“There is the store.”
“Okay. Great. Thank you. I mean, Grazie. I’ll see you. Bye.”
I look over and see the door nestled in between a series of shops, the buildings all touching, almost as one. They’re tall, the color of sand and look like they’ve been here for centuries. They probably have, now that I think about it.
“Un piacere, Annie.” I think he just said it was a pleasure, or maybe I want to give you pleasure. I know the word pleasure was used.
“Thank you.”
Speechless, I stare in amazement as he bows once more, rises and gives me one last smile, then turns and walks away. Whoa. Come back? Scuffling off, I swear to myself for not having bought something prettier to wear already. Why am I still wearing black, black, and more black? Sigh.
I pick up various bottles of marinara sauce with unknown ingredients, thinking hating yourself is so fucking exhausting. And man does it make you hungry. Searching through the compact aisles, I grab the fixings for bare-bones pasta, just the basics. I’m dying to try something new, but that would take wasting money if I didn’t get it right.
I need to get a job soon. Maybe if I’d chosen a place that spoke my language, it would have been easier. To make matters worse, I’m terribly lonely. Bending down to grab a bag of bow tie pasta, I think to myself, so basically nothing has changed.
“No. You cannot do this. It is not right.”
I look up to see Christiano standing above me. “Oh, hi! You came back!”
He takes the bottle of sauce out of my hands and puts it on the wrong shelf. “Let me make you a real Italian meal.”
I look at the bottle sitting out of place among various olive oils, and back to him. “Really?”
“Come.” He takes the bow tie pasta from me, too, and puts that next to the rejected sauce, also where it’s not supposed to go. I glance down quickly to the bottom shelf where I just got it from, back up to where it is now, thinking how odd it is that he did that. Oddly rebellious. I love it.
He steps aside and says it again. “Come.”
It’s so assertive, that I walk past him toward the door immediately. The teenager behind the register is still reading his magazine and doesn’t look up. I glance to him, and then look over my shoulder, catching Christiano looking at my ass. Only he doesn’t fall all over himself like I did when I was caught. Instead, he just looks at me. No smile. No shyness.
“You’re going to cook for me?” I manage, nervously.
He nods and we walk out into the sunlight. I blink it away until I get used to it. Again we walk in silence, but my nervousness isn’t going anywhere. I don’t know this guy. What am I doing?
“Um…Where are we going?” I’m hoping he says a restaurant where there are lot of people…and safety.
“We are going to my kitchen. In my home.” He puts his hands in the pockets of his tan slacks, looking ahead of us. “It is just out of town. We’ll drive. Come.”
There’s that word again.
Coming to a halt, I stare at him like he’s nuts. “I’m not going to just drive off with a complete stranger! I know I look young, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
He turns on his heel, the sound loud thanks to my nerves being on end. Saying no can be scary, like you don’t want to hurt a person’s feelings, but come on! I’m not a fucking idiot. So, I stare at him, firmly holding my ground, my lips a thin line.
He thinks for a moment, and then realizes what’s going on. “You are worried I will hurt you.” The words said out loud are a little hard to hear. It’s a fucked up world that I even have to think of such a thing, but I do.
“Well, yeah. Can you blame me?”
He stares at me. I’m expecting him to say forget it, nice meeting you. Goodbye. But he laughs instead. He belly laughs and it’s big and free and infectious. It makes me want to join in, but I have no idea why he’s laughing. I hold back, in case the joke is on me.
“Come back.” He waves his hand in the direction we just came from and starts walking. Curious, I follow him. At the first little shop, he walks in, beckoning me to follow. “Come!”
I look in the window and see pretty dresses, mostly summer style and all high quality. I am particularly drawn to the green floor-length sundress on the right. The pink in the middle reminds me of Corinne. And the white one on the left is so unlike anything I’ve ever worn, with lace and mini-cut that I look away and step inside. My eyes take a second to adjust to the quaint lighting to see we’re in a dress shop, old school style. I walk in further to see him talking to a beautiful Italian woman who’s hemming a red knee-length dress.
“Who am I?”
She looks at him like he’s crazy. With a thick accent, she asks him, also in English, “Christiano, what is this about?”
