Beautiful Secret

by Dana Faletti

“No, no, Nattina is coming with us, too. We all go, and you must come along.” Olivia didn’t look up when she spoke, and her words sounded muffled against the towel.

  “I’m not really into clubbing.” Also, she wanted to get a good night’s rest so that she could find that Trunca address tomorrow and deliver Zia’s mysterious package. “And how old is Nattina? Can she even get into the clubs?”

  “Anyone can get into the clubs here, Tatiana. There is no age limit,” Olivia said. “And Nattina is fifteen.”

  Fifteen and exposing her breasts to the entire nation of Calabria. Nice.

  Tate immediately chastised herself for judging. If only she could be so confident about her own body. Her grouchy spell had nothing to do with Nattina’s nudity and everything to do with the idea of going to a dance club. She yawned, then pushed herself up from the pebbles.

  “Maybe I’ll take another dip,” she told Oliva.

  Perhaps this time, the sea would not only wash away her inhibitions but also put her in the frame of mind to try new things. Like clubbing.

  As she stepped back into the water, a vision of her bike ride with Michel swam into her mind. She sure hadn’t planned on spilling her guts to him that afternoon. Afterward, she’d not only felt free but she’d felt cared for, having found an unlikely ally in the cousin she’d just met.

  Maybe the trick to happiness wasn’t in the best-laid plans, Tate thought as she waded through the clear blue, but in how you react to what you never planned for.

  She hadn’t planned on going clubbing during this trip, but what the heck. Maybe tonight would surprise her.

  Chapter 29

  Tate

  “Is there some kind of special event going on here tonight?” Tate asked. The immense line of cars that snaked up the cliffside toward the entrance to Bibba was moving at a speed of about three miles per hour. At this rate, they might get into the club by two in the morning. Not that Tate really cared to actually be in the club, but it was getting stuffy in the car, and Giuliana refused to turn on the air. She was convinced that air conditioning was bad for her skin.

  “This is typical for Bibba, Tatiana,” Giuliana told her as she adjusted the rearview mirror. “It is a popular club, and in summer there are many people on vacation in this part of Italy.”

  Tate sat back and tried not to inhale the lingering smell of cigarette smoke that laced the air. She dug her phone from her purse and considered sending Suri a text. It was around dinnertime at home and chances were slim that Tate would catch her, but she could try.

  Hello, friend.

  A minute lapsed before her screen lit up with a response.

  Hi! How’s Italy?

  Hot. How’s Pittsburgh?

  Hot too. U don’t like it there?

  I do. It’s amazing.

  Have you visited Nana’s town?

  Not yet.

  How was it saying good-bye to the hot Frenchie? LOL

  Tate had almost forgotten that Suri had no idea she was here with Michel and Zio. She’d told her friend nothing of her travel mishap.

  Broke my heart to leave him. I’ll survive, though. LOL

  Tate had no idea why she was lying to her best friend.

  You better survive. I miss you!

  Miss you too. Gotta go. Cousins taking me out tonight.

  Have fun!

  I will. Ciao!

  Cute. Ciao to you. See you soon.

  She tucked both her phone and her secret away in her purse.

  An hour later, when they finally arrived at the club, Tate understood what all of the buzz was about. Bibba was perched on the edge of a tall precipice overlooking the sea, its grandiose dome-shaped ceiling opened to expose the stars. As she followed Giuliana and Olivia to the dance floor, she noticed a glistening swimming pool, complete with a dazzling rock waterfall.

  “Nattina, I’ve never seen anything like this,” Tatiana said, her eyes wide. Women in bikinis lounged on chaises that were strung with white Christmas lights. Children splashed and shrieked amid the reverberating techno sound of the music ahead.

  “You like?” Nattina asked, grinning.

  Tate wasn’t sure if like was the right word.

  “I’m impressed.”

  The dance floor was a massive sea of people, all seeming to be under the same musical spell, bouncing in time. Beyond it, in the center of a sprawling rotunda, stood a round mahogany bar with ornately carved bronze-backed stools circling it.

  “Does anyone else want a drink?” Tate asked her cousins.

  Giuliana and Nattina declined and headed straight to the dance floor.

