Best Laid Plans (8 page)

He pulled back, took the glass from her hands and placed the wineglass on the nightstand. With a hefty arm beneath her bottom, he lifted her with ease and carried her into the kitchen. She blinked rapidly in the stark electric light. All the better to see her. He placed her on the counter and paused just to admire where she was sitting. Just as he’d imagined her and she did indeed look beautiful.

“This can’t be hygienic,” she protested.

“It’s perfect,” he corrected her. “I couldn’t have dreamed it any better.” She laughed. “What?” He frowned, releasing her to remove the food from the oven.

“You. All Latin swagger.”

“I have no idea what that is.” He shrugged, taking a teriyaki prawn and noodle mouthful and offering it to her.

“I feel like Gulliver with the Lilliputians eating their food,” she mumbled. “That’s amazing!”

“Amuse bouche,” he said, selecting a sliver of beef and redcurrant sauce for her next.

“More,” she insisted, rolling her hands. “I’m not a little woman, I need more than that. Keep them coming.” He fed her sesame-rolled tuna, miniature shepherd’s pie, goat’s cheese tart and a French-dressed salad. “Told you cooking for me was a good idea.”

“It was indeed. What would you like now?”

“More of those prawn noodles. And how, if you eat like this, are you not the size of a palace?”

He laughed. “Good genes. When you meet my cousin, Tony, you’ll see. Caristos tend to be big. This apartment has a gym in the basement, so I make use of it.”

“When?”

“Yes, when,” he replied. She lifted a brow in surprise but carried on eating.

“Is he the only family you have here?”

Luca tried not to tense. “Yeah. And the family I’ve made in the kitchens. You burn or cut yourself alongside another person, you tend to be close.”

Francesca seemed to sense his discomfort and changed the subject. He had an idea that it was a brief reprieve but he would be interrogated about it later on. “What’s for dessert?”

“It’s up to you. There are panna cottas, millefeuille or strawberries and cream.”

He emphasised the last in order to tempt her. “Strawberries, please.”

Turning to the fridge with a grin, he removed two bowls from the fridge and set them beside her thigh. “Are you comfortable?” he asked.

She wiggled on the counter. “I’m fine.”

May as well make another fantasy come true.
He took one strawberry, dipped it in the champagne-sweetened cream and allowed her to take a bite. “Good?” he asked gruffly, watching her close her eyes and swallow, licking the remnants of cream from her lips. It was pretty much the sexiest thing God had ever placed before his eyes.

“Very,” she murmured, sighing in satisfaction. He licked the bitten end of the fruit and without taking his gaze from hers, rubbed the soft fruit over one of her distended nipples.

“Better?”

“Umm hmm.”

He lowered his head and slowly licked the strawberry juice from her sweet-scented skin before claiming it in the heat of his mouth. The taste of her with the fruit made his dick bob insistently against his stomach. While it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, he couldn’t help be impressed with Francesca’s effect on him. Compelled to taste her once more, he let her breast slip from his mouth. “Lie back for me,” he commanded.

“Kink,” she breathed, doing as he asked. Not waiting a second longer, he scooped some cream onto two fingers and layered it over Francesca’s pussy. She jerked at the cold cream against her skin, but with two arms wrapped around her legs, Luca dove in and feasted. He licked, nibbled and sucked the champagne-flavoured cream from every tiny part of her. The flavour mingled with her own delicate taste, his tongue captured and released by the urgent movements of her inner flesh while his hearing was impaired by her intermittent moans for him. His cock was now impatient, the tip moist with need. Quickly, he scooped her from the counter and carried her determinedly to the bedroom again. There was a scramble for protection before he perched on the edge of the bed, caught Francesca by the waist once more and lowered her onto his cock. Before, he would have savoured how her pussy opened for him, closed tightly around him, but the urgency was too great to go slow.

He cupped her buttocks with two large hands and compelled faster, rougher motions against him. They were bound so tight against each other, skin fastened to skin, her arms around his neck, herb-scented braids curtaining them both. As he licked a bead of sweat from her neck, he felt her grip tighten on his hair, and his grip on her ample cheeks deepened to allow him to pump harder. Her juices slid onto his thighs the moment he did as her pussy convulsed around him. His groan was part relief, part agony as he came too, his hips slamming against her until there was nothing more left to give. With a sigh of completeness, he fell back onto the mattress, taking Francesca with him.

