Francesca hesitated but then relaxed, some of the tension draining out of her. “Water is fine.”

“You don’t drink wine?” He raised an eyebrow.

She nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve had any alcohol. I don’t know how I’d react.”

He liked her honesty. “I’ll make certain you get home safe. One glass can’t hurt.” Before she could protest he turned to Berta. “Red wine. You know my preference. Bring the bottle and two glasses.” When Berta left he turned his attention to Francesca. “My family owns a few vineyards and a winery in Italy. It’s beginning to make a name, and fortunately I enjoy the wine our family produces. I hope you do as well.”

She nodded, a little shyly. “Thank you. I’m sure I will. Tell me about Agnese Moretti. Did she really box your ears?”

He had never been more grateful for the older woman’s difficult and very feisty personality. His story had piqued Francesca’s interest enough that she was much more relaxed with him. She seemed to like the stories of the people around her. Good people. He liked his neighborhood and wanted her to see it through his eyes. It was where she would spend the majority of her life. Accepting their way. Accepting their rules. Living with a yoke of violence around their necks for the good of those around them. A part of him detested himself for doing that to her, but there was no way he could give her up.

“Oh, yes. She not only boxed my ears, but twice she grabbed me by the earlobe and marched me out of a room. Of course, I was a lot younger when the earlobe thing happened.” Deliberately he rubbed his earlobe as if he could still feel the pinch.

Francesca laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. Melodic. Low. Almost as if the laugh was intimate, just between the two of them. His heart beat in tune to her low laughter. He wanted to hear it for the rest of his life. The sound drowned out the voices in his head that refused to die when those who owned them did.

“How old were you when she boxed your ears?”

“That was last year when I made the big mistake of getting ‘fresh’ with her by calling her by her first name. Apparently I’m not old enough yet to do that. She taught school and has never let me or any other student of hers forget it.”

“She sounds like a character.”

“She is,” Stefano said. “She’s wonderful. I can’t tell you how many students she tutored outside the classroom to help them when they had difficulties with a subject. She never charged their parents. There were some kids who didn’t have much and she would buy them the supplies they needed. Lunches. Jackets. She never let on that she did it, or made a big deal out of it, but they’d just find the supplies in their desk, or their jacket or lunch box.”

“Wow.” Francesca leaned her chin onto her hand, her gaze fixed on him. That sea-blue gaze that made him want to fall right into it. “She sounds incredible.”

“She’s a character. She forgets her purse anyplace she eats and her glasses in most stores. Tonio always rushes after her if she’s anywhere around. If not Tonio, then one of the other children. He’s the youngest and the most enthusiastic, which means he’s a little tornado and you have to get out of his way when he’s making his run.”

Berta was back with the antipasto, small plates, warm, fresh breadsticks and the wine. She expertly juggled each dish and poured a small amount of wine in a glass for Stefano to taste.

He liked that Francesca watched him so closely, that she seemed fascinated by the conversation and by him. He nodded his approval of the wine, waited until Berta poured both glasses and left before he picked up Francesca’s glass and handed it to her. Her fingers brushed his. Instantly a spark of electricity leapt from her to him. He felt their shadows connect. Merge. The pull was strong, just like the narrow slider tubes that nearly pulled apart his body when he stood in front of them—a powerful magnet drawing him close.

He heard her swift inhale. Her eyes darkened. Lashes lowered. Her breasts rose and fell. She pulled her hand away, bringing the wineglass to her mouth. She definitely felt the chemistry between them just as strongly as he did. It was explosive. His body reacted, going as hard as a rock, something that just didn’t happen to a man with his kind of discipline. He knew if he leaned into her and took her mouth, he’d ignite a firestorm—they both would.

She was dangerous to both of them. He had to stay in control around her and just being this close to her threatened that. He was the one shifting slightly to put distance between them, a mere inch, but even that little inch gave him a reprieve.