by Jules Wake
Sweet intensity broke on her tongue; a hit of acidity balanced by a long, sweet flavour she hadn’t been expecting at all, which she guessed was the fig.
‘Oh my, that’s …’ and it was, ‘gorgeous.’ She took another nibble, not quite ready to believe that something that didn’t look that great could taste so nice.
‘See.’
‘Okay, on this occasion, I agree. You can have this one but I stand by what I said about the olive oil.’
‘I’ll take a bottle,’ said Will to the bemused man behind the table. ‘The lady approves.’ He picked up the bottle and studied the label before handing it back to the stall holder, who wrapped it up in rustic tissue paper, rounding the top off with a sharp twist.
They walked, crossing to take advantage of the shade wherever they could, through quiet streets with hidden churches, towards the Spanish Steps. The heat had built and Lisa could feel it rising from the stone pavements, beating down between the buildings. Will looked cool and unruffled in a loose pale-blue linen shirt over navy, baggy Bermuda shorts. He could have stepped off a beach in Cornwall, but despite not looking anywhere near as smart as Giovanni had done yesterday, he received plenty of attention.
‘That bloke couldn’t take his eyes off you,’ said Lisa, as a preppie Italian peered over his shoulder, almost walking into one of the parked scooters haphazardly abandoned by the kerb. She giggled to herself, eyeing the words on her tote bag, which he carried over his left shoulder. Perhaps she should have pointed the wicked gingerbread man motif on the bag out to him earlier.
‘What can I say? Irresistible to both sexes. It’s a gift.’
‘And with a bucket-load of modesty. You are blessed.’
‘And blonde. Remember Italians love blondes.’
‘I thought that was blonde women.’
‘Isn’t that a tad sexist?’ Will pouted in a camp way, hand on hip, foot out, before grinning at her, his blue eyes dancing with mischief.
‘I guess, if some women find you,’ she paused deliberately and then sighed, as if to suggest those women were all deranged, ‘gorgeous, why not men as well?’ She shot him a deliberately sweet smile. No point making him any more big-headed.
‘Amazing isn’t it? Some women’s taste.’ He gave her a measured look. ‘Although, obviously, you don’t find me gorgeous.’
‘Sorry, it’s the long hair. Doesn’t do it for me.’ She lied. Normally it didn’t. His thick hair, white-blonde in places, brushed his shoulders, it wasn’t that long but … it suited him and reminded her of film star Chris Hemsworth playing the part of James Hunt, the racing driver.
‘Takes all sorts.’ He lapsed into silence, but she was fairly certain she hadn’t hurt his feelings. Will had never been short of admirers his entire life. From day one on the school bus there’d been a bevy of them. Although she was the one he insisted on tickling whenever they got a seat together. He’d worked out exactly the spot to make her double over with gasping giggles every time and seemed to take great delight in tormenting her.
With a smug smile, she glanced at the wording on her tote bag again.
Chapter 15
The Spanish Steps were heaving, quite literally. With the hordes of people sitting on the steps themselves, it was almost impossible to walk up them and tantamount to working your way through an intricate puzzle.
‘So, Tour Guide Barbie, do you know how many steps are there?’ asked Will when they stopped to pause and look at the view behind them halfway up the flight.
‘No,’ said Lisa breathing heavily. ‘Lots and you’ve got the book in my bag.’ It was hard work climbing the stairs.
‘Do you want me to take a picture of you from up there, with the street leading away in the background?’ He paused and then added, ‘then you can have a rest.’
Cheeky sod.
‘Yes please.’ She’d taken plenty of pictures, but hardly any with her in them, to prove she’d been here.
Nimble as a goat, he took off, wending his way through the scores of people lining the steps. It wasn’t a hardship watching him. Long legs, firm calves stretching and flexing as he went. It also helped to get her breath back. A trickle of sweat found its way down her waistband and she pushed her shoulders back, reaching around to touch the hot skin on her back. It felt a bit tight. In hindsight, the halter neck probably hadn’t been such a great idea.
