Page 11 of Maddest Temptation

I held back the urge to hit the steering wheel, refusing to lose control of the situation, even though I was this close to losing my shit. My eyes wandered to the woman in my car, she had her nose shoved into the collar of my coat. Either she didn’t care that I caught her smelling my scent or she hadn’t realized I was watching her.

Francesca fucking Manci.

She was the last person I expected to hear from, but oddly enough, there was a part of me, small—albeit alive—that had been eager to see her. Like a puppy with its master. Four years and apparently, she still had that effect on me. I must have been Pavlov-ed or some shit. It was the only explanation.

I gripped the wheel tightly and swerved in between the cars in front of mine, pressing on the gas. “Can you go slower?”

I turned to face Francesca. “Why?”

“There’s no one chasing us, and last I checked, you’re not Dominic Toretto, so chill out.”

“I have it under control,” I said swerving around another car, she gripped the seatbelt and only because I didn’t enjoy that sight on her face, I slowed—only a bit.

Silence settled over us once more, and in the meantime, Francesca began rummaging through my car, looking around and touching everything. She stopped when she found my gum. Without ceremony, she popped one into her mouth and threw the wrapping paper on the back seat. I clenched my teeth but remained silent.

Unsatisfied with what she had found, Francesca reached for the glove compartment and opened it, my gun fell out, she tried to hold it, but overwhelmed, she let it fall to the floor. Annoyed and slightly amused, I swerved the car left and stopped on the road’s shoulder.

“God damn it, Francesca.”

“It fell,” she snapped as though it was my fault.

I moved toward her with the intention of grabbing the firearm, Francesca jumped back, hitting her back against the door. Her sapphire blue eyes widened, and she sucked in a deep breath.

“What was that?” I pulled away from her, giving Francesca some space.

“Nothing.” She brushed it off like she hadn’t flinched from me.

“What did you think I was going to do? Hit you?” I sneered.

The look in her eyes told me that was exactly what she had expected. I fisted my hands, anger coursing through my veins, but not at Francesca, at the men who did this to her. “I’m going to pick it up now,” I said with a calm I did not possess.

Reaching out slower this time, I reached for the gun, my arm coming in contact with the bare skin of her creamy thigh, and I watched as she shivered. I couldn’t help the amused smile that graced my face, but it remained there for only a few seconds, not long enough for her to see.

“I don’t hit women, Francesca,” I said as I closed the glove compartment. “Not even those who annoy the fuck out of me.”

I didn’t need that kind of dominance over them, in fact, it sickened me to know there were men out there who enjoyed and partook in this kind of behavior. I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of sweet cherries, it filled my nose and twisted my insides. Francesca always looked so damned sweet.

What happened to her now?

She didn’t look sweet, on the contrary, she looked sensual and sexy, her white dress hugging every curve of her perfect body. Those toned long legs on display drove me insane. Not to mention the pink lipstick that made her full kiss-me lips look even more kissable.

I cleared my throat and focused on the road before me. Francesca chewed loudly and then popped a bubble, the loud POP echoing inside the car. How could a woman infuriate me so much, and in the same moment, have me completely ensnared in her presence? Unable to help myself, I watched Francesca again, taking advantage of the fact that she was looking out the window.

She was still unbearably beautiful, and that dress… blood traveled to my dick, and I couldn’t stop myself. The white dress she wore left nothing to the imagination. I could see the large swell of her breasts and her nipples poking through the fabric. I wondered if she was cold or turned on.

Stop that. Focus. Keep your mind where it should be and control yourself.

What was she doing back in my city? Last I checked, she was still living in Indianapolis with her very old—dead husband. How could I have forgotten? Paolo Biancini, Francesca’s late husband, had died three weeks ago. I just hadn’t expected her to be back so soon after. I thought maybe she wanted to mourn him.

Having Francesca here in my city was dangerous. Too many memories. Too much water under that broken bridge.

“I heard about your husband.” The words slipped through my lips. Silence never bothered me, but with her it did. Francesca had always been a chatterbox.

She popped the gum again and turned to face me, something unreadable in her eyes — was it sorrow? I ran my thumb under my lower lip and clenched my teeth hard.

“I’m not in the mood for small talk.” She replied eventually.

Great. “I was being polite, Francesca.”

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