Chapter 5

Tony stood, grabbed some of the empty plates and glasses, and followed Francesca into the kitchen. She was rinsing some cups by the sink and didn’t notice him approaching. One thing was for sure: the woman was skittish around him. It was subtle and he was sure no one else noticed, but he did. She blushed when he was around—oh, she didn’t turn beet red, but her skin would definitely flush. She would chew her lower lip, avoid eye contact, and be an overall huge pain in his ass—more than usual.

The woman had a temper and a fiery personality, and he loved to provoke her, mostly because he thought it was all playful flirting; it was never with the intention of making her feel uncomfortable or truly angry. He just felt a need to rile her up to get a rise out of her. Sorta like foreplay. But now he wasn’t so sure. This time she actually seemed genuinely…hurt?

He’d seen her pissed off with other people; hell, on more than one occasion at the Academy, he’d been on the receiving end of that anger. But she’d never blushed or avoided contact with others. In fact, he was sure she could go head-to-head with anyone without batting an eye. She was a tigress. But he got to see a different side of her when he riled her up. It was subtle, but it was there. Yes, she was still a tigress, but somehow she was a fidgety mess of a tigress. More like a scared pussy cat. Speaking of pussy…

“I’m thinking you’re scared of the hurricane,” he whispered in her ear.

She jumped and dropped the plate she was holding. Water and soap splattered all over the place. “Holy fuck!” She turned, her eyes wide and her hand over her heart. “You scared the shit out of me.” He was standing so close to her, he could feel the rise and fall of her chest on his.

“You don’t need to be scared of the storm, cariño.”

She pushed him away with her sudsy hands. “I’m not scared.”

“You sure ’bout that?” He smiled. It was what he was known for, that crooked smile. That’s what got the women swooning. “You ran in here all twitchy.”

“Stop saying that! I’m not twitchy!” She squared her shoulders and crossed her arms over her ample chest.

“Oh, really?” He cocked one eyebrow and ran a finger down her cheek. She flinched, then stepped aside and out of his reach.

“Okay, so I get that you don’t like to be put on the spot in front of the others, but you’re going to stand here and tell me you don’t want to kiss me?”

“We’re back to that?” she asked.

“Yes. We’re back to that, and we’ll keep going back to that until you just accept it. I can be very relentless when I want something, and I want to kiss you again.”

“Well, I don’t want to kiss you.”

“Liar,” he said. “Yesterday you wanted more, and today, outside, you definitely looked like you wanted to kiss me. In fact, I bet if we hadn’t been interrupted we’d still be panting from all the—”

“Would you stop that!” She tried to move away, but he didn’t let her. “Stop talking like that. I don’t like it. It makes me uncomfortable. Before that night with you I hadn’t had sex in eight years!” she hissed. As soon as she said it, her eyes went wide and she covered her mouth.

He stepped back and didn’t say anything for far too long.

“Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that. Just forget I said it,” she muttered.

“Did you say you hadn’t slept with a man in eight years?” He ran his hands through his hair and down his face. “Why didn’t you say anything? Jesus, Francesca, I feel like an asshole.” He paced around the kitchen saying things in Spanish she didn’t understand. “That explains why you were so tight. I could’ve hurt you. Damn it!” His hands were fisted by his sides.

She turned and went back to the dishes. “It’s not a big deal. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just…well, that’s why sex talk makes me uncomfortable. I’m not used to it, is all. But don’t worry about it. Just forget I said anything.”

He let out a deep breath and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Francesca. So sorry. Our first time shouldn’t have happened that way.” He leaned in close. “I had no idea. You’re so sexy. How is that even possible? Eight years?”

She groaned. “Just forget it. Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Can I kiss you?”

She looked surprised at his change of subject, but she stood her ground. “No.” Her obvious discomfort made him feel even more assured, and quite frankly it turned him on. “Cariño,” he whispered, ignoring her answer, leaning closer to her now. “Let me try again, take you the way I should’ve taken you. You want me to kiss you, don’t you? I’ll be soft this time.”

She shook her head. She seemed so nervous he was afraid she would actually cry.

