CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
Eyes locked on each other, we dragged my dress hem up my thighs, over my pelvis, exposing my black underwear with the little satin bow, until my hipbone and the bunch of grapes with an ocean wave all in grayscale came into view.
“Nothing fancy,” I croaked out. “I just liked how it represented my new life.”
With his index finger, he touched each grape, counting them in Italian. “Dieci,” he said. “Ten. One for every member of your family.”
“Yeah,” I breathed, impressed that he figured it out so quickly.
His thumb grazed my hipbone, sending electric zaps to all my erogenous zones. “I like it.”
“Me too.”
Releasing my hip, he gently, slowly tugged my dress back down my legs. “I have a tattoo.”
“Yeah?”
“You can see it on the next date.” His smile made me want to lunge up, grab him by the back of the neck, and devour his mouth. “Incentive.”
“Is that your way of securing that second date? Because the dinner and company already locked that in for you.”
Twisting our fingers back together, he nodded. “Just trying to make it impossible for you to say no.”
“It’s already impossible,” I breathed.
“Bella?”
“Si?” I asked, playfully.
“Can I hold you?” The sincerity in his eyes was almost too much.
The first date of my life, and it was with the most genuine, passionate, patient man in the entire world.
How was that possible? How did men like him still exist?
I wasn’t sure they did in America, which was why we had to import them from the Old World.
My head bobbed, even though I wasn’t sure what “hold you” meant.
He helped me sit up, then gently, as if cradling a newborn foal and not a woman in her thirties with damp panties, he maneuvered us so we were spooning on his couch with him behind me.
“We are in no rush for things,” he said, his wine-scented breath against my neck as we settled in. “What do they call this in books?”
“Torture?” I asked, loving the way his thumb had found my hipbone over my dress and drew erotic little circles around it.
Huffing a laugh, he kissed my shoulder. “No. A slow fire?”
“Oh.” I chuckled. “A slow burn. Yeah, this is a slow burn all right.”
“You are okay with that?”
Was I?
While I was nervous as hell to take things to the bedroom, considering I hadn’t had sex with a man since Sam was conceived, every cell in my body screamed with the urgency to be beneath Tom.
To feel his skin against mine, his weight on me.
I knew he’d be gentle. That he wouldn’t hurt me, and would undoubtedly bring me pleasure—for the first time ever during sex.
Even if I didn’t orgasm, it would be better than every single time Rufus climbed his bloated, old, zombie corpse on top of me, pumped twice, grunted, then rolled over and went to sleep.
“You have not answered, bella. Are you okay with the slow burn of us?”
“I am,” I finally said. “We’re getting to know each other.”
He kissed my shoulder again. “We are. And I really like what I am learning.”
“Me too.”
Lulled by the fire, the warmth of the strong man behind me, and those hypnotic circles on my hip, I closed my eyes and melted deeper into his buttery-soft, vegan leather couch—something he had told me earlier that night—and closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, my body was an inferno, and a steel pipe prodded my back.
Where was I?
I had to blink a few times to realize I wasn’t at home, and a pig snorted and snuffled in her sleep in a bed in front of me with a dead fireplace behind her.
Fingers clasped mine, and as I studied the hand attached to them, with the light dusting of hair, the prominent veins and the scars on the knuckles, every moment of last night’s perfection came crashing back down on me.
Even though I was hot, I smiled and snuggled deeper into his arms.
“Buongiorno, bella,” he said, his voice deep and gritty behind me before he kissed my shoulder. “You slept happily?”
Smiling, I spun around in his loosened grasp and faced him. “I did. You?”
“Like an old man who took out his hearing devices.”
Portia snorted in her bed and stretched as she climbed out, grunting and nudging my butt with her nose.
“Si, si, caro mia.” He shifted behind me, which only served to prod me even more with that iron bar in his pants.
I quickly sat up and averted my eyes from his lap as he sat up, ran his fingers through his hair, and went to the kitchen.
“She is my alarm clock, this pig. Must have her breakfast at the same time every day.”
My head was a little cloudy, which made sense considering how much wine I drank last night, but I stood up and said a little thank you to the grape gods that I didn’t stumble or feel like I needed to throw up.
“Cappuccino?” he asked, grabbing a cute little metal pot from the cupboard.
Portia grunted.
“Yes, yes. Hang on, you.” Filling up the kettle, he put it on the gas range stove to heat up. “Hmm?” His eyes held mine, an eagerness there that had me wanting to not only stay for coffee, but breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
My phone was in my purse on the island, untouched since I had arrived. So I grabbed it and checked the time. “I would love to, but I really should get home. It’s after seven.”
He glanced down at the pig. “You let us sleep in?”
Portia stretched again and grunted.
Rolling his eyes, he grabbed a banana off the counter, snapped it into two pieces, and handed one to his pet.
“Just hang on, and I’