Her slender waist was emphasized by a wide band of stretchy white fabric, and the bottom of the dress flared out into a skirt that ended above the knee, showing off those long, lean legs of hers. Jesus, those legs. When she was sliding out of the car, he wanted so badly to graze his palms along the smooth surface of her shapely calves, gradually inching his hands upward. Destination: whatever lay beneath that flimsy skirt.
For a minute, Lorenzo was frozen, trying to imagine what he wanted to do first with her. Maybe go for the breasts—they would be an easy get considering the design of the thing she was wearing. All he’d need to do is slip his fingers along the fabric edge and he’d be in, cupping those magnificent breasts in each of his greedy palms. He’d way rather have that in his hands than his dick, which at the rate things were going, would be his fate upon their return to the palazzo tonight. Again. If he could last that long.
Part of him wanted to grab those pearls and give a tug, seeking vengeance for that damned jewelry being able to linger precisely where he wanted to. Maybe he could help her retrieve the pearls as they spilled into that fabric that was barely concealing her tits.
But the bigger part of him wanted to lift up that skirt and see what—if anything—was lurking beneath her outfit. She must have known it was killing him by inches. Although speaking of inches, dammit, for what seemed like the millionth time since her arrival, he was growing by inches, like it or not.
God, the woman had him by the balls and didn’t even know it. Or maybe she did. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on anything other than quelle tette perfette. Those perfect tits. He knew agreeing to this dinner had been a bad mistake. He was going to have to concentrate on something else throughout the meal. Maybe ruminating on a possible budding romance between Justin and Gareth would pour enough cold water on his libido to get him through the night. Not that he had anything against two dudes falling for each other. He was perfectly comfortable with his own sexuality and not at all threatened by men having differing preferences. But it wasn’t something that got him hot and bothered like Sophie clearly did. Surely it could be an antidote to her presence.
If it wasn’t, then he was in trouble. Because right now, all he wanted to do was take her right there in front of the whole restaurant, smack-dab on top of the table. It felt like the only way to ultimately purge thoughts of her from his mind. Crap, he was in deep trouble.
Chapter Fifteen
Sophie grabbed a seat as far away from Lorenzo as possible while remaining at the same six-top table. That was all fine and good until Tomasso insisted on seat assignments.
Gisele leaned in to whisper in her ear. “It’s so that Gareth and Justin can be closer to each other. You understand, right?”
Sophie heaved a sigh. Far be it from her to throw a wrench in the future Mr. and Mr. Justin Magruder. Or whatever that Gareth guy’s name was.
“Can you at least sit between me and the cranky one?”
“If we do that it messes up the whole seating flow,” she said. “Plus I want to be next to Tomasso. And I want to be right by Justin so I can eavesdrop on what’s going on.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Great. Leave me next to the guy who won’t talk to me all night. Perfect. Wake me when it’s done. I’ll be the one with crumbs all over my lap from gorging on breadsticks since I had nothing else to do.”
Gisele poked her. “Silly. He’ll be fine. I’ll get Tomasso to say something to him.”
“Ugh, I think that’ll make things worse. He’s like a skunk—the more you bother him the more you’ll live to regret it.”
“He doesn’t smell like a skunk, I can tell you that.”
Sophie had to give her that much. He smelled like a combination of hot, sexy man and hot, sexy man who was busted wanking off. Because she recognized whatever cologne he had on tonight was the same one that wafted from him that first afternoon... He was all dressed and ready for dinner when she’d first encountered him—more like when he encountered her. Maybe he was ready to go out afterward even, so he made sure he smelled great yet somehow took a detour back to his room afterward to take care of vital business...
Whatever it was, the woodsy, musky, citrusy smell of him instantly evoked images of a very naked Lorenzo and made her a little wistful that he wasn’t fair game. Because if he was, she would not only have sat next to him gladly but might have settled in his lap after a few drinks to get socially lubricated. Or more like physically lubricated.
