Falling for Italy

by De Ross, Melinda

  “What is it, baby?” he asked, searching her face inquisitively.

  “Nothing,” she said, looking away. “It’s just that…I’ve been out of practice for a while. I’ve never… I mean…”

  She looked embarrassed as she avoided his eyes, and he understood at once.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You should’ve told me,” he said apologetically and tried to detach himself from her, but her legs tightened around him. He groaned, seized by a wave of tremendous pleasure, in spite of the fact that he loathed hurting her.

  “Sonia,” he whispered roughly, “baby, you need to let go.”

  “Don’t stop.” She pulled him deeper. He could feel her desire—not to mention his own—but he couldn’t stand the thought of provoking her even mild pain.

  “No, we can’t.”

  “Giovanni, don’t stop, please,” she whispered against his ear and flicked her tongue down his neck.

  At that point, he didn’t think he could have stopped. He let his body move, matching hers, madly excited by her every moan, every gasp, watching her intently as her breaths grew shallow, her grasp on him tighter. He clenched his teeth, fighting to hold back the pleasure that consumed him, to wait just a moment longer. He wanted to please her like no man had, to be her best and only lover. Their eyes were still locked, almost opaque with desire, when he felt her breath quickening, her body tensing even harder as she reached the peak of her pleasure. Only then, with a supreme sigh of satisfaction, he allowed himself to let go and be carried along her on the wings of rapture.

  They lay together, holding tight to each other, waiting for their hearts to settle. He rolled onto his back taking her with him, so she was sprawled onto his chest, still hugging him close. He stroked her back, damp with sweat, then dragged the blanket over them.

  “You should’ve told me you were sore, Sonia. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” he asked her, overwhelmed by guilt.

  She lifted her head and smiled.

  “Of course I’m okay. You don’t have to apologize. I told you, I was out of practice. Technically, there have been two others a long while back, but you…You are just… Wow!”

  She had lowered her gaze, burying her face in his chest, and muffling her voice. Then she angled her head back to look at him.

  “I’ve never had a lover like you, Giovanni. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had a lover in the real sense of the word until I met you. You’re…incredible,” she went on, after trying to find the right words. “And I don’t mean you’re amazing only in bed—you probably heard that from hundreds of women. You’re simply an incredible man,” she concluded, resting her cheek on his shoulder once more.

  He was so touched by her words and knowing she meant them that he didn’t say anything for a while. He gathered her close, as his thoughts tangled in his mind, without any of them taking shape. When one finally did, he hesitated a bit before saying it aloud.

  “Sonia,” he began, and then swallowed. “I think I—”

  The alarm clock started buzzing, making them jump. Sonia stretched out a hand to stop it, exclaiming, “God, it’s seven already!”

  She turned to him.

  “What were you saying?”

  He rubbed a hand down his face, barely registering it was rough and prickly with stubble. Damn it, he had to do this properly, when his mind was clear.

  “Um, I wanted to say I’ll take a quick shower and get going, so you can go to work,” he told her. “What time can we hit that gym? I really need a good workout.

  * * * *

  Sonia massaged her lower back. Her entire body was a bit achy—no wonder, after the nights she’d had lately. The thought of a workout wasn’t at all appealing. She had even thought about calling Giovanni to tell him they should cancel their going to the gym, but then she thought it wouldn’t be necessary to ruin his plans. He’d said he was really looking forward to working out—God knew where he got all that energy—so she could let him exercise while she enjoyed the view.

  Her girls were almost finishing their training. In two days, on December tenth, they were all due to leave for Manchester, for the national championship. Everybody was a bit nervous, but mostly they were excited.

  The radio played over the big range, and Santana’s Maria Maria was putting her in a dance mood.

  “Okay, Adele,” she said, addressing one of the girls, the last one to finish shooting. “That’s enough. Let’s pack it up for the day,” she told them and started humming under her breath in the rhythm of the music as she supervised her team.

  Adele—a well-rounded sixteen-year-old with more piercings than Sonia could count and wearing a pair of jeans that seemed ready to rip every time she moved—began bobbing her head, listening to the song.

  “Who’s this, Miss Galsworthy?” she asked Sonia, as she bent down to lace her shoes, her boobs nearly falling out of her skimpy T-shirt.

  “It’s Santana. Do you like it?”

  “Yeah,” the girl replied, looking for confirmation at her friends, similarly attired. “Never heard of this Santana dude, but he rocks!”

  “It’s really cool, Miss Galsworthy,” confirmed Tara, one of the other girls—a bleached blonde with blue eyes, heavily lined with black and purple. “That guy with the guitar kinda ruins it though.”

  Half an hour later, Sonia and Giovanni were still laughing, while passersby stared at them disapprovingly as they walked to the gym, scooping hands full of snow and throwing snowballs at one another. They’d met at her flat at six o’clock and decided to walk the distance of two blocks or so to the gym. When his laughter subsided somewhat, Giovanni said, “God, kids today are a mess! She really had no idea Santana is one of the most famous guitarists in the world?”

  Sonia grinned, brushing off snow from her sleeves.

