The Italian Heartthrob: Forbidden Standalone

by N J Adel

  “You’re not coming?”

  “No. See you next year. Happy holidays.” Samantha smiled and shut the door.

  What the—

  “Would you like something to drink, Ms. Dawson?”

  My head jerked toward the driver, and my skin prickled with goosebumps. “Motherfucker.”

  Mike took his chauffeur cap and sunglasses off, his beautiful curls long again. “Missed your potty mouth.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really.” He laughed. “But I sure missed you.”

  A year or so ago, we had a similar conversation. Little did I know that when he’d said he missed me then he’d meant it the same way he did now. Little did I know that I would be sitting here a year later, an award-winning director and this gorgeous man’s epic love.

  I hopped to the front seat and placed my hands on either side of his face, pulling him into a passionate kiss. God, I missed those lips, that scruff…

  “Amore, we’re gonna crash.” He laughed against my mouth.

  I slid closer, pressing my head onto his chest, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm to my soul. Here I belonged. The right place to be. “I missed you, too. So much.”

  He kissed my hair and draped his arm around my shoulders, pressing me even tighter to his body. “I should’ve come with you.”

  “Yes. You should have,” I said. “I know it was Andrea’s parting gift and had extra money in it, but she doesn’t deserve a gift, and you don’t need extra money. You’re a fucking millionaire.” I shrugged. “But at least, it worked. Andrea has finally kept her distance since.”

  His stomach vibrated with a chuckle. “I bought you a gift with that extra money.”

  I lifted my head, but he pushed it back to him. “I can’t believe you right now. You bought me a five-million-dollar gift?” I squeaked. “What did you buy this time? An island?”

  When he didn’t answer right away, I glanced up at his face. “Oh my God, Mike. You did buy a fucking island!”

  “How did you know? Am I that predictable?”

  I picked up on the disappointment in his tone. “I was being sarcastic. Oh my God.” A long sigh seeped out of my mouth. “Grazie, amore mio.” I kissed his cheek and then the little hairs peeking out of his cornflower blue polo shirt, my hands gliding under, feeling his solid abs.

  His palm slid slowly down my back. “I hope you’re not tired.”

  “I’m not,” I whispered fast, trembling. If he let me, I’d ride him right here. Now.

  “Good. ‘Cause we’re taking another flight.”

  My head bolted off him. “What?”

  “You left me no choice when you canceled our romantic getaway and went to Ireland for four months. I have to kidnap you before you think about doing anything else.”

  Dazed, I looked through the windshield and saw we were still at the airport. “Where the hell are we going now?”

  “Where do you think?” Stopping the car, he flashed his perfect teeth at me. “Isola Carolina.”

  My mouth parted, but his lips caressed mine before I could object or speak or think.

  Scene 64

  Maggie

  “Wow,” I murmured, taking in the palm fronds and turquoise water of the Belize Isle, listening to the sound of quietness. The waves chasing playfully. The rustle of the warm breeze in the trees. “This is so beautiful.”

  Mike landed a peck on my temple. “You’re beautiful.”

  I took off my sneakers, ran down the short wooden dock, and let my feet dive in the white sand. “I love it,” I shouted. “I feel like I was a sucked into one of those Twilight movies—and I fuckin’ hate Twilight—but I don’t care. This is how much I love it.”

  He followed me. “I love those movies.”

  I turned, giggling. “Of course, you do, babe. Of course, you do.”

  His grin was even warmer and more charming in the sunset. He took my hand and sauntered through the vegetation. “C’mon. Let’s see the house.”

  As we reached the porch of a secluded, two-story home perched in a lush rainforest, Mike pulled me up into his arms.

  My lips parted with a silent gasp. “What are you doing? Put me down,” I demanded, hoping he wouldn’t listen. I liked this. I fuckin’ loved this. Every moment. Every gesture. Every cliché.

  He shook his head. “Why don’t you be you, and I’ll be me?”

