Chapter 13 #2
He stops walking and turns to face me. He has such kind eyes. He’s wearing his Sunday evening eyes. The listening ones.
‘I’m boring,’ I blurt. ‘I’ve done nothing with my life, and I’m embarrassed about it, okay? Happy now?’
‘Connie,’ he says, stepping toward me and putting a finger under my chin to gently lift my face. ‘You are anything but boring.’
I shake my head. He’s being polite.
‘It’s only been a couple of days since we met, and you’ve seen me through my first panic attack.
I ran you over. Very much a first for me.
You’ve introduced me to a classy new game called “Tash or Gash”.
And last night you revealed to an entire bar full of people, most of whom I know personally, that you’ve been stalking me on the internet. ’
I blink worryingly at him. Nothing he’s said is inaccurate.
‘Tell me what’s boring about that?’ he says, his face breaking into a huge grin. ‘They’ll never let me forget it. Plus, you’ve been through a really tough time. Your mum died. Cut yourself some slack.’
In a heartbeat, he’s taken me from zero to hero.
I have an incredible urge to hug him. I think my eyes must be heart-shaped, because he studies me intensely.
He probably has no idea what to make of me.
I’m sure women throw themselves, emotionally, at him all the time.
He opens his mouth to say something then shuts it again.
He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. We continue walking in silence, me trying to stem the rising tide of romantic thoughts about him and him probably pretending not to see me looking dreamily at him.
By the time we reach his old-lady scooter, he’s composed himself.
I, on the other hand, am a quivering mess of unrequited lust.
‘May I?’
I nod as he comes in very close. Our bodies are almost touching. The moment is fraught with tension as he slides his hands very slowly from my ribs down to my hips, taking me by surprise. I seriously hope I am not misinterpreting his actions.
‘Checking for concealed weapons?’ I ask. My eyes close briefly as I focus on his hands starting their slow, teasing re-ascent, this time taking my dress with them. His touch is as light as a butterfly flapping against my skin. I gasp when he pulls my dress up to the tops of my legs.
He picks me up and sits me astride his moped in one fluid movement.
The whole thing feels like foreplay, especially now I’m sitting with my bare legs akimbo, new lacy knickers boldly on display.
And just like that, there’s an instant shift in tension.
Matteo gives me a distinct look of lust that sends pangs of desire shooting through me.
I chew my bottom lip as I stare up at him.
For a moment, neither of us moves. His gaze slips from my eyes down over my body.
As if in a trance, I widen my legs a fraction.
This seems to send him into a spin. He inhales sharply.
He clears his throat. ‘Helmet,’ he bellows, breaking the tension. ‘Safety first.’
We put on our helmets and fly through the streets.
I cling on tight and feel the warmth of his taut body under my hands.
It’s no use. My every nerve ending is on fire.
My hands feel as though they are literally burning through his suit.
I take a moment to convince myself that this may all be one-sided. All in my head.
After all, he has not mentioned that magical almost-but-not-quite kiss we shared. I think back. Was it alarm on his face, or did I misread the situation? Our lips were almost touching. It was a sort of magical lip hover. And it was magical. Totally fucking magical, and he must have felt it too.
Unless he didn’t. And I’ve got it all wrong because I am so out of practice.
My nerves are unbelievably fraught. I must behave like a grown woman and stop this obsessive fantasising.
But it is much harder than it sounds. When we come to a stop at a set of traffic lights, he casually twists round to check on me.
He takes his hand from the handlebar, palm up, and nods as though to ask if I’m okay.
Can he not feel my crotch burning into him?
My legs squeezing against him in a provocative manner?
Feeling uncharacteristically brave, I take his hand and place it on my thigh in answer.
My breath catches as I wait to see what he does.
I can see nothing of his face through the helmet.
If he’s not single, or interested, then he’ll move it off my leg and I’ll simply dismount and make my way straight to the airport.
As the lights change to amber, and the moment stretches on with me thinking about hurling myself from the bike to avoid the ensuing embarrassment, he lightly strokes the entire length of my thigh before returning his hand to the throttle. I freeze.
