Falling for Italy

by De Ross, Melinda

  “I…really…have to start buying…practical clothes,” she said through shivers.

  “I can’t argue there. Though it’s sexy as hell, this coat is fit for spring, not winter.”

  They reached her car and she immediately started the engine, waiting for the heater to blast warm air. He sat in the passenger seat, looking at her worriedly.

  “Are you okay? You look like a popsicle,” he remarked. “Maybe you caught a cold.”

  “Don’t worry. I do this every year,” she assured him. “I never get sick. I suppose my body has adjusted to my fashion sense.”

  She drove back to the shooting range and parked next to his car. The parking lot was deserted, as usual for every Saturday night. She turned to him.

  “Thanks for inviting me to the party. And for the doughnuts. I’ll see you tomorrow night at eight.”

  “Can I have your phone number?” he asked, getting out his own cell phone from his pocket.

  Sonia told him her number as he touched the figures on the screen of his iPhone.

  “Got it?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she repeated, feeling like an idiot.

  “I’ll be expecting you,” he said huskily. He stretched out a hand and brushed her cheek gently, then traced a finger down her lips. His touch was electrifying, his eyes locked on hers with an almost palpable intensity. She laid her head on her seat’s headrest, as her heartbeats drummed in her ears.

  She knew he was going to kiss her and she wished for it so much she ached. She closed her eyes, feeling his breath on her lips, his hand cupping the back of her head. His sensual lips touched hers and an explosion of passion made her dizzy when she tasted his hot tongue. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, and her tongue explored his mouth without restraint. His hand slid to her ribcage, gently at first, then his grip tightened as the smoldering pressure built between them, making her stomach tighten. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and she yearned to be caressed by his strong hands. He stroked the side of her breast and she moaned softly, her breath mixing with his. When his hand squeezed her breast, discovering it bare through the thin material, they both gasped.

  He tore his mouth from hers, whispering roughly, “God, Sonia, I want you so much.”

  He supported his forehead on hers, while they both breathed heavily. The car windows were steamy, but not nearly as steamy as their skin, which was feverish with desire. Sonia doubted she could feel cold even if he dragged her outside in the snow, naked, and made love to her right there. She bit her lip and pressed her palms to her burning cheeks. Giovanni had probably mistaken her gesture, because he drew back a little.

  He looked her in the eyes, intently, saying in that same rough voice, “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s just that…I couldn’t stop myself. This attraction I feel for you is more powerful than anything I’ve ever experienced. I never lose control, Sonia, but…I can’t be around you and not touch you. Do you feel it too?”

  She nodded slowly, their eyes still locked, as their bodies longed to be.

  “I do, Giovanni. Don’t apologize. I wanted you to touch me, but I don’t want you to think I’m…easy.”

  “I could never think that,” he told her, brushing her hair away from her forehead. “You are special, Sonia. I’m not just saying that so I can sleep with you—though God as my witness, I want you more than anything. What I feel when I’m with you is special, and I sense you feel that too.”

  She sighed deeply, gazing at him.

  “I do feel it and it scares the hell out of me. I hoped it was just my hormones, since it’s been over a year since I…had a relationship. I only had a couple of lovers, Giovanni. I’m not a party girl, not the kind you must be used to. Maybe you just want a change, something to distract you during your vacation. It’s all right.” She hastily raised a hand to stall the protest she saw coming from him. “I told you I’m not looking for a commitment either, so…I’m okay with this. We should just enjoy each other—no strings attached.”

  He looked at her as though he wanted to say something, but decided against it.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He kissed her swiftly and got out of the car.

  She sat in her own car, watching his headlights fading into the night and waiting for her heart to settle. She prayed she’d be able to pick up the broken pieces of her soul when he left her and returned to Italy.

