Kiss Me Goodnight in Rome (The Senior Semester Series Book 2)

by Gina Azzi

  I peel off my heavy sweater and fold it quickly, depositing it on one of the comfy patio lounge chairs around the pool’s perimeter. Checking again to make sure Lorenzo has his back to me, I shimmy out of my black skinny jeans and remove my socks. Clad in just a black bra and black lace cheekies (hey, at least they match), I take the three steps down into the pool.

  Lorenzo was right; the water is warm. I tie my hair up in a messy bun on top of my head, tucking the pieces that slide out behind my ears. Then I paddle out to Lorenzo. As I reach his side, he turns to look at me, and I blush profusely at the smolder in his eyes. Dark blue, heated, intense. His eyes dart down to my lips, and he groans quietly.

  I blush again, my face hot. I can only imagine that I look like a tomato. Or a red pepper. Or a fire engine. Or … God why am I so awkward?

  Lorenzo’s eyes meet mine again. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t anything. I stare back, reality drifting away, as he closes the few inches between us and captures my lips with his.

  I moan softly, tilting my head to give him better access. He takes it greedily, his arms coming up to encircle my waist. Oh no! What will he think if he feels the rolls on my stomach? The muffin top that peeks above my jeans now that I’m no longer a double zero? I start to squirm away but his firm is strong. Ironclad.

  “No more running, Mia,” he whispers against my mouth.

  I shiver and can feel him smile. He pulls me closer, his left hand coming up to frame my face, his right forearm against my back pressing me into him. He kisses me again, his lips full, his touch tender. When he traces the seam of my lips with his tongue, my mouth parts on its own accord, and I groan as his tongue dances against mine. Completely unfocused, unable to think about anything other than the way his hands feel on my skin, the way his lips feel pressing against my neck, I wrap my legs around his waist. He chuckles quietly in my ear and his right hand shifts, palming my ass.

  He kisses up my neck and slowly moves us to the edge of the pool. Caged into the corner by his body, I look up at him just in time to see a moment of indecision play out across his features.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head. “You’re perfect.” He says it quietly, more to himself than to me. And then his mouth closes the distance once more, and I’m obliterated by his kiss.

  Lorenzo kisses me slowly, softly, reverently. He anticipates my every move and is two steps ahead of me. After pressing tenderness across my neck, my eyelids, the corners of my mouth, he pulls me out of the pool and in the direction of an indoor cabana. He grabs a plush, white towel off of a lounge chair and wraps it around me. Then he lifts me in his arms as if I was a feather instead of a Mack truck and walks us over to the cabana, laying me down on the soft cushions. I don’t even have the energy to panic about my appearance, my body. Being with Lorenzo is like being drunk; he overwhelms all of my senses, fills me with courage, and encourages me to do things I’ve never done before, but want to. Badly.

  I never break eye contact, too scared that if I blink it will sever our connection, this moment, me and him, and I’ll never be able to get it back. Because in this moment, the heat in his eyes makes me feel beautiful in a way I never experienced before.

  Lorenzo’s hands are soft as he peels the towel back slowly. This is it. I break our connection and close my eyes, not wanting to see his reaction when he sees my body, preferring to remember the tenderness in his eyes.

  I flinch when he kisses the skin above my belly button. His hands are gentle as they brush against my hips, gliding up, hovering over my rib cage. He lowers himself over me and kisses my lips again. He kisses me slowly, his hands roaming my body, under my breasts, up my arms, across my stomach. “God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs.

  I feel my heart stop and I pull back to look at him. Seeing nothing but truth in his eyes, I feel a small smile form on my lips. “Do you really think so?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” His tone is sharp, bordering on anger. “You’re like an angel, your sweetness is intoxicating. This…” he runs his hands up and down the sides of my body “…this is pure perfection.” Then he dips his head back down and as if to demonstrate how serious he is, he nips my bottom lip with his teeth. “I want all of you.”

  I feel myself nodding in agreement before my mind catches up. Oh God. I need to tell him right? I should tell him?

  “Lorenzo …” I start.