“Who am I, Sophia?” he asks again.
She pushes her long curly hair back and stands. She is everything I am not – beautiful, exotic, owning every bit of it and adding more. Italian woman work it. They wear the jewelry. They have the hair. They jut the hips. They know how to do it. I stare at her, openly envious and taking notes.
She laughs, “You’re annoying, that’s what you are,” hitting his shoulder lightly, her hand lingering there.
“You see? Would a woman like this be teasing me this way, if I were dangerous?” he asks me.
She swings her attention my way for the first time. With one look, her chocolate, sultry brown eyes rake over me and she turns to him with a question in her eyes. I know I’m a mess, but it’s degrading nonetheless. Dammit.
He’s still waiting for my answer.
Feeling inferior more than appeased, I answer, “No. She wouldn’t.”
He leaves her side and stops to stand directly in front of me. With dresses on either side of us, and me wearing a witch’s wardrobe in the middle, he unbelievably says, “Good. Let’s eat.”
I wave to her, but she just stares. So I say nothing, turn on my heel and follow him. Why does she have to be like that? She’s obviously the contest winner.
In Christiano’s kitchen, there’s a middle island where he hums, slicing tomatoes, basil, and garlic cloves into separate piles. There’s a large round table off to the side that seats six, with a vase of red and orange wild flowers from his garden in its center. The window that leads to that garden is right behind me, and I can’t stop turning around to look, even though I can’t see much since the sun went down. When I arrived it was dusk and the garden took my breath away. It’s what I would call, controlled anarchy. Wild flowers were everywhere contained in masses by stone borders that were cut through by winding paths that lead to a fountain. So even though I can’t see it anymore, it’s still in my memory’s imagination. Between looking at the dark window and his home, I feel lucky to have such a wonderful view.
He seems to be enjoying speaking solely in English and while he’s very good at it, it comes slowly and there are questions. I help, answering things like, “No, we say hot when we mean ‘spicy,’ too. It’s both. But spicy doesn’t have to mean hot.”
He nods, chopping away and sliding lingering pieces of tomato from the knife into a sizzling cast-iron pan. “When did you arrive in Tuscany?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where are you staying?”
I feel a little goofy saying I’m staying in a hostel. Maybe if he were my age, it wouldn’t bother me. “Heart of Tuscany Hostel,” I answer, biting my lip and hoping he doesn’t think I’m too young for him. And I can’t stop staring at his hands.
He hands me a piece of tomato. Feeling daring, I open my mouth. He hesitates, and places it slowly on my tongue. The sweet, juicy ripeness of the fruit makes me close my eyes and moan. When I open them, I find he’s staring at me. Neither of us looks away and it takes him a second to focus back on the meal.
Chewing on more than the tomato, I lean on my elbows, watching him whip up the most mouth-watering meal I’ve had since I left America. And hell, probably a long while before that, too. I’m actually salivating,
so I lean over and dip my finger into the sauce. “Mmm.” The deliciousness closes my eyes again and I’m savoring the delicate balance of herbs and salt. That’s the key – balance. “So good.”
I sigh and open my eyes. He’s looking at me again, but this time with open desire. I must appear surprised by the way he glances away, not wanting to scare me. But I saw that look. My whole body saw that look. I smooth down my hair and walk to the window, pulse quickening. I was looking out for my safety earlier, and I feel safe now. I do. But that he wants me in a healthy way, man to woman, never occurred to me. Serial killer or rapist I could understand.
I sneak a peek at him over my shoulder. He’s busy opening a bottle of red. “Would you like wine, Annie?”
I just nod and watch, waking up to the idea that I could be attractive to a man. This is a first for me. I reach out and touch the glass of the window, see only hints of the beauty on the other side. I feel dreamy, that’s the best way to describe it. Like I walked into a picture book where fantasies come true. “I’d love to live here,” I whisper.
I turn and see him working on the dinner, a glass of wine waiting for me next to him. I walk to it, tucking a short lock of hair behind my ear. I want him to know how much I needed this feeling. Not just to feel attractive, but for someone to care for me enough to cook me a meal. I miss my family. I miss my only friend, who I lost. I’ve been so lonely.