“Don’t,” she warned, as he made to slip from her. Honestly, he was worried if he didn’t pull out of her, they’d start all over again. “Stay.”

“Let me make us more comfortable, first.”

“I’m fine where I am.”

“Of course you are.” He chuckled, smoothing his hands around her waist and lifting her from his cock. He stopped. “Fuck.”

“What?”

From a long rip in the condom and her pussy lips, pearlescent fluid dripped onto his stomach. “Shit.”

Francesca looked down and gasped. “Holy fuck!”

He put her gently to one side and pulled the offending prophylactic from his semi-hard member. Francesca sat up and scrambled for the foil. “What the, what the what? The fuck? 2010?”

Christ. Luca found a modicum of calm and attempted to allay her fears. “It happens.”

“Why’ve you got old ones?”

“It’s been a long time, I’m sorry. I haven’t had use for them.”

Francesca seemed to be having a breakdown. “Oh God. Oh holy God on earth. Holy crap. Fu-huck.”

“Are you on the pill?”

She blinked. “Yes. Yes! I am. Oh, er...no, yeah. I am.”

A frown lowered his brow slightly. “Are you sure? You don’t sound it.”

She took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m panicking over nothing. It’ll be fine.”

He cupped her face. “Then it
will
be fine, but sweetheart, whatever happens, you have me.”

Francesca looked at her knees, scrunched up the foil and got to her feet. “Thanks. Do you mind if I have a shower?”

“Not at all.”

“You stay here,” she ordered, holding up both hands. “I have a feeling if you come with me, we’ll make things worse.”

He caught both her hands and pulled her toward him. After a delicate kiss to her sweet mouth, he said softly, “We’ll be fine. I promise you.”

She allowed him one, two more kisses before she gave him a little smile and turned to leave. Luca gave it a moment’s thought before following her.

“Gianluca, what are you doing?”

“Helping you work the shower,” he insisted, picking her up by the waist and carrying her into the bathroom. He turned on the water, felt for the temperature and turned back to her. She looked worried. Really worried. It didn’t concern him for a moment that this had happened. To him it was something that would have happened later, maybe in a year’s time, but fate had a funny way of putting his ideas out of joint. Francesca’s fear didn’t make him happy though, not one little bit. He brushed the streak of white from her thigh with his thumb.

“Come in?” he asked, slipping his hand into hers and pulling her under the water. With her back pressed to his torso, he stroked lemon shower gel over her skin in circular motions. Sighs bubbled from her lips every so often, each time he covered her breasts or belly or moved over the curves of her bottom. He edged her to the tiled wall of the shower and let his fingers slip between her thighs.

“Luca,” she groaned, her hands tightening on his biceps.

Her pussy felt hotter than the water streaming over them. He rubbed back and forth with slow, steady movements on her hardened little clit until her fingernails dug into his muscles and his name was ripped from her throat.

“See?” he whispered against her mouth. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I’d believe you if you weren’t stabbing me with your cock.”

“He’s normally very shy. It’s all you.”

She lifted water-spiked lashes. “Out. I need a minute.”

He relented and took a step back. “Come back to the bedroom when you’re ready.”

Something suspicious-looking crossed her face. “I was thinking...”

“No, Francesca, you’re not going anywhere. Bedroom. Five minutes.”

“Macho bastard,” she mumbled. “All right. Just remember when I’m waddling around with a baby, that I gave you an out.”

“You’ve just painted the most amazing future. No outs.” He gave her one last kiss before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. Silly girl, as if that would make him run!

Frankie had spent a lot of the night looking up at the ceiling in Luca’s bedroom, calling to God at various volumes. Now she was wide awake, waiting for sleep, staring at the ceiling. They’d be fine. Maybe it was the minor lie about the pill. She’d only forgotten about yesterday’s tablet because she’d been all excited, and she’d taken it first thing in the morning to compensate. She would be absolutely fine. And disease free. Thank you God, because that would be absolutely worse than getting pregnant by a man she’d known for three days.

