The Italian Read online

  “Who’s your favorite designer?”

  “Umm, let’s see.” I narrow my eyes. “Valentino or Dolce and Gabbana.”

  “And you’ve applied to both of those houses?”

  “Yes. Nothing back from them yet, though.”

  “One day,” he replies.

  I smile. “One day.”

  “Finish your drink, bella. I’m taking you dancing.”

  “Bella?” I frown. God, he doesn’t even remember my name.

  He takes my hand over the table and lifts it to his mouth. “Bella means beautiful.”

  He kisses my fingertips. “And you really are very beautiful, Olivia. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

  Oh, I like him.

  “To be honest, I’m having a hard time staying on my side of the table. I want us to dance so I can have you in my arms,” he says softly.

  Nerves dance in my stomach. “Then take me dancing, Mr. Ferrara,” I whisper.

  He smiles darkly, tips his head back, and he drains his glass. “Let’s go.”

  Three hours later and the room is spinning to the sound of my laughter. Enrico and I are dancing and he’s throwing me around like a rag doll. He is holding me by the hand and is spinning me around and around.

  We’ve drunk way too much, and now it’s late—3:00 a.m., to be precise—and we’ve come to our third bar of the night. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so much. He’s funny, smart, and seriously gorgeous. He’s also making me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

  I couldn’t tell you if anyone else is here, because all I can see is him.

  He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, with his square jaw, dark, wavy hair, and the biggest brown eyes I have ever seen. His lips are pouty and a beautiful shade of red. He has this joyfulness that seeps out of him, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. His laugh is loud, echoing, and his voice has a deep huskiness that speaks to something deep inside of me.

  A slow song comes on. Enrico pulls me close and wraps his arms around me. “Finally,” he whispers as he kisses my temple.

  “Finally?” I smile, liking the way his lips feel on me.

  “Finally, a slow song that allows me to hold you close.”

  He towers above me. He’s so tall that I only come up to his shoulder. One of my hands is in his, while he holds me by the waist with his other. The air between us is electric. My heart is pumping hard and fast.

  What would it be like to have sex with a virile, intense man like this?

  Imagine fucking him.

  A deep ache begins to grow inside of me. I can feel myself getting wet as my need for his body grows. Enrico slowly dips his head, and his lips softly dust mine, his tongue gently asking for permission to enter my mouth. I grant him access. His kiss is slow and erotic, and it does things to me as I get a visual of him on top of me. Naked. Fucking me hard—so hard. Our bodies wet with perspiration. I’m aching for him to touch me.

  His hand tightens around my waist, pulling me closer as we kiss. I lose control and my hands go to his hair, bringing him closer to me.

  For fifteen minutes, we stand on the dancefloor, kissing like we are the only people in the room. I can feel his hard cock up against my stomach. His eyes have darkened to nearly black, and I can feel the want in his vice-like grip.

  He’s different to any man I’ve ever met. It could be the whole Italian thing, of course, but I feel like it’s more than that. There’s more to him than meets the eye. Perhaps that’s just my inexperience with gorgeous men speaking. Maybe all players make women feel like this. Maybe it’s a spell that only a few men know how to cast.

  A special kind of black magic.

  Suddenly, achingly aware that I’m dripping wet and acting like a horny ho, I whisper, “I should get going.”

  His eyes hold mine, and some kind of silent acknowledgement runs between us. He bends and kisses me softly, a promise of more.

  After a beat, he replies, “I’ll walk you home.”

  Half an hour later, we arrive at my hotel, hand in hand. “This is me,” I say nervously.

  He turns toward me, takes my face in his hands, and he kisses me again, waiting for an invitation to come in. Our lips dance as my mind runs at a million miles a minute. Visions of us naked together play like a perfect porno in my mind.

  But… I can’t. I can’t do it. As much as I want to, I can’t sleep with a stranger. It’s not who I am.

  Damn you, conscience.

  “It was nice meeting you,” I say.

  His face falls as he stares at me, his chest rising and falling as he battles his arousal.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I…” I hesitate, because damn, saying it out loud seems so lame. “I’m not the type of girl who sleeps around.”

  Tenderness crosses his face but he remains silent.

  “You make me wish I was.” I smile bashfully.

  We kiss, and then he holds our foreheads together as we both try to come down from our high.

  “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks. “I have the weekend off. I can take you sightseeing.”

  “Really?”

  He takes a step back from me, creating distance, and I know he’s trying to calm his throbbing body down.

  “Okay.” I smile.

  “I’ll pick you up at ten?”

  I look at my watch. “That’s only six hours away.”

  His eyes dance with mischief. “I know. It seems stupid to go all the way home. I can just stay here until then.”

  I giggle. “Nice try. Go home, Ricki.”

  He chuckles, and with one last lingering kiss, he opens the front door of my hotel. I walk in, trying to act cool and hide the over the top smile on my face.

  I turn back to him through the glass. He has his hands tucked in his pockets as he watches me. I give him a wave, and he blows me a kiss. I get into the elevator with my heart jumping all over the place. I smile broadly at my reflection in the elevator mirrored wall.

  Holy shit…. what the hell just happened?

