Her Sicilian Arrangement by Hannah-Lee Hitchman Read Free Book Online

eyes simultaneously. She then closed her own
eyes and began. “God is good…God is great. Let us thank Him for our
food…Amen.”
    “Dio
benedica ...,” he
murmured and then opened his eyes to meet hers staring at him. He
then saw her look down at her food as if with curiosity and then up
at him blankly. “ Fettuccine ,”
he said.
    “ What?”
    “ The
type of pasta we are eating…it is called fettucine; the wide
noodles. I asked the Chef to prepare it with salmon sauce. You eat
salmon, no?”
    She
nodded. “I eat salmon.”

    “Bene ,” he
exclaimed and then began to pour her some wine. Shortly, she took a
fork full of the pasta and then smiled inside as she enjoyed the
taste of the meal. Was there any Italian meal that didn’t taste
good? She shrugged to herself and then took a sip of her wine.
After which she reached for the very much attractive croissant that
she had attempted to snatch a minute ago, covered in sweet white
icing. For a minute she began to think about when she was a child
baking with her mother. It was routine on Saturday afternoons for
them to bake all sorts of pastries such as cupcakes, chocolate chip
cookies, and home-made bread. Memories of those days crept, as if
stealthily, into her mind as she took the last bite of the
croissant. “May I have the courtesy of knowing what is going
through your mind?” she heard him say.
    A
slight frown transformed her features and she looked at him. “It’s
nothing. I was just thinking about…work.”
    Marco leant back in his seat, studying her face and then
sipped at his own glass. If he was right, the beauty sitting before
him was just as complicated as he had thought the first moment he
had laid eyes on her. He had first noticed the gently stunning yet
innocent beauty to her appearance. Her small mouth was full and
pink and her eyes were deep olive; reminding him of what he did for
a living before his current affairs; an olive farm worker. But it
was not until she had stood to ask her questions, that she had
struck him in the gut. She was svelte—looked about a hundred and
fifteen pounds—but she had a perfectly proportional figure. Small
firm breasts were hidden beneath pink linen and the short skirt
flaunted every contour of her curvaceous physique. At that point,
he could not have resisted giving her body a full scan. Her legs
seemed endless in those stilettos. As a man who hadn’t the time to
court a woman in quite a long time, she had relit that fire within
him to rescue his heart that had been in winter for far too long.
But he had to be careful. She had admitted that she was only
interested in doing her job and using him to shape her career. He
had to tame this belleza scuro (dark beauty), even if he had to keep her in captivity on his
boat for a while.
    Marco looked at her once more before he took the last mouthful
of his pasta meal and then poured himself another glass of the
wine. “I have never been fond of journalists, Meagan Summers,” he
said, peering deeply into her eyes. “I find them
very…nosy.”
    “ Ha!” she made an outburst as she almost choked on her food.
“And how am I supposed to react to that? I’ve never been fond of
drug dealers either!”
    She
could see the dent that she had made in his feelings as his jaw
clenched with anger. But she had already seen that he was a man who
could control his anger very expertly. And to her surprise, he only
chuckled. “I shall enjoy our time together, mia tesora ,” he remarked. “That tongue of yours tempts me in
more ways than you might think.” And the desire in his eyes
diffused into hers as if by some sort of spell-binding
ritual.
    Meagan cleared her throat and then sighed. “Your English is
very fluent…,” she mentioned, obviously trying to avoid the
moment.
    “ Yes. My mother…she was an English teacher for thirty years.
She taught my siblings and me to speak English since we were small
children.” Meagan sucked in a breath so quickly that she was
unaware