Tomasso and Lorenzo spoke to the restaurant owner in Italian—that was another thing. Every word out of Lorenzo’s mouth was like verbal sex. It was arousing to listen to. She could listen to him talk all day long and mentally swoon as he did it. Of course it was much better when he spoke Italian because when he spoke to her in English, it was frequently less than pleasant. Whatever.
Gareth arrived and introductions were made all around. Sophie winked at Justin who looked happy as a bunny eating lettuce. Good. The man passed the looks test. Would be great if Justin would find a fun little Italian diversion for the next few weeks. Then they’d all be happy. Well, Justin and Gisele would be. And Sophie already was happy, what with her own show and all. Her life couldn’t be more perfect.
The waiter arrived with a bottle of prosecco, quickly pouring a glass for each of them. Tomasso raised his flute. “To friends, old and new. And to Sophie, here’s hoping your show is a raging success.”
Sophie blushed—she hated being the center of attention and sure, they were all gathered here because of this show. Still, it didn’t feel like it was all about her. She was a mere cog in the wheel. But she looked over and saw Lorenzo roll his eyes and suddenly she was more than happy to be the showstopper for the evening if it meant taking another dig at him.
“Thanks, Tomasso. And everyone, for all your help. And especially you, Lorenzo. I mean I don’t know what this little hayseed from America would do without your amazing guidance.” She batted her eyelashes in a mocking manner and Gisele and Justin laughed. One thing Sophie was not was a hayseed from the middle of nowhere. Born and raised in New York, a product of Long Island, the woman would plow you down like a ride-on mower if you crossed her the wrong way. In some ways it was surprising she’d not done that with Lorenzo yet. Give me time, she thought. Give me time. For now, she decided the most fun she could have was to tease the crap out of him. She could tell it would make him nuts if she were to taunt him with her wares. He was a man, after all.
~*~
“Can I interest you in some?” Sophie said, thrusting her breasts toward Lorenzo, leaning slightly forward, revealing as much cleavage as possible as she passed a platter of antipasti.
Lorenzo gulped. His brother had ordered the meal to be served family style, but any more of this and it would quickly become X-rated, certainly not suitable for families and small children. He couldn’t help but ogle them, resting as they were so close to the platter. If he were a restaurateur, he’d have her serve those breasts atop a platter and be done with it. Because all he now had an appetite for was to suck on those things.
He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Invoked a mental image of Cupid spearing Gareth and Justin with an arrow. If that was how it worked—did they both have to get impaled on the same arrow for true love to occur? He had no experience when it came “true love” with the exception of his parents. Of course he’d seen the danger of what happened when you loved too hard. It was impossible when that love was lost. He knew that was never going to be for him.
“Grazie mille. I’d like nothing more.” He served himself slices of lardo di colonnata, some prosciutto, insalata di carciofi e grana—he could not get enough of local artichokes in season with parmiggiano cheese—a little bit of soprassata, and some crostini toscani. At least if he was busy eating he could avoid making small talk with her.
The din of conversation from the other end of the table had escaped him until now.
“And Sophie, damn, that dress, it’s something else. Isn’t it? What do you think, L
orenzo?” Tomasso cocked his brow.
Lorenzo was going to kill his brother the minute he had a chance. The dude was having far too much fun yanking him around. And he knew why: he was seeking revenge for his own lost bet. Lorenzo knew he had to stay strong. He could do it. There was nothing special about Sophie. Well, nothing he couldn’t find on twenty other women. If he looked hard.
“Lorenzo?” Tomasso pressed his brother.
Lorenzo set his knife and fork down. “Sophie looks amazing, Tomasso. Is that what you were looking for me to say? That she looks downright fuckable?”
Justin choked on a sip of wine. Gareth glanced at him. “What the hell’s that all about?”
Justin shrugged.
Gisele tried to dispel the tension in the air. “Oh, Lorenzo, Tomasso told me you love to play games with everyone. Like you love to say something super outlandish that no one would expect you to say, simply to see how everyone reacts. For a second there that surprised me. But now I realize you were just messing with everyone. Good one!” She knit her brow as she glanced over at Sophie, who was busy munching on a piece of fava bean bruschetta, apparently not even paying attention to the conversation.
