Taming the Notorious SicilianBy: Michelle Smart
Francesco Calvetti. He has the face of a god and a body made for sin!
Francesco doesn’t do nice, and he doesn’t do damsels in distress. Apart from that one time. He never thought he’d see Hannah Chapman again. A woman like her, pure and untouched, has no place in his world.
Ever since losing her sister, Hannah has sheltered herself from the world, but being knocked from her bike is a wake-up call. A call she’s ready to accept. There’s one thing left on her to-do list and there’s only one man who can help her. But will the dangerous, devastatingly gorgeous Sicilian oblige her?
“You are playing with fire, Dr. Chapman.”
Hannah gave a wry smile. “I’m trained to treat burns.”
“Not the kind you will get from me. You’ll have to find another man to do the job. I’m not for hire.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Do I scare you?”
“On the contrary. It is you who should be afraid of me.”
“But I’m not scared of you. I don’t care about your reputation. After everything you’ve done for me, how can I not trust you?”
Francesco shook his head.
“You think I’m worthy of your trust?” Unthinkingly, he reached out a hand and captured a lock of her hair.
Reclosing the gap between them, she tilted her head back a little and placed a hand on his cheek.
“I want one night where I can throw caution to the wind. I want to know what it’s like to be made love to, and I want it to be you, because you’re the only man I’ve met who makes me feel alive without even touching me.”
Francesco could hardly breathe. His fingers still held the lock of her hair. The desire that had been swirling in his blood since he’d nuzzled into her neck thickened.
When had he ever felt as if he could explode from arousal?
This was madness.
FRANCESCO CALVETTI BROUGHT his MV Agusta F4 CC to a stop and placed his left foot on the road as he was foiled by yet another set of red lights. Barely 7:00 a.m. and the roads were already filling up.
What he wouldn’t give to be riding with nothing but the open road before him and green fields surrounding him.
He thought of Sicily with longing. His island had none of the grey dreariness he was fast associating with London. This was supposed to be spring? He’d enjoyed better winters in his homeland.
He yawned widely, raising his hand to his visor out of pure habit. After all, no one could see his face with his helmet on.
He should have gotten Mario to bring him home after such a long night, but being driven by anyone irritated him, especially in a car. Francesco was a man for whom drive had multiple definitions.
The light changed to green. Before twisting on the throttle and accelerating smoothly, he swiped away the moisture clinging to his visor.
What a country. At the moment it was like driving through a saturated cloud.
As he approached yet another set of lights, a cyclist on a pushbike just ahead caught his attention—or, rather, the fluorescent yellow helmet she wore caught it. She reached the lights at the moment they turned amber. If that had been him, Francesco mused, he would have gone for it. She’d had plenty of time.
But no, this was clearly a law-abiding woman with a healthy dose of self-preservation. She stopped right at the line. The car in front of Francesco, a large four-wheel drive, drew level on her right side.
She had the thickest hair he’d ever seen—a shaggy mass of varying shades of blonde reaching halfway down her back.
The light turned green and off she set, sticking her left arm out and turning down the street in that direction. The car that had been beside her also turned left, forced to hang a little behind her, with Francesco joining the convoy.
The road ahead was clear. The cyclist picked up speed....
It happened so quickly that for a moment Francesco was convinced he had imagined it.
Without any indication, the four-wheel drive in front of him pulled out to overtake the cyclist, accelerating quickly, but with the spatial awareness of a cauliflower, because it clipped the cyclist’s wheel, causing her to flip forward off the saddle and land head-first on the kerb.
Francesco brought his bike to an immediate stop and jumped off, clicking the stand down through muscle memory rather than conscious thought.