  2

  Olivia

  There’s knocking at the door. It grows louder.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Huh?

  I lift my heavy head from my pillow. What’s that?

  The knocking continues. What the hell? Who’s at the fucking door at this ungodly hour. I roll over to retrieve my phone.

  8:30 a.m

  I wince in disgust.

  The knocking is getting harder now—more urgent.

  Shit, what if the buildings on fire? I sit up with a start.

  “Coming!” I call.

  I walk to the door and peek through the tiny hole to see Enrico standing in the hall.

  What the heck?

  I keep the chain on, open the door, and peer through the crack.

  “Good morning, Olivia.” He smiles proudly.

  “What…?” I pause and drag my hand through my hair self-consciously. I must look appalling. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here for our date.”

  “I thought you said ten?” I frown.

  “I couldn’t wait.”

  I stare at him, looking all perky and like he’s had a million hours sleep, while I look like roadkill. “I’m not ready. I just woke up.”

  “That’s fine.” He smirks and bounces on his toes. “I can wait.”

  I glance around my messy room. “Give me a moment.”

  I slam the door shut in his face and run like a mad woman, stuffing all of my things back into my suitcase. I glance down at myself wearing only panties and a singlet. This won’t do. I throw on a dress, and I run into the bathroom to brush my teeth, while trying my hardest to wipe the mascara from under my eyes.

  He couldn’t wait.

  A thrill runs through me, and I smile as I brush my teeth with vigor. I rush back out and see a pair of panties that have fallen out of my suitcase. I pick them up and quickly stuff them under my pillow.

  Right.

  I
drop my shoulders as I try to calm myself down before I open the door, acting completely calm.

  Rico smiles knowingly. “Hello.”

  “Hi.” I smirk. God, he really is delicious. “Please, come in.”

  He walks past me and looks around my room.

  “You do know it’s 8:34, right?” I mutter dryly.

  “I do.” He stands, not knowing where to sit. He’s wearing blue jeans that fit snug to his thighs and a white T-shirt. His dark hair is messed up, and his big red lips are completely kissable. He’s basically sex on legs.

  “We only went to bed five hours ago. Why are you looking all perky?” I gesture to his gorgeousness.

  He drops his hands to his hips. “Perky? What is that word?”

  I scratch my nest-hair. “Eager.”

  His eyes dance with mischief. “I am eager. I thought we could have breakfast together.”

  I stare at him, unsure if a date with someone who has this much energy this early is really a wise thing. “I have to shower first. Do you want to go and get a coffee or something? I’ll be about twenty minutes.”

  “No. I’ll wait.” He drops to sit on my bed.

  I stare at him. I need to dig through my suitcase to try and find the perfect outfit, and I have no idea how to do that while he’s sitting there watching me.

  “Umm.” I glance over at my suitcase.

  “I’ll wait out on the balcony, shall I?”

  “Yes,” I say, relieved. “Do that.” I open the door, and he walks out. He sits down at the small table overlooking the street. “Play with your phone or something,” I tell him.

  Delight dances in his eyes as he watches me. “Okay.”

  I walk back into the room and unzip my suitcase, what I really want to do is do a handstand on my bed or something.

  Holy shit, is this really happening?

  I rustle through my clothes—all crumpled and messy. Why don’t I have something ironed, for fuck’s sake? What will I wear?

  “What are we doing today?” I call.

  “Everything!” he calls back.

  Everything. I poke my head around the corner. “Define everything.”

  He looks up and our eyes meet. My breath catches. I think he’s the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on.

  “Swimming,” he eventually says.

  I frown. “Swimming?”

  “Among other things. I thought we could do some sightseeing on my motorbike, and then go for a drive down to the beach this afternoon.”

  My eyes widen. “You have a motorbike?”

  “I do. Do you like motorbikes.”

  “I love motorbikes.”

  “Me, too.”

  “This sounds fun,” I beam.

  “That’s me.” He throws me a cheeky wink. “Mr. Fun.”

  I giggle because we both know that’s an appalling lie, he’s Mr. Intense, not Mr. Fun.

  “If you say so,” I tease. I walk back inside and do another little jig to myself. This is the best day of my frigging life.

  I grab my things and head into the shower, trying to be as quick as I can because I know he’s waiting.

  He’s waiting… for me.

  Ten minutes later, I come back out into the room in denim shorts and a pale pink T-shirt to find my bed made and my panties laid out. I stare at them, mortified. They’re the ones I stuffed under my pillow when he arrived.

  I turn to him. “You made my bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes hold mine, dark and dangerous. “I wanted to.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat.

  “I found these under your pillow.” He picks them up and twirls them around on his finger. “Did you take them off last night when you were alone in bed?”

  I open my mouth to say something but no words come out.

  He steps forward, closer to me. “Did you touch yourself last night when you got back from our date?”

  I frown. I have two options here. One, go along with his notion that I’m a sexy ho…or two, shatter his dreams and tell him I’m a slob who left my panties on the floor. “Did you?” I fire back, unable to push a lie past my lips.

  He steps forward again. “I did.”

  The air crackles between us.

