by Lauren Smith
She opened one eye. Her pillow was actually Carter’s chest. She froze. She was in bed beside him, her body twined with his, clutching his chest like a favorite stuffed animal. After the initial shock, that thought made her smile.
Carter threaded his fingers through the strands of her hair in a gentle, undemanding way. It felt like they’d done this a thousand times, that she’d woken up against his bare skin, feeling the heat of him like this, and he’d always been touching her with such gentle possession. It was as though they were made to lie together, two halves of a perfect whole.
Celia’s throat tightened, and she struggled to contain her desire and afraid this moment would end.
“Been awake long?” she asked. She raised her head to rest her chin on his chest.
“Only a few minutes.” He smiled at her, and she was warm all over again, but this time the sun had nothing to do with it. “I was enjoying watching you sleep.”
She started to smile, but soon panic took over. Had she been snoring? Her hair had to be all over the place right now. She should probably dash for the bathroom and brush her teeth…
“Celia, stop worrying. You’re bloody gorgeous.”
“How did you—?”
“I can see it in your eyes. Oh my God, I must look like a mess.” His fingers in her hair tightened slightly as his gaze held hers for a long, intense moment.
“You always could read my mind,” she said. She wished more than anything that she could read his the same way.
“I’ve spent my whole life watching you,” he admitted. “Wanting you…” The words hung in the air between them, but she was too afraid to echo them back, at least right now.
After a long moment, she cleared her throat. “What time is it?” She looked around for a clock. Carter reached over to the nightstand to check his wristwatch and squinted.
“Eight thirty.” He sighed, dropping the watch and turning back to her, his arms magically cradling her body against his. How did men know how to do that, move a woman’s body into the right spot like that? She felt his arousal pressed against her thigh, which made her blush, but he didn’t seem embarrassed. She wondered if he might kiss her as their noses brushed, but instead he groaned softly.
“We should get up.”
“We should,” she agreed. She put no urgency in her words, praying for him to move a little closer.
“We really should.” He rested his forehead against hers, and she practically melted against him. “Holly mentioned last night that we could take her car and drive into Siena. What do you think?”
She breathed in, taking in his addictive scent one more time before she pushed herself away from him. One of them had to get out of this bed first.
“Sounds good to me. I’ll go showe—” She tried to get up, but Carter rolled her beneath him, his mouth capturing her startled squeak of delight. He pinned her wrists to the bed on either side of her head and coaxed her body into a fiery desire with a claiming, yet playful kiss. His hips settled between her thighs, and he rocked against her, pressing his erection against her pajama shorts. She locked her legs around his waist, needing to feel him even closer. They kissed, grinding against each other before she felt that familiar surge of pleasure just within reach. Carter bit her lip, then thrust his tongue inside while pressing down on her hips in a way that made her explode with a muffled cry. Carter gasped her name seconds later and smiled, almost shyly. They caught their breath, settling against each other in comfort, yet she wanted more of him than ever before. And bloody hell, they were still stuck in his bed. Not that she wanted to be anywhere else.
“At some point, we’re actually going to do this without clothes, right? Naked and all?” she asked between panting breaths.
“Naked and all?” he echoed with a chuckle.
“Yeah, like you and me, naked. You know…”
Carter laughed and placed his forehead against hers. “Oh, we definitely will. I’m just giving you a taste, love.” He let go of her wrists, stole one more kiss, and rolled out of bed. He shot her a wicked grin as he disappeared into his bathroom. Celia grabbed his pillow and covered her face to muffle a groan. Naked and all? Geeze. She climbed out of the bed and returned to her own room.
By the time she showered and dressed, Carter was waiting for her in the kitchen. They had a quick breakfast of eggs and toast before they left. Carter picked up a set of keys from a colorful blown glass bowl on a side table by the door.
He tossed her the keys, and she saw the Aston Martin logo on the key fob. “Apparently, your aunt has a classic Aston she’s kept in perfect condition. She has fine taste in cars.”
And I have good taste in men, Celia thought as she returned the keys to Carter. He wore jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt, which clung to his lean body like a second skin. The man was all slick muscle and leonine grace. She was spellbound by the way the sunlight caught his hair, making the tousled strands gleam. She wanted to fist her hands in his hair and drag his head down to hers, but she needed to behave today. She didn’t trust herself not to mess things up royally where Carter was concerned.
She followed him to the front of the villa and saw the metallic gray two-seater sports car, top down, ready to go. Carter reached into the car and pulled out a multicolored scarf.
“Holly recommended you use this for your hair if we leave the top down.” He handed it to her, slightly baffled.
She took the silk scarf with a laugh. She folded it into a triangle and covered her head. It would keep her hair from getting windblown during the drive. Celia bit back a grin as Carter, in a display of chivalry, rushed to open the door for her. His eyes trailed along her legs a second longer than was decent as she slid into the seat. He’d always done that, let his looks linger longer than was proper, and she knew she’d often done the same. But now they didn’t have to hide that desire from each other or anyone else.
He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, which purred like a contented cat until Carter hit the gas pedal and it roared to life. They shot out of the curved drive and headed for the road that would take them to Siena.