  He shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t have to be in this moment, or during this weekend. I’m just telling you so you know. I want it all.” And once again, it’s as if he’s talking to himself instead of me, the note of surprise in his voice a bit unnerving. Then he pulls back and smiles at me softly. “Whenever you’re ready, Mia, there’s no rush.” He presses another kiss to my right eyebrow and groans, pulling back slightly. “Come on, let’s go have some dessert before I devour you.”

  I wince. I’d rather be devoured then have to eat one more carb.

  * * *

  Later that night Lorenzo and I go for a walk. The rain stopped completely and the winds died down. Still, the air holds a winter chill. I wind my scarf tightly around my neck as we make our way to a pier with restaurants and docks that extend deep into the sea.

  “Come here.” Lorenzo nudges my side and takes my hand in his, leading us to a quiet dock. He sits down unceremoniously and pulls me down beside him. The moon is low, streaks of light reflecting off the water. We are the only two people here, sitting among various small wooden rowboats. The water gently laps at the dock and the boats bob up and down with the changing tide. Nearby, a seafood restaurant serves fresh shrimp and octopus and squid. Laughter and conversations barely reach us, quieted by the rocking boats and the natural silence of the night.

  Moonlight softens Lorenzo’s features, and he suddenly looks like a young boy, grinning mischievously as he pulls a bottle of wine from his backpack. I giggle, covering my mouth with my hand. “Where’d you get that from?”

  He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says, uncorking the bottle.

  “I meant the backpack, not the wine.”

  Lorenzo laughs, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a long drink. He hands the bottle to me and runs the back of his hand across his lips. “Go on.” He nods at me.

  I shrug, taking a sip of the wine. The flavor explodes in my mouth, coating my throat when I swallow. Lorenzo’s eyes watch me the entire time, never wavering from my face, my eyes, my lips.

  “What?” I ask him, setting the bottle between us on the dock.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  “What’s that?” What is he going to ask me? Nerves skate up my back, and I swallow my fears, my insecurities, back down.

  “Truth or dare.”

  “Truth or dare?” I laugh, reaching over to swat his shoulder. “What are we, twelve?”

  He laughs, holding his hands up, palms open in surrender. “Jeez, take it easy. It could be fun.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Oh, come on, Mia. When was the last time you did something fun and random just because? Without some deadline or motive or calculated reason that fit into your strict schedule?”

  I close my eyes momentarily and rack my brain. I must have done something random and ridiculous with Lila and Emma at some point, right? But as I think over the past summer and school year, I come up blank. The most daring and outrageous thing I’ve done in my entire college career was study abroad, come to Liguria with Lorenzo, and I can’t admit that to him. Instead of answering his question, I ask him my own, “Truth or Dare?”

  He smiles, taking another swig of wine, considering my question carefully. “Truth.”

  “What’s the best place you’ve ever gone and why?”

  He smirks. “That’s two questions.”

  “Just answer.” I laugh, taking the wine from his hand and holding the bottle around the neck tightly.

  “Edinburgh, Scotland. It was just beautiful and fun
in a way that’s different from here. The history, the climate, the people.” He shakes his head. “I liked how old it was but still so drastically different from Rome. And the Scots are funny and welcoming in a way that isn’t always about the hustle like it is here. Does that make sense?”

  I nod.

  “Okay, my turn. Truth or Dare?”

  “Truth.” I don’t think I’ve ever chosen dare. Not even when my friends and I played in middle school.

  “Hmm.” Lorenzo strokes his chin as if he’s lost in thought, but I see the way his eyes shine. “What are your plans for after graduation?”

  Damn. I stall, taking another drink from the wine bottle.

  Lorenzo chuckles, tugging the bottle away from my grasp. “It can’t be that bad.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure yet. I always thought it would be dance. I was planning to audition for the American Ballet Company.” I shrug. “Now I have no idea.”

  “Why did you stop dancing?” he presses.

  “That’s two questions,” I deflect.

  Lorenzo passes me back the bottle and the gesture, along with his understanding smile, causes me to reply to his question, without providing a real answer. “The surgery, the rehab, it was a lot more intense than I thought.”