  “And?” I whisper.

  “I blew three times.” His dark eyes hold mine. “Seems that you’re quite the aphrodisiac, Miss Olivia Reynolds.”

  The air leaves my lungs as I imagine him alone in the dark, pleasuring himself.

  Dear God.

  He runs his fingertips down my cheek, and I stare up at him. His gaze drops to my lips, and my sex clenches.

  Kiss me.

  Enrico cups my face and grabs a handful of my hair.

  Kiss me.

  He places his thumb under my bottom lip and opens my mouth slightly as if imagining something. A frown mars his face as he stares at my open mouth.

  Kiss me, goddamn it.

  He seems to suddenly refocus and then blinks once. “We should get going. Breakfast is waiting.” He steps back from me.

  Wait, what? Where’s my kiss?

  “Okay, sure.” I grab my purse and supplies, and I turn to him in a fluster. “I’m ready, are you?”

  He smirks, knowing full well that I was waiting for him to kiss me. “Oh, I’m ready. Let’s go Olivia.”

  “Table for two, please,” Enrico asks the waiter.

  “This way, please,” the Italian waiter replies.

  We follow him through the restaurant and out of a door that opens up to a courtyard. The ground is made of cobblestones, and colorful flowers light up the area in large pots. Its quaint and cute.

  The waiter pulls out my chair. “Thank you.” Rico sits down opposite me.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” the waiter asks.

  Rico looks over at me. “Would you like an espresso, Olivia?”

  I scan the menu quickly. I don’t think my poor hungover stomach can handle a strong coffee this morning. “I’ll have an English breakfast tea, please.”

  The waiter smiles and scribbles down my order.

  “I’ll have an espresso with an extra shot of coffee,” Rico says.

  “Thank you.”

  The waiter leaves us alone, and nerves bubble in my stomach again.

  Rico pours us both a glass of water. “You look beautiful today.”

  I smile. “Liar.” I rearrange the napkin on my lap. “I’m feeling very secondhand.”

  He frowns, not understanding what I mean.

  “I feel hungover from last night. I feel a little sick,” I clarify.

  “Oh.” He smiles. “I see.” He opens the menu and peruses the choices, and I do the same. “What are you having?”

  In order to feel better, I need full fat and double of everything. But then in order to get Rico to kiss me, I need to appear less pig-like.

  “Maybe fruit?” I lie, testing the water. I’m so not getting fruit but I’ll ease into the conversation with that.

  He frowns as he reads. “You should eat something hearty. It will make you feel better.”

  “Okay.” Well, that plan worked fabulously. “If you insist.” I look over the choices. “What are you having?”

  “Granola and fruit.”

  “You know, I make a wonderful granola,” I say proudly. “I roast it myself.” I don’t make much, but I do make that.

  “Do you?” He raises his brow. “Well, I hope that one day you will make it for me.”

  I shrug casually, as if super-hot guys ask for my granola every day. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He chuckles, and his eyes linger on my face. Nerves dance in my stomach under his gaze. I’ve never spent time with a man who’s this good looking before. Enrico simply oozes sex appeal, and it’s not missionary style sex appeal, either. I’m talking bone-shattering, wet with perspiration, fuck you into oblivion kind of sex. The stuff you see on cable and think about for weeks.

  “Can I take your order?” t
he waiter asks.

  Rico gestures to me. Such a gentleman. “I will have the avocado and eggs, please.” I frown because I want something sweet, too.

  The waiter looks to Rico. “And you, sir?”

  “She’s not finished,” he mutters, unimpressed with the waiter dismissing me.

  “Oh, apologies.” The waiter turns back to me. “Will that be all?”

  I’m flustered that they’re both watching me. “I was just going to get something sweet, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Get the…” Rico quickly scans the menu. “The Maritozzo.”

  I shrug. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  “I’ll have the granola with a bowl of fruit on the side.” He folds the menus and gives them back to the waiter, and we watch as he disappears out of sight.

  Rico sits back and rubs his pointer over his lips as he watches me. It’s as if he’s assessing me.

  “What?” I smile.

  “Nothing.” He sips his water. “Just admiring the scenery.”

  I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I really want to ask him what he was imagining last night when he was pulling his dick. Of course, I won’t.

  “Do you come here often?” I ask.

  “First time. My apartment is on the other side of town. Old Rome.”

  “It’s a beautiful city, isn’t it?”

  “I love it here.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “I do now. My brother Andrea and I used to live together but we haven’t for five or six years. He lives near the hospital now.”

  “You have just the one brother?”

  “No, I have another brother, Matteo. He lives in France at the moment. He’s a scientist and is working with a pharmaceutical company doing research.”

  “Wow.” I smile. “A doctor, a scientist, and a policeman. Your parents must be proud.”

  “I have a sister, too. Francesca. She’s only fifteen.” He smiles wistfully, and I can tell he has a soft spot for her.

  “Three big brothers to protect her.” I widen my eyes. “Lucky girl.”

  He chuckles as our drinks arrive. “Thank you,” Rico says to the waiter before he turns back to me. “Francesca doesn’t think so. Apparently, we’re the bane of her existence.”