Celia held a hand out of the car, laughing as the wind rushed through her fingers and the sun warmed her skin. The rolling hills around them were a mixture of brilliant greens and stunning golds. Every so often they saw another villa on a hill or tucked in a valley as they zipped through the narrow streets of small towns that were half a millennium old.
Carter reached for her other hand, and they laced their fingers together. He glanced her way, smiling broadly, and she couldn’t help but smile back.
It was close to noon when they reached the outskirts of Siena, where Carter found a lot to park the car. They would have to walk the rest of the way because most of Siena, especially the city center, was pedestrian only.
Celia was amazed by the rustic Renaissance architecture and the stunning courtyards adorned with flowers climbing up old wooden trellises. There they walked through narrow alleys behind buildings which ascended up to gorgeous rooftop views. Thecloudless sky was a pure blue like the ceiling of a painted church dome. Red and yellow flags hung suspended over the winding streets, their thin silk illuminated from behind by the sun. The city itself was at the top of the hill, stretching out in three different directions from the main square called Piazza del Campo.
“God, this is beautiful,” said Carter. They were still holding hands, and she felt like a lovesick teen for adoring that simple connection. “I mean, I’ve seen pictures, but…”
“You’ve never been to Italy?” she asked.
Carter shook his head. “I’ve always had an up-to-date passport but I’ve never left England before.”
“What? But surely Tristan would have…” Her cousin had traveled quite a bit. Before he’d met Kat, he’d traveled the world over looking for thrills or women to woo and bed. Given how close they were, it surprised Celia to learn that Carter hadn’t gone with him on any of these trips.
“Oh, he offered, but I never went. My rul
e was that I wouldn’t go on any trip unless I could afford it.”
Carter had flown coach to Italy, but she had assumed that was to avoid attracting unwanted attention from her parents. After all, they would have recorded him as a passenger on her uncle’s private jet, and that might lead to questions. But it seemed it had been as much about pride as propriety. He spoke again more softly.
“One day I will find a way to pay you and Holly back for letting me stay with you like this.” He looked so…ashamed. In all the years she’d known Carter, he’d never looked embarrassed by his financial circumstances before, and she hated herself for making him feel that way. She hadn’t wanted to remind him of the disparity between their social circles. Given that her own family was all but penniless now, it shouldn’t matter to him, but it did.
She pulled him to a stop. “You don’t need to pay anyone back. Consider it a gift.”
His lips curved in an almost biting smile. “I guess I’m Julia Roberts in this Pretty Woman scenario, aren’t I?”
Celia frowned. “You aren’t a prostitute, Carter.”
He chuckled a bit coldly, looking away. “Then what do you call bringing me here to fulfill your sexual fantasies?”
Celia dropped his hand, pain shooting to her heart so strongly that she winced.
“You know that it isn’t like that.” She paused. “If you really believe that, you are a bloody idiot, and I want you to take me straight back to Holly’s.” She craved him on so many levels, not just physically, but if he was going to ruin this by lashing out like a hurt child, she wouldn’t stand for it. She’d thought these were his fantasies too, that she wasn’t in this desire and longing alone. Carter reached out, gripping both of her hands before she could pull away.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just want to contribute. It’s important to me. I don’t want to owe anyone, especially not you.”
“We both owe my aunt. That’s the only thing you can feel guilty about.”
He nodded, pulling her close to him, and bent his head.
“Being with you here isn’t about a fantasy,” she said softly. “It’s about experiencing a dream before I have to let go. You know how I feel…” She wanted to make him understand that she didn’t want to use him. Being with him was a dream come true. If only there was some way to turn it into a reality.
“I know,” he replied. “I know.” His focus dropped to her lips. She met him halfway and melted into a heated kiss between them.
The sound of catcalling broke them apart. Two young Italian men were standing outside a café watching them. The young men laughed and clapped as they chattered in Italian. Celia knew enough Italian to blush at the content of their comments.
“We should go.” She grasped Carter’s hand, and they quickly crossed the street, ignoring the men’s jeers. It was mortifying, but she knew it was fairly normal here. Men were vocal about women and their interest in them. It was not her favorite part of Italian culture. Carter shot the group of men a chilling look as he and Celia left.
They reached the square, Piazza del Campo, and Carter’s eyes widened at the massive space, full of locals and tourists mingling. Dozens of people were stretched out on the red-bricked plaza as though they were sunning on a tropical beach. Celia gazed out upon the square and city hall, its looming tower dominating the square. The whole square angled slightly downward in a gradual, slow architectural flow designed to draw the tourist’s eye to the city hall, or Palazzo Pubblico. Celia had read a tour book on the flight over, loving the rich medieval history of Siena.
She’d read that the square had been the focus of the town’s society in medieval times. The tower in city hall bore a stylized sun, and it had been built around 1340. Flanking the sun logo were she-wolf gargoyles that seem to crawl out of the stone and snarl at the people below. They were supposed to represent the she-wolf who had suckled Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome according to legend. It was said that Remus’s son was the man who in turn founded the city of Siena.
Carter watched her get lost in the history of the city for a moment. “What do you want to do next?”
