“I do too,” I responded, my brain still in the fog it seemed to be enveloped in when I was around Lucia.
***
Lucia:
Oh, but I was playing a very dangerous game with Antonio Moretti, and I knew it. I was gambling with my heart.
He had a reputation. There were plenty of women in his life. They came. They were wined and dined and then, when he tired of them, they were shown the door. Venice was a small town. Everyone gossiped.
He would walk away without scars at the end of this thing. I wouldn’t. And my heart had scars enough already. It didn’t need more. Yet, like a moth to the flame, I fluttered towards him, unable to help myself.
***
“Have dinner with me tomorrow,” he said. We were in his bedroom. He was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. I was cradled in the space between his legs, my back resting on his chest. His arms were around my waist, holding me. I felt safe. Cherished.
I shook my head. “No,” I replied.
“Why not?” he countered.
“I’m not going to be one of the endless line of women you take out to dinner,” I replied. I didn’t bother sugar-coating the words. He knew his own reputation.
“There’s only one woman that matters, Lucia, and she’s leaning against me right now.” His voice had a slight edge to it. There was a pang in my heart. I wanted to believe him so much, but like every other woman in his life, I had an expiration date. I just didn’t know what it was yet.
“No.” My voice was firm. I couldn’t stay away from his dungeon and his bed. But I was going to draw the line at going out with him in public.
He sighed, and it was a pensive sound in the quiet. We stayed in silence for a bit, and I cast around for a topic that would end the melancholy.
“Your guards didn’t seem to be too happy to see me,” I remarked.
He chuckled. “They aren’t happy with you at all. You are making them look like idiots.”
“Because I’m a woman?” I asked him.
“Because you are an amateur,” he replied. “Women can be excellent thieves. But it rankles them to be beaten by someone who works at a museum.”
I grinned at that. My parents had taught me well. “Don’t you want to know how I’m breaking in to your house?” I asked him.
I could hear the smile in his voice. “Well, I am curious…” he said. “But I’m torn. This way, you see, I can get you into my dungeon and punish you for trying to steal from me.” He kissed my neck. “I very much enjoy punishing you, Lucia.”
I shivered at his words. What he did to me – it wasn’t punishment. For some people, it might have been, but we both played the same way. He gave me pleasure. Pure, unadulterated pleasure, and he gave with generosity.
“When’s my expiration date, Antonio?” The instant the words were uttered, I wanted to wish them back. I didn’t want to hear his answer. He would either speak the truth, and I would get hurt. Or he would lie, and I would get hurt as well. This story didn’t have a happy ending.
“What are you talking about, sweetness?” His hands had tightened just a little bit around my waist.
“Please. I can take the truth. Women walk in and out of your life all the time. I realize I’m one of many.”
He laughed, but there was no humour in that sound. “You could never be one among many, Lucia.” He paused. “I’ve never asked you about Casanova,” he said.
“True.” It was one of the things I liked the most about Antonio. There was no double standard.
“Not because I am entirely indifferent to it,” he continued. “But because at the end of the day, the past is the past, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. What matters is the present.”
His mouth found my neck again and kissed it. “I would ask that you give me the same courtesy. I have a past, it is true, and so do you. But Lucia, since that day you got into my car after stealing my painting, you’ve been the only woman in my life.”
Damn it. I couldn’t argue with that logic at all. I had slept with many men, and I would have walked away from him in an instant if he had had anything to say about it. I could hardly judge him for his past while insisting he couldn’t judge me for mine.
I took a deep breath. “No one else?” I tried my level best to keep the hope out of my voice. I really liked Antonio. A lot. Far more than I’d ever liked a guy before. The idea of him with another woman? It made me want to stab something.
He shook his head with a wry smile. “Want to try monogamy, Lucia?” There was a hint of vulnerability in his voice.
“Do you?” I asked directly.
“Yes, little thief.” His voice was steady.
I gazed ahead, my eyes troubled. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be monogamous with Antonio – because I did. The idea of sleeping with someone else seemed foreign to me. I hadn’t stepped into the club for weeks, not because I was concerned about whether anyone would play with me, but because Antonio held far greater appeal. There was a comfort between us. The more we played, the more we were in tune with each other. He pushed me, and I let him because I trusted him completely to keep me safe.
My hesitation was something else. Neither Antonio nor I were used to monogamy. Things were great now. They might not be one day in the future.
“Look,” I said, “what if we tire of each other?”
“I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that could never happen,” he responded. “I’m as new to this as you are. But we communicate well about sex.” That was the understatement of the year. “If we aren’t meeting each other’s needs, I’m assuming we’ll talk about it. And do our best to sort it out.”
“Okay,” I said. My voice was cautious, and Antonio laughed aloud.
“Hardly a ringing endorsement of my sexual prowess, little thief.”
I laughed with him, and moved my hand behind me to reach for his dick. It was half-erect, and I licked my lips and turned so that I lay down in his lap, my mouth on him, urging him to readiness. When he was hard, I lifted my mouth from him, and smiled at him. “Remind me again of your sexual prowess, Antonio,” I winked.