He held her chin and tipped her head up. Her eyes were wide but she didn’t push him away. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m…I don’t know…I can’t think straight.” She straightened her spine, but it wasn’t convincing.

He leaned down. “Are you ready?”

She whispered breathlessly, “Ready for what?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He moved closer. “You can stop me.”

She was like a scared kitten that might claw him if he made a too-sudden movement. He had to play this delicately. He gently moved her hair away from her shoulders and softly cupped the sides of her neck. He could feel her pulse under his grip. His lips were a mere breath away, and he noticed her throat moving as she tried to swallow.

He kissed one cheekbone first, then the other one.

“I’m not good at this,” she admitted.

“At what?” He placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Last night’s kiss was perfect.”

“At this.” That got his attention. He wasn’t sure what she meant. At kissing? At relationships? At what?

The woman was sex personified. He’d never met anyone who oozed so much sensuality. Her tight little suits, her sexy-as-hell body, the confident way she carried herself…What the hell did she mean? He wanted to ask, but the urge to feel his mouth against hers dominated his thoughts more than whatever she was saying. He knew he was being an asshole for not digging deeper, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her plump lips.

“Cariño.” He moved down and kissed the corner of her mouth. She gasped and her lips parted. He took the opportunity to lightly trace his tongue along the seam of her lip, but she didn’t respond other than to close her eyes and grip his wrists. It was the least passionate kiss he’d ever had, yet he’d never felt so impacted by a kiss in his life. There was so much emotion behind it that even though there was no collision of tongues, no flushed bodies, no sense of urgency, he wanted to pick her up and carry her to her room. He wanted to show her how impossible it was for her to be bad at anything as far as he was concerned. She was just too sexy, too beautiful, too self-assured.

He pulled away and looked at her. To his surprise, she looked at him for a second before saying, “Fuck it.” She fisted his hair and drew him to her, her lips crashing toward his.

At first she seemed apprehensive, but when one arm wrapped around her waist and held her close, her back arched and she placed a hand on his chest. He could practically hear her internal debate. Should she push him away or pull closer? The hand on his chest pushed slightly against him as he slowly deepened the kiss. She was participating, but not fully. Then the same hand slowly closed into a fist, taking part of his shirt with it, hauling him closer, her tongue breaching his lips. She tasted so good, like wine and cookies. Intoxicating. His grip constricted around her waist, bringing her completely flush against him, and the other hand gripped the back of her neck. And when she whimpered quietly into his mouth, it took all the resolve he had not to rip her clothes off her and feast on every inch of her body right on her kitchen table.

What the hell had gotten into her? She was practically dry-humping Tony in her kitchen with a room full of people in the other room. But she couldn’t help it—she was too drunk on emotions to think straight. Damn!

He felt so good. But then he pulled her closer and she felt his hardness pressed against her, and the whole situation scared the shit out of her. When was the last time she had felt this way? She pulled back, startling him and herself in the process. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, avoiding his hooded eyes.

He took a predatory step toward her, and she held her arm up. She needed distance.

“What happened?” he asked in a deep voice.

“That was—” She shook her head. “This was a mistake. I’ve already told you, I don’t want a relationship. I was able to handle one night, but that kiss didn’t say ‘one night’ to me. It didn’t say ‘fun.’ It screamed ‘complicated’ and ‘messy.’ I have too many things going on. This is a mistake,” she repeated, as if she was trying to convince herself.

“Didn’t feel like a mistake.” He reached for her face and touched her hot cheek with the back of his palm. Her stupid, traitorous body should’ve understood the gravity of the situation and flinched or moved away. Instead, her eyes closed and she leaned into his caress.

At a loud bang coming from the other room, their eyes widened, and they jerked out of their lustful haze. They ran out of the kitchen to find Chrissy and Jessica in a panic while Jack, Slade, Cain, and Violet stood by the sliding door that led to the backyard. The dogs were all barking in their carriers frantically. Cain was arguing with Violet and asking her to go to the other end of the room with the rest of the women, but Violet was not budging.

“What was that noise?” Francesca asked.

