Best Laid Plans (3 page)

“Your sweet sister gave it to me. She said you left it with your mother for emergencies.”

Luca closed his eyes briefly. Jesus, his sister got her brains from their father. Why would she be so stupid? “My sister isn’t your biggest fan.”

“But she also thought I might encourage you to return home. Your father’s not well.”

“He’s never been well,” he retorted, and then pulled himself back.
Temper
. “If he’s really unwell, my mother will call me. As it is, she hasn’t, so I’m sure he’s still alive. Thank you for your concern, Dafne.”

He heard her pause, and could see her as if she was standing in front of him, fairy green eyes blinking with persuasion, her arms crossed beneath her small breasts to give volume to her cleavage. “You know if you tell me what I need to know, this will all stop, Luca. And you can come home.”

He looked down at his hand, clenching back and forth from a fist. “Goodnight, Dafne.”

A short beep ended the conversation and Luca sat back in the bed, staring at the coloured screen before it powered down. He had never touched a woman in violence, but he could make an exception for Dafne and her hay-headed brother. Tony would have to be told, and he would arrange for the number to be blocked.

“Celibacy,” he said out loud, lying down properly. “Good plan.”

Present Day

One of those days,
Frankie thought, closing her eyes from the most infuriating email from an assailant’s solicitor stating that the unit was being too harsh on him. Poised to email back that their client should have thought about that before he punched his wife’s jaw loose, she caught sight of that restaurant voucher she’d nabbed from a magazine. It would take fifteen minutes to drive there and probably longer to drive back if she had a well-deserved glass of sauvignon blanc. Fuck it.

“I’m going out to lunch,” she claimed, throwing on her jacket. Her colleagues, Pardeep and Kate, glanced up.

“Where are you going?” Kate demanded.

“Chelsea.”

“I’m coming.” Pardeep jumped to her feet and hustled to the door.

Kate frowned at her. “You don’t even eat, why’d you want to go to Chelsea?”

“In case I see any of those idiots from that TV show you’re obsessed with.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. “I’m going without you both in a second.”

Kate followed her out to the car park, arm in arm with Pardeep. “We have to be back by two thirty, mind you. That councilwoman is coming over to have a look around.”  

“Fuck her,” Frankie said bluntly. “She’s only campaigning for election votes.
Look what I do with the police and the community!
”

“I heard she’s bringing a camera crew,” Pardeep ventured as they climbed into Frankie’s Mini.

Frankie put her foot on the accelerator. Schumacher wished he drove like her. “She won’t because I warned her not to. No one, not even a politician, could misunderstand that warning. I am
hungry
!”

Kate snorted. “When aren’t you?”

“When I’m propping up your hung-over arse.” They bolted into Chelsea, and Frankie found a cheeky parking space in the square around the corner. There were rumours that there’d been a gang shooting there a while back, but no one could confirm anything. The place had been spotless and no one heard a thing.

Frankie didn’t care. Good food at a price that wouldn’t make her debit card weep could only be a good thing. There were days when she found absolute fulfilment in her job, but today was not one of them. Not by a long shot. Today reminded her that her job was far too close to home.

Without waiting for the other two, she leapt out of the car and headed into the restaurant. She felt calm the moment she stepped inside. It was cool, elegant, and crisp. They were seated and served drinks immediately. Unsurprisingly, it was busy, and to Frankie’s eye, none of the other patrons were waving any vouchers about.

“This place looks pricey!” Pardeep whispered. “Can we afford this?” She opened a menu. “No, we can’t. Let’s go to that overrated coffee shop.”

“I’ve got a voucher, it’s fine. I know what I want. Pick, hurry up, we’ve got to be back in a bit.” The waiter, who had excellent training, took the voucher and folded it into a leather-bound payment wallet without a blink and took their order. Before Kate could take a swig of beer, Frankie switched it for her glass of water.

“Hey!”

“I need more to drink, believe me, I’ll be in a better mood if I do.”

“Pardeep can drive!” Kate squealed in protest.

“Nope. Still haven’t passed my test.”

Frankie laughed. “What is that, try seven?”

“Shut up! They’ve made it harder since you passed in the dark ages!”

Their food arrived very quickly and within a half second of the first bite, Frankie was practically face-first in the most delicious steak and tomato spaghetti. The chillies were blended into the tomato sauce, but the heat satisfied the African in her. This was definitely working out nicely.

“You’re freaking me out.” Kate made a face over her lasagne. “You keep stopping and making these contented cow noises.”

“I am a cow and I am contented right now. I could eat this forever.”

Kate’s eyes lit up on someone behind Frankie’s head. “I would eat
him
forever.”

Pardeep abandoned her ravioli to stare open mouthed. “Hell-o!”

Frankie swivelled in her seat to have a look at the man candy. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She had no idea what he was setting fire to by the corner table, but if he wanted to drizzle alcohol on her and lick if off, she would strip off right here, right now. Kate called the waiter, while Frankie and Pardeep stared and panted.

“Um...what’s going on there?”

“Crêpe Suzette. Would you like some for dessert?”

Frankie gave a weak protest, “I’m not sure we’ll have—”

“Yes!” Pardeep and Kate spoke over her.

The waiter didn’t blink at their barely finished plates, but made his way to Buff the Sexy Chef and directed him to their table. It gave them enough time to inhale their pasta while mumbling about the hot dish coming their way.

“Bet you he’s Greek.”

“French. Can’t be Greek, he’s blond.”

“There are blond Greeks!”