  Chapter Three

  Giovanni drove furiously, wondering why he was upset. Because of the achy pressure behind his jeans’ zipper, or because Sonia thought he was a shallow, heartless womanizer? Maybe both, he thought in frustration. Dio mio, who could understand women? Most of them clung to him like poison ivy and he couldn’t get rid of them fast enough. Instead, this one—whom he wanted like air—was only interested in sex, no strings attached. By God, he’ll give her sex then. The best she’d ever had.

  His hands tightened on the wheel, as he followed the GPS’ indications to Linda’s house. When he finally got there, he noticed most of the lights were off. Probably his sister and brother-in-law had already retired. He heard laughter coming from their bedroom as he headed to his own, with Pirata trailing him quietly. He felt a trace of envy, not malicious, only…regret. His feelings were conflicted. He’d just told Sonia he wasn’t husband material, yet he thought it would be nice to have someone to share his bed every night, to share his thoughts, his dreams. He’d often observed Linda and Gerard, their dynamics, their gestures. They completed each other, knew what was on the other’s mind, shared the same lame jokes.

  Must be getting old, he thought. This whole holiday mood and all the wedding preparations are mellowing me.

  He undressed and took a long hot shower, standing under the jet for a long time. His thoughts kept going back to Sonia and the steamy kiss they’d shared. Hell, it had been much more than a kiss, but not nearly enough to suit him. He slid naked under the thick bed covers and Pirata jumped on the bed, curling at his feet.

  Though he was tired, his body wouldn’t cut him some slack. His blood was pumping with desire and it took him a long while to fall asleep. In dreams, the dark-eyed sexy markswoman teased him mercilessly with promises, but without offering any relief.

  It was in the same mood he awoke the next day. He wondered drowsily if someone could die from unfulfilled arousal. Of course they could. Not directly, but surely after a while one wished he was dead rather than have a permanent hard-on.

  He cursed under his breath and got up. Pirata waited by the door, meowing insistently and scratching at the wood. He ushered the cat out and dragged himself under the shower, where he turned on the nearly cold water.

  See if that helps, he thought angrily, absurdly punishing his body for its perfectly normal reactions to abstinence and a night of erotic dreams. He shaved carefully, as he did almost every single morning, rubbing some aftershave into his skin after he was done.

  He pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt, then went downstairs. He stopped in the living room doorway, watching Linda and Gerard decorating an enormous Christmas tree, whose fresh pine scent pleasantly tickled his nostrils. Linda took the last decoration from a big box, now empty. It was a gold and red star with pointy tips. Gerard lifted her to put it on the tree’s top, and then he lowered her slowly, running his hands over her body and kissing her neck.

  “Stop feeling up my little sister, you French pervert! She’s engaged,” Giovanni said from the threshold. The couple jumped apart, startled, and looked at him with silly grins shining on their faces.

  “You’re up, amore mio!” exclaimed Linda. “We wanted to surprise you. What do you think?”

  She gestured to the tree.

  “I think you’re nuts! How the hell did you manage to get this monster inside?” Giovanni replied, moving forward to study the tree, which was at least ten feet tall.

  “Very carefully,” his brother-in-law answered, picking up the empty deco
rations boxes. “We bought one for every room. A decorating team is coming to set them up this afternoon, but we wanted to do this one ourselves. It’s our first Christmas together. We have to enjoy every experience,” he said, smiling and patting Linda’s butt.

  “You’re going to give me cavities with all the sugary talk.” He grinned, seeing their crest fallen expressions. “The tree looks great, guys. I was just teasing you. It smells even better,” he added, sniffing the air. “And is that coffee?”

  “Yeah, I made a pot full. Go in the kitchen and let’s have some breakfast. We’ll be right there.”

  They ate fluffy eggs with ham and cheese, making plans for the day. Giovanni was the only one who didn’t have a costume for the party.

  “I’m not wearing a silly outfit,” he said between bites. “I can dress as myself—that’s enough for a masked ball.”

  Gerard laughed.

  “Come on, man, you can’t spoil our party! I’m wearing a fake moustache and you’re complaining?”

  Giovanni choked, as Linda burst out laughing.