“Something must’ve hit one of the plywood boards and cracked it,” Jack said, pointing to the glass door. “See right there? I think it’ll be okay, but the winds are really picking up now.”

The men were standing close to the sliding door, trying to determine whether they should go out and repair it. Violet and Francesca were standing a bit away, careful not to get too close just in case the plywood suddenly blew away.

Then the lights started flickering and the entire group stopped talking and looked up to the ceiling. Soon there would be no electricity. Francesca ran to the box full of flashlights and handed them out. The girls tried to turn on the television, but the cable was already out and there was only static on the screen. “Go see what it says on the radio, babe,” Slade instructed Jessica. “I brought the hurricane radio. It’s by our stuff. And can someone please shut the dogs up?” Jess nodded and walked across the room with Chrissy to turn on the radio and deal with the dogs.

The group listened silently as the radio reported that the winds had reached upward of 120 miles per hour.

Jessica was clinging to Slade, who whispered something in her ear and rubbed her back. “I think we’re going to crash. Try to get some sleep just in case tomorrow turns out to be a big day of cleaning up,” Slade said to Francesca. He began to unroll a couple of sleeping bags on the carpet in the living room.

“Yes. Of course. Help yourselves to anything you need.”

With one final flicker, the lights were gone. They all stood in her living room in pitch darkness until Violet turned on her flashlight, followed by everyone else. “I guess sleep is a good idea. Not like we can see anything anyway.”

“You mind if I take a quick shower?” Tony asked Francesca. “Luckily I had my gym bag with extra clothes in the car.”

“Sure. Chrissy is using the bathroom in the hall. You can use the one in my room. It’s the last door to the left.” He picked up his gym bag and walked away. Once everyone else seemed settled, Francesca went to her room and changed into a T-shirt and boxer shorts and climbed into her bed.

It was not going to be easy to sleep with all the noise coming from outside, but she closed her eyes anyway. A few minutes later she felt the bed dip.

“So…,” he said.

Francesca turned around to look at Tony but couldn’t see much more than an outline sitting on the edge of her bed. “Yes?”

“Where am I sleeping?”

“Find a spot,” she answered.

She felt his weight shift as he lifted himself off the bed, which was a relief. He couldn’t have possibly thought she was going to invite him to sleep on her—

Suddenly a warm body brushed against hers. “What the hell, Tony?” She bolted up, bringing the covers to her neck, which was unnecessary—with no lights, he certainly couldn’t see anything.

“You told me to find a spot. Here’s a spot. Come on, you don’t expect me to sleep on the floor, do you? I didn’t bring a sleeping bag and I’m tired. I bet the rest of the guys took all the pillows and blankets you left for them, and you have this huge bed. Don’t be selfish, cariño. And don’t be such a bed hog. Move over.”

She lay back down, moving over slightly, her back to him. “Since you helped me so much today, at the gym and then here, I’ll agree to let you sleep here. But stay on that side of the bed, buster.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” She felt him move close, then his warm lips pressed quickly to her cheek in a sweet kiss. “Goodnight.”

“Thanks for today, Tony. Really. Thank you.”

“Yes, it was a very good kiss, wasn’t it? I should be thanking you.”

She turned and hit him with a pillow. “I meant for helping me with the gym and my house. Not the kiss. We shall not speak of those kisses.”

He laughed. “I’ll give you some time to process the inevitable. Because we’re going to kiss again. We’ll do a lot more. Let’s not pretend I’m the only one who wants a redo.”

She groaned as she rolled over onto her side, her back to him. “Ugh. I can’t even think about whatever caveman nonsense you’re saying, because it’s getting so hot in here.”

“I give you ten minutes before you’re naked,” he said.

What? The gall! “You wish, buddy!” She fluffed her pillow and threw her head back on it.

“At least topless,” he added. “You’ll see.”

They didn’t speak for some time, both lost in their thoughts. The silence between the two was deafening even with the loud pounding outside from the wind and rain. Then she began to laugh. She didn’t want to, but the awkwardness of the situation made it impossible not to. She felt his body shake next to her as he began to laugh too.