“Thank you for this.”
He stirs the pan. “A zinfandel. Do you like red?”
“No. Not for the wine. For cooking for me.” I stop, a lump forming in my throat. I look down and take a sip, try to wash it down, but it only gets worse. “I was needing a friend more than I thought.”
His hand stops circling. The waiting oil sizzles and after a moment, he lowers the heat with a turn of a knob and comes around the island. He doesn’t touch me, but I want him to. “I’d like to be your friend, Bella.”
I know what bella means. But it’s never been applied to me by anyone besides my parents. With no buffer, no sarcasm, I ask him, “Why?”
He frowns and searches for the words. “Today… come si dice…”
“Earlier?” I offer, taking a guess.
“Si. Earlier. Earlier when I left you, it did not feel good. So I went back to find you. This?” He motions between us. “This feels good. No?”
“Si,” I answer, feeling I’m butchering even that one short syllable, but wanting to respectfully try. “Very good. This feels very good.”
My left hand has been resting on the island and he looks over and picks it up, taking it and weaving his fingers with mine while I watch. “Yes. It’s good.”
He brings me to him with the assuredness of a man who has experience. I let him lead, knowing I know nothing. My lips fall slightly open. His arms go around me and he leans in and presses his mouth to mine. A spattering, sizzling noise tears us apart, our eyes flying to it at the same time. The sauce is going wild, oil spitting out, and crackling like small fireworks. He leaves me quickly to tend to it and I touch my fingers to my lips as I watch. The concentration on his face makes him look more rugged and I love how the muscles of his arms contract and slice against each other as he picks up the wooden spoon and holds the pan high off the burner with a thick towel for protection.
I want him. I know I want him. Knowing this is something I would never normally do, I open my mouth and say exactly what I’m thinking. “I’d like to spend the night.”
Surprised, he looks up, the pan still held in his hand. He blinks and a sexy smile tugs at his lips. “Si.”
That was his only answer. I spent the night, and every night after for four and a half years.
I feel a hand on my cheek. I blink and see Brendan’s worried eyes asking questions his mouth isn’t sure he wants to know. I bring my hand up and cover his, press it into my skin as I struggle hard to keep a tear back. Dammit. If Christiano knew that I’m here with the man I left him for, and that I never told him that… he’d be crushed.
“I can’t do this, Brendan. I’m sorry.” My heart is breaking.
“You have a boyfriend, don’t you?” He removes his hand, and there’s anger building quickly behind his question. He starts to bend for his jeans. I don’t blame him for being angry. He’s naked and vulnerable.
“I don’t.”
He doesn’t believe me. His fingers hook on a belt loop, grabbing it. “Jesus. I can’t believe this.”
I reach out and stop him. “Hey hey hey. I’m sorry. Wait. Please stop. Look at me.”
With his jeans hanging from his hand, he waits, not at all happy.
“I’m making a mess, aren’t I? Brendan, I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t. Now don’t look at me like that. We broke up. But it was long term and he’s not…” I’m not sure how much to say. If I say he’s not even in this country, then Brendan will ask where he is and I’ll have to say Italy and then he might remember who I am. Did he even know where I was going that day I rode off in the cab? I don’t remember, but he’s already looking at me like I just tried to pull one over on him. Fuck, I hate lying. You have to think too much to cover your tracks.
As if he can read my mind, he says, “You could be lying to me.”
I wince and look down, but there’s his now fallen cock staring back at me. This is horrible. “I don’t have a boyfriend. We did break up. Really. It’s just I haven’t been with anyone since then. I’m not the sleep around type. Not that I wouldn’t be, or don’t want to be, but I never really had the opportunity. I’m talking too much.”
“So, that’s why you’re freaking out.”
“Why?” I’m not sure what part has filled in the blanks for him.
“Because you haven’t been with that many guys. You’re still feeling loyalty to him.”
Exhaling deeply, I say, “Yes. Exactly.”
“Well that makes sense.”
“Oh good. It just hit me. I’m sorry. It was really bad timing. I’ve never gone down on anyone besides him and when you said I was good…”
He interrupts me, “You’re talking too much again.”