I feckin’ knew it!
We wind our way through the streets down to the sea and along towards the marina with me barely able to think straight.
We park up and I wait, shuddering at the thought of what I want him to do next.
He slides easily off the bike. I hand him my helmet and swish my hair free as though I’m in a hair commercial and doing a hard sell on him.
He steps towards me, not breaking eye contact, and we do the sexy, slidey body thing where he lifts me off the scooter and we are inappropriately touching each other until my feet touch the ground.
I feel the electricity crackle between us.
His dark eyes are full of promise. I lick my lips – they’re not even dry!
– and bat my eyelashes – like I’m in a Fifty Shades film!
– another thing to thank the girls at the salon for: the flamenco-fan lashes.
He holds me close with one arm, clamping me to him tightly, while his other hand roams my back and then cups my bottom, and I melt as he pulls me even tighter against him.
He seems almost bewildered. ‘You do something to me. I can’t explain it. I feel drawn to you.’ He swallows and runs a hand through his hair.
My entire body is on fire. I am in immediate danger of actually panting, my lust for him reaching critical levels. The sun is setting over the mountains, and the air is heavy with fresh salty sea and the aroma of palm trees and olives and distant garlic and herbs. It’s intoxicating.
Matteo takes in a deep gulp of air. ‘I’m about to do something very unprofessional.
’ As if to make absolutely certain that I get his drift, he cups my face with his hands and gently kisses me on the lips.
We take a beat to let his actions sink in.
Technically this is a murky grey area. It could have disastrous repercussions from a client-manager point of view.
And I’m sure Nancy would be the first to disapprove.
I tip my head, eager for more. As soon as our lips touch again there’s an unmistakable charge of energy, like he’s lighting the fuse to a firework.
‘This could complicate things,’ he says.
‘Could it?’ My voice is huskier than a phone-sex worker just back from the night shift.
I am trembling from head to toe and very much of the opinion that this could be one of those relationships that can become quite physically sexual yet still retain a certain modicum of professional distance.
Before either of us changes our minds, I reach up to return the kiss.
As our lips melt together, we struggle to pull apart.
It feels so wrong yet so, so right. Matteo looks as startled as I feel, with his hair a bit messed up from me manhandling it and his cheeks flushed.
‘I’m never this spontaneous,’ he says, blinking a few times as if to get himself together before leading me over to the marina.
I float alongside him, admiring the brute force of his stride, his long legs, his firm grip on my hand and the sexy way he keeps looking at me as though to check I’m real before he shakes his head as if he’s wondering if he’s lost his mind.
It feels like a wild dream. If I’m Cenicienta then he is totally my Prince fucking Charming.
The water twinkles like it’s covered in sparkling jewels, reflecting the last of the setting sunlight. It’s enchanting and dreamlike.
‘Is this where they find me at the bottom of the ocean wearing concrete boots?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Concrete is so bad for the marine life. We only use kelp now.’
I find his passion for the future of the planet a huge turn-on. I’m about to tell him when we suddenly reach an imposing yacht rising majestically out of the marina. It’s straight out of a music video, complete with supermodels in bikinis serving trays of drinks.
I gasp.
‘I had no idea you had such a… big one…’ I trail off, making myself sound filthy dirty yet suddenly overwhelmed at the same time.
‘Come on, let’s get you on stage. Just follow the playlist, interact regularly with the audience and try not to do any avant-garde stylings,’ he says briskly like he’s arranging a military coup. ‘Then I’ll give you a tour.’
I find this sort of professional adeptness enormously engaging. I gaze up at him moonily, wondering if he can see the twinkling stars bursting from my eyes.
I’m in a perfect moment.
I allow myself to fast-forward and imagine us being together. An actual couple in a fully functioning relationship. Him, not minding my lack of joie de vivre and my frequent teary outbursts, and me, able to ignore his too-perfect looks and the fact that he is my boss.