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Hysteria he could have risen above, but not the infectious giggles that had emerged from her lovely lips as she’d watched him resort to kicking the tyres of the truck.
He had wrenched open the door, furious beyond reason. ‘You’re a jinx!’ he accused, thinking longingly of the Mercedes he had dr
iven out of the city only the previous week.
Francesco was seriously beginning to regret suggesting the temporary exchange with Ramon, who would be enjoying the benefits of the air-conditioned luxury of that top-of-therange model.
Considering the situation he now found himself in, Francesco was forced to ask himself if the man who cared for his string of thoroughbred Arabian horses had not had a point when he had questioned his employer’s sanity … He could think of several people in the financial circles he moved in who, if they’d been able to see him now, would have had no doubts about it.
Francesco Romanelli, they would have declared, has finally lost it! The only person he could imagine applauding his crazy actions was Rafe, his twin, who, had he still been alive, would have said—About time! Though even he might have raised an eyebrow at the extent to which his twin had embraced his new image.
His harsh accusation made Erin stop laughing. ‘And you’re about as much fun as earache,’ she told him frankly.
It took a few moments before he recovered from the shock of being spoken to this way, with none of the respect he automatically took as his due, before he responded.
And that was when he kissed her.
He slid into the driver’s seat, leaned across and took her face between his hands. ‘You want fun? Fine!’ And he lowered his mouth to hers.
The moment their lips touched he lost all control. Nothing that had gone before had prepared him for the searing heat that exploded inside him like a fireball, spreading and consuming him, wiping away every vestige of rational thought and leaving only primal need and hunger.
Nothing that had gone before had prepared him for Erin Foyle!
He could hear her voice in his head, huskily erotic. She said his name as it was wrenched from deep in the heart of 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.
