Beast I Can’t Tame by L.K. Shaw

Chapter 9

Francesca

Gio’s been actingweird ever since our sort-of date. Any time we’ve talked on the phone, he’s been distant and occasionally a little short. Same with his texts. Does he regret everything he said at the restaurant?

I make my way through the park toward the monument in the center. Fort Greene Park is one of my favorite places to visit. It’s not as busy as the Brooklyn Bridge Park where a lot of the tourists go. Here, I can people watch and still remain anonymous. I glance at the flowers in bloom and wish I’d brought my camera.

The green lawn spreads out all around the winding walking path. Joggers pass me, as do cyclists, some of them couriers and other delivery personnel, cutting through the park on their way to whatever deliveries they’re making.

Children play while parents look on. A pang of wanting hits me. I’d never imagined having—wanting—kids, especially after the incident, but lately it’s something I’ve been thinking about more often.

There’s a single empty bench by the time I make it to the center of the park. I take a seat and wait for Gio, my stomach a bundle of nerves. There’s a giddy excitement at seeing him again, and the fear that I’m going to screw things up. Can I overcome what the Russians did to me?

“Hey, there,” a deep voice greets me.

I glance up. Giovanni closes in on me, still limping, but making my pulse race.

“Hi,” I say, glad my voice comes out even, and not breathless like he makes me.

He takes a seat and bumps my shoulder with his. “You did that thing with your hair again. I like it.”

I force myself not to reach up, but his compliment makes me happy. No one has paid attention to me the way Gio does. He always seems to notice the smallest thing.

“Thank you. So, how are things going? You haven’t really said much since your visit with your mom the other day. Are things still tense between you?”

He huffs. “Yeah, you could say that. Although I’ve been avoiding her. I know I’ve been a little absent, I guess, lately. I’ve just had a lot on my mind and things I need to make decisions about,” he says.

Things about us?

“You know you can always talk to me.” My voice is soft. “I’ve been told I’m a really good listener.”

I want him to talk to me. Tell me things he wouldn’t tell anyone else. Indecision clouds on his face. Patience has never been one of my strong suits, but I make myself wait. It pays off.

“Do you remember when my mom showed up at the funeral?” he finally says.

Who could forget? “Yes. She certainly made an impression.”

“Of course she did.” Gio’s expression twists. “Beatrice is nothing if not a performer.”

“Does this have anything to do with what she said before you all disappeared?” I ask. “You know. About you and Jacob?”

His eyes meet mine. “So you heard that?” he shakes his head and looks away. He stares out toward the park grounds, but I’m not sure he’s seeing it. “Of course you did. Half the damn room heard it.”

“Is it true?”

“Yes,” he says. “Mr. Ricci—Emilio, Jacob, or whatever I’m supposed to call him now—showed up at my apartment the other day. Dr. Marino confirmed the results of the DNA test.”

Wow. That’s a lot to take in. “What did Jacob say?”

“I think he’s still processing the fact that his father cheated on his mother.”

“Gosh, I didn’t even think about that. I hope Aunt Rosalie never knew. She would have been devastated. She was the kindest person I knew,” I say. “She would have welcomed you into the family, regardless of who your mother was.”

Gio smiles sadly. “She sounds like a wonderful person. I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”

“I was young when she died, but I still miss her to this day. She was more of a mother to me than my own.”

A family walks along the path in front of us. Father, mother, and three adorable little kids. Especially the youngest one the father is pushing in a stroller. She’s wearing a cute little hat and a tiny pair of sunglasses, her giggles lingering long after they pass by. I dart a glance in Gio’s direction.

He could probably use a haircut, but I like the way it curls around his ears. Even in profile, his features are strong. A square jaw. Sculpted lips. A full nose. Broad forehead with dark slashes over his eyes, that even though aren’t fully visible, still fill me with heat. The power of his gaze is almost enough to bring me to my knees.

As though Giovanni knows what it does to me, he turns his head, unleashing the full potency of his hypnotic stare. It’s difficult to draw a breath. My heartbeat races like a wild horse galloping inside my chest. I lick my lips and swallow. His gaze drops to my mouth, and his eyes darken.

The screaming laughter of a group of teenage girls passing by breaks the connection, and I quickly look away and clear my throat.

“Do you want to go grab some ice cream?” Gio asks, his voice husky. “There’s a new place around the corner I thought we could try.”

“Okay.”

He stands first and reaches out to help me up. I place my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet. My grip loosens to release him, but he tightens his hold. My head jerks up to meet his gaze, and he’s staring down at me with the same heated look. We start walking down the pedestrian path with our hands still entwined. It’s a sweet gesture that sends more than sweet tingles through me.

His fingers are calloused—rough—yet gentle. The sandpaper texture abrades my skin. Images of other places where that friction would generate if he touched me filter through my brain, and I can feel my neck and face heat. I’m as skittish as a virgin, despite being far from one.