  “Really? Did you think it was going to be easy?” His voice holds an edge and from the glint in his eyes, he noticed that I sidestepped the question. I gave him a response, not an answer. And he knows it. Damn.

  “No, I just, I don’t know.”

  “Really?” he asks again, exasperation clear in his tone.

  “I got scared,” I admit, looking down at my hands, my fingers tracing over the letters on the wine bottle.

  “Of what?” His voice is softer.

  “Of failing,” I whisper, my words nearly swallowed by the wind, my admission almost swept up and erased. But not quite. Lorenzo hears me and exhales heavily.

  “So you just gave up?”

  I shrug. “I came to Rome.”

  “So you ran away?”

  A spark of anger works its way through my body. Why is he pushing so hard, questioning me on this? “It’s not for you to judge me,” I say as evenly as I can, my cheeks flushing with frustration, irritation, and embarrassment.

  He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not judging you, Mia.” He reaches out and lifts my chin to meet his gaze. “I’m trying to understand. Trying to figure you out.”

  “Why? I’m leaving next month. Going back to the States and my uncertain future. And all of this…” I gesture to the emptiness surrounding us “…will just be a memory. A moment in time.”

  Lorenzo’s eyes darken, emotions swimming in deep blue. “Is that what you want?”

  What? How did this conversation spin out of control so quickly? We’ve had an attraction for weeks, and yet we’ve never addressed it directly. He chooses now, when we are alone, stuck in the middle of nowhere, to ask me about the future of our relationship? Through a game of Truth or Dare? I look away, out to sea. “I thought we were playing Truth or Dare.”

  A low growl hums through Lorenzo’s chest. “Right,” he agrees, his voice tense, his words clipped. “Truth or Dare, Mia?”

  It’s my turn, but I don’t bother correcting him. “Dare.” I raise my eyes to his, a silent challenge. It can’t be any worse than truth since that is clearly getting me nowhere but deeper into a hole I keep digging for myself.

  “I dare you to be honest with me. Hell, I dare you to be honest with yourself. What do you want?”

  And I’m frozen. Because I really just want the man in front of me. The one showing me compassion and understanding but also pushing me, challenging me, daring me to be better, to be more, to be the person I’m capable of becoming.

  And so I accept his dare. I am honest with him. I am honest with myself. I lean forward slowly. His eyes flash up to meet mine, blue pools overflowing with frustration, understanding, acceptance, but no uncertainty, no hesitation. I place my palm on the rough stubble of his cheek, my fingertips brushing gently through his hair. I never take my eyes off his as I rise up onto my knees and wrap my other arm around his neck, pulling him closer. He doesn’t resist. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t breathe.

  I tilt my head slightly, line my body up with his, slant my lips over his, and close my eyes. I gather up my courage … then I kiss him. Instantly, he responds, threading his fingers through my hair, holding my face securely between his palms. My tongue teases his lips, and he moans into my mouth, one of his hands sliding down my back, pulling me closer, hugging me into the curve of his arm. I lean into him, throwing one of my knees over his thigh, straddling him and wrapping both my arms around his neck. I breathe him in and lose myself in his kiss, his touch, in him. Does he know I’ve never felt like this before? Never been kissed like this before?

  Then I let go. And I tell him the truth. “I want to be your girlfriend.”

  A ghost of a smile flickers across his lips. “Then you are,” he growls, his hands grasping my hips hard and pulling me closer.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Lorenzo

  When Mia kisses me, I’m momentarily caught off-guard. Even though her movements are careful, even though she seems to move in slow motion, I can’t even process that she really is opening up, trusting me, reacting to my dare. Girlfriend? Girlfriend! The pressure of her lips on mine brings me back to the moment, and I don’t waste anytime losing myself in her embrace, in her kiss, in her.

  I kiss her neck slowly, my arms pulling her closer into me. She shifts slightly and I feel her rub against my growing erection. I groan into her mouth and she starts to pull back, but I don’t let her. Wrapping my arms tighter around her, my left forearm anchors across her back and my right hand slides up her neck, my fingers getting lost in her thick hair.