  “Nope. She was very shocked and embarrassed when I told her. I suppose it would’ve been more tactful to ignore her and keep my mouth shut, but I’m trying to educate them with every opportunity. I think it’s in their own interest.”

  They walked hand in hand, dressed casually in jeans, boots and thick jackets. He carried both of their gym bags, having insisted to carry Sonia’s too, a gesture she found strangely gallant. She’d never met a man who would offer—no, demand—to carry something for her.

  The snow had started falling again, giving the night a lazy, dreamy air. The fog was thickening over the city, making lights, buildings and people appear blurry. When they reached the building where the gym was located, they shook the snow off their jackets and boots before entering. The place was deserted, or so it seemed.

  Sonia took the key out of her pocket and unlocked the door, then stepped inside and turned on the lights. It was a small gym, but equipped well enough to keep any willing athlete in shape. Along one wall there were a few rest benches, and the workout machines were scattered around the room. Another wall was covered with mirrors, and facing it was a set of large windows revealing a beautiful view. On the right, a door led to two small locker rooms.

  “Go and change there,” she told him, indicating the sideway door. “I’m going to set the thermostat to a higher temperature and put on some music.”

  As Giovanni headed off, she set the temperature and turned on the radio, finding a local station she liked. Pop music began pumping from the top quality speakers.

  Giovanni reappeared wearing black shorts, a black tank top and sneakers. He looked around, as though trying to decide with what to start after a short warm up.

  Sonia grabbed her own bag and went into the locker room. She undressed quickly, shivering, since it was still cold in the small room. The heater will start doing its job soon enough, she thought, shimmying into a pair of dark blue sweat pants, a worn black tank top and black Nikes.

  When she returned to the workout area, she found Giovanni stretched out on a bench, working with weights, while Michael Sembello’s Maniac boomed from the speakers. She stood for a long moment in the doorway watching him, as he
r heart rate escalated and her body began a slow process of melting from the inside at this breath-stopping view.

  His every muscle was tense and contracted as he lifted and lowered the weights rhythmically, his biceps curving with the effort. His chest was already gleaming with sweat, making his rounded pectorals appear even better defined. Her gaze lowered to his long muscled thighs and calves, sprinkled with just the right amount of hair. The shorts fit him perfectly, as did the tank top, more outlining than covering the key parts of his body. Hell, she adored every delicious inch of him.

  Her chest rose and fell in the rhythm of a runner, as though she’d already begun her workout. Just looking at him was a powerful calorie-burning process, and a lot more pleasant than physical effort.

  She nearly jumped when he said, “Are you going to stand there all evening, princess?”

  She swallowed, shaking her head to clear her muzzy brain.

  “No, I was just…warming up.”

  And how true was that, she wondered giddily while she moved near the heater and started doing some stretches. She was more than warm, she was hot, burning for him as she’d never imagined it was possible. The man had turned her from a practical, matter-of-fact woman, into a sex addict. For she was indeed addicted to him—no question about that—and not only in a sexual way.

  They exercised without much conversation, letting the music fill the silence. After some time on the treadmill, she went to the bench and crashed, exhausted. With her eyes on Giovanni, she hadn’t even timed how long she’d ran, but her drumming heartbeats told her she had exaggerated.

  He’d just finished working on his abdomen—not that it needed any improvement—and came toward her. As she laid prostrated on the bench, she looked up and saw him smiling down at her.

  “Are you okay? I forgot my towel,” he said, dragging his tank top over his head to wipe his glistening face.

  Sonia’s mouth went dry and her lips parted in a silent Oh my, as she let her gaze wander over his smooth, naked torso. He looked like a living sculpture of the most accomplished artist. Each muscle was beautifully shaped and toned, each line splendidly defined, forming a perfectly proportioned ensemble.

  She noticed his face was covered by dark stubble, which made him look even sexier, polished yet outdoorsy. Of course, either of the rugged-looking sportsman or the classy businessman was breathtaking in his own way. And now, when he looked down at her with those dark eyes, his tanned skin damp, she felt more lost in him than she ever had.

  He knelt in front of her next to the bench and bent down to kiss her softly. His lips tasted salty, as did hers, but she didn’t care. She slid her hands over his torso, caressing his nipples and a low husky sound vibrated in his chest. He deepened the kiss, tightening his hold on her, pulling her closer until they were on the floor and she straddled him. Their mouths and tongues fit together so well, uniting them in the rhythm their bodies yearned to be. His touch, his scent, his nearness drove her to the sweet brink of madness every time she had him close. She felt him hard against her and pressed her middle down to him, their moans entangling with their rapid breaths. He took her face in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes, his own gaze dark with desire.

  “We can’t do this tonight. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

  When she moved over him in protest, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply, as though trying to control his impulses—as wild as were hers in that moment.

  “I want you so bad, Sonia, you know that. You feel that. But we can’t, not tonight. Let’s shower, dress and I’ll take you home,” he said, pressing her face against his shoulder, holding her tightly.