  “I’ll accompany you, Tayeet,” Olivia said, and laughed, her large square front teeth flashing brightly. Earlier, Tate had told the three sisters how no one at home in Pittsburgh called her by her full name, and Olivia had been practicing using the nickname.

  “It’s cute how you say it,” Tate told her, grinning as they approached the smooth wooden bar. Olivia slid through the thick crowd and snuck into a space between two couples, one a pair of women who were engaged in a heavy makeout session, their tongues unabashedly sampling each other’s flavors. Tate coughed, shocked at what she considered to be an erotic public display, but Olivia didn’t bat an eye.

  “You like whiskey?” Olivia asked Tate, staring ahead at the bartender and waving a bill in the air.

  Tate cleared her throat and tore her eyes away from the two women. “Vodka,” she said. “Or rum. Not whiskey.” She’d gotten sick on whiskey the night before her college graduation, and ever since then, she couldn’t even stand to smell it.

  A dark-skinned man in a white T-shirt that accentuated a tight pack of abs approached. He leaned forward from behind the bar and a lock of black hair fell into his eyes.

  “Buona sera, belle ragazze,” he said, pushing the hair out of onyx eyes that were heavily hooded with thick lashes. Tate felt her stomach tense with raw attraction. She wasn’t sure if it was the deep bass of his voice or the fact that he’d called them beautiful that had sent her libido over the edge.

  “Che cosa prende da bere?” he asked. What can I get you to drink?

  “Una Coca whiskey e una vodka al melone,” Olivia said coolly, then turned to Tate. “You will like the melon vodka. It is a specialty of Calabria.”

  Tate was still staring at the bartender. “Sounds delicious,” she said, curling her toes in one of her high-heeled sandals and squeezing her thighs together tightly. She stole another glance at the lesbians next door, who were still busy in their study of each other’s mouths, and then looked away quickly. A noticeable warmth gathered in her center and began crawling down her belly. Taking a shallow breath and once again fixing her eyes on the dark-eyed god behind the counter, Tate licked her lips, then shook her head.

  What the hell had gotten into her?

  “Tayeet?” Olivia’s voice sing-songed.

  Tate wiped the sweat off of her brow and leaned into her cousin. “He’s hot, don’t you think?”

  Olivia’s musical giggle played just loudly enough to be contagious. Tate fell into laughter alongside her until the bartender came back with their drinks.

  “Grazie.” Olivia leaned her full breasts onto the bar and twirled a thick curl with her finger as she gazed brazenly at him.

  “Prego, bella.” You’re welcome, beautiful. He handed her the two drinks, and she gave one to Tate.

  “Salute,” Olivia said, raising her glass. The clink and tumble of ice cubes tickled Tate’s ears as she held her drink up to meet her cousin’s.

  “Salute.” Tate brought the clear liquid to her lips. She could smell the musky, sweet flavor of melon, and when the thick vodka slid down her throat, the burn felt so good she sighed audibly.

  “You like it?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She smiled and downed the rest of the cocktail. “I’ll get the next round.”

  After three drinks—and several long stares at the hottie who’d mixed them—Tate was more than ready to shake loose on the dance floor. The perfe
ct heat of sugary alcohol had settled in her belly, and she could feel the blush on her cheeks. She linked arms with Olivia, and they walked with swagger to find the other girls.

  Swimming through the sweaty vortex of bodies, Olivia spotted her sisters and gave Tate the thumbs-up signal to follow her. As the music hit a crescendo, the sound synced with Tate’s pulse, her heart beating in time with the techno rhythm. Lost in the music, Tate’s hips moved of their own accord, and her arms rose above her head and began swaying without her permission as she reached her cousins. Nattina and Giuliana were dancing with a group that Tate assumed were the friends they’d planned to meet here at Bibba. Olivia sidestepped into the mix, clapping her hands and wiggling her curves into the center of the crowd. The girl had a quirky nerve about her, a sexy nonchalance that Tate found refreshing.

  The music changed then, and the words of one of Tate’s favorite songs rose on her lips.

