Beast I Can’t Tame by L.K. Shaw
Chapter 22
Giovanni
My gaze locks on Francesca.She’s half reclined in a white plastic lounge chair, the tops of her shoulders a faint pink, and I breathe in the scent of coconut sunscreen. Large sunglasses hide her eyes, but I sense they’re focused on me.
The swimsuit shows off her figure to perfection. Perfect breasts my hands itch to cup again. Long legs that seem to go on forever, and ones I imagine wrapped around my waist as I thrust deep inside her. Her cheeks pink to match the color of her skin where she’s gotten a bit too much sun like she can read my thoughts.
“I’m still waiting for an answer. Who made you angry?” Jacob asks again.
Brenna bites her lip and her gaze flashes to Francesca, almost as though she’s asking for permission. The latter sighs and rises from her seat. She closes the distance between us and reaches for my hand. “I overheard some things being said today at a luncheon, and they bothered me, so I left. That’s all it was.”
“What things?” I ask. If someone made a comment about her, I want to know.
She shakes her head. “Really, it’s unimportant.”
“Francesca,” I draw out her name in warning.
“Fine,” she huffs. “Some of my mother’s friends were talking about how Jacob’s men don’t trust you or your mother,” she finally spits out.
Beside me, my brother’s curse echoes his wife’s, while I remain silent. It’s not like their lack of trust is a big secret. Still, the fact the men are talking amongst themselves, and to their wives, stings a bit. I shrug it off. “It’s not unrealistic for them to have some reservations about me. They may not trust me now, but they will. Once they realize I’m completely loyal to the syndicate and to Jacob.”
“It’s not fair. Jacob and Pierce trust you. That should be enough,” Francesca fiercely declares.
I squeeze the hand I’m still holding and bring it to my lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “Thank you for defending me. As hard as it might be, though, next time ignore it. You can’t let it bother you.”
She opens her mouth, I’m sure to argue, but I lay my finger over it and shake my head. “Please.”
Francesca huffs, but slowly nods.
“Thank you.”
“Well, I’m with Brenna on this one. That is bullshit.” Caitlín’s declaration is loud and virulent. “Those catty Italian bitches better hope I never hear them talk about you or any of my other friends like that. They’ll get an earful of every Irish curse word I know. And believe me, there’s a lot of them.”
Brenna groans while Jacob chuckles. “Come on, runt, let’s get you out of the sun before your mother chews us out for letting you fry to a crisp,” he says.
She grumbles, but starts gathering her things. While the women pack up, I pull Jacob off to the side. Before I can get in a word, he speaks.
“I’m sorry there’s so much dissension coming from the men.” The words come haltingly— he’s not used to apologizing. “My father was a strong and fair leader. He was well-respected, and despite my long absence, he was firm in his words and actions that he trusted me implicitly. I think that made it easier for our men to then trust me.”
Jacob glances away uneasily and shifts his weight. I’ve never seen him this uncertain—this vulnerable—before. He turns my way again.
“You were right,” he says. “I should have officially declared you my brother and told the men that pledging their loyalty to me was the same as pledging it to you.”
Riotous emotions flow over me. It’s as though everything I’ve been working toward since I was fifteen years old is finally happening. Every sacrifice I made. It’s all within my grasp. I want to clutch it tighter, this feeling that I’ve made it. That I’m somebody. I clear my throat, a little overwhelmed. “Thanks for saying that. That means a lot.”
Jacob nods. “I’ll make my point at the next meeting we have.”
Without waiting for a response, he turns and joins Brenna, who’s standing in the shade by the door. Caitlín is nowhere to be found. They disappear into the building. A warm hand slides against mine, and I jerk.
“Are you okay? You have this stunned look on your face,” Francesca says.
I blink away the fog and disbelief and a slow smile creeps up. “Yeah.” I chuckle. “I think I am.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“We need to get you out of the sun as well. You’re getting a little pink.” I drag my finger along the crest of her shoulder and stare deep into her golden brown eyes.
