Penniless Virgin To Sicilian's Bride

Within an hour, Gabriel had organised Frankie’s things to be packed and sent over from her hotel back to Villa Mancini. And now they were seated at an exclusive restaurant a short drive from the villa overlooking Lake Como, the third largest lake in Italy. The mountains beyond rose majestically, creating a stunning backdrop to the deep waters of the lake. Frankie never tired of looking at the view and even though she had been based in London for the last four years, she considered the lake and its surrounds as one of the most beautiful places in the world.

And it was the place where for a brief space of time she had been held her in her mother’s arms. Of course, she had no conscious memory of her mother, but sometimes she wondered if her infant brain had registered the loss of her mother and twin brother. Wouldn’t that explain the terrible emptiness she felt when she saw mothers with their infant children?

Frankie was so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed Gabriel’s steady gaze. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ She picked up her glass with the top shelf French champagne he had selected and took a sip. ‘Mmm, lovely. You have good taste.’

‘For a man from the wrong side of the tracks?’ His tone was wry, so too the twist to his mouth.

Frankie put her glass back down. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—’

‘It’s fine, cara.’ He moved the base of the glass in a small and precise quarter turn like he was unlocking the code to a safe.

‘Do you ever see him? Your father, I mean?’

‘No.’ The word was as final as a full stop.

‘When was the last time you saw—’

‘Leave it, Francesca.’ His expression had turned to stone. Cold. Hard. Impenetrable stone.

‘Why do you always call me Francesca?’

His eyes met hers across the table and something unfurled in her stomach. ‘It’s a beautiful name. Regal. Sophisticated.’ His voice lowered a notch, the hint of huskiness making the base of her spine fizz.

‘Is that how you see me?’ She could have bitten off her tongue for fishing for compliments but couldn’t seem to help herself.

He picked up his glass but she got the feeling he had only done it to do something with his hands for he didn’t raise it to his lips. ‘I’m not sure you’d want to hear how I see you.’

‘Try me. Go on. Tell me.’ Seriously, she should not drink champagne. It loosened her tongue way too much. It made her daring and flirtatious and the one thing she never did was flirt. Never.

His smile was crooked and so damn sexy she could feel her lower body tingling. ‘You’re a passionate woman underneath that ice princess thing you have going on.’ The husky note was back in his voice and his gaze lingered on her mouth as if he were thinking of how it would respond to his own.

Frankie’s cheeks could have scorched the top of a crème brûlée. ‘You don’t know anything about me. You just think you do.’

He gave a soft laugh and tipped his head back to take a sip of his champagne. He put the glass back on the table, watching her with an amused gaze. ‘You’re ashamed of how you’re attracted to me. Nice girls like you don’t do bad boys like me.’

Frankie was having trouble staying seated. Her lower body was betraying her with hot little flickers of unbidden desire. Desire she didn’t want to feel. Not for him. She wasn’t so much ashamed of her attraction towards him. She was frightened. It was too powerful, too intense, too out of control for her to handle. She picked up her glass again, her posture cool and composed, but inside she was trembling with need. Could he see it? Could he sense it? He seemed to have an uncanny ability to see through the cool mask she wore. ‘I wouldn’t have thought a worldly man like you would be interested in a nice girl. She would be too boring and pedestrian for your taste, would she not?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

His dark lustrous eyes pulsed with a message as old as time—hot, raw, earthy male desire. ‘On which nice girl you’re talking about.’

Frankie chest fluttered like there was a frantic robin trapped in her ribcage. This conversation was getting into dangerous territory. She didn’t flirt with men. Not any more. She had flirted once in the past and a relationship developed out of it, only for her to find out the man had only wanted to date her because of her family wealth and status. He’d been a trophy collector intent on sleeping with her so he could boast about it to his friends. Thankfully she had ended the relationship before the deed was done, although the horrible names he called her made her feel just as sullied.

But flirting with Gabriel felt different.

Dangerous, yes, but not because she was afraid of him. She was afraid of herself. Of how she might betray herself by responding to him like a wanton nymph.

Frankie looked at him over the rim of her crystal champagne flute. ‘Why don’t you want to have children?’ She hadn’t realised she was going to ask the question until it was out of her mouth. But if Gabriel found the abrupt subject change off-putting he gave no indication.

‘I don’t feel the need to pass on my genes.’

‘Because of your family?’

His dark gaze had Keep Out written all over it. ‘What about you? Do you want children one day?’ His tone was casual. Almost too casual, as if he was uncomfortable making polite conversation on the subject of kids but was determined not to show it. And he was convincing...except she sensed a wariness in him. It was there in the stillness of his features. A stillness that seemed to involve every muscle in his face, every muscle in his body. Every eyelash fringing those bottomless brown eyes.

Frankie began to toy with the stem of her glass, her gaze moving out of reach of his to watch the play of her fingers. ‘I don’t know... I figure I’ve got a bit of time before I have to make up my mind.’ She placed her hand back in her lap and looked at him again. ‘I’m not sure what sort of mother I’d be. I mean, I grew up without one. It’s not as if I’ve had a role model, other than nannies and babysitters. And they were paid to look after me. It’s not the same thing, is it?’

Behind the screen of his gaze something shifted. A flicker. A shadow. A ghost. ‘No. I imagine not.’

A silence passed.

‘What’s your mother like?’ Frankie asked. ‘Is she still married to your father?’

‘She’s dead.’ The words were like bullets. Bang. Bang. Gabriel drank from his glass and placed it back on the table with another thud of subject closed finality.

‘I’m sorry. What happened?’

He drew in a savage-sounding breath, his gaze hard and black as onyx. ‘One thing you need to learn about me, Francesca. I don’t like discussing my family. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly clear.’ Frankie sat back in her chair and surveyed him for a long moment. His eyes had that impenetrable screen back in place. His jaw was set like concrete, the strong tendons in the backs of his hands taut and ropy with tension. Now that she had experienced the shame of her father’s fall from grace, she could only imagine how awful it must be for Gabriel to live with the ongoing shame of his criminal family. Several members of his extended family were currently in jail and his father was awaiting trial for a string of new drug offences.

It was strange but in spite of Gabriel’s background, she had never felt he was a bad man. She had been put off by his arrogance when he’d asked her out four years ago. Put off by his assumption that she wouldn’t be able to resist his charm. And it had been a close call if she were to be strictly honest with herself. She had been tempted.

She was still tempted.

After a stretched silence, Gabriel released a long sigh. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve spent most of my adult life not thinking about my family.’

Frankie reached for his hand and placed hers on top of it. ‘I’m sorry for pushing you to talk about something that’s so obviously painful. I’ll try not to do it again.’

He turned her hand over and encased her fingers in the warm tensile strength of his. A half-smile softened his features and something jerked in her chest as if a miniature pony had kicked against her heart. She looked down at their joined hands and heat spilled and simmered between her legs. His touch did strange things to her body. It made her think of being possessed by him, moving with him in the throes of scorching hot passion.

A passion she had never experienced.

Their food arrived at that point and during dinner the conversation drifted onto neutral ground. Frankie was surprised she was actually enjoying herself. The food was amazing and Gabriel seemed to be trying to entertain her with amusing anecdotes about his work as a property developer. But after a while, she couldn’t help noticing the interested glances of the other diners. One woman took her phone out and aimed it their way to take a picture. Frankie lowered her head and turned to face the window rather than be captured. ‘Don’t look now but someone is taking our photo,’ she said in an undertone.

‘Better get used to it, cara.’ His tone was brimful of world-weary resignation. ‘I can’t go anywhere at the moment without the press following. But it will hopefully die down once we’re married.’

Married. The word made her feel things she shouldn’t be feeling. It was supposed to be a paper marriage. That was what she’d told him. That was what she’d insisted on.

But when he helped her out of her chair a short time later, his touch triggered sensations in her body she couldn’t control. The strong band of his arm encircled her waist as he led her out of the restaurant and a wave of longing coursed through her. Even if she had been wearing skyscraper heels, he towered over her, making her feel feminine in a way she had never felt before.

They came to his car and his hand moved from her waist to rest on her hip as he opened the passenger door for her. She slipped into the car and took the seatbelt he’d pulled down for her. His fingers setting off spot fires when they touched hers.

How could getting into a car be so damn sexy? It was ridiculous.

She was ridiculous.