  “I need to be free with you tonight…” she sang, closing her eyes and letting the undulating rhythm lead her in the dance. Suddenly there were hands around her waist, a warm body at her back, grinding against her own. For a split second, her imagination conjured the image of the hot bartender, but when the man’s rough-skinned fingers reached around and brushed her lips from behind, she knew it was Michel. She turned to face him, and when she found his eyes, it was as if the DJ scratched the record. The music stopped and time stood still.

  “I’ve been wondering all day—” She started, about to tell him how she wanted to know where he was today, if he was okay, and why he’d given her the cold shoulder the night before. But he shushed her, taking her face in his hands and running his fingers through her sweaty curls.

  “I’m here, cousine.” His eyes drilled into hers, still and solid and reaching. Tate felt as if her body was being lifted off the ground, as if she were floating into a lusty haze of unreality.

  She anchored herself to the floor, tensing her feet inside her sandals. “How did you know I was here?”

  The shadow of a grin crossed Michel’s face, and his eyes softened for a fraction of a second. “Zia Mimma said you went to discotheque,” he said. “The girls always go to Bibba. Everyone goes to Bibba.” He looked away, failing miserably at his attempt at nonchalance.

  Tate smirked at him. “So, you followed me.”

  “Tatiana,” he said, his voice gruff, “I did follow you.”

  Tate’s breath caught. She knew without a doubt, by the fierceness in his tone, the sharp hunger that coated his eyes, that this was the point of no return.

  With no thought for the crowd bouncing around them, they came together, their bodies finding a rhythm that was altogether physical, primal. Michel’s hands cupped the back of Tate’s neck, lifting her hair off of her skin. He dipped his face into the curls behind her ear and breathed her in, long and slow. She shuddered, angling her body upward and into his, her legs parted just enough for him to rest between them.

  Her eyes mostly closed, Tate turned, pushing her back into him, letting his hands trail over her bare shoulders and fall open over her breasts. His thumbs paused to draw circles on her nipples, pressing hard through the thin sheath of her silk blouse.

  “Jesus,” she sighed, biting her lip and arching her back. She grabbed the tops of his solid thighs, squeezing and kneading the muscles she so wanted to have wrapped around her body. Their hips swayed to the music together as his hands continued across her skin, down the length of her flat belly, and over her upper thighs. His fingertips snuck beneath her loose denim skirt and edged along the sides of her panties.

  Tate felt herself clenching with need, wet with tight anticipation.

  She turned to him then, her breasts against his chest, her hand at the curve of his backside. “Michel,” she breathed his name onto the stubble of his chin.

  “Yes,” he answered and took her hand, leading her away from the dance floor.

  They never said good-bye to their three young cousins, but in a moment of judiciousness, Tate glanced over her shoulder. Olivia stood watching them. The bronze-haired beauty tipped her head to Tate, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes, then turned and continued to shake her sinuous body to the music.

  Michel stopped, sensing Tate’s pause. “Are you okay, Tatiana?”

  She didn’t answer him but softly pressed her lips to his, tasting him slowly as her hands wound through his hair. Immediately, Michel responded, his mouth opening and taking her tongue inside. Tate lost herself in the kiss—sucking, biting, breathing only because she had to. When their faces parted just an inch, the fever between them was measurable.

  “Tatiana, I would like to take you somewhere…right now.” His voice was strained, as if it hurt him to speak.

  Tate nodded. “Okay.”

  As they walked hand in hand out of the club and into the parking lot, humid air settled onto Tate’s damp shoulders. They approached a row of motorbikes, and Michel stopped in front of one. He handed her a helmet.

  “What’s this?” she asked him, her eyes falling on the black and chrome motorbike in front of them.

  “This is how I get around Calabria.” His voice was almost a whisper, his Adam’s apple trembling as he spoke. “Is it okay for you?”

  Tate’s absolute aversion to self-inflicted danger had made her an avid critic of motorcycles. She’d always sworn she’d never ride one, but this wasn’t exactly a motorcycle, right?

  Still holding the helmet between them, Michel rubbed his thumb over her fingers. She slid her tongue across her upper teeth as she met his eyes, their forward stare unhinging her. The same feeling of abandon she’d felt earlier on the beach at Tropea, washed over her then. The promise of feeling her body tucked tightly into Michel’s on his motorbike was bigger than her fear of danger.