  “A fake moustache? What will you be? Zorro?”

  “We’re going to dress like Morticia and Gomez Adams,” Linda informed him. “I chose the outfits.”

  Giovanni looked at his brother-in-law with pity.

  “You poor schmuck. She really has her teeth into you, huh?”

  Gerard winked, taking no offense at the well-humored joke. “I’ll bet my next paycheck she can have you wear a Tarzan costume if she puts her mind to it.”

  “Ha! No way! I’ve had the little brat’s number since she was born. I taught her all she knows, and I’m an old fox. But,” he added as his sister was opening her mouth, no doubt for a lecture, “I’ll wear a damned disguise. Where do I buy such a…thing?”

  Linda gave him the address of the shop where they’d bought their own outfits and masks. He tapped it on the screen of his phone. Sighing deeply, he got to his feet.

  “You owe me big for this, sis. Oh, by the way, I’ve invited someone to the party. Can you please have her name put on the guests list? Sonia Galsworthy.”

  In unison, Linda and Gerard raised inquisitive eyebrows.

  “Fast work.” Gerard winked at him admiringly.

  “Who’s—” Linda began, but her husband-to-be interrupted her.

  “His target-shooting trainer. I’ll explain later.”

  “Really? His target shooting trainer? Now I recall reading about her once in a newspaper.”

  Leaving them to their speculations, Giovanni turned his back, heading upstairs. He grabbed his jacket and keys, arming himself with patience for the masquerade party costume hunt.

  He intended to pick the first decent thing upon which he came across, but he found the task harder than he’d anticipated. He browsed through dozens of Batman, Superman, Zorro and other such outfits, running a frustrated hand through his short hair. He couldn’t wear a freaking Zorro costume with a straight face, for Heaven’s sake!

  Just as he’d almost lost hope, he spotted a dark simple suit over a red shirt fitted on a mannequin. A white mask covered half of the plastic face, and black leather gloves enveloped the mannequin’s hands.

  “Who’s this supposed to be?” he asked the clerk—a teenage Barbie-looking girl who gazed at him in awe, trailing him through the shop.

  “The Phantom of the Opera, sir. I think we have your size. Would you like to try it on? You’d look smashing in this!” she exclaimed animated.

  “Oh, hell,” he muttered. “Sure. I’ll try it on, thanks.”

  He had to admit the suit looked great on him. Even the mask fit perfectly. It had a silicon-like undersurface, which stuck to his skin, covering half of his forehead, half of his nose and one cheek. It stopped just above his upper lip. It made a nice contrast with his tanned, clean-shaven skin, giving him a mysterious, dashing air. He pulled on the gloves and looked carefully in the mirror. The face of a sexy stranger stared back at him, smiling enigmatically. He wondered what Sonia was going to wear.

  * * * *

  Sonia looked once again in the mirror. Was she really properly dressed for such an event? She’d actually searched on Google how to dress for a masquerade party. After browsing the shops for hours, she’d chosen a black, knee-length, backless dress, black lace stockings with an elasticized band that secured them high on her thighs and a pair of classy black shoes. The four-inch heels were a bit uncomfortable, but the effect was worth it. She left her hair the way she usually wore it—straight, stopping just under her jaw, her uneven bangs brushed to one side and clasped with a black flower hairpin. She had also bought long silver earrings decorated with black shiny beads. At last, she put on her mask—simple, black, having just a few red rhinestones at the corners, matching her dark red lipstick. She looked like a sexy Cat-woman—if she said so herself and if Cat-woman ever wore a dress. She turned around, studying her bare, nicely shaped back.

  “Well, this is it, girl,” she said aloud, taking a long deep breath. She called the taxi company and slid into a black tight wool coat, taking her purse and keys. She had debated the transportation arrangements for a long time. Since it was so cold and she was very thinly dressed, the thought of sitting in her freezing car while it warmed up didn’t hold any appeal. So she decided it would be much more practical to jump from her warm flat building to a warm cab and—hopefully—to a warm club.