Mercifully the waiter arrived with the primi piatti: plates of spaghetti al pomodoro, a ravioli al sugo di coniglio, and a tagliatelle ai funghi. As Sophie passed the rabbit ravioli she leaned toward Lorenzo and whispered so only he could hear, “So you find me fuckable?”
It was Lorenzo’s turn to choke. “Mi dispiace molto, cara. That was my brother trying to get a rise out of me. I’m afraid he succeeded.”
She looked down at his lap and frowned. “And here I thought I was the one who had gotten a rise out of you.” She turned away to talk to Gareth, seated to her right.
“I hear Monaforte is a lovely country,” she said, not missing a beat.
“It’s lovely. You should come visit before you return to the States.”
“I’d love to,” she said. “I’m sure Gisele won’t leave Tomasso’s side, but maybe I can talk Justin into taking the train up with me. Oh, except then I’ll be the third wheel, yet again.”
“Oh, honey, trust me, there are so many gorgeous men in Monaforte. Maybe I can even find you a prince or a marchese for a day or two.”
“She hardly needs to go to Monaforte to find a marchese,” Lorenzo said. “That’s the title each of us has been given.”
“Yes but I’m looking for someone interesting and fun.” Sophie turned back to Gareth. “Let’s do that. And I’m flexible: it can be a duke or an earl, or even a lowly lord.” She winked.
“Oh, so you’re an equal opportunity gold digger?” Lorenzo said.
“You know what they say. When in Toscano...” She placed her fist up to her mouth and discreetly flipped Lorenzo the finger.
Gareth laughed and gave her a thumbs-up.
“All I know is I’m glad I didn’t get seated between the two of you,” he said. “I’m afraid I’d have combusted by now. And the night is still young for me—I don’t want to incinerate as collateral damage over whatever crazy stuff is happening with the two of you before I get to know Justin a little better.”
“Trust me, there is absolutely nothing between the two of us but mutual disdain. You are one hundred percent safe from any sort of combusting. I, on the other hand, truly should have donned that heat-protective clothing, what with me being forced to the seventh circle of hell and all.”
She reached for a bottle of Romeo Chianti and refilled her glass. The only way she was going to get through this was with ample reinforcements of the fortified grape variety.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucky for the rest of the table, the secondi arrived, and conversation turned to food. For the duration of the meal, Lorenzo refrained from any interaction that would cause more friction. He ate his meal and mostly kept his mouth shut.
“This steak is un-freaking-believable,” Justin said as he cut a bite-sized portion of his meat.
“It’s bistecca alla fiorentina,” Tomasso said. It’s a speciality in Firenze. Molto buono, no?”
“Wait’ll you try the dolce.” Gareth pointed to the dessert menu that was written on a chalkboard on the wall. “The choices are endless but if it was up to me, it’s a toss-up between the affogato, which is basically ice cream drowned with a shot of hot espresso, or the tiramisu. And how can you ever go wrong with tiramisu?”
Sophie patted her stomach. “Sorry, no room at the inn. I don’t think I’ve eaten this much in one sitting since, well, since my parents announced they were getting a divorce when I was fourteen.”
“That bad, was it?” Gareth said. “Mine split up when I was a baby. At least I missed the drama.”
“You don’t even know the half of it,” Sophie said. “It’s a toss-up if it was harder to live with them together or dealing with the tension of the two of them apart. Oh, or when they got back together again. Or when they split up again. You get my drift.”
“I think it was Mae West who said ‘marriage is an institution. I’m just not ready for the institution yet.’ A wise woman, she was. No institution for me, either,” Lorenzo said with a sly wink.
Tomasso and Gareth started to laugh. “Our little renegade. Roaming eyes, roaming heart,” Tomasso said.
“I’m just wise, is all.”
