He never wanted to treat anyone the way his father had treated his mother.
Raking his fingers through his hair, a growl escaped from his throat. Whether he liked it or not, Calvetti blood ran through his veins.
Just one more reason why he should never touch her.
Hannah looked as if she wanted to say something, but the gong sounded for the second round. She was placed on table one. Her chips were passed to her. Francesco watched as she stacked them into neat piles, oblivious to the crowd forming around her table.
The strength of his possessiveness had him clenching his fists. Was she really so ignorant of the admiring glances and lecherous stares?
She raised her eyes to meet his glare and gave a hesitant smile. He looked away.
A discreet cough behind him caught his attention. He turned to find his general manager standing there.
‘We have the proof—the blackjack player is cheating us,’ he said, his lips barely moving.
‘Give me a few minutes.’ Francesco barely bothered trying to hide his impatience.
Hannah was still looking at him, a puzzled groove in her forehead.
‘I can get the ball moving...’
‘I said, give me a few minutes.’ The blackjack cheat could wait. Francesco would not step a foot away from the room until Hannah was done with the tournament. His presence was the only thing stopping the fawning men from trying their luck that bit harder.
She was done much earlier than he’d envisaged. From playing the first round like a pro and with a good dollop of luck, her game fell to pieces and she was the first player out.
She shrugged, smiled gracefully, took a sip of water, and leaned back in her chair.
He was by her side in seconds. ‘Come, it is time for us to move elsewhere,’ he said, speaking into her ear, ignoring the curious stares of all those surrounding them.
‘I want to watch the rest of the tournament.’
‘You can watch it from my security office. There are things I need to attend to.’
Hannah turned to face him. ‘Go and attend to them, then,’ she said with a shrug.
‘But I require your company.’ Or, rather, he wanted to get her away from this room full of letches.
Swivelling her chair around with exceptionally bad grace, she got to her feet.
‘What is the matter with you?’ he asked as they swept through the room and out of the door.
‘Me?’ Incredulous, Hannah stopped walking and placed a hand on her hip. ‘I was having a lovely time until you came in looking as if you wanted to kill me.’ Seriously, how could anyone concentrate with Francesco’s handsome face glowering at them? ‘You totally put me off my game, and then you dragged me out before I could enjoy watching the rest of it.’
She glared at him. She’d had such a wonderful meal, had thought he’d enjoyed himself, too, the aloof, arrogant man unbending into something infinitely more human that warmed her from the inside out. But now he’d reverted, and was more aloof and arrogant than ever.
‘It wasn’t you that angered me.’
She folded her arms and raised a brow in a perfect imitation of him. ‘Really?’
‘Did you not see the way those men were looking at you? As if you were a piece of meat.’
‘They were just being friendly.’ Men never looked at her in that way. Not that she ever met men outside the hospital environment, she conceded.
‘Take a look in the mirror, Dr Chapman. You’re a beautiful woman.’
His unexpected compliment let loose a cluster of fluttering butterflies in her belly.
‘And I’m sorry for putting you off your game—you’re quite a player.’
‘You think?’ His compliment—for it was definitely a compliment coming from him—warmed her insides even further, making her forget to be cross with him.
He smiled, an honest-to-goodness smile, and reached out to touch a loose tendril of her hair. ‘If you were to give up medicine, you could make a good living on the poker circuit.’
The butterflies in her belly exploded. Heat surged through her veins, her insides liquefying.
Was it her imagination, or was the longing she could feel swirling inside her mirrored in his eyes...?
Dropping his hand from her hair, he traced a finger down her cheek.
She shivered, her skin heating beneath his touch.
‘Come. I need to attend to business,’ he said before steering her off to the top floor, not quite touching her but keeping her close enough that she was constantly aware of his heat, of him.
‘What are we going up here for?’ she asked once she’d managed to get her tongue working again. But, oh, it was so hard to think straight when the skin on her cheek still tingled from his touch.