She looked carefully around the crowd again, and her gaze met a man dancing very close to the exit Stefano guided her toward. A shiver went down her spine. He was dressed in very nice clothes, his hair falling around his face. He held a woman in his arms, but she could tell he barely noticed her. It was the same man she’d seen in Petrov’s Pizzeria. It was the same man who had stood outside Masci’s Deli and had drawn a finger across his throat in a gesture meant to frighten her. He was a distance away, but she felt his malevolence toward her. Suddenly she wasn’t so certain Barry Anthon had sent him.

“What’s wrong?” Stefano stopped on the dance floor, his hand going under her chin to lift her face so he could look at her.

Her gaze slid to his and then she turned her head to look back toward the man. The crowd of dancers had come between them and when they moved to the music, providing gaps, he wasn’t there. She shivered again. If she told Stefano he’d turn the place upside down looking for the man.

Francesca pressed herself tighter against Stefano. “Take me out of here. I want to be alone with you.” It was the truth. The stark honesty would be impossible to miss. The need and rising hunger in her was just as plain as the honesty but she didn’t care if she was blatantly throwing herself at him. She needed Stefano Ferraro, even if she could only have him for a short time—before everything bad in her life caught up with her—and it would. She wanted as much time with Stefano as possible before that happened.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Stefano kept Francesca’s body very close to his as they rode the elevator up to his apartment, so close she could feel the heat of his body scorching her right through her clothes. The pads of his fingers continued to trace his name along the back of her thigh, up close to the cheeks of her butt, his fingertips brushing along her bottom as well. She’d worn a thong and he had a lot of skin to explore. He did so almost absently, while she was a bundle of nerves, her heart beating wildly out of control.

His arm was a steel band just under her breasts, locking her in front of him. His erection was long and thick and jerked hard against her back as the elevator ascended. He didn’t speak, but the hand tracing his name into her skin suddenly cupped her bottom, fingers pressing deep, almost to the point of pain, but it was an exquisite pain, sending darts of fire straight to her sex.

The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors opened. He caught her up without preamble, just swung her into his arms as if he couldn’t take another moment without her. He strode into the apartment straight to the nearest surface, the long, narrow, gleaming sideboard that jutted out from the decorative post to serve as a partial room divider. Sweeping the sideboard clean of the books, he laid her down, his body coming over hers to pin her there.

Stefano’s mouth found hers, and the kiss was unlike anything she’d ever known. Devastatingly sweet turned instantly hot, hard and demanding. The kiss continued to evolve, going rough and insistent before his mouth left hers and began to trail a path of kisses, nips and licks down to her chin. Francesca’s hands clutched either side of his skull, holding on in an effort to stay anchored and sane as he continued kissing his way down her throat.

He sucked gently at her skin and then laved the spot with his tongue before proceeding to the next spot as though he planned to cover every inch of her with teeth, lips and tongue. His hand slid up her inner thigh, the pads of his fingers like hot brands, tracing his name into her sensitive skin there. She squirmed, bucking her hips, needing more contact, feeling as though a fire burned out of control between her legs.

He caught at the front of her dress—the beautiful, exquisite designer dress he’d bought her—and ripped the thin material right down the front, so that her generous breasts spilled out. Instantly his mouth covered her right breast, pulling her nipple deep. The nearly painful pleasure had her arching her back, trying to come up off the narrow sideboard, a little cry of pure need escaping.

The hand at her thigh caught at her damp panties, tugged hard and tossed them away, onto the elegant floor of his apartment. Francesca could feel the hard, cool surface of the marble sideboard against her bare butt. His fingers went straight, unerringly, to her clit, and another strangled sound escaped, this one nearly a sob.

“Stefano.” His name came out low, needy, more of a whispered pant than anything else. “That feels . . . extraordinary.”

His mouth moved over the curve of her breast, suckling gently, and then he lifted his head, his fingers still working between her legs. His gaze was fierce, possessive, the blue so dark with hunger her womb spasmed.