  “You’re quoting James Bay now?”

  “You love this song.”

  I loved James Bay and “Let It Go” was my favorite song of the year. I started playing it a lot when Kyle moved in with me, hoping he could take a hint. God I hated those days. The song was awesome, though. I became addicted to it. “How do you know? We never talk about music.”

  He cradled me in his arms as he opened the glass doors and stepped inside the house. “You never sing, but when it plays on the radio, I see you sing along, and it’s the top played song on your playlist.” His eyes landed on my face. “What do you wanna see first? The bedroom? The pool?”

  I gazed at him, at how amazing he was, how much he cared, how much he loved. “I’m looking at everything I wanna see right now.”

  “Careful, Ms. Dawson. Looks like my tacky romance is rubbing off on you.”

  I chuckled as he began a house tour with me in his arms. The rooms were open and wide just like I loved them, and they all enjoyed the stunning water views. The full-size, bi-fold glass doors could be opened up to connect the large balcony with the living room, allowing the space to a nice amount of fresh air. The kitchen was spacious and fitted with all the latest appliances. The lounge area contained a beautiful lounge suite and TV. The lower deck had its own private infinity pool and a day lounge for relaxation.

  It was more of a retreat than a house. A home with a difference. There was no better way to enjoy the Isle.

  Mike carried me upstairs to the master bedroom. It was enormous and furnished with a king size bed. The side walls were made of glass. The view of the waters surrounded the room. The other two walls were painted red. Mike’s favorite color.

  “There’re three additional bedrooms downstairs, in case you don’t like this one,” he informed me.

  “Don’t be silly. Just put me down and let me show you how much I love it.”

  He sat on the bed and brought me onto his lap. “You need to rest. We have all the time in the world.”

  I frowned. “I rested on the fuckin’ plane like you asked when all I really wanted was to hear you groan my name.”

  He sucked below my ear. “Yeah?”

  A rush of heat flashed across my skin. My hands explored the lean flesh under his shirt. “Hell yeah. Don’t you?”

  He pushed me lower on his hips so I could feel his answer physically. “All I’ve been waiting for, since you set foot on that plane to Ireland, is the second you’d return,” he whispered, slowly undressing me. “So I can throw you on my bed and thrust out every latent need and desire I’ve had for the last four months.”

  His breath came rougher now as I sat naked in his lap. He yanked at the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head, and I stared at his beauty. Lying back, he brought me to his mouth so that I was straddling him. My breathing accelerated as he ran his mouth softly between my legs and then inhaled. “Remind myself of how you smelled. How you tasted.” His tongue licked inside me, and I moaned. “How you moaned. How I can make you moan.”

  I lost myself in those minutes with his head between my legs as he devoured me. Owned me. Then for the next hours our bodies joined, testing out the sturdiness of the furniture of every room in the house.

  Scene 65

  Maggie

  “Amore, get out of the water. The boat is gonna be here in an hour. We’re gonna be late,” Mike said, holding a towel, his feet bare in the sand.

  I focused on his face—not his perfect, naked, tanned chest or the black swimwear hugging his junk—as I edged to the shore. “I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

  “Please,” he pleaded, making baby so
unds.

  I rippled the water with my feet in a protest as I came out. His eyes ogled my crimson string bikini—something I’d have never thought about wearing if he hadn’t literally begged me to wear it—one more time before he wrapped the towel around my body.

  “I don’t think I can handle another one of your surprises, Mike,” I said, taking his hand as they started for the house.

  “Who said anything about a surprise? We’re just celebrating New Year’s.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re an amazing actor, but not with me.”

  “Critics beg to differ, Ms. Dawson. They said Black Sheep has been my best performance so far, and it is so because I’m an amazing actor with you.”

  “Stop it.” I climbed up the stairs that led directly to the master bedroom from the beach. “I know you’re planning something. And it’s big.”

  He opened the French door with a smile. “We had a deal, Maggie. So let me do my thing.”