“This is weird,” she giggled.

“What is? You and me in bed together? The hurricane?”

“Everything,” she said, and they both laughed. Then the laughter slowly subsided and Tony moved closer.

“You’re making me hot. Stay on your side.”

“You always make me hot,” he muttered, his warm breath against her neck.

She wiggled out of his arms. “Shut up. Your body temperature,” she clarified, “is hot and you’re making me hot.”

“So take off your clothes.” He sat up, and she could see from his silhouette that he was pulling off his shirt.

“Are you taking off your clothes?” she asked. “I am not letting you sleep on my bed naked!”

“It’s hot. Calm down. It’s only my shirt. Take yours off too. You’ll feel better.”

“Oh.” Oh! “That’s why you said I’d be taking off my clothes soon. Since the AC’s not working.”

“Exactly.”

He was right, it was hot, but still, she didn’t want to get naked. She kicked the covers to the floor and threw herself back on the bed, her legs and arms slightly spread. He laughed. He brushed his palm against her collarbone and up her neck. “You’re sweating.”

“I know. I feel gross,” she whined. “And sticky.”

“And cranky.”

“I hate being hot,” she said. “In our house in São Paulo, my father had air-conditioning installed because I hate being hot.”

“So take off your clothes.”

She stood up, walked blindly to the door of her room, and opened it. “The air needs to circulate.” She sat back down on the bed. She could tell he was lying on his side, observing her brattiness.

“Telling you right now, cariño, you can leave it open, but the moment you start stripping, I’m closing it.”

“I’m not stripping,” she said, flopping onto her back. “But if I were to strip, it would be purely because of the heat. No need to close the door.”

She felt his body near her. “I don’t want the guys to see you naked. So I will close the door.” It was a statement. Not a question. Not a request. A fact.

He rolled onto his back. They were both staring at the ceiling. Well, she was staring at the ceiling; she wasn’t sure if his eyes were already closed. They lay there in comfortable silence for a while. The only noise was the sound of the wind coming from outside, which was so strong now that it sounded like a freight train. It was loud and kind of scary, but at the moment she was more scared of the man lying next to her. Her feelings for him were terrifying. Never had she felt for a man what she felt for him. It was like superlust. Crazy superlust. She wasn’t sure how to handle it. How to handle him.

She’d only slept with one man in her life, eight years ago, and he hadn’t been a man the way Tony was a man. She might not know him that well, but she knew enough to be aware that he was all sex.

“I’m not going to try anything, I promise. You can relax, you know,” he said, as if sensing her tension.

“I am relaxed,” she lied. “Anyway, I would totally kick your ass if you tried something.”

Tony chuckled. “I actually believe that.” Then he added, “So are you going to tell me your story? Why are you always so nervous around me? Why the long sex hiatus?”

“I already told you. It’s been a long time since I was with a man, so I get a little uncomfortable with men.”

“That’s bullshit. You get uncomfortable with me.”

“Okay, fine,” she admitted. “It’s mostly you.” Francesca took a deep breath before she continued. “Being intimate makes me nervous. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not looking for any kind of relationship or anything.”

“I feel like such a jerk for thinking differently that night at the wedding. I always thought you’d be very experienced.”

She turned and smacked his shoulder. “What the hell, Tony? You thought I was a slut or something?”

“No. That’s not what I meant. I mean…you seem to be the kind of woman who would use a man and then spit him out. Poor guy wouldn’t even see it coming.”

She guffawed. “Well, I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why aren’t I a slut?”

“Having sex does not make you a slut,” he replied. “Why are you afraid of being intimate?”

“First, let’s get something straight. I said nervous, not afraid. It makes me nervous. By the way, these are very intrusive questions. It’s a long story and not something I want to get into right now, but the short version is that it’s just been so long that I’ve made it into this big thing in my head, worked myself up into a frenzy, you know? And now it’s just this overwhelming thing. S-E-X.” She wiggled her fingers, though she knew he couldn’t see her gesture. “And to top it off, I’m pretty sure I suck at it.”

Tony didn’t speak for a long time.