He laughed again, but his eyes glinted in that particular way that told me the game was beginning between us. He reached over the side table to grab a condom, rolled it on, and lifted me up and slid me on his hard, erect dick so that I was seated on him, completely filled by his length in me. I shut my eyes for a second. He felt so good.
“Go out for dinner with me,” he repeated. This time, it was an order, accompanied by a soft pull on my nipples.
“You don’t get to order me around outside the dungeon,” I pointed out, as I writhed in his lap from the sweet ache that shot through my nipples as they reacted to his touch.
He inclined his head in agreement. “Please go out for dinner with me, sweetness.” His hands stilled. His voice was still hard, but there was vulnerability in his eyes. He didn’t allow himself to soften a lot, Antonio. He was the head of Thieves Guild. Softness was not really part of the job description. And the way he had grown up hadn’t allowed for much tenderness either. But it was still there, and I needed to remind myself that he had feelings as well, feelings that were just as capable as mine of getting hurt.
I smiled at him, and lifted my hips up slightly, and lowered myself down on him again. “Will you let me pay?”
He growled at the movement, and rolled his eyes at my request. “If it matters to you, Lucia, then pay. It’s just money.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling sweetly up at him. “I’m going to take you to my favourite restaurant in all of Venice tomorrow night.”
“That’s tomorrow night, my pretty little thief,” he said, his voice dominant. “Right now, move those hips and ride me.”
I laughed. “Yes Sir,” I said and complied.
“Hands behind your back, sweetness,” he ordered. His eyes gleamed. In this position, we were so close together. Our noses were almost touching, and it was strangely the most intimate thing we’
d ever done. I leaned forward on impulse and kissed him. “I’m happy about the monogamy thing,” I said. Honesty was nerve-racking. I swear my heart was stuck in my throat as I said those words.
He smiled at me, and kissed me back, his hands around my hair, pulling me into him. “Me too.” We stayed in that position for a little while, just touching each other. Then, he moved his hands off my hair. He stroked my arms, and laced his fingers in mine, and he pulled my hands behind my back, and held them there.
“Now, Lucia,” he said evenly. “Move those hips. I’m not going to tell you again.”
Chapter 20
Antonio:
The restaurant she took me to was the tiniest hole-in-the-wall. She eyed me with a faint challenge in her eyes as we took our seats. “Are you okay?”
I laughed at her. “Lucia, did you miss the part when I said I grew up an orphan? When I was a child, the idea of having the freedom of being able to walk into a restaurant and order anything off the menu was something I couldn’t even begin to imagine.”
I could tell that she was immediately abashed. “Sorry,” she said. “You are really rich, and evidently, I have a chip on my shoulder about it. I didn’t think.”
We placed our orders and sipped our wine.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it,” I advised her. “Tell me why me being rich bothers you.”
“We don’t live in the same world,” she said. “I worry about things like rent. I count my pennies to pay for Casanova’s membership.” She frowned at me. “Casanova is ridiculously expensive.”
“You are paid up for the year,” I pointed out with a grin.
She furrowed her forehead. “Why aren’t you asking me not to go to Casanova?” she asked.
“I thought we were talking about why you don’t like me being rich,” I said.
She looked at me with a level gaze, and I knew we were going to get back to that conversation at some point. “I don’t have bodyguards following me around. I don’t own four cars.”
I frowned in slight embarrassment. I should have never told her that. Four cars was a little ridiculous, especially in Venice, where you could barely drive anyway.
“Can I disagree?” I asked her. “Me being rich – that’s just a distraction. Because I think we are very alike. For starters, we both like art.”
She giggled at that, and my heart fluttered. “I like art,” she pointed out with a smile. “You like stealing art.”
I winked at her. “I’m the museum’s biggest donor.”
She took a sip of wine. “Are you serious?” she asked. I nodded.
“Why?”
“I really do like art, Lucia,” I replied. “Besides, I don’t actually steal art. Just the Madonna, that one time. I steal other stuff.”
“You stole my painting,” she laughed.
I grinned at her, and I reached out to hold her hand. “I borrowed your painting,” I corrected. “That was to make a point. One that didn’t take, evidently.” I had no doubt she was planning her next attempt at stealing the Madonna.
“Four cars,” she muttered. She’d noticed my embarrassment, and she wasn’t afraid to use it against me.
I winced, laughing a little. “Okay, you’ve got me. Four cars is excessive.”
Our food appeared. Plates of steaming hot pasta, and we dug in. “Delicious.” I raised my glass in appreciation. “Is this actually your favourite restaurant?”
She nodded.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I said. I was holding off on the declarations of love, because Lucia was skittish, and I didn’t want her to bolt. But it mattered that she shared a little of her life with me, and I wasn’t going to pretend it didn’t.
“Tell me why you aren’t asking me not to play at Casanova?”
I sighed. “It’s your choice,” I said. “I’m not going to make it for you.”
She looked at me evenly. “I didn’t say you could. But you could ask.”
I returned her look. “I’m not going to ask.”
“Will you tell me why?” Her tone was direct.
