forced her eyes open. Work, that’s what she needed. More and more work. These wild feelings for Tony would pass. They’d never been this intense before, had they? She’d always been able to talk herself out of an attraction to him. And she would again.
She hoped.
She had to.
“THANKS, PAUL. I appreciate the lift home.”
Paul saluted and bounced the keys to Tony’s Mercedes in his palm. “No problem, Mr. Galini. I’m glad to drive your baby anytime.”
Tony cast a longing look at his car idling in the driveway. He’d been at Chateau Fontaine, drinking and socializing. In truth, he’d had little to drink, but he’d let time get away from him—as usual—and had stayed later than he planned. With the long work hours, he was plain exhausted, and he hadn’t wanted to drive himself back to Bella Luna, even over the mere mile separating the two properties.
He was dead on his feet, and his last, semi-conscious concern was for his car.
“Take care of her, Paul. I’ll call you and arrange a time to retrieve her tomorrow.” He slid a folded fifty-dollar bill into the valet’s palm. “Remind me to tell your boss about your invaluable service.”
“You bet, Mr. G.” Paul saluted again, walking backwards towards the car. “That redhead wanted you, man. I’m tellin’ ya. I can get her room number if you want it.”
Tony yawned. This working for a living was hell on his social life. “Um-hmm. Maybe tomorrow.”
Paul and the Mercedes slid out of the horseshoe-shaped drive as Tony unlocked the front door and entered the lobby. Normally, he paused to gaze into the starlit sky, of which the glass dome over the lobby afforded him an unrestricted view, but tonight he shuffled his feet across the cream-tiled floor and headed straight for the elevator.
He’d share coffee with Francesca in the morning and enjoy the sunlight instead.
Francesca.
He leaned his forehead against the elevator wall, reliving the surprised, almost horrified look on her face when he’d nearly kissed her in the kitchen earlier.
What in the world was wrong with him?
Thankfully, the elevator doors opened, saving him from reliving that exciting, wonderful, awful moment. Again.
Eyes half closed, he stumbled down the third-floor hall, only to curse softly when he reached into his pocket to find it keyless.
He leaned back against his door. Maybe he could just sleep in the hallway. He gazed blearily down at the Cabernet-colored carpet beneath his tasseled loafers. He really needed his cushiony-soft down-feathered pillow, but he didn’t want to wake anybody up, least of all Francesca, though she was in the room right next door. The sight of her mussed and sleepy-eyed, clad in whatever big, baggy T-shirt she wore to bed would overload his already weak system.
But then some part of his still-functioning brain—and where was that part earlier when he’d been gazing at his best friend as though she was a steak and he a vegetarian who’d fallen off the wagon?—reminded him about the key code. They’d had electronic, numeric key pads installed at each door, so guests could set their own codes and enter their rooms without keys.
His idea. And, if he must say, a brilliant one.
He opened one eye long enough to input his code—the day he and Francesca had met in the fourth grade—then opened the door with a sigh of relief.
In the dark, he kicked off his shoes, then stripped off his clothes. Naked, he crawled into bed. He was asleep before his head sank fully into his plush feather pillow.
FRANCESCA MOANED in the middle of an erotic dream.
Starring Tony.
Part of her thought this was a really bad idea, but that part was quickly overridden by the warm, confident, male hand gliding up her waist to cup her satin-clad breast.
She arched her back, pressing her body more firmly against his, her fingers stroking his trim, muscled sides, smiling at the weight of his body on hers, at the hard ridge of male flesh pressed against her middle.
As she slid her hands lower, she found bare skin. Oh, God, he was naked. How many nights had she lain awake imagining Tony naked? That one glimpse at eighteen hadn’t been nearly enough. And since then he’d…filled out quite a bit. He was a couple of inches taller, his shoulders were broader. Where else, exactly, had he grown?
A wicked giggle escaped her mouth at the thought.
He trailed his lips over her throat, then sank his teeth lightly into her earlobe. “Ah, bella, I love to hear you laugh.”
She trailed her fingers across his bare butt.
He sucked in a quick breath. “I like that even better.” He flicked his thumb over her burgeoning nipple, then impatiently pushed up her camisole.
Heat flooded her body, the very blood in her veins. She slid her hand up his back, threading her fingers through the wavy hair at the base of his neck, urging him on. A hunger she didn’t think could ever be satisfied had begun to grow deep within. She wanted his touch, craved his attention. She wanted all that charm and energy and expertise focused on her. And her alone.
She recalled her thoughts earlier about his hands; those hands were currently stroking her flesh, sending her nerve endings on a crazy roller-coaster ride….
His mouth captured hers, his tongue slid past her lips, confidence and seduction inherent in every move. He was warm and tasted like…like…
Like cigar smoke?
Not in this fantasy, buster.
The odd smell brought her fully awake. Tony was indeed in her bed. And naked. And currently trailing his fabulous mouth across her chest.
Oh, hell.
HEART POUNDING, Francesca shoved Tony’s shoulder. “Tony!”
He didn’t seem to hear her. His mouth reached her nipple. His tongue flicked across the distended peak.
Francesca gasped. Oh, heavens, he was even better at this than she’d imagined. A steady, insistent throbbing pounded between her legs. Longing filled her belly. She’d wanted him for so long…
No. Not like this. Not when he wouldn’t even remember anything. When he probably didn’t even know who she was.
Knowing she had to wake him up, she shoved his shoulder again. His tongue flicked again.
Moaning, she wrapped her legs around his waist—and, oh wow, his erection pressed harder against her—then flipped him over onto his back. She reached over to the bedside table and turned on the light for good measure.
He blinked in the sudden pool of brightness. “Ches?”
Her heart was racing, and her body throbbed. Still, she managed to raise her hand. “Present.”
He propped himself up on his elbows. “What’s—” He