Luca had ceased his human vine plant act and moved onto his back, huge arm above his head and the bed sheets hovering around his waist. It made her grin. If people could see her now—especially those ones who kept telling her she had such a wonderful personality, shame she couldn’t lose some weight. They probably wouldn’t believe their own eyes, let alone that she hadn’t dropped a single thing into his food to make him stay with her.

He was very accident prone though, she thought, eyeing a myriad of fine scars that spanned the length of his chest. There was a long one on his hip; she’d felt the skin’s knitted work underneath her tongue. What she should ask him about was why he had a bullet wound in his foot. Maybe when they were in public. Luca was taller and heavier than her. It would take a bit more than a glass bowl to knock him out. Actually, all it would take was a small kiss to that same scar on his hip and he’d be limp. Useful tool for the back pocket.

Frankie shifted in the bed and imagined that Luca used to be a brawler. His calmness was unsettling, the type that one encountered in those who’d been to anger management classes or had found a way to control their emotions. She tended to be able to read people; it was part of her job. Shame it never worked as well on people she became close to.

She turned onto her side and snuggled against Luca’s arm. It was rather like cuddling iron, but there it was. He twitched. She smiled. He could tell she was next to him! How sweet was that?

His whole body jerked suddenly, making Frankie yelp in shock. She turned and snapped the side light on immediately. The arm that was casually lounging above his head slammed to his side, both hands clenching into fists. She’d read somewhere a long time ago never to wake up people in the midst of a nightmare by shaking them. Oh God, or was that for sleepwalking? Frankie decided to go gentle and pressed herself hard against him. She whispered in his ear, “Luca, you’re safe. I’m here. Wake up.”

She repeated herself over and over, rubbing her fingers over the clenched ones, until he gave a gasp and his eyes flew open. The hand not trapped by her own went instantly to his hairline.
I get it, something happened to you. Tell me!
He followed her gaze and winced.

Yeah, look uncomfortable,
she thought, her insides still jangling with fear for him. “I’m sorry,” he breathed slowly. “I’m sorry, I’m fine.”

She waited a beat for him to start talking. Instead he rubbed his eyes. “Are you seriously not going to tell me what that was about?”

He wrapped his arms tightly around her. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
Ooh, eek. Should I tell him I was worrying about our little accident and counting sheep doesn’t work? No.
His golden skin was an eyelash’s length from her face, he was holding her so closely. Frankie couldn’t help it; she wanted him to let go and start talking. “I haven’t been with a woman in over two years. I didn’t think it’d happen with you here.”

“What’s the dream about?”

He pressed his mouth to the join between her shoulder and her neck. “It wasn’t good.”

Frankie nudged him away. “Let me get you some water.”

The nudge was enough for him to release her. “It’s fine, I’ll get some. Do you want a glass?”

After that shock? “Yeah, all right.”

He eased out of the bed, and the light that played over the hard muscles of his nude body distracted her for about half a second. All right, half a minute. She scrambled around for his shirt, another fashion disaster, but it would be sufficient to cover any attempts to foil this interrogation. Luca came back with two frosting glasses of water. The perfectionist had added a slice of lemon in the one he handed to her. “Enough with the distractions. What happened? There is a story that needs to be told.”

Luca blinked. “What do you mean?”

“That!” She pointed to the scar on his hip. “And all of that.” She gestured in the vicinity of his whole body. “Needs to be explained.”

Luca took a long, deep breath. “You’ll forgive my paranoia, but it’s courtesy of my ex-girlfriend. She handcuffed me, shaved me like a sheep and accused me of beating her up. Spent most of the night in a police cell waiting to be charged.”

Rage, the likes of which Frankie hadn’t felt since Leon had the brass balls to punch her, flamed through her. “She’s dead already, right?”

Luca burst out laughing, put his glass down and cupped her face. “That is the sweetest thing a girl has ever said to me.”

“Talk.”

He stretched to his full height and closed the bedroom door. “I’m Italian, right? Naturally it would have crossed your mind that I have certain connections.”

“To the police?”

“Other direction, sweetheart.”

“Mafia?” she asked.