Did I say too much?

At that moment, with her candor, he realized something. He wanted to spend time with her—not just naked time, although he definitely wanted to do that too. He wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to learn what made her tick and what made her laugh. He wanted more with this woman. He wasn’t thinking about what exactly “more” meant, but he definitely didn’t want this night to be the only night they spent together. If she could be this open with him, he needed to do the same with her. He suspected this was a side no one else got the privilege of seeing.

“You know what I like most about you?” Tony asked. “You have absolutely no filter. None whatsoever.”

He felt more than saw her cover her eyes with her arm, and he chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed. I like it. I do. You’re honest. You curse, a lot. More than most men I know. You say it how it is. You don’t hold back. Ever. You just told me you thought you suck in bed. Most people would never admit that. And you did. To me. To someone I’m pretty sure you like. You didn’t know how I’d react to a woman telling me that she sucks in bed. And for the record, the sex—it didn’t suck. Actually, it was pretty great, and I, for one, am looking forward to it happening again soon.”

“Oh, God,” she whimpered. He turned to lie on his side, his head held up by his hand.

“I’m not going to run. But I am going to lay some truth on you, and I think you can handle it. Someone who just laid it out for me can handle it.”

She sat up and took a deep breath. “Okay. Hit me with it.”

“You have this need to control, but if you find the right man, someone you trust, you should trust him enough to let him take charge. If you did that, if you let go, stopped overthinking it, you’d probably find you aren’t terrible in bed and that you actually do like sex. When we kissed, you let go. You wanted it and it was perfect. I don’t know why you haven’t slept with anyone for so long, but I bet that part of the problem is your inability to let go.”

She flinched. “Well…I don’t really know what to say. What the hell do I even do with your observation? I’m not going to just do a one eighty and change who I am. This is me. I don’t know how to let go. I don’t remember the last time I just relaxed.” Her voice lowered, and it sounded as if she was really upset at this revelation. “I’m destined to be a spinster. Maybe I’m on to something by just not dating.”

“No. I just think you haven’t met the right man yet. And I think closing yourself off to men because you’re scared isn’t the right choice. Whether it be me or someone else, you shouldn’t stop trying to find someone, Francesca.”

He was secure enough in himself not to give a flying fuck if she took charge. When it mattered, she would have to relax her iron grip. Actually, she’d done that a few times already. During this hurricane, for example, when he needed her to listen to him, she did. She needed a man strong enough to take care of her, even if she didn’t realize he was taking care of her. She needed a man she could be herself with, even if it was only in their own private bubble. A place where she could be vulnerable.

He wasn’t sure how to get her to begin to lower her guard, but he sure as hell was going to try. Because that kiss—the kiss that had started off light and sweet and ended up being the same intensity as the hurricane currently wreaking havoc outside—had rocked him. Suddenly he didn’t want to see someone else break her out of her shell. It had to be him. He would be the man to get her to let go and have some fun. Because if there was one thing Tony knew how to do, it was have fun. “I think we should date.”

She lifted her head and looked at him as if he was crazy. “Uh…excuse me?”

“We should date. Or, at least, go on a date. I owe you that much. You like me, I like you. We had great sex. A date seems like the next logical step, don’t you think?”

She snorted. “Maybe things are different in Cuba, ’cause you have the steps all wrong, honey.” With a laugh she added, “We fight all the time, then you fuck me, then you kiss me, then we sleep together without sex, then we do the pillow-talk thing, and now we date? Something doesn’t seem right with that order.”

He laughed. “Come on, stop busting my balls and say yes.”

Having been raised by a man in a gym full of men, she had been taught to take care of herself. To be tough. To be self-reliant. But eight years ago, everything had changed, and since then she had been trying so hard to separate herself from the Francesca she used to be that she’d become this other person she barely recognized anymore. Apparently, though, it had come back to bite her in the ass, because it sent out an I’m-so-sure-of-myself-and-I-don’t-need-you vibe that seemed to make her unapproachable. And when a man was brave enough to approach, she was too scared to do anything about it. That had been the crux of her problem. She had created this monster, and she didn’t know who she really was anymore.

