Stefano tipped up her face and slammed his mouth down over hers, effectively cutting off what she would have said to him. The moment he took possession and his tongue demanded entrance she was lost, the way she seemed to be always when he touched her. She felt him. His urgency. His hunger rising stark and brutal. Edging the kiss with danger. It was hot. Wet. Deliberately dominant.

She loved his kisses and gave herself up to him, pouring herself back into him, into his mouth, her arms creeping up to shyly circle his neck. She forgot about their audience. She even forgot who and what they were asking about because the world around her dropped away until there was only Stefano. His arms. His body. His awesome, perfect mouth. The taste of him she knew she’d never get enough of.

When he kissed her, her body heated, blood rushed hot, need pounded in her sex and thundered in her ears. There was no one like him and there never would be. Again, it was Stefano who slowly, reluctantly, broke the kiss. She was grateful he was reluctant, but she clung to him, wanting more. She stared up at him for a long time, lost in the vibrant blue of his eyes.

“You aren’t going anywhere, Francesca,” he stated, his voice low, but absolutely firm. “Not ever. You’re going to stay with me. Do you understand?”

She was mesmerized, completely under his spell in that moment, and it was impossible to do anything but nod. She didn’t understand at all. Not why or how Stefano would want her, but he did. There was no question about that now.

When she managed to look around her, Stefano’s brothers were grinning at her, not in the least giving them privacy or pretending to look the other way. Even the cousins were smirking, the tension gone, replaced by their smiles.

Ricco’s eyebrow shot up. “I’d say, little sister, you’re staying right here with us, where you belong.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Francesca stared at herself in the mirror, feeling a little as if she was a princess in a fairy tale. She smoothed her hand down her dress—the dress Stefano had bought her for tonight. He was casual about it, coming to her room, knocking once and opening the door. He walked straight to her, a large box in his hand, bent his head and brushed a kiss across her mouth.

His touch was all too fleeting. Barely there. But it was a brand and it burned right through her. He pushed the box into her hands. “Gotta go, bambina, things to do, but Emmanuelle and my cousins will be here to escort you to the club. You stick close to them until I get there. Understand?” The pad of his finger traced her lips. “I don’t want you dancing with other men. Stay with Emme.”

Stefano never got close to her without touching her. His arm snaked around her waist to pull her tightly to his side. His lips brushed her temple or her mouth. He liked being close, but he hadn’t made a move on her, not a real one. She found herself at night, lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, waiting. Just waiting.

She’d seen him leave tonight. As always he wore an impeccable suit. This one was charcoal gray with ultrathin lighter stripes. It was one of his inevitable three-piece suits and he looked amazing in it. He was so sweet to her. Making certain she ate meals. Insisting she text him from the deli several times throughout the day. Always, if she stepped outside, one of his cousins was close.

Stefano made her feel as if she mattered. As if she was his entire focus, even when he was at work, or wherever it was he went. Her eyes went back to the mirror and she raised her hand to her throat. She never asked him what he did. She thought about it and prepared herself to ask him, but he always distracted her before she did. He was just so intimidating and darkly sensual, filling the room with his presence until she could barely think straight.

She inspected herself very carefully. The dress was beautiful—the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, let alone worn. It was also the sexiest, most flattering dress she’d ever put on. The material clung to her like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination, and yet revealing only hints of actual skin. The dress followed every curve to her small waist before dropping away over her hips. It was short, but elegant. Sexy, but not cheap.

She stared at herself, unable to believe that it was actually Francesca Capello looking back at her in the mirror. She didn’t look like that. Hot. Beautiful even, with her hair left loose to tumble around her face and down her back. She couldn’t wear a bra with the dress, but it had a lining that gave some support because the material hugged her so tightly. In the box along with the dress was a tiny black lace thong. There was a bow on the back of the waistband, if you could call it a band; mostly it was tiny black strips of material. The thong rode low on her hips, barely there, so no lines showed beneath the clinging material of her dress.