Happy Mother's Day! - By Sharon Kendrick Page 0,70

her … repeating it over and over, making the syllables sound like a throaty plea as she wound her fingers into his hair, her head thrown back as he kissed the curve of her pale throat.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she looked like someone in a trance, her incredible blue eyes glazed and dilated as she looked up at him.

Experiencing a wave of overwhelming tenderness, he cupped her chin, drawing her face up to his, stroking the curve of her soft cheek with his forefinger. The hunger was still there like a prickle under his skin but at least he had it in check.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you, cara mia.’ He had done a pretty good job of scaring himself.

She smiled and expelled a shivery little sigh. ‘I’m not scared. I’m …’ Her voice faltered as she gave a shaky laugh and pressed her hand to the one he held against her face.

He looked at her fingers, small and very pale against his darker skin.

‘What are you?’

‘All right, I am a little afraid, but not of you,’ she added quickly. ‘I’m scared of the way you make me feel.’ Her eyes fell from his and she looked embarrassed. ‘God, that is such an over-the-top thing to say to a total stranger.’

‘We’re not total strangers.’

Her feathery brows lifted. ‘I don’t even know your surname.’

‘It is Romanelli.’ He paused, but there was no flicker of recognition on her face. ‘Francesco Luis Romanelli.’

‘Well, Francesco Luis Romanelli, I’m Erin, Erin Foyle. I’ve not the faintest idea what I’m doing here. Why I’m talking to you this way. Why I’m not having hysterics because you’ve just told me we’ve run out of petrol.’ She studied his face as though she expected to find the reason for her aberrant behaviour written there.

After a moment the furrow in her smooth brow relaxed as an impish smile that deepened the dimple in her left cheek spread across her face.

Francesco’s hand fell away as she leaned back in the worn leather seat chuckling softly as she drew her knees up to her chin.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘I was thinking about when you walked into the hotel tonight looking like. I thought that waiter, horrid, stuck-up man, was going to have an apoplexy. “We have a strict dress code, sir.”’ She shook her head. ‘Silly man!’

‘Looking like what?’ he probed, totally hooked by the smile that tugged at the corners of her wide, sweet lips. He hungrily examined the soft contours of her expressive face, finding it hard to believe that twenty-four hours earlier he had never set eyes on her.

‘So modest,’ she mocked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

He shook his head, only half concentrating on her words as he looked at her mouth.

‘You strode in there looking like a dark, enigmatic antihero, who hides his sensitivity under the surly, brooding exterior.’ She laughed at his expression. ‘Of course, I know you don’t have an ounce of sensitivity because you were quite awful to me yesterday.’

‘Yet you are here?’

‘Well, you did rescue me.’

‘From the results of your own stupidity.’

‘Yes, you did touch on the subject of my stupidity yesterday and I agree, in retrospect, that exploring alone that far off the beaten track might not have been the best idea I ever had. But I’m glad I did.’

‘You are?’ He was amused by her defiance.

She nodded. ‘If I hadn’t I wouldn’t have met you.’

‘Perhaps we were fated to meet?’ He half expected her to laugh at the suggestion, but she didn’t.

‘Perhaps.’

‘So you came with me tonight out of gratitude?’ ‘No, not gratitude,’ she denied huskily. ‘I did promise you a dinner, though I never actually thought I’d see you again.’ ‘But you wanted to?’

Her eyes slid from his. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? Are those exactly the same clothes you were wearing yesterday?’

‘This shirt is clean.’ Francesco closed his fingers over her hand and brought it up to his lips. ‘And I’ve showered.’

‘But you smelt quite incredibly good yesterday, too.’

‘Do you always say exactly what you are thinking?’

She looked startled by the question. After a thoughtful pause she shook her head. ‘No, it’s just with you. That’s really strange, don’t you think?’

Not nearly so strange, Francesco thought, as a man who could command a private jet simply by picking up a phone pretending to be the owner of a truck that most people would have been embarrassed to be seen in.

‘This is probably the most irresponsible thing I’ve done in my life,’ she admitted. ‘I suppose you’ve done