  She wanted to argue, but how could she without making herself seem a slut? Strangely, she’d never felt like one. Never. Giovanni made her feel special, even pure—if it didn’t sound so crazy. Could a woman still be pure after doing what they did together, feeling as she did for him? She wondered.

  “Okay,” she replied at last, getting up slowly, feeling sore in every muscle. “Since you don’t have a towel, I’ll shower first, and then you can use mine. Unless you want to shower with me.”

  Seeing the agony mixed with ecstasy on his face and hearing his groan, she laughed.

  “Fine, fine, I won’t talk about sex tonight. Nor think about us making love, hot and sweaty, in my big comfortable bed, all naked and—”

  He threw his tank top after her, as she headed to the locker rooms that had each a small adjoining bath.

  While she showered and dressed, she thought about teasing him further, but gave up that thought, shamed. He could have taken his own pleasure without caring about her discomfort. Instead, he was so gentle and considerate, as no man she knew could have been. Suddenly, she felt tears sting her eyes and looked at her reflection in the mirror, puzzled and scared.

  “What the hell is the matter with me?” she asked her image in a whisper. “I can’t fall in love with him. He belongs in another country, in another world…”

  She rubbed a hand over her mouth, thinking maybe she should stop seeing him altogether before it was too late. Maybe she wouldn’t suffer so much when he’d leave. But she wasn’t a coward. And only a coward would do such a thing, she knew. She rinsed her face in cold water, straightened her shoulders, plastered a smile on her face and went back to him. She handed him the damp towel, saying, “I only used half to dry off, so you have a dry corner left.”

  “Thanks.” He took the towel from her, kissing her softly. Then he headed to the shower, leaving her to watch the falling snowflakes’ ethereal dance and listen to Bonnie Tyler’s I Need A Hero. She’d found hers, but he was as unreachable as the moon.

  Chapter Seven

  Giovanni awoke with an unpleasant feeling, the cause of which he couldn’t quite identify. He looked drowsily around the dimly lit room, wondering what was wrong. Then he remembered Sonia was due to leave for Manchester that day and his spirits sank even lower. What was this addiction he’d developed for this woman in such a short time? Was he truly in love with her? He hadn’t ever been in love, so he didn’t know what it felt like. But this permanent state of acute need he experienced regarding her couldn’t be anything less.

  He rolled onto his back and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to put some order into his thoughts. He really needed to clarify once and for all his feelings for Sonia.

  He desired her, yes, more than he had any other woman, but on his part things went far beyond that. He was addicted to her presence, her smile, her delightful sense of humor. He enjoyed talking to her as much as he enjoyed making love with her. They’d spent their nights together as much talking to one another as they had pleasuring each other. He knew so many things about her—what she liked, what she thought, how she felt about different things. And he’d told her things about himself no one knew, not even Linda. He’d simply opened his heart to her, and she had stepped in, never to be removed.

  Pirata, who’d slept in his bed, curled at his feet, interrupted his thoughts. Noticing he was awake, the cat stretched idly before strolling toward his human companion and climbing over his legs. The white furry mass stopped on his bare chest, purring noisily, kneading his skin with sharp claws. Giovanni smiled and stroked his head, thinking of Guccio, the stray dog he’d adopted. He missed the big, shaggy, brown mongrel that resembled Scooby Doo, being just as fun and affectionate as the most popular cartoons character. He hoped his housekeeper was taking good care of him. In fact, as much as he liked Linda’s and Gerard’s house, he missed his own. He had intended to spend the holidays in England, but plans had changed. He would stay for their wedding of course, but after that he would take his leave. It was time to go home.

  * * * *

  Sonia’s day went by in a blur. With six teenagers and just as many guns in her care, she didn’t have time even to eat before that very moment. They had taken the train to Manchester and registered at the usual hotel where they stayed when attending competitions. The girls had taken one large, three-bed room, the boys anoth
er one, and she had her own, with a double bed and huge TV. She laid on the bed, uncurling her numb toes and eating her second sandwich with a large portion of fries.

  The trip had been long—nearly three hours—not to mention the hullabaloo that awaited them at arrival. Get a cab, check the kids into the hotel, get another cab and go to the shooting range to attend the official instructors’ meeting—usually held the day before the competition. Finally, with a headache and growling stomach, she had returned to the hotel.

  Now she was watching The Ugly Truth, a movie she particularly liked. She put the empty food bag on the nightstand and took another sip from the hot chocolate she’d ordered from room service. She turned down the TV’s sound and called Giovanni.

  “Hey, stranger,” she said when she heard his voice.

  “Hi, princess.” His voice sounded husky and sleepy. “How are you?”

  “Right now I’m great, basking in a big warm bed and drinking hot chocolate.”

  “How was your trip?”

  “Ugh, don’t ask. It was hell, like always,” she said and proceeded to tell him briefly about her day. “What did you do today?”

  “I thought of you,” he replied, making a smile blossom on her face. “I must sound stupid, but I already miss you, Sonia. When are you coming back?”

  “The day after tomorrow, I think. But the good news is that, starting then, I’m on holiday for a whole month. No work, no worries, just lazing around all day long.”