Frankie didn’t add anything sensible, not that she could. Men like him never looked at her twice, and it had been a while since that bothered her. He was golden skinned. A Roman god who had stepped down from Olympus to bless them with his beauty. His caramel hair was just long enough to grip in the midst of a kiss or a damn good ride, and it highlighted pale hued eyes. If the size of his body or the quirk of his mouth didn’t intrigue, then the natural bright flush on his cheekbones would make any woman cry unfair. He needed to be cloned. Yesterday. Was it possible that someone could finally knock supermarket stranger off the top fantasy post?

Finally he approached their table, spartan after their hurried lunch. Frankie looked at the cutlery in front of her instead. Her phone started to flash with a message. It was her boss:
Where are you? That bloody candidate woman will be here shortly, I need you to run interference!
“Crêpes for all of you?”

“Yes, please.” Kate gave him a smouldering look that normally made people spill their guts and beg her to tickle them under the chin. Buff chef simply gave her a soft smile that deepened the surprising blue in his hazel eyes and cleared his pan.

“Where is that gorgeous accent from?” Pardeep asked, propping her chin up with a fist.

“Italy,” he replied, swiftly creating a crêpe and transferring it onto a snow-white plate.

“Does that mean you make the pasta?” Kate wondered with a mouthful of crêpe.

He gave the sexiest, rumbling laugh. Frankie pressed her thighs together and told her body to get a fucking grip. “My colleagues are more than capable of managing pasta without my careful supervision. You wouldn’t call yourself an expert on cricket because you are British, would you?”

“Marry me,” Pardeep blurted. Frankie sighed in disbelief and Kate elbowed her off the table.

“I would,
bella
, but my heart is promised to cooking.”

God, he was smooth. Frankie looked up at him to accept her crêpe. “Thank you,” she murmured. Buff didn’t let go of her plate. He seemed frozen.

Frankie gave the plate a gentle tug, but he still didn’t release it. “Is something wrong?”

Great, he was paralysed by her unattractiveness, but to be fair, she couldn’t be bothered with mascara at eight in the morning and couldn’t understand women who were.

“I know you,” he said softly, uncurling his thumb from the plate edge. His words sent a tremor through her whole body.
What?

“Um... Excuse me?”

“I do, I know you. I’ve met you before.”

A risked glance at Pardeep and Kate’s jealous and shocked faces made her feel even more embarrassed. “I don’t think you do.”

“You like ginger ale!” he insisted, his smile bursting onto his face like sunshine through clouds.

“Doesn’t everyone?” she offered.
What the actual fuck?

“Not at all.” He kept staring at her, an X-ray into her very soul. It was making her by turns aroused and extremely uncomfortable. “May I ask your name?”

“She’s Frankie, I’m Kate and that’s Pardeep.”

Frankie had lost the power of speech, it seemed. Chef Buff frowned. “Frankie is a boy’s name.”

“It’s short for Francesca,” Frankie muttered eventually. “Frankie’s just easier.”

“No, Frankie is lazy and an abuse of a beautiful name. It suits you. Francesca,” he repeated, as if tasting her name and finding it delicious. He needed to stop this, really, they’d bought the fucking crêpes already.

“What’s your name?” Kate asked.

“Gianluca.” His eyes fell again on Frankie.

“And how do you know Frankie...er, Francesca?”

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I did tell you,” he replied. The waiter sidled up to Gianluca and murmured to him. “Excuse me please, ladies, Francesca. I hope to see you before you leave.”

He turned to serve another table, and Frankie practically hollered for the bill. Pardeep and Kate were amazed. “He was all over you!”

“It was like butter on hot toast. If you don’t want him I’ll have him.”

Frankie tried not to shake as she tapped in her card number on the credit card machine. “Stop it. We’re in a classy establishment.”

Pardeep and Kate paid their share of the bill and they got up to leave. Just as they were heading to the car, Kate squeaked in panic. “I left my sodding purse. One minute.”

“Kate, hurry up! Dozy tart!” Pardeep called after her as she ran back. Frankie felt Pardeep looking at her. “You sure you don’t want to go back and give that Gianluca bloke your number?”

Frankie’s eye twitched, a sure sign she was going to have a rage blackout any moment. “He’s selling food. That’s all. He’s probably on commission or something.”

Pardeep shook her head. “Why do you think every man has a motive? You’re gorgeous, why wouldn’t he fancy you?”

Frankie sighed. Good old loyalty. Friends were supposed to say shit like that all the time. “I’m not his type. Kate!”

The other woman sprinted across the road to the car. “Got it.”

Kate climbed into the driving seat and Frankie nearly missed the wink she sent to Pardeep. “What did you do?” Frankie demanded as Kate simultaneously screeched off and fastened her seat belt.

“I gave Gianluca your number.”

“What the fuck for!”

“So he can call you, take you out and paralyse you with some much needed good sex. I’m so jealous of you right now, I can’t believe what I did. You need to thank me. Or buy me stuff.”

Frankie, normally immune to disappointment, was taut with fear. “You’re on another planet. That man will
not
call me. I’m telling you.”

Tony always said Luca had an unnatural ability to find people. It was a useful skill if someone needed to die. For a chef, slightly less helpful. To find his cinnamon girl, who had apparently been a figment of his imagination, conjured against the filthy Neapolitan cell, was little less than a magical ability. She was real, she was perfect and her name was Francesca.
Frankie
. He wasn’t calling her
Frankie
. Ridiculous. His brain was telling him to be cautious, but Francesca had such a presence, how could anyone feel cautious around her? From the teal-coloured jumper she wore that deepened her cinnamon skin and skimmed her abundant curves to the espresso-coloured braids messily tied in a bun at the top of her head, she was his dream realised in breathtaking vision. And her voice? Still as sweet as dessert.