  As she slid the helmet over her head, clicking the buckle at her chin, she dove deep and shoved away any caution that still lingered on her conscience, determined to accept this invitation into the unexpected.

  “Yes, it’s okay,” she said, and watched Michel climb onto the bike, his legs straddling the machine. He reached for her with one arm, and she mounted behind him, unable to help noticing the heat of the black leather between her bare legs. And when she curled her body into his, her arms wrapping around him for dear, dear life in more than one sense of the phrase, she exhaled, her worries ebbing into the sea that was him.

  Chapter 30

  Tate

  His hands were everywhere, all at once. And his mouth followed suit.

  She had no idea whose house they were in. She didn’t care.

  Her white blouse lay in a crumpled heap on the tile floor, her heels at different ends of the room, and her skirt… The location of her skirt was anyone’s guess.

  Enveloped by all of him, she stood in her bra and white panties with the lace trim, aching for him to rip them off, thinking she might rip them off herself if he didn’t hurry up.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, Michel stopped suddenly, pulling his face away from hers for a moment. His eyes, only half open and frosted with hunger, worked their way slowly over her body, his hands hanging, fingers curled, at his sides.

  Tate stood back just enough to let him see every part of her and dared him to drink her in. She reached behind her back, undid the clasp of her bra, and released her breasts for his eyes. Tossing her bra to the floor, she lingered there inside his gaze, wondering how long it would take for him to act.

  She didn’t have to wait long. He smashed his lips into hers with the force of too many unfinished yesterdays. His hands went to work—one scalloping beneath the cheek of her ass, tickling, tempting, the other massaging her breasts. She could feel how hard he was through his boxer briefs and pushed herself against him, his need exciting her all the more.

  Tate cupped Michel’s tight backside as his lips danced along her neck and his fingers continued to caress her nipples. Taking gulps of thick, salty air, the pungent taste of sex on her tongue, she felt like she was evaporating in his hands.
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  “You’re driving me crazy,” she whispered, hardly able to form words around her heavy breath.

  He pulled her hard to him then and held her like that, a groan of pleasure or maybe frustration escaping his lips. Tate sighed at the feel of his hands on her ass, his fingertips resting just inside the soft cotton. There was no space between them, their bodies flush against each other.

  “Your skin is perfect,” he said, kissing her shoulder and then her collarbone.

  She said nothing as he lifted her gently off of her feet and laid her on her back on the king-sized bed she hadn’t even noticed was behind them in the dark room. His mouth continued tracking down her body, resting at her breasts, his tongue flicking around and around one rosy bud until Tate thought she might just die. Turning her face and taking a deep breath of sheets that smelled of must and seaspray, Tate felt her muscles slacken and tense and slacken again. She bent one knee up, bowing her body into Michel’s as his hands ran the length of her, their roughness adding an extra layer of hot friction. Just when she was about to implode with desire, his mouth moved across her chest to her other breast, starting its study all over again.

  Strands of golden hair tickled her ribs as his face made its way down her belly, the stubble on his chin burning just enough to make her quiver, and when his kisses teased over the white cotton that hid her throbbing sensitivity, her hips started moving. He peeled away her underwear, and she squeezed her eyes shut as his tongue and lips moved in slow, hot circles, his callused hands caressing the backs of her calves.

  Just as colors exploded behind her eyes, his body was on top of hers, filling her up and moving with her. She cried out, her muscles clutching around him, taking in as much as he could give.

  When Michel collapsed atop her, his body spent, his breath coming slower over her skin, she wrapped her arms tight around his torso, not ready to come apart from him just yet. She tucked her foot into the crease behind his knee and stilled herself in the moment.

  A hush fell over the space around them as he slid out of her, leaving a trail of warm, comfortable wet on her inner thighs. Tate sighed as Michel flipped onto his side and pulled her body into his own, spooning himself around her so that they were once again skin to skin, her back angled into his chest. Michel’s bony chin rested just above her shoulder from behind, and Tate smiled sleepily at the feel of his thick eyelashes brushing her cheek.