Her breath hitches. She doesn’t release it as I glide the tip across her coconut scented skin, tracing the line made by her collarbone. I draw a small circle in the space right below where the two bones separate, and Francesca lets out a shaky exhale. Her skin burns hotter than the sun shining down on us and matches the blazing inferno of arousal inside me. The two of us together could incinerate the world around us.
“Is this okay?” I ask her.
Her head bobs with another shuddering inhale that she releases on a breathy yes.
My caress travels downward and through the valley between her breasts. Francesca’s hardened nipples call to me, but as much as my focus is on her, I’m also aware of our surroundings. This isn’t the time or place. I etch one final invisible line along the sloped curves of her chest before taking a path upward, and behind her neck, where my hand disappears under the curtain of her hair. A shudder racks her small frame, and her eyes drift closed.
I press a soft kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose, and against her mouth, wishing I could linger a bit longer. Francesca’s lids are still closed, but she lifts them drowsily, her gaze clouded by desire as she stares up at me.
“Would you like to grab some coffee?” I ask.
She licks her lips, the gesture an innocent one, and I nearly groan.
“I’d like that,” she whispers, her voice rough like after a long, hard night of sex. “I need to change back into my regular clothes first.”
My cock hardens even more—something I didn’t think possible—at the thought of stripping her swimsuit off. I imagine brown nipples that taste like a pinã colada, that mix of coconut and pineapple. My mouth waters. I have to clear my throat.
“We should probably get going then, so they don’t send a search party after us,” I joke.
I lead Francesca into the building and past the fitness center to the elevators. Moments later, I knock on the townhouse door. Brenna opens it, and a silly grin decorates her face.
“We thought maybe you guys left already,” she says, stepping back and letting us in.
Caitlín’s sitting on the couch, the television on the opposing wall turned on with the volume down, observing everything with a sharp-eyed gaze.
“I need to change back into my clothes,” Francesca tells her.
“Jacob’s in his office, but you’re welcome to get your stuff out of our room.”
“Thanks.” She turns to me. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Take your time.”
My gaze follows her as she rushes up the stairs until she disappears from sight. I look away and run headlong into Brenna staring at me, that dopey smile still intact. I shake my head at her, but I can’t hold back my own grin.
“I’m so happy for you two,” she says, nearly gushing with excitement. “I knew from the beginning there was something special between you guys. You couldn’t take your eyes off her. And she always watched you when she didn’t think you were looking.”
Brenna isn’t wrong. But it hadn’t always been like that. It had nearly broken me every time Francesca flinched away from me at first.
“She’s everything I ever wanted,” I admit.
“What’s the deal with everyone around me falling in love?” Caitlín groans and collapses dramatically, like only a teenager can, against the back of the couch.
Her sister laughs. “Wasn’t it you, who only a few short months ago, dreamt about getting married? I’m pretty sure I remember a conversation the day we went wedding dress shopping.”
The younger Donnelly’s expression turns mulish. “I’ve changed my mind since then. I’m allowed to do that. Boys suck. I have no plans on getting married. There are too many things I want to do and see. Having a husband will do nothing but hold me back.”
Brenna glances at me and smothers her grin. “Maybe you’ll change it back some day.”
“Doubtful,” Caitlín huffs and turns the volume back up on the television.
“Well, okay, then,” she says in a low tone.
Footsteps come from the stairs, and Francesca descends wearing a green pantsuit that fits her like a glove. Her sun-darkened skin glows.
“I draped your bathing suit over the towel rack. I hope that’s okay.” She glances at Brenna.
“That’s fine.” The two women hug. “I’m glad you came over.”
Francesca turns to me. “I’m ready.”
We head out the door, into the elevator, and finally through the lobby. I think of the meeting we just left and the impending war that’s about to begin with the Armenians, and by extension, the Polish. A massive surge of possessiveness courses through me as I glance at Francesca walking beside me. This woman is finally mine. I won’t let anyone take her away from me. Nor take me away from her. I will destroy anyone who dares try.