“Why don’t we have a quiet lunch at a café and then go to the Piazza del Duomo?” she suggested.
Carter pointed out a small café near the Piazza del Campo, where they ordered a pizza and two glasses of chianti. Carter raised his glass. “To Siena.”
“To Siena.” They clinked their glasses together. Celia watched the tourists and locals pass by the sunlit window, feeling strangely at home here. It was hard not to when the sun was so warm, and the smell of freshly cooked pasta and spices filled the air beneath the Gothic spires of the church that towered over the winding streets. When she looked to Carter, she saw him looking out the window as well, a wistful expression on his face.
“If you never had to go back to England, do you think you’d miss it?” she asked, knowing that a person who’d never left their country before could miss home deeply.
He smiled a little. “I honestly don’t know.” He sipped his wine before continuing. “I’d miss the heavy wet fog rolling through the gardens on some mornings and the way the rain sounds against the gables on the manor house in the early morning hours, tempting me to sleep in. But I wouldn’t miss the worries and the pressure of my life there.”
“Me too.” Celia had forgotten just how hard he worked as the junior steward. She knew he had numerous responsibilities, but she wondered if he was taking on even more of his father’s work to help him. If he was, it would explain much of the tension and worry she’d seen him carrying these last few months.
They drank their wine in companionable silence. With anyone else she would’ve felt compelled to make small talk, but this was Carter. She’d known him all her life. There was no awkwardness with him, not like with other men.
After lunch they ventured down a side alley, where they found a small art gallery. Celia studied both the modern art and the more old-fashioned portraits. She stopped when she saw a portrait of a woman in a pale-blue Victorian gown seated at a desk, pencil in hand as she wrote. Sunlight from the windows bathed her desk in gold, while the background behind her was in dark shadows. The title of the work was The Dreamer. She was captivated.
“She’s lovely. She looks real enough that I could reach out and touch her,” Carter murmured from behind her.
“Yes…it’s magical.” She saw the price tag on the painting and was tempted to buy it. It would be an expense, but having The Dreamer in her office somehow seemed important, like a quiet but powerful muse. But she couldn’t afford it.
“Let’s go see the cathedral.” She took Carter’s hand, and they walked to the Piazza del Duomo. The thirteenth-century Gothic cathedral had a striped bell tower and was covered with statues. Every inch of bare surface was layered with frescoes and art. The church was a kaleidoscope of green, white, pink, and gold. She took mental notes of the blend of architectural styles, the lower portions of the church featuring remnants of the fading Romanesque style with its round arches and the pointed arches of the newer Gothic style with frilly designs lacing the pointed peaks.
“Wow.” Carter looked impressed.
Celia grinned. “You see the six-story bell tower?” She pointed to the tower at the back of the church. “It looks taller than it is because of an optical illusion. The white marble stripes get narrower toward the top, which makes it seem farther away.”
Carter pointed to the she-wolves above the main entrance of the cathedral. “Are those wolves?”
“Yes, they are there to honor Romulus and Remus.”
“Oh, right, the founders of Rome.” He eyed the she-wolves with open appreciation.
She and Carter spent over two hours touring the church, the baptistery, the crypt, and the church museum before they explored more of the historical squares in the city. By the time they were ready for dinner, her mind was abuzz with fresh architectural ideas.
“Do you want to stay in town for dinner?” she asked.
�
�I do if you do.”
“Holly recommended one of her favorite restaurants called Vernice and Giuseppe. She said it serves modern Tuscan cuisine in a chic Gothic grotto.”
“A grotto?” Carter looked at her quizzically. She grinned, delighted that she’d caught his attention. She wanted to take him to all the special places she could while he was here, and this one would certainly be unique given its ancient history.
“It’s a medieval vault. They supposedly have a wine cellar that dates back to Etruscan times, long before the Romans were here.”
His brows rose, and he smiled back. “Lead the way.”
8
Celia took them back to the Piazza del Campo near city hall, where they found signs leading them down into the underground restaurant. The air was cool, and the craggy stone walls were very much like a grotto. A waiter showed them to a booth that had candles and fresh flowers in a short round vase, giving the table a romantic feel. Celia grew nervous. Lunches in cafés were one thing, but romantic candlelit dinners? This felt too serious. What kind of message was she sending?
Carter slid into the booth opposite her. “You okay?”
She blushed and reached for the wine menu. “It’s nothing, just the dim light.” She found what she wanted and passed the list to Carter. “I’ll have a glass of the Côte du Rhône.”
“Same for me.” Carter handed the wine list back to the waiter as Celia studied the menu. Between waking up in their quiet, comfortable intimacy to the tour of the city, they’d had such an amazing day. It was just the way she’d hoped their time here would be, but she was still so nervous. This felt like a real date, which was silly given that she’d slept in his bed last night. Typically it went the other way around.
A finger slowly pulled the shield of her menu down, and she met Carter’s gaze. He watched her with an intensity that made her squirm in her seat, the kind of stare that could make a woman forget her name. If she gave a single word of encouragement, she imagined he’d take her to the nearest bathroom, and they’d…