safely before you can move back in. So if you need to move to a hotel at some point, make sure you keep the bills. Now, I’m also going to need a list from you of everything that’s been damaged in your personal possessions. Did you take photographs, by any chance?’
She nodded. ‘That’s what the London Lets office said to do when I rang last night. They’re on my mobile phone.’ She showed him.
‘Good. Can you forward them to my email address?’ He scribbled an address on the back of a business card and handed it to her. ‘Or if it’s easier, print them out and drop them in to the office. I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear from the insurer about when we can get an industrial dehumidifier in and when we can start to replace the things you’ve lost.’
‘Thanks.’ Though even being here made Fran want to howl. It didn’t feel like her home any more. Just a damp, squelchy studio flat. And even when it had dried out, she had a feeling that it would never be the same again.
It was nearly lunchtime when she walked into the café.
‘Hey, we weren’t expecting you today.’ Sally gave her a hug and pushed a brownie into her hand. ‘Gio told us what happened to your flat. Are you OK?’
‘Yes,’ Fran lied.
Ian handed her a mug of hot chocolate. ‘You poor thing. It’s a nightmare when you get flooded out. And it takes ages to sort out.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me about it. I’ve spent the morning making a list of everything that was damaged. I can’t believe just a bit of water can do so much damage. Or that my neighbour forgot he was running the bath and went out for three hours.’
‘At least it was clean water,’ Ian said feelingly. ‘One of my mates got flooded out when the drains in his road couldn’t cope with a downpour. Not pleasant.’
‘Too much information. Especially in a café at this time of day,’ Sally said, miming a ‘zip lip’ motion.
Ian smiled ruefully. ‘Yeah. Sorry. But if I can do anything to help, Fran, just let me know.’
‘Me, too,’ Sally chipped in.
‘Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.’ She smiled and walked into the office. Gio was sitting in her chair, making a phone call. As soon as he saw her he ended the call, swivelled round in the chair, opened his arms and tipped his head back slightly in invitation.
She couldn’t resist the appeal; she leaned over and kissed him.
‘No, no, you’re too far away.’ He pulled her onto his lap, held her close and kissed her again. ‘Mmm. That’s better.’
She wriggled on his lap. ‘Gio, we’re at work.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Officially, we’re at lunch,’ he corrected. There was a mischievous quirk at the corner of his mouth. ‘Pity I don’t have a lock on the door. Except then I might be tempted to take a very, very long lunch.’
‘Gio. We can’t. Not here.’
He stole another kiss. ‘I’ll just have to take a rain check. Until we get home.’
‘Yeah. And I remember the last time you said that. “Hold that thought until later,”,’ she mimicked.
‘Mmm.’ He gave her a wide, wide smile. ‘And it was worth being late for work for the first time in over ten years.’
‘Ten years?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Gio—’
He put a finger against her lips. ‘Shh. Stop worrying. Sal opened up for me and we didn’t lose any customers. Though I think it’s going to cost me in brownies.’ He rubbed his nose against hers. ‘So, how did it go this morning?’
‘The flat smells to high heaven.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Like a dog who’s been out in the rain, rolled in every puddle he can see and is just starting to dry off.’
He grimaced in sympathy. ‘Ouch. Unpleasant.’
‘But the agency was really good. They’re putting the wheels in motion, getting the insurance company to bring in an industrial dehumidifier to dry the place out.’ She sighed. ‘The carpet’s shrunk already, so I think they’re just going to rip it out.’
He stroked her hair. ‘You OK?’
‘Yes. Well, no,’ she admitted, and leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘It didn’t feel like my flat any more.’
‘It will do. When it’s dried out, the ceiling’s fixed, there’s a new carpet and we’ve painted the walls. It’ll be fine.’
She damped down the surge of disappointment. Honestly, how ridiculous could she get? Of course she was going back to her own place when it was habitable again. Moving in with him was only temporary; and, had he not sleepwalked the previous night, they wouldn’t have shared a bed either.
‘But until then,’ he said softly, ‘I hope you stay with me. And I know I’m being selfish, but I hope they take absolutely ages to fix everything.’
Oh-h-h. If he’d asked her to walk to the moon and back for him, right at that moment, she would’ve said yes.
‘Thank you.’ And please don’t let him notice that her voice had just gone all croaky.
He kissed the hollow of her collarbones. ‘What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll cook.’
She strove for a light, teasing note. ‘If you work as late as you usually do, that means we’ll be eating at midnight.’
‘I’ll come home early.’
‘Early as in a normal
person’s “early”?’ she tested.
He laughed. ‘Probably not.’
‘How about I cook for us, then? If you trust me in your kitchen.’
‘Of course I trust you.’ His smile turned wolfish. ‘But there’s a condition attached. I get to sleep with the chef tonight.’
‘Sleep?’
He nibbled her earlobe. ‘Eventually,’ he whispered, sending a thrill of pure lust down her spine.
‘Giovanni Mazetti, just how am I supposed to get any work done when you put thoughts like that into my head?’
‘You’re not.’ He brushed his mouth against hers. ‘You’re going out to lunch with me. And then you’re going to play hookey.’
‘With you?’
He smiled. ‘I’m tempted. Seriously tempted. But, no, what I had in mind is going for a spa afternoon. The sort of thing my sisters do when they’ve had a rough week.’
‘A spa afternoon.’
‘Massage, facial, something like that. Bella swears by it. It’ll de-stress you.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not.’ He held her just a little bit closer. ‘Maybe I’ll give you that massage myself, then. I told you to take today off, and I meant it. Go and do something to relax you. Rent some DVDs and spend the afternoon watching films, or what have you. And that,’ he added, ‘is an order.’
‘Maybe.’
But when they’d had lunch out—a bacon, mozzarella and avocado salad in a little restaurant on the South Bank—and Gio had gone back to work, Fran decided to take his advice to do something to relax her. A wander through Kew Gardens went a long way to restoring her equilibrium. Then she went back to Gio’s flat via the supermarket, texted him to remind him that she was cooking dinner and it would be ready at half past seven, and enjoyed herself cooking in a decent-sized kitchen for once.
‘I might have to change your job,’ Gio said when he walked in at quarter past seven. ‘Forget being my office manager. You can be my personal chef instead.’