“Jacob and I talked yesterday,” Gio says, although I can barely concentrate on his words with his thumb gliding across my finger. Such a simple touch, yet one that evokes emotions and sensations. My whole body is like a live-wire, constantly humming with energy.

“Oh? What about?” I manage to ask.

“About you and me.”

I screech to a halt and my hand falls from his. “I’m sorry?”

Gio turns to face me, a questioning glance on his face. My eyes are wide as I stare at him. He smiles indulgently, those dimples like craters in his cheek and reaches for my hand again, pulling me along next to him. We start walking, but I’m barely aware of my feet moving.

“Do you know that you’re probably the only person who hasn’t been aware of my interest in you?”

“Where the heck are all these confessions coming from suddenly? I’m not sure I can handle many more.” I’m not exaggerating.

“It’s well past time for me to tell you. You have to admit that a year is a long time to hold my tongue. Besides, we’ve already established that things have changed between us. Why not continue forward?”

Because I’m still processing the change. Thinking about it. Analyzing it. “What does going forward mean?” I ask tentatively.

Giovanni turns his head toward me. “It means whatever we want it to. Not only are things different between you and me, but my whole life just changed. I have to make sure that both of us are aware of what might come with those changes.”

I’m confused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“It was something Jacob brought up. Me being his brother—even half—makes me somebody. At least somebody more than I was. We’re still enemies to the Russians. That will never change. You already know what they’re capable of. Same with Brenna. And Anya. It could get worse if you and I are together.”

I shudder at his words. I’m not sure there is a worse. But they make me think.

“Being Jacob’s cousin didn’t protect me from the Russians. I wasn’t immune to their revenge or vengeance or whatever reason they had for doing what they did. I mean, they probably didn’t need any reason other than the fact that I’m Italian.”

“That’s true. But if I want to be a part of the leadership within the organization, then we both have to be aware of what that could mean for you.”

“You’re telling me this as though you and I are a thing,” I say.

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, which forces me to as well. In a single step he closes the distance between us, tugging my hand so we face each other. He reaches up to cup my cheek with those calloused fingers. My heart stops and then starts galloping. I stare up into his deep brown eyes unable to move a muscle.

“It seems like I haven’t made myself clear enough, yet,” Giovanni says with a roughened growl. “We are a thing, Francesca.”

I have to swallow before I can speak. “We—we are?”

He closes the already minuscule distance between us, his eyes still locked on mine. His chest brushes across my breasts, and my nipples tighten. Can he feel the hard tips? A shiver of desire skates down my spine. A part of me cries out to separate our bodies, but a slowly re-awakening part nudges me to push myself closer.

“We most definitely are,” he says.

So, so slowly Gio dips his head, pausing millimeters from my lips, his breath ghosting across them. I wait for him to close that almost non-existent gap, but he freezes right where he is. As though I can’t help myself, it’s me that brings our mouths together. I lean into him and softly press mine to his. Still he doesn’t take over.

A growl of annoyance rumbles from my throat, and Giovanni smiles, his lips at last moving over mine, but doing nothing more. He doesn’t deepen the connection. Is he waiting for me? I take in a shuddering breath, and with a small prayer, I flick my tongue out to gather the tiniest bit of his flavor. His lips part, and I dart in for a taste.

I’m not prepared for the surge of arousal. My fingers go to his chest and clutch at the fabric of his shirt as I tilt my head to get a better angle to deepen the kiss. A boldness comes over me, and I lash my tongue against Gio’s trying to draw him out. He opens wider and a surge of triumph hits me. At last.

Yet, he does nothing more than follow my lead, not taking control or pressing into me. I pull back and stare at his damp lips before raising my gaze. His pupils have darkened so he’s not unaffected by our kiss.

“Why aren’t you kissing me?” I almost whine.

The right corner of his mouth tips up in a tiny half-smile. “I’m pretty sure that’s what we were just doing.”

I huff. “I was doing the kissing.”

“And a fine job of it, too,” Gio says, his mouth changing to a full-blown grin.

His compliment flusters me and for a second I forget why I’m annoyed with him. “Thank you,” I reply pertly. “But your response seemed a little half-hearted.”

Oh god, is he just being nice? Was I doing it wrong? Did I use too much tongue? Did I slobber? Mortification runs through me.

“Francesca, look at me,” he demands in that low, deep voice of his.

Had I stopped looking at him? Apparently so, because my eyes jerk to his again.

“It may have only seemed like I wasn’t fully with you. I want to devour you. I want to taste every inch of your mouth and more. I ache for you like no one else. But I don’t want to scare you. I want you to get used to touching me. To being in control.” He cradles my face in his palms, the plaster of his cast scratchy against my cheek. “Because once you give me any sign that you want more, I’m going to take everything you give me and then some. I don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet. Which means I’m letting you set the pace until there’s not a single ounce of hesitation left inside you.”

Whoosh. Just like that my whole body nearly bursts into flames.