Hazel finished her dinner alone. Francisco never emerged from his room.
An hour passed.
Her curiosity deepened when she noticed a maid walking toward his door with quiet urgency. Hazel arched a brow.
Should I talk to him?
But how? If he doesn't open the door…
Still thinking, she returned to her room, clutching the book tightly. After locking the door, she let out a sharp sigh and sank onto the bed.
"Damn it," she muttered. "I need to do something. But what?"
She opened the book, hoping it would quiet her mind. Her eyes scanned the words, but her thoughts drifted. Then, something caught her attention... dialogue in Italian. A character, playing both the hero and the villain, poured out emotion for a girl.
Hazel's fingers brushed the lines. The rhythm, the intensity... it stirred something.
And then, as if sparked by the text, an idea lit in her mind.
She stood up.
Without hesitation, she walked to Francisco's door and knocked. To her surprise, it clicked open almost instantly.
Inside, she found him surrounded by scattered papers, a drink in hand. He looked up.
"Hazel," he said, sounding surprised.
He wore a night suit, chest exposed. Her gaze lingered briefly before she caught herself.
"Sorry to disturb you. I didn't realize you were working, Mr. Francisco," she said, her voice respectful but soft.
"You can come in," he replied, gesturing casually.
Hazel hesitated, then stepped inside.
Francisco's eyes dropped to her bare feet. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes.
"What happened?"
The air was thick with tension. Hazel had unknowingly stepped into a space Francisco had created to avoid her... the dinner, the silence, all meant to hold back the storm inside him.
He couldn't bear sitting across from her for another hour. Her presence rattled his self-control.
But now she stood here... uninvited, unexpected. And suddenly, it was a different kind of game.
"I don't understand Italian," Hazel said softly, holding up the book. "But there's a lot of dialogue in it. I thought maybe… you could help."
Francisco kept his eyes on Hazel, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. He stood slowly, like a predator sensing his prey. The air grew heavier as he stepped closer.
Hazel lowered her gaze, her voice uncertain.
"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. I can ask someone else for help."
She turned to leave, but a firm hand slammed against the door, halting her. She looked up, startled to find herself caged between Francisco's arms. The door blocked her retreat.
"Come with me," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I'll teach you."
He stepped back, motioning toward the couch. Drawn by something she couldn't name, Hazel walked over and sat down. Francisco joined her, book in hand.
As he flipped through the pages, Hazel's eyes drifted to the nearby table, cluttered with papers and a detailed map. Red circles and marks caught her attention.
Was he planning his next deals?
Her stomach tightened.
Trying to refocus, she said softly, "Mr. Francisco, I'm really bothering you."
"You're not," he replied, sipping from his glass without looking at her.
"I... I won't forget this," she said. "I owe you."
Francisco finally looked at her. His gaze was sharp, unreadable.
"Really?"
"Yes. Thank you," Hazel murmured, lowering her eyes.
He snapped the book shut. Hazel looked up.
"I'm a businessman, Hazel," he said, voice steady. "You think 'thanks' covers everything?"
Her heart jumped.
She understood. This wasn't just kindness... there was a price. And she was willing to pay it, if it meant completing her mission.
"Do you need anything?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't have much money."
Francisco raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming.
"Money?"
He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked on hers.
"Do you think I don't have enough of that?"
"No… No, I didn't mean it like that," Hazel said quickly, her voice tinged with anxiety.
She pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say next. After a pause, she looked up and asked, "What can I do, Mr. Francisco?"
Francisco's gaze drifted to her lips.... still pressed tight... and something shifted in his expression.
A storm raged inside him.
I'm not a gentleman.
I could ruin you right here, Hazel. Mark every inch of you.
No one's ever stopped me before. But you… you do.
Why?
Is it because you once saved my life? Because you kissed me without asking?
He didn't understand this restraint. He hated it.
Finally, with a low, controlled voice, he said, "Sit here."
Hazel's eyes widened. "What?" she asked, startled.
Francisco tapped his lap. "Here. Sit."
The room tensed. Silence stretched between them.
Hazel swallowed hard. Her jaw clenched.
She didn't move.
"So you can't do it," Francisco said quietly, watching her closely.
Hazel's fingers curled into fists. She slowly stood up.
Francisco tilted his head, finally realizing Hazel wasn't playing games... she meant to hold her ground.
But his thoughts spiraled.
If someone else asked her to sleep with them… would she give in so easily?
His jaw clenched at the thought.
Just then, Hazel's cold, trembling hands brushed against his lap. He looked at her, but she kept her eyes low.
"Mr. Francisco…" she murmured.
He stayed silent, eyes locked on her.
"If I just sit like this... close but not on your lap... would that be okay?" she asked softly.
Francisco blinked, caught off guard. A flicker of amusement crossed his face. He didn't expect her to challenge him so calmly, and oddly, he liked it. A smirk tugged at his lips.
But he didn't answer.
Instead, he reached out, gripped her waist, and pulled her effortlessly into his lap. Hazel gasped, startled, and tried to move, but he held her firmly.
"Mr. Francisco, this is..."
He cut her off. "Don't you want to know what's written in the book?"
Their eyes met. Hazel hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod.
She stayed on his lap, his arm around her waist, the book open in his hand. As he began to read, his voice dropped... smooth, deep, steady... taking on the mood of the male lead. Hazel listened, her expression focused, her breathing steady.
Francisco translated the Italian phrases, letting each word carry weight. Hazel leaned closer, feigning fascination.
In truth, she understood everything. She knew Italian... fluently. This was her way in. A calculated move to earn his trust.
Her eyes flicked to his long fingers, to the strength in his arms. Slowly, as if lulled by the warmth of his voice, Hazel let her head fall against his chest.
She closed her eyes, pretending to drift off, steadying her breath with the rhythm of the story.
Francisco stopped reading as he felt Hazel leaned in his lap.
He drew in a deep breath, closed the book, and shut his eyes, trying to steady himself. His hand tightened around her waist, the storm inside him rising.
"F**k," he muttered, pressing his lips against her scalp.
"Hazel," he called softly, lifting her face. Her eyes stayed closed, lashes resting gently.
His thumb brushed across her lips. He stared at them for a moment too long… then pressed his lips to control himself.
"Umm…" Hazel murmured faintly, still lost in the pretense of sleep.
Then, without warning, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. The quiet affection hit him hard. For the third time, his heart betrayed him, picking up speed.
He sat frozen, fighting for control.
After a long pause, Francisco stood up. Carefully, he carried Hazel to the bed, laying her down gently and pulling a blanket over her.
Back on the couch, he tried to refocus... maps, plans, routes. But his eyes kept drifting. She was right there, beautiful and still, breathing softly in his room.
His body responded before his mind could catch up. The heat pulsed low and stubborn. But he wasn't in the mood to take the edge off.
It was her.
The feel of her fingers, the warmth of her mouth, the chaos she brought.
"Ahh…" he groaned, running a hand through his hair.
Suddenly, he pushed off the couch and stepped onto the balcony, hoping the cold air could calm the fire burning under his pants.