“Well, I’m going to be wise and ask for a doggy bag for what’s left on my plate before I burst,” Sophie said.
Lorenzo scowled.
“What?” She wrinkled her brow at him.
“You’re in Italy, cara. We don’t do ‘doggy bags’ here.” He made air quotes for emphasis. They didn’t do doggy bags, but they sure did doggy style. That’s what kept drifting through his brain as he tried to focus on anything other than sex with that damned woman.
“Well big damned deal. I’m sure they can scrounge up a piece of aluminum foil in the kitchen to wrap this to go. I’m too full to eat, I’d like to take it for later.”
Tomasso held up his hand to his brother to stop him from continuing the discussion and motioned for the waiter. “La signora would like to bring this home, please.”
Lorenzo rolled his eyes and wondered whatever happened to the concept of when in Rome.
~*~
Sophie was feeling no pain by the time they walked back to the car. Well, her strappy Manolo Blahnik sandals might have been causing a little bit of pain. But they were worth it because they looked super sexy with her dress. She only hoped Lorenzo Romeo was eating his heart out having to look, not touch.
“Almost forgot we have an extra passenger for the ride back, which means we need to do some creative seat arranging,” Tomasso said. He looked at their party, and pointing his finger, did a head count to be sure. “So that means, hmmm. Let’s see. Justin, you’re a little bit smaller, so you sit in the middle. Gareth you can sit in the passenger seat behind Gisele. Lorenzo, I’m putting you behind the driver’s seat, which leaves Sophie—would you mind terribly if you sat on Lorenzo’s lap? It’s not that long of a drive back.”
It was hard to tell whose face fell faster: Sophie’s or Lorenzo’s. Needless to say, Sophie was not thrilled with the suggestion. Was Tomasso trying to make her life a living hell? On the one hand, it might be fun to torment Lorenzo the whole way back. Then again, he was so disagreeable, he’d probably make cracks about her being too heavy. She knew she wasn’t, but still. Couldn’t she just sit on Justin’s lap? Although then she’d have to sit splayed atop him in the middle seat, which wouldn’t work. Plus she did want to help Justin have some time with Gareth in the back seat, and if she was parked on top of him, she’d effectively kill that. Besides, she didn’t want to be a nuisance to Tomasso, especially since he’d picked up the slack where Lorenzo continued to fall short.
“Could you maybe strap me to the roof rack?” Sophie tried to make light of the situation since she figured she was stuck regardless.
“Nah, too many bugs would stick to you and ruin that pretty dress.” Tomasso grinned.
She plastered a tepid smile across her face. The kind of smile you wear when your mother is going to force you to go the school dance with the boy who hasn’t washed his hair in a week but who asked you months before anyone else would even think to.
“Let’s hear it for Soph, taking one for the team.” Gisele lifted her hands like a cheerleader holding pom-poms.
Sophie shook her head, realizing she’d lost the fight if there ever was one.
It took a few minutes to get everyone adequately seated, like arranging pieces to a puzzle when one piece belongs to an entirely different puzzle. Finally Sophie found herself having to decide whether she would straddle Lorenzo with her back to him, but that felt a little too much like a Kama Sutra pose.
Her only other choice was to ride sort of sidesaddle, which did mean that her boobs were going to be at eye level with Lorenzo’s face. That was no skin off her back and might make him slightly crazy. At least the ride would be more interesting...
“Um, what about a seat belt, people?” Sophie said. For the most part, she was a rule-follower; she was never one of those teens who piled into cars with fourteen kids and no seat belts on. She also didn’t start campfires if Smoky the Bear told her not to.
“Calmarsi, signora,” Lorenzo said.
“What’s he saying to me?”
“Calm down, lady,” Gareth piped in.
“Well, that’s fine for him to say but I’m the one who will be the projectile going through the windshield if one of those wild boars runs in front of us again—not him.
“Calma,” he said. Relax.
As if it was going to be possible to relax while she sat in his lap and smelled the fragrant aroma of hot—yet vexing—man beneath her.
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