With the sun shining full on it, she worried she might be burning. The brim of her hat gave her some shade, but now that the sun was at its highest point, it wasn’t doing such a great job. She glanced up at Will steadily nearing the upper balcony. As soon as he’d taken the picture, she’d head up and join him to retrieve the sun cream from her bag.
In the meantime, she turned away from the sun to look at the street scene below. The fountain at the bottom of the steps was perfectly sandwiched between Dior and Prada, each of the shops on opposite corners of a long street stretching out in the distance, where cars tooted trying to get along the street as people spilled onto the road from the narrow pavements.
When she turned, Will had reached the top and was waving at her over the white balustrade. She stopped to pose, narrowly missing tripping on a Japanese tourist’s camera strap. Phew, it was hot. She took the steps slowly, conscious of the sweat beading her forehead under the brim of her hat. In this heat, it was too warm to hurry anywhere.
She finally reached the top, to find Will looking rather disgruntled.
‘You took your time,’ he said, as she joined him at the stone balustrade to look out over the incredible view. To her surprise, he immediately slung a casual arm along her shoulders, pulling her to lean against the low barrier and pointing to the dome on the skyline. ‘San Carlo del Orso,’ he said.
‘Wow, I’m impressed. Have you been here before?’
He gave her winsome smile, sliding a quick look over her shoulder.
‘I overheard the tour guide.’
‘You okay? You looked a bit …’
‘Some bloke pinched my bum.’
Lisa let out a peal of laughter at his discomforted expression.
‘It’s not funny. That’s never happened to me before.’
She tried to bite back a fresh gale of laughter, which came out rather like a snort. ‘S-sorry. It’s not funny … it’s j-just your expression.’ Her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.
He pulled her closer to him in a pretend neck-lock. ‘That’s not very kind.’
‘S-sorry.’ She giggled. ‘You should take it as a compliment.’
‘What? You’d take having your bottom pinched as a compliment?’ asked Will in disgust. ‘Thanks for the sympathy.’
She sobered for a second. ‘No, sorry. But it’s been happening to women for generations. Now you know what it’s like.’
‘I bloody do. And the guy didn’t even look embarrassed. He gave me a wink. His gaydar must be seriously off.’
‘Good job I came along to rescue you.’
‘Yes.’ He looked discomfited and moved his arm. ‘Your shoulders feel very hot.’
‘Yeah, I need some sun cream on my back.’
Will slipped the tote bag off his shoulders and handed it to her.
As she delved into it she stopped and bit her lip. Perhaps she should confess. Pulling out the sun cream, she looked up at Will. Explain why he might be attracting a bit of unwanted male attention.
‘You want me to put that on your back?’
She nodded, wondering whether she should tell him now or after he’d applied the sun cream.
Before she could make the decision, he took the bottle from her.
‘Turn around. Oh Lord, he’s back again.’
‘Who?’
‘Man with pink shorts-’ Will shuffled her around so that he had his back to the gentleman.
‘Oooh, they’re a tad tight aren’t they?’ Lisa had never seen such well-tailored shorts.
‘Yes.’ Will’s response was terse.
‘I think he’s ogling you,’ she said and
then gasped as he sprayed sun cream on her back.
‘Is that cold?’ asked Will, taking his revenge, as he sprayed the lotion across the top of her shoulders and down her back.
‘No,’ she squeaked, ‘it’s fine. Oh, you’ve made a hit.’ She watched the handsome Italian in his tortoiseshell sunglasses who seemed mesmerised by Will’s bottom.
Will removed her hat, tucking it under one arm as he moved closer. ‘I need to make sure you’re properly protected,’ he whispered, his lips almost touching her ear, making her knees suddenly wobble. Then he whispered again, and this time his lips did touch, ‘And this is what you get for laughing. You can be my human shield.’ A thousand volts shot through her as his mouth brushed the sensitive skin on her neck.