  When the cab arrived, the driver looked strangely at her masked face, but he said nothing. He must see things much weirder than this on a daily basis, driving around London every day and night. She gave him the address of the club and installed herself comfortably on the back seat. Giovanni had called her that afternoon to make sure she didn’t want him to come and pick her up, but she insisted she’d find her own way.

  It was almost half past eight when they reached their destination. The club was right in the center of London and was as big and impressive as a palace. It was a tall building, with huge opaque windows and balconies. At the entry, a guy wearing a black and red suit was just leading a couple inside, taking their car keys—no doubt to park their car. No parking lot was in sight, so she assumed it must be behind the building or somewhere underground.

  She told her name to the parking valet and he led her inside, where two bouncers bigger than The Rock wearing dark suits blocked the entry.

  “This is Miss Sonia Galsworthy,” the valet told the bouncers. “See her inside.”

  One of the bouncers led her inside to a lobby done in white marble and cream wallpaper. Downstairs was an enormous restaurant—now closed—and the man showed her to a set of elevators. Music was pumping from above, making the air vibrate in an exciting way. The bouncer offered to take her coat before he showed her to a door where PRIVATE was written in big letters.

  “These are our private quarters,” he told her. “Mr. Coriola said you could leave your coat and things here. You can collect them when you go.”

  She left her coat and handbag on a chair, then headed to the elevators.

  “Press the button for the third floor. Have a nice evening, Miss Galsworthy.”

  “Thanks,” she said, giving him a smile before getting inside. Her heart was racing with anticipation as the elevator ascended smoothly. When the doors slid open, she was assaulted by colorful lights, music and waves of people who were dancing, drinking or sitting at tables.

  The party hall was enormous. She could see no end to it on any side. Along one wall were dozens of round tables. On the right—seemingly very far away—there was a massive island bar crowded with people. Everyone wore masks. The men were dressed in classy suits and most of the women wore fancy dresses and tons of sparkle. She couldn’t distinguish much in the semi-darkness, forever in motion and in constant change, due to the spectacular games of lights and color.

  The music changed and she immediately recognized the sublime notes from The Phantom of the Opera. The crowd cheered and couples entangled in sensual dancing, carried by the evocative music. A waiter approache
d her with a tray and she took a glass of champagne. She made her way through the dancing people, looking for Giovanni. How she would recognize him, she didn’t know. She hadn’t thought to ask him what he was going to wear.

  Somehow, she seemed to reach the other side of the room, where large balconies framing breathtaking views of the city were scattered here and there, for those who wanted some fresh air. She passed by one, but stopped, noticing a man standing next to the balustrade, as if admiring the city lights from that imposing height. There was something familiar in the posture of those wide shoulders. He had his hands in his pockets, a crystal glass sitting forgotten on the stone rail. His breath came out like mist in the chilly air as he turned around, as though sensing a strange presence. It was Giovanni.

  He wore a white mask, like the one in The Phantom of the Opera, and a black suit with a red shirt. He looked stunning.

  He gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes lingering on every inch of her body, pausing on her red lips. She wondered if he recognized her, but that fear was immediately alleviated when he said in his rich, deep voice, “I would recognize your lips anywhere, Sonia. You look splendid.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, her heart racing when he moved closer to her. “You too.”

  “I’m glad you came. I kept watching for you.”

  He took her free hand, and then frowned.

  “Your hands are cold. You’re shivering. Do you want to go inside?”

  “No. I just want to sit here a moment. The view is spectacular.”

  He took the champagne glass from her hand and put it next to his. She approached the balustrade, gazing down over the cityscape, where thousands of headlights rushed into the night and so many lights chased away the darkness, lighting up the streets. He came up behind her, enveloping her in his arms. He was warm and smelled divine. She let her head fall on his chest for a moment and he whispered something in her ear, his hot breath stirring each sensitive hair on her skin.