“Christ, Frankie,” Dr. Kincaid shouts, dragging me farther onto the sidewalk.
My heart ricochets against my rib cage, and icy fear twists around my heart as I realize I’d nearly been run over by the bike. He presses me against a light pole, and as he looks down at me, the ferocity of his frightened expression startles and humbles me. He was genuinely scared I was going to get hurt—I can tell by his flared nostrils, wide eyes, and heaving chest.
“You called me Frankie,” I mumble, something warm cracking over my heart.
The noisy sounds of the busy intersection and dusky light threaten to break my fragile control, and just as I start to pull away from him, he grips my arm tighter. The strange surge of affection I’m feeling for him terrifies me, and by the looks of it, he feels the same way. His thumb brushes against my bare arm, and my breath cuts off as I reach up, place my hand on the back of his neck, and pull him down for a kiss.
The instant his lips meet mine, he groans and deepens the kiss, his touch on me firm and possessive.
I amburning,and as I open my mouth slightly, he plunges his tongue inside and claims me completely.
The Devil’s Own
Dante
Francesca groansas I place both hands on the side of her head, pressing my body against hers. If I could bottle that tinny, little sound for later, I would. I’maddicted—to the way she smells, the soft fullness of her lips, the taste of coffee and cake from the tiramisu, the soft feel of her hair, the way her body molds perfectly to mine…
There’s no going back now.
Before, we could’ve dragged our little game on for the rest of the trip. We could’ve been cordial during the day and forgotten about what happened after dark.
Now?
She’d kissed me in broad daylight.
We’d both crossed a line—and I was ready to jump off the deep end with her.
“Hey!” someone shouts behind me.
Francesca immediately pulls away from me, taking a step back as a man walks right over to her, shaking a piece of paper in his hand.
“You left without paying,” he sneers, ignoring me as he steps closer to her. Her eyes go wide as the man continues to intimidate her with a stern gaze. I instinctively take a stepforward, ready to intervene. “Are you really going to steal right under my nose?” he asks.
“Is there a problem here?” I ask, pulling my wallet out and grabbing a stack of cash. “She wasn’t feeling well and ran out. I don’t appreciate you speaking to her like that,” I add, clenching my jaw.
The man looks me up and down, unimpressed. “Yeah, there is. Your girlfriend here tried to dine and dash,” he says, glaring at Francesca. “Figures. Dressed like that, you must think you can get away with?—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, because in one swift movement, I punch him. My fist connects with his mouth, and he flies backward onto the ground. His lip is split, and it’s bleeding. Crouching down, he flinches when I grab his shirt by the collar and tighten the material around his throat until he’s sputtering. I pull him close until our faces are inches apart, and I relish in the way blood is dripping down onto his pristine, white dress shirt.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I growl. “How much do I owe you?”
His eyes widen, and I see the bravado fade completely as I tighten my grip. “Ninety-eight dollars. Plus tip,” he adds, eyes frantic.
This motherfucker.
I pull two hundred dollars out of my wallet. “Here’s a one hundred percent tip, but only if you apologize to her,” I grit out.
He strains to look at Francesca, who is watching this whole exchange with wide eyes and parted lips.
“Sorry,” he grumbles, hardly audible.
“Louder,” I demand with a low rumble, shaking him slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he says, louder this time, blood staining his teeth red.
I release the pathetic asshole and throw the cash down onto him. “Get the fuck out of here.”
The man stumbles into a standing position, pocketing the money quickly and muttering under his breath as he walks away. I turn to Francesca, who looks both relieved and shaken.