It wasn’t real. He was acting, but her body ignored that superfluous fact, taking charge in response to the seductive touch. Her neck arched involuntarily in flagrant invitation. What was she thinking? Except she wasn’t. She closed her eyes as his lips trailed down, sparking an electric zing across her skin.
Damn, he might be making it look good for Young Pink Shorts, but it also felt good. Far too good.
When his fingers touched her, she almost moaned as he gently smoothed the sun cream out across the tops of her shoulders, rolling forwards and backwards in slow, firm caresses that set her nerve endings dancing in delight. Putting on a great show, he went to town on the seductive strokes, taking his sweet time.
Standing in the hot sun, slightly dazed by the gentle rhythm of his hands, she could feel the heat gathering between her legs. This was not good, but at the same time her limbs seemed far too lethargic to move. Lost in his touch, she almost willed him on, feeling her knees softening, wanting to lean back against him. Desire flooded her and her mouth went dry. She didn’t want this to stop and it didn’t feel as if he planned to any time soon.
Taking his time, he moved downwards across her shoulder blades, with a firm touch up and down, with thorough massaging strokes, before letting his hands glide outwards to cup her ribs, his fingers skimming her sides. The feather-light touch made her gulp and she closed her eyes tighter, suddenly wide awake as her pulse kicked up a notch, her hormones shouting danger, danger. The delicious lethargy now sparked into something hot and desperate, and with a jolt she was suddenly very conscious of the scant distance between the pads of his fingers and the underside of her breasts and the sharp thrill of the tantalising almost-there touch.
Damn. She ached, a dull, desperate sensation radiating over her breasts, her nipples tingling with tarty invitation, desperate for his touch. Oh God, what the hell was she doing?
They’d been here once before and she’d spent the last nine months getting over it. She’d be mad to mistake sexual attraction for something more.
Getting a grip on her emotions, which were tumbling and chasing about like surf on a shore, she straightened, feigning a nonchalance she did not feel. Jittery. Anxious. Hot. Her whole body wanted more. A lot more.
She took a long, shallow breath, relieved she could at least blame the Rome sunshine for the heated flush that ran down her cheekbones, neck and chest and pulled forward away from his touch.
‘I think I’m probably done now, thank you.’
She turned to face him, her heart dancing about with gay abandon, having given up on the usual beat pattern.
When she looked up at him, the hint of laughter faded from his eyes and, for a minute, there was a loaded silence between them, the sounds of Rome receding into the background.
He nodded, as if in silent acknowledgement.
Lisa’s stomach clenched. She couldn’t do this. Not again. She snatched her hat back from him and rammed it on her head.
‘I think that did the trick. Pink Shorts is crying into his hanky.’
Will took his cue perfectly. ‘Excellent. What does the pesky guide book say about the Spanish Steps?’ He paused for a minute and then took up a pose. ‘No, wait, let me guess? They’re steps. They’ve been here a long time. Some Pope bloke had them built. There are lot of them. Nice view.’
He dug into the tote bag, awkward as he tried to keep his elbows to himself in the crowd around them, to unearth her book, and handed it over.
With the number of people jostling for a viewing position it was difficult to open it to find the right page.
‘Wow, exactly that.’ She shifted, pushed along by a Japanese family desperate to have their turn to take photos, and moved out of the way, relinquishing her place at the stone balustrade. ‘How did you know?’ They strolled away from the throng at the front of the landing area and headed up the final flight of stairs towards the obelisk and church at the top.
‘It’s a gift.’ They exchanged smiles as they plodded up the blinding-white stairs. Lisa’s calf muscles protested and she could feel a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. It probably wasn’t the best idea climbing all these stairs in the hottest part of the day.
‘What does it say? Give me your five facts,’ he ordered.
‘They were built to connect the church with the Piazza Spagna, Spanish Square, so-called because the Spanish Embassy was here in the 17th Century.’
‘And?’
‘They’re the widest steps in Europe. 135 of them. Keats, the poet, lived in a house over there on the right and died listening to the fountain. The obelisk is a copy of an ancient Roman obelisk.’
