She began laughing as Stefano helped her to stand. “I think you just might have that kind of control, honey. The kind where I could wrap my mouth around you, take you down my throat and work you while you conducted business. We might have to put it to the test sometime. Maybe even make a wager.” She said it just to be wicked, but his eyes flashed at her as he reached around her to get a towel wet with warm water. He handed it to her and took another for himself.

“I like the idea. We’ll set a date for you to come to my office.”

That was so not happening, although she had to admit, as long as she was hidden and no one could see her, the idea was a little exciting. Once she was clean, Stefano untied her skirt so it would drop down and cover her. He leaned down and took her mouth gently.

“I’ll see you at home, amore.” He smiled. “I love saying that. Now that you’re there, I have a home. You go out first. Don’t say anything to Pietro. He doesn’t know I stopped in and I don’t have time to talk.”

She nodded and allowed him to push her out the door. She turned and hurried down the hall. Just before she hit the main store, she remembered Stefano had her panties. She jogged back and opened the door. He was gone. She frowned, looking around her. The only thing she saw were the shadows of the buildings outside through the window racing across the floor. She sighed and shook her head as she went back to work.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The paparazzi were relentless over the next few days. Francesca found that she didn’t mind at all having Emilio and Enzo between her and everyone else. The reporters were everywhere: camped out at the hotel, trying to get a glimpse of her, and walking up and down the streets, entering shops to do their best to persuade the locals to help them get a picture of her or information on her. She was very, very grateful for the Ferraros’ relationship with the people in their neighborhood because no one gave her up.

She enjoyed work, especially lunch or breaks because she never knew when Stefano would call or text her to meet him in the employee restroom. He was an exciting, creative man, very sexual, and he made her feel as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world. She found herself laughing more. Relaxed. Happy. She was happy.

His brothers and sister dropped by his apartment often. They trained together in the large training hall Stefano had. She liked to watch them as they sparred, feet and hands a blur as they tried to best one another. They were all very fast and smooth, so much so that she couldn’t actually say with any certainty which brother or even Emmanuelle was better than the others.

She loved the camaraderie¸ how close they all were. It was very evident to her that the brothers watched over Emmanuelle, although they considered her an equal. She also realized that they didn’t talk about their parents. She knew Stefano’s parents worked for the family business, whatever that was, and that both were alive, but they were never really mentioned. It was odd when the siblings were so close.

Stefano was a man who liked to touch. When they were together, inside the apartment or outside, he had his hands on her. If they were alone he was initiating sex. She didn’t mind that in the least. Sex with Stefano was always incredible. She could almost forget Barry Anthon and the threat he presented. Almost. Still, she was uneasy, a little persistent feeling nagging at her that her world was too perfect, that she’d found happiness and he was going to come and rip it away.

“Francesca.” Pietro’s voice penetrated. “Stop daydreaming. It’s embarrassing.” He threw back his head and laughed at his own joke.

She jerked around, leaning against the counter, watching him laugh at her along with favorite customers, Lucia and Amo Fausti. She loved their boutique and the clothes they sold as well as the other treasures they had acquired from all over the world. Of course, she couldn’t afford anything and she’d learned not to admire too closely because somehow word would get back to Stefano and she’d have whatever she liked sitting on their bed when she got home from work.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. I’m going to ruin your coffee, Amo,” she threatened. “I’ll accidentally put sugar in it.”

Amo shuddered. “That would be mean, Frankie, and you don’t have a mean bone in your body. You’re like my beautiful Lucia.”

That was the highest compliment Amo could have given her. He adored his wife, and Francesca wanted to throw her arms around him at such huge praise. He was the only person who ever called her Frankie and she liked it coming from him. “Thank you, Amo. As Lucia is amazing, I’m going to just bask in that for a while.”