“Of course,” I replied. “I don’t want to ask because you might do it. And because it might haunt you one day.”
“Would you play there?” she asked me.
I shook my head. “I can’t. It’ll make people nervous if they see me there. I’m the head of Thieves Guild. It’ll give me too much leverage to know who plays there. That’s why it’s a secret.”
She nodded. “I don’t want to play there, not when we are dating.” She paused, and then she looked at me. “Thank you for not asking though.”
“It wasn’t easy, you know. I wanted to growl and thump my chest and claim you as mine.” I smiled at her to let her know I was joking.
“Yes, thumping your chest would be very sexy indeed,” she said dryly. But her hand curled around mine, and again, my heart warmed.
***
After dinner, we went to her place, and she’d extended her hand out to me, smiled, and taken me to her bed. I felt like the king of the world when I walked back into my house, much, much later that night.
Tatiana was in my kitchen when I came in. She was sipping a glass of red wine with the bottle next to her, feet bare, dangling from the high counter. I grinned and got my own glass, she filled it up.
“How was the shoot?” I asked her. She’d been away in Croatia for a few weeks for a movie role.
“Good,” she said. She sounded a bit despondent.
“What’s up, Tatiana?” I asked her directly. Tatiana and me. It was a long story. The short version was that we went way back.
She shrugged. “I hate my work.”
I looked at her. “What happened?”
“Another director asked me to suck his cock for a movie role. Same old.” Her voice had a forced calm in it.
I could offer to step in and protect her, but that wasn’t what she wanted or needed. She just needed me to be a friend and listen as she grumbled. I took a sip of wine and made a sympathetic face. Inside though, I mourned the sweetness she had lost as she was exposed to the seedy underbelly of Italian filmmaking. She’d built a veneer of worldliness and cynicism around her as protection.
“Still,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. “Maybe this movie will be the one that’ll change things, right?” She changed the topic. “What’s been going on with you?”
“I met a girl,” I told her.
She raised an eyebrow. “A girl? You? Tell me more.” I wasn’t in the habit of talking about the women I was involved with, and she grinned a smile of pure amusement. I looked at her quizzically as she dissolved into laughter.
My eyes narrowed. “Did Enzo say something?”
She giggled. “We shed tears of laughter,” she said. “Antonio Moretti. In love.”
“I didn’t tell Enzo I was in love,” I said. She laughed some more, and I realized I had just walked into her trap. My lips twitched. Tatiana was a lot smarter than people gave her credit for. They saw the big breasts and the blonde hair and they decided she was a bimbo. She was anything but.
“Nice to know I’m keeping the two of you entertained,” I said dryly.
“Tell me about her.”
I smiled. I poured her another glass of wine, and topped up my glass, and I talked and talked about Lucia.
Chapter 21
Lucia:
It was December. I was still seeing Antonio, and still making rather futile attempts at the Madonna. Tonight, we were hanging out in his kitchen.
I eyed Antonio. I sensed a fight coming, and I was bracing myself for it.
“I don’t want to go with you to the Doge’s Palace Gala,” I said. There. I’d said it. Now I squared my shoulders and prepared for the fight.
“Why not?” His tone was mild. We were cooking dinner. I was in charge of chopping vegetables and Antonio was tending to the sauce on the stove. Maria’s daughter was about to have a baby, and she’d taken a few days off to
go and visit her. I didn’t think Antonio could survive, but he had surprised me by being an excellent cook. And he could even do his own dishes.
“You are the museum’s largest donor. I don’t want people looking at me differently at work.”
“You do realize that most of the city already knows we are dating?” he pointed out.
I nodded. “That’s gossip, and I can’t do anything about it,” I responded. “Well, I guess I could hide out in your dungeon and never go out with you anywhere, but that seems a bit dramatic.”
He grinned at me from the stove. The heat had given his face the slightest flush, and he looked adorable. I fought the desire to walk over and touch him. The last time I had done that, we had set our dinner on fire, and it had taken three days for the burned smell in the kitchen to dissipate.
“But I don’t need to confirm or deny it by going with you to the Gala.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Really?” I was startled. I was expecting to fight about this.
He shrugged. “It’s your career. You know best. I’m not thrilled that you don’t want to acknowledge you are dating me, but that’s your call to make.”
“That’s very grown-up of you,” I said cautiously. I honestly had been expecting a scene. I realized I should have given Antonio more credit. He had always treated me with respect. I moved the veggies over to the stove, and slid them into a heated skillet.
“Did you expect me to pout and throw a tantrum?” He sounded amused. “Give me a little credit, Lucia. Can you grab some plates, please?”
I brought a couple of bowls over, and he slid pasta and veggies onto them. We took our plates over to the table in the corner where Antonio ate most of his meals, and we dug in without speaking.
“Why so quiet, Lucia?” he asked me, as the silence between us grew.
“You aren’t who I expected you to be,” I replied.
He grinned at me. “Neither are you, little thief. What are you planning for my Madonna next?”
I laughed. “I’m hardly going to tell you when I’m going to steal your painting,” I said.
A Thief in Venice Page 7