  I kiss her tenderly, sweetly. At least, I try to. But the way her hips slowly move, the way she rocks against me, spurs me on. Before I can stop myself, I flip Mia over, laying her down along the dock. I barely register that it’s too cold, too damp for her to be lying next to the water’s edge. I cover her body with mine, lacing my fingers through hers, pulling her arms up above her head. I lean down slowly, watch her eyes widen a fraction, her gaze heated. She licks her lip slowly, seductively, though I doubt she means to, and as much as I want to take her right here, right now, I know it’s not the right time. Not when the voices and chatter of patrons dining nearby reaches my ears, not when the rain from earlier still hangs in the air, not when Mia is shivering beneath me from the cold.

  So I kiss her lips once more and tear my gaze from her lovely, flushed face. Then I curse myself to hell for the words I’m about to utter, for doing what she deserves, even though every part of my body is screaming at my head to shut up. “I still want it all, Mia. But not like this. Not here.” I shake my head slowly and meet her eyes. A slight blush is creeping up her neck, coloring her entire face. She’s so sweet, too sweet. “I don’t want to rush it,” I say finally, leaning back on my knees and extending my arm to pull her up. “You okay?”

  She nods curtly, her head down, her long hair falling forward to shield the emotions I’m sure are flitting across her face. The color of her hair reminds me of chestnuts at Christmas, dark and rich. I glide my fingers through the lush strands, pushing her hair back behind her shoulder. I wince when I see how red her cheeks are, how she won’t make eye contact with me.

  “Mia.”

  “Hmm,” she murmurs, still avoiding looking at me.

  “Look at me.”

  She does and I choke on my next inhale. The vulnerability shining in her eyes slams through me, and I want to run my fist through the freaking dock. That’s twice in one night, two times I’ve shot this beautiful girl down. Sure, I did it for her own good, with only her in mind. But still, the feeling of rejection I witness in her eyes, the way they’re melting like hot chocolate, kills me.

  I lean forward and brush a kiss to her temple. “I want you, baby. I want this. But I want it t
o be right for you, right for us. And this…” I jut my chin toward the dirty dock “…isn’t it. You’re better than this. And so am I. So be patient with me, will you?”

  She nods, a tiny jerk of her head.

  I sigh, standing and pulling her up alongside me.

  “Come on. Let’s go home.” I fold her hand in mine, tucking both our hands into my pocket.

  We walk home slowly. Mia is quiet. Too quiet. She won’t look at me, preferring to keep her eyes trained on the ground. I let it go, giving her space, time to sort out whatever is going on inside her beautiful head.

  When we get home, I notice one of the potted plants near the entrance has been moved forcibly, dirt fanning out across the walkway. I bite the corner of my lip, stopping the smile that threatens to split my face. Someone’s been snooping. Did a piss-poor job at hiding their investigation. Whatever. Benito knows I’m here. He knows I know.

  * * *

  Claudia shows up early the next morning, her voice calling out the moment she walks through the front door. “Enzo, dove sei?”

  Mia sits straight up in bed, red quickly coloring her cheeks. “Lorenzo?” She prods me as I stare at her sleepily. “Who is that?”

  I laugh. “My sister.” I snake my arm around her waist, pulling her into my chest.

  Mia groans. “I can’t meet your sister like this.” She gestures wildly with her left hand to her pajamas.

  I kiss her forehead. “You look stunning.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  The door bangs open. “You’re still in bed? Oh my God, I’m sorry.” Claudia slams the door shut when she notices Mia.

  I crack up. “It’s fine Claud. You can come in.”

  “What?”

  “Come in.”

  Mia tries to pull away from me, but I keep her flush against my side, her legs tangled up with mine.

  Claudia pushes the door open slowly and peeks inside, narrowing her eyes at Mia. Mia throws her hand over her face. “This is so embarrassing,” she whispers.

  At that, Claudia laughs and enters, standing near the foot of the bed. “Hi.”