I laugh uncomfortably.
“Sorry. Sorry. This is a really sexy conversation, isn’t it?”
He drops the jeans. “It could be.”
15
Annie
Halter: ripped from my body, literally. Black bra: exposed. Me: Shocked.
________
“I’ll go slow, since you’re such a delicate flower,” he teases, but the heat is back in his eyes and his voice is deep again.
I hear the quick snap of my bra popping open and he slides it off with ease. Breathless, I watch him kissing my nipples as he pulls down my jeans.
“Oooo, that’s nice. Slow is good. I like slow.”
“I don’t like cheating,” he murmurs against my skin, his tongue reaching out to give me a little lick.
I say on a long sigh, “Me neither. Not a fan.”
A whip of his barely contained laughter grazes my bare stomach as he kneels in front of me. I touch his shoulders with the hesitancy of someone who just confessed she’s thinking about her ex. But seeing Brendan’s naked body kneeling in front of me is stripping away my reluctance and fast.
But I can’t get it out of my head that I’ve lied to get here. I can turn back. I can stop and tell him.
“Brendan…” I gasp as he kisses my silk panties, bringing his hand up to slip his finger under.
“Yeah? Mmm… You’ve got hair down here. I like it.” His cock is hardening again as he kisses the silk once more, pressing against me so that I burn for him, opening.
“Brendan? …Oh God.”
He slides my panties down over my legs nice and slow. I step out of them and now there’s nothing covering me except for my socks. I start to wiggle out of them, too, but he stops me.
“Leave ‘em. I’m busy here.”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s more like it.” Without warning, he buries his face in me and lifts up my leg to wrap i
t around his head. I watch his head moving in and out slightly as he licks me. Both his hands are on my ass, with one arm wrapped under me. He pushes my thigh out more so his tongue can easily reach further in. Just like he promised, he licks me slowly, sliding into my folds and caressing my clit with the tip of his tongue. I weave my fingers into his hair and curve my hips so he can get at me. Shivers run up my stomach to my nipples, twisting them.
“You taste so good. I just want to keep eating you.”
“Who’s stopping you?”
He laughs, the sound muffled, which makes me start giggling like crazy. He shuts that right up by plunging his tongue inside me and grabbing my ass harder. I cry out and can’t help but rub on his face, abandoning myself to the quaking that’s just below the surface. I’m moaning so loudly, dripping wet, feeling the sweet burning sensation build more and more.
“Wait. Wait!” I pull on his head. “I need you inside me.”
He rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. Looking down I see his cock is dark and full again. All I want is for him to plunge it deep inside my body.
“You could have both.”
“No. I’ve been waiting for this,” I say, not thinking how strange that must sound. My mind is gone.
His eyebrows rise a little, and something stares back at me that I won’t understand tonight. I grab him and pull him to me as hard as I can. His arms go up on the wall and our bodies press together, my hands on his ribcage, elbows bent. Out of breath, I wrap my leg around his hip, feeling his cock hard against my inner thigh. He reaches for my hands and pulls them over my head, bending his knees to position himself. I move my hips a little to welcome him in and with a single thrust he plunges into me as both of us close our eyes and moan together, our chests smashed. I can taste myself on his lips as he kisses me hard. I do taste good and the lack of shame in tasting this is so intensely hot.
He thrusts into me, going all the way in each and every time, then pulling out like a man who knows exactly how to do it. I cry out into his mouth, over and over as he fills me. It feels like we’re consuming each other. My heart expands as the wave of disbelief takes over me. I yank my mouth away so I can look into his eyes. With my hands held by him over our heads, he looks back at me and groans, moving his hips, lost in his hunger. I grab his mouth in a kiss, making him hammer harder into me, my back slamming against the wall. A primal animal instinct has us. He drops my hands, quickly yanking both my legs up. I grab onto his back and hold on for dear life as we fuck in a dark corner of my bar. Best investment I ever made pops into my head and I almost start to laugh but he shakes his head no and clamps his mouth onto mine again, ramming harder to make my laughter vanish, succeeding instantly. I don’t want it done gently. I want to be fucked like this. Hard and by someone who knows how.
Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series) Page 5