‘Okay, and where is the nearest bar selling cold Peroni and gelato?’ he teased.
‘That’s your department, not mine, but it sounds like a plan.’
As they turned onto a quieter street, both of them lapsed into silence, as if lost in their own thoughts. Lisa couldn’t help the memories of the first time Will had kissed her filling her head.
They’d finished for the night in the pub, with all the tables laid ready for the next day and everything put to rights when the phone rang. Marcus picked it up as he was on his way upstairs, following Al up to the staff quarters. Will had just poured boiling water into a one-cup cafetière next to where Lisa leaned against the bar, enjoying a well-deserved cuppa.
Funny how she could still picture it so clearly.
‘It’s Eloise for you.’ Marcus handed over the phone and bid them goodnight.
‘Hi Mum … yes, sure. No, I can’t do without it for the next couple of days.’ The weary slump of his shoulders and the resigned tone of his voice had Lisa looking up. She hadn’t noticed until then how grey and tired he looked. ‘I’ll dig out the insurance policy and let you know.’
With a careful, deliberate move, he put down the phone as if resisting the urge to throw it across the room.
‘Everything okay?’ asked Lisa.
‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘The usual madness of my family. Expecting me to pick up the pieces.’ His mouth turned down at each corner, lines of tension etched into his forehead. It was a rare admission of the burdens his family placed on him.
Maybe because she was so utterly knackered and had had another run-in with Nan about her health, she could empathise. She wanted to give him a hug. It took her less than three seconds to make up her mind to lay a hand on his arm.
‘Anything I can help with?’
His mouth twisted in wry self-deprecation. ‘Not unless you’ve got an untapped skill in car mechanics and bodywork. Mum’s pranged the car and wants to borrow mine for a couple of days. She wants me to check my insurance to see if she’s covered. Now.’ He gave a longing look at the coffee pot.
‘Why don’t I finish up here while you go and look for the paperwork and I’ll bring your coffee over?’
At first he shook his head. ‘No, it’s …’
Something made her stroke his arm, maybe because he looked so alone and lately she’d come to know that feeling a bit too well. He looked wearily into her face, ‘Do you know what? That would be … great.’
He’d left the light on in the lounge and she could hear the bang as a drawer shut coming from the little study through the door off to her left.
‘I brought
your coffee,’ she called, looking around quickly. Will’s sanctum always surprised her by being so homely, although it had blokey touches like the huge TV screen in the corner, but then the deep-red sofa was sprinkled with cushions and there were lamps dotted about that cast a gentle ambient light.
She hesitated when Will didn’t answer, wondering if her instinct that he needed company had more to do with her own desire not to go home to an empty house. She put the two mugs down and listened. She couldn’t hear anything.
Something drove her to look for him.
He had his back to her, dejection apparent in the defeated droop of his body. In a few quiet steps she went over to him and reached out to touch his shoulder, wanting to let him know he wasn’t alone. He stiffened briefly and then turned. As he moved, her hand drifted across his chest and, without thinking, she stepped closer. She could see lines of worry on his face and longed to stroke them away, sympathising with the sense of responsibility he felt for his family and the painful loneliness of needing to be so self-reliant.
His hand snaked around her waist and rested there as his head dropped to touch her forehead. The misery on his face made her ache to comfort him. For a second they stood like that. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but their lips touched in a kiss, slow and sweet, and her instinctive hug, offering comfort and understanding, turned into something else, a flash of fire and need, that seemed utterly right in the darkness of the night.
Her memories of how they’d ended up virtually naked, lying full-length on the sofa, entwined, face to face, were lost in the heart-warming sensation let loose by the deepening kisses as his mouth explored hers. Nor could she remember what they’d talked about in between kisses and conversation, until the first streaks of dawn crept across the sky.
What she did remember was the sense of ease between them, the happy glow of being with him and the touch of another body. When the yawn she’d been trying to hold on to, escaped, he quietly suggested they move to his bedroom. Although desire shimmered between them, he’d held back, taking her face in his hands.