Even making friends was a problem. It had taken months to get Chrissy and Jessica to even speak to her. Jessica had even thought she’d been flirting with Slade, which had been the furthest thing from Francesca’s mind. She didn’t want to be that woman. She didn’t want to be meek and needy, but she didn’t want to ooze that stay-away-because-I’m-a-bitch vibe. That hurt her most of all. She wasn’t sure how not to be standoffish. But this man next to her was willing to explore that side of her. She needed to learn how to loosen up and have fun. And then it hit her like a ton of bricks. In her attempt to be independent, she’d actually pushed everyone away, and instead of being stronger for it, she was lonely.

For years she hadn’t cried. Not one single tear. But suddenly she felt a sting behind her eyes. She wasn’t ready to show this side of herself to Tony. To anyone, actually. She wasn’t even sure she was ready to show it to herself.

Finally she said, “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

Both of them were lying on their backs looking up at the ceiling, shoulder to shoulder. She felt his hand slide across the mattress and his pinky touched her pinky. She stopped breathing. She felt like a teenager on a first date. Her body heated up, and it wasn’t because of the broken AC. She didn’t move. She couldn’t move. Then his other fingers found hers and he threaded them through hers. They were holding hands. On her bed. She was holding hands with Tony, on her bed! During a hurricane! His big callused hand was intertwined with hers.

For the first time since she could remember, she felt lost and unsure of herself. That’s what this man did to her—he made her question who she was. For eight years, that tightly constructed wall around her heart had kept her nice and safe, but somehow this man had clawed his way inside those walls and had made himself comfortable. He’d rocked her core by digging and probing into her psyche, asking questions she didn’t have answers for, and it didn’t seem he would be stopping anytime soon. She didn’t know how to proceed, but she did know that he was right. She needed to start letting go a little. She wanted to let loose and have some fun, and she wanted to do it with Tony, who seemed to understand her better than she understood herself.

They lay in bed this way for some time, neither speaking.

She felt his head turn to look at her. “Breathe, cariño.” She closed her eyes, willing her heart to beat more slowly and her body to relax. Her eyes became heavy and soon the comfort of Tony’s grip soothed her into sleep.

The heat woke Tony up a few hours later, and he found a warm arm on his face and his hair sticking to his neck. Gently he moved the arm, snuck out of the bed, grabbed the flashlight, and went to the bathroom. He turned the faucet on and washed his face and neck with cold water. Then he found a hand towel and wet it before walking back into the room. He shone the light on the bed. Francesca looked like a starfish. She was splayed in the middle of the bed, facedown, all her limbs spread out. He sat next to her on the bed and moved her hair to the side. Her neck was wet from sweat and her skin was hot. It was midsummer in Tarpon Springs, which meant that it was probably close to ninety degrees outside, even though it was night. The house felt more or less the same temperature. He put the cold towel on the back of her neck. She didn’t stir.

“Cariño, wake up,” he whispered. “Let’s take off some of your clothes.”

He carefully helped her flip over and sit up. Her eyes opened a little. “So hot,” she murmured sleepily.

“I know. Lift.” He guided her arms. She obliged, and he managed to slip her shirt off. Then he laid her back down, and to his surprise she hooked her fingers on the waistband of her shorts, lifted her butt, and slid them down, kicking them off. He wasn’t sure if she was asleep or awake, but he was sure that if she knew he was staring at her black lace underwear like a hungry man, she wouldn’t be happy.

He wanted to take them off and bury his head in between her legs. Find out if she was a natural redhead. Taste her. He groaned and instead did something he’d probably never done before: be a gentleman.

It sucked!

He gently wiped the wet towel on her forehead and neck before getting back into bed and turning off the flashlight. He didn’t try to touch her, and he didn’t kiss her; he just lay back down next to her, took her hand back into his, and closed his eyes. Seconds later, her head was on his chest, her hair was in his mouth, and she had swung her thigh over him. He would surely die of heat this way, but he’d never felt so peaceful, and by the time she had settled herself into him and sighed, he was asleep again.