Kate Hardy - Passionate Affairs - Breakfast at Giovanni's

And then Nonna placed her hand on his arm. ‘Gio, piccolino , do it for me. Or if you won’t do it for me, sing for Francesca,’ she said softly.

Tension was coming off him in almost visible waves. But then he nodded. ‘All right. I’ll do it for Fran.’

He climbed up on the stage, to loud applause and cheers from the audience. ‘OK, so it’s August and not October, but there’s a certain song I want to sing tonight. For Francesca.’ He winked at her, as if telling her that it was going to be OK, he wasn’t going to make a scene; then he turned and mouthed something to the pianist, who nodded. And Gio made no protest when the guitarist handed him an electric guitar—just checked the tuning.

And then he counted the band in to a soft, jazzy number Fran recognized: ‘Moondance.’

It was a song she’d always liked. But hearing Gio sing it somehow gave it something extra. He had the most beautiful voice. So beautiful that it hurt; she found herself wishing that Gio was singing this to her for real, that he wanted to dance with her and call her his love and make love with her.

But his eyes were on her as he sang. And just for a moment she could almost believe that he really was singing this for her. Could imagine what it would be like to run into his arms and dance in a frost-covered garden with him on an October night, the moonlight shining through the almost-bare branches of the trees and turning everything magically silver.

The song ended with him pleading for one more dance with his love. Then he smiled. ‘Thank you. That one was for Fran,’ he said, and handed the guitar back.

‘Oh, come on, Gio—give us another one!’ someone called.

‘It’s my birthday party and you want me to work?’ he retorted, laughing. ‘Now there’s a first. I thought you lot all wanted me to slow down.’

‘Just one more song,’ someone else pleaded.

‘One’s enough. Now I’m going to dance with my girl and hand you back to the real singer. Enjoy your evening, everyone.’ He stepped down from the stage and joined Fran again.

‘I didn’t know you could sing that well,’ she said. ‘That was pretty amazing.’

‘Nothing that a thousand pub singers in London don’t do every Saturday night,’ he said, making a dismissive gesture. ‘It’s not a big deal. Dance with me?’

The singer had followed Gio’s performance with another Van Morrison song, a slow ballad; Fran stepped forward into Gio’s arms and swayed with him to the music. If only she could ease his troubles, the way the singer was telling them the love of his life did. But all she could do right now was hold him.

And even when the next song changed tempo and became upbeat again, Fran and Gio remained dancing close, just holding each other and swaying to the beat. Cheek to cheek. So close they could feel each other’s heartbeat.

With shock, she realised that this was what she’d been waiting for. To be in Gio’s arms. She couldn’t pin down the exact moment, but at some point over the last few weeks she’d fallen for Gio—and the whole Mazetti tribe. Which was stupid, because this wasn’t for keeps. Their relationship would end when Nonna went back to Italy.

And the knowledge broke her heart.

Gio sensed the sudden tension in Fran, and pulled back slightly so he could see her face. ‘OK?’ he mouthed.

She nodded and smiled, but although the light was too low to see properly, he could tell the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She was definitely upset about something, but she wasn’t telling.

Ah, hell.

He wanted to kiss her better.

No. Actually, he just wanted to kiss her again.

And that would complicate matters beyond belief.

He really ought to let her go right now. Put her in a taxi and pay the driver to wait until she was safely indoors. But he couldn’t drag himself away from her. So he just wrapped his arms round her again, held her close. Told her silently with his body that he was there, that whatever was wrong he’d do whatever he could to make it right.

Dancing cheek to cheek with her like this meant that he could smell the sweet floral perfume she’d used. Summer roses. Like the candied petals his mother used on a trifle and that he’d always begged for, as a child. So sweet.

His mouth was so close to her ear; he couldn’t resist pressing the tiniest kiss to her earlobe. The next thing he knew, his mouth was brushing a trail of kisses along her cheek. Her face turned slightly to meet his. And at last his mouth found hers. A tiny, gentle, questioning touch.

A second’s pause.

And then she tilted her head slightly, kissed him back. An equally tiny kiss. The barest touch of her lips against his.

His mouth was tingling. And despite the fact they were in a noisy, crowded hall with people dancing round them, everything seemed to melt away. There was just the two of them. And an overwhelming need to kiss her properly, feel her mouth open beneath his.

He caught her lower lip between his. So soft, so sweet.

His head was telling him that this was a seriously bad idea, but his body wasn’t listening. Because this felt as if tiny stars had started to illuminate the black hole in the middle of his heart. The tiniest flickers of light, of hope.

And when her mouth opened beneath his and the tip of her tongue touched his, the lights became brighter. She was warm and soft and her body fitted against his perfectly.

Right here, right now, this was where he belonged. With Fran. No pretence, no act. And the way she was kissing him back made him feel as if he could conquer the world. Walk on air.

‘Put the girl down, Gio. There are children present,’ Ric teased, slapping him on the back.

Oh, lord. However long had they been kissing? Fran’s mouth was slightly red and swollen, her pupils were enormous, and he could feel that her breasts had grown slightly fuller and heavier against him.

He was turned on just as much. And he couldn’t get the words of that song out of his head. How much he wanted to make love to her. In a frosted garden. On a swing.

Uh. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fantasised about someone. His life had been too full with work. But Fran…Fran was different.

‘Your timing’s impeccable, cugino mio . Not,’he said ruefully.

And Fran’s cheeks were crimson. He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Sorry, honey. I got carried away. Give me a second to calm down.’ He bent his head slightly and whispered in her ear, ‘But please don’t move until then, because if you do I think we’ll both be extremely embarrassed.’

‘I was going to ask you if you were enjoying the party,’ Ric said with a smile, ‘but I don’t think I need to.’

‘Tact,’ Gio said to Fran with a sigh, ‘is not a Mazetti strong point.’ He coughed. ‘Would you mind not embarrassing my girlfriend?’

‘I apologise, Fran.’ Ric patted her shoulder. ‘For embarrassing you. Though not for embarrassing the birthday boy. Buon compleanno , Gio.’

‘Thanks, Ric. I think.’

When Gio’s cousin left them alone again, Gio stroked Fran’s cheek. ‘Um. That wasn’t supposed to…’ He swallowed hard. ‘I can’t even blame it on too much champagne.’ It was just Fran. Her nearness. And how he wanted her.

‘Me, too.’

Had he spoken that last bit aloud? Was she saying that she felt the same way?

But right now he didn’t trust his judgement.

Right now, he just wanted to get out of here. But the party was a quarter his—he knew he was expected to stay right to the end.

Somehow, they made it through the rest of the evening. If anyone else had noticed them kissing—well, how could they possibly have missed it?—at least they had more tact than Ric and didn’t mention it.