  My eyes caught the sparkling evening gown on the bed as I got inside the room. A new dress he must have packed with all the new clothes he’d bought me for this trip. “Oh my God. You planned this even before we got here.”

  He rubbed my arms, holding my gaze. “Vita mia, just don’t think too much. I promise it’ll be fun.”

  I dropped off the towel and stepped forward. He took a deep breath as my damp body and hands touched him. “Maggie…” He smiled. “We’re gonna be late.”

  I took off my top. “That’s the point.”

  His eyes dropped to my breasts as they tumbled free before him. “Fuck.” His lips pressed in a tight line as if he was in pain. “I’m gonna go get dressed.”

  He practically ran out of the room.

  Shit. I had no choice but to shower and put on the dress. A crystal top with a sheer back and a red skirt with a huge slit on the side.

  Dancing. I convinced myself we were going dancing to celebrate New Year’s like he’d said. If I let my mind believe what my heart was telling me, I wouldn’t take two steps out of the house without a panic attack.

  Applying the final touches of mascara and lipstick, I saw his stunning figure in the mirror. He leaned against the doorframe in a black tux, his hands in his pockets, his eyes twinkling with admiration.

  He was staring at me, drinking me in. I twirled, dropping my lipstick on the dresser, and his lips parted slightly, reflexively, those beautiful eyes darkening, going black with desire.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

  I smiled as I walked to him. “You too.”

  He lifted my hand to his lips. They were cold, and so were his fingertips. I couldn’t help noticing the slight shake in his hand, too. My heart thudded against my ribs louder than the engine of the boat approaching.

  “Our ride is here.” He ambled toward the bed and picked the sandals matching my dress up off the floor. Then he nodded at the glass door. “Let’s go.”

  I followed his steps before my thoughts rambled again. On the boat, a nervous smile crossed his face as sweat beaded his forehead, and I could no longer lie to myself about the nature of tonight’s surprise.

  His hand squeezed mine tighter when we arrived at a local dancing club in San Pedro. Perched over the water with no walls. A host in a long colorful skirt and white sleeveless shirt offered us the two glasses of champagne on his tray before ushering us to our booth. Even though the club was packed, we weren’t mobbed by fans and photographers as always. People didn’t seem to know or care who we were. That and the cool sea breeze took the edge off my nerves. Just enough not to freak out already.

  I watched other couples take the dance floor as the live band shifted to a slower song. People were dressed up for the night. The tables, the bar and the stage were illuminating with colorful light strings.

  “Do you like it?” Mike asked, his fingers drawing invisible circles on my bare knee.

  It’s the perfect setting. Nowhere to run. I nodded, taking my first sip of alcohol in weeks. Since I’d arrived on the island—my island—I didn’t feel the urge to escape from my feelings or to shut out the world.

  I should have been the happiest girl on earth. Mike Gennaro wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, loving me, and I wanted that, too. My happily ever after could start this very night. Yet there was something, not about Mike, that scared me. A feeling that snuck underneath all the certainty and the love.

  That stupid voice wouldn’t shut up. It nagged like an old wound that refused to heal. Reflexively, I felt my scar.

  I wasn’t wired to believe such happiness Mike was going to offer existed in the first place, and it was only a matter of time before it would be snatched out of my heart without mercy. Which one hurt the least? Not having it at all or having it and then brutally losing it?

  Mike’s fingers traveled up my thigh, distracting me for a second. “You’re nervous.” His lips curved. “Do you want me to do something about it?”

  I blinked at the insinuation. “Here? We’re surrounded by people.”

  He pressed his leg closely to my thigh. “So?”

  My heart pounded with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. I gulped on the champagne as his palm pushed up the slit of the dress. “How fast do you think I can make you come?”

  My skin burned. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

  “I say three minutes. Do you wanna bet?”

  “No.” I shook my head quickly. It wasn’t hard to guess what he would have asked for had he won. And he would win.

  “Too bad.” He smiled as he set a timer on his phone with his free hand and placed it back in his pocket. Then he slipped beneath the soaked lace of my thong and slid his thumb over my clit, sinking into my wetness. His groan drove me crazy. “I wanna spread you on this table and eat your pussy for dinner.”

  I stared at him, at the narrowing of his eyes, at his tongue licking his lips.

  “Yes, look at me.” His confident, firm touch built a heavy ache down my sex. “I wanna bury my face between your legs and fuck you with my mouth until I hear you scream my name and taste the moment you fall apart for me.”

  I bit my lip to keep from making a sound. He leaned to kiss my neck below my ear. The wetness of his tongue sent a fresh gush between my legs. When he leaned back, from the corner of my eye, I saw a waiter coming our way.

  “Mike?” I swallowed, torn between focusing on his touch and fretting about the man coming toward our table.

  Mike didn’t stop, his index and middle finger vibrating inside me. “Look at him, he doesn’t know you’re about to come all over my fingers.”

  “Oh my God.” I gasped for air, clutching the muscles of his thigh. Wrong move. The muscles hard and firm, and they made me think of my palm covering his cock.

  He flashed his signature smile at the waiter as he refilled the champagne glasses.

  “Your food should be out in five minutes like you asked Mr. Gennaro.”

  “Thanks.” Mike pressed his thumb hard into my clit, and I bit my tongue, stifling a moan.

  I barely glanced up when the waiter walked away. “You already ordered for us?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t mind.” He lifted my chin. “Don’t take your eyes off me.” He rocked his palm against me, stretching me to the edge. “Tell me how you feel.”

  “Slutty, like I’m doing something wrong, filthy.”

  He pumped his fingers deeper, in and out, fast. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes,” I gasped.

  “Do you want me? Do you want my cock inside you now?”

  “God, yes.” I nodded, my legs parting, my hand groping for his cock. “Oh, you’re so fuckin’ hard.”

  He gritted his teeth, taking my hand off him. “I’ll come in my pants if you do that.”

  My head fell back against the booth, and he licked my throat, sliding a third finger inside me. My own fingers dug into his leg as my climax tore through my body. I pressed my face into the shoulder of his tux, stifling my cries.

  He s
tilled before kissing my lips. “I love you.” He pulled his fingers out. “Do you love me?”

  I breathed out, gazing at his loving eyes. “I have never loved, never will love, anyone like I love you, Mike.”

  A grin lit his face as he got the phone out of his pocket. “When the clock strikes twelve, I want you to remember what you just said.” He lifted the fingers that were inside me and licked them one by one, watching me.

  The view scrambled my thoughts, muting them. Even after what he’d just given me, I wanted to climb in his lap and take all of him inside. I shook my head, glancing at the screen. “Were you right?”

  2:51.

  His grin grew wider.

  Scene 66

  Maggie

  I put my concerns aside and enjoyed the night as we ate and danced. Mike was an expert in getting me to loosen up.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  I nodded and watched him go. The band finished playing their song, and the lights were switched off in the club, with the exception of the decorative string lights.

  “Maggie Dawson, this one is for you.” Mike’s voice sounded from a microphone, and I whipped my head in its direction. The lights came back on. Mike was on the stage, sitting on a stool, a guitar resting across his thigh.

  Oh. My God.

  “This song is called ‘Hear Your Heart,’” he said.

  Another James Bay song that I loved.

  I took a deep breath as he started strumming the soft melody, my pulse quickening. I was sung to once in my life. By a Russian drummer I dated when I first returned after college. At a party that ended pretty much the same way Tony’s Christmas party ended.

  This time, it was Mike who was going to do it, the man I’d always run to on these occasions. To whom was I going to run now?

  The answer came quick. Quiet. Assured.

  Him. I’d still run to him. Willingly. Happily.

  As he started, his mesmerizing voice put a smile on my lips. The voice that brought me to pieces and made me whole again.