Taming the Notorious Sicilian

HANNAH HAD BEEN twitching her curtains for a good half hour before Francesco pulled up outside her house on an enormous motorbike, the engine making enough racket to wake the whole street.

It didn’t surprise her in the least that he waited for her to come out to him. Once Francesco had agreed to a weekend together, he had wasted no time in dismissing her by saying, ‘I will collect you at 7:00 a.m. Have your passport ready.’

He was taking her to Sicily. To his home.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited about something. Or as nervous.

Her very essence tingling with anticipation, she stepped out into the early-morning sun, noticing that at least he had taken his helmet off to greet her.

‘Good morning,’ she said, beaming both at him and, with admiration, at the bike. There was something so...manly about the way he straddled it, which, coupled with the cut of his tight leather trousers, sent a shock of warmth right through her. ‘Are we traveling to Sicily on this?’

He eyed her coldly. ‘Only to the airbase. That’s if you still want to come?’ From the tone of his voice, there was no doubting that he hoped she’d changed her mind.

If she was honest, since leaving his office six short hours ago, she’d repeatedly asked herself if she was doing the right thing.

But she hadn’t allowed herself to even consider backing down. Because all she knew for certain was that if she didn’t grab this opportunity with both hands she would regret it for the rest of her life, regardless of the outcome.

‘I still want to come,’ she said, almost laughing to see his lips tighten in disapproval. Couldn’t he see, the more he tried to scare her off, the more she knew she was on the right path, that it proved his integrity?

Francesco desired her.

The feel of his hardness pressed against her had been the most incredible, intoxicating feeling imaginable. She had never dreamed her body capable of such a reaction, had imagined the thickening of the blood and the low pulsations deep inside were from the realms of fiction. It had only served to increase her desire, to confirm she was following the right path.

She’d been his for the taking in his office but he had stepped back, unwilling to take advantage. Again.

Francesco was doing everything in his power to put her off, but she doubted there was anything to be revealed about him that would do that. What, she wondered, had made him so certain he was all bad? Was it because of his blood lineage? Whatever it was, she knew there was good in him—even though he clearly didn’t believe it himself.

Face thunderous, he reached into the side case and pulled out some leathers and a black helmet. ‘Put these on.’

She took them from him. ‘Do you want to come in while I change? Your bike will be perfectly safe—all the local hoodlums are tucked up in bed.’

‘I will wait here.’

‘I have coffee.’

‘I will wait.’

‘Suit yourself.’

‘You have five minutes.’

In her bedroom, Hannah wrestled herself into the tight leather trousers, and then donned the matching jacket, staggering slightly under the weight of it.

When she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror she paused. Whoever said leathers were sexy was sorely mistaken—although she’d admit to feeling very Sandra Dee in the trousers.

Sandra Dee had been a virgin, too.

Hannah was a virgin in all senses of the word.

But, she reminded herself, with Francesco’s help she was going to change that. Just for this one weekend. That was all she wanted. Some memories to share with Beth.

She took a deep breath and studied her reflection one last time. Her stomach felt knotted, but she couldn’t tell if excitement or trepidation prevailed.

She checked the back door was locked one last time before grabbing her small case and heading back out to him.

‘That will not fit,’ Francesco said when he saw her case.

‘You’re the one whisking me away for a romantic overnight stay on a motorbike,’ she pointed out. ‘What do you suggest I do?’

‘Let me make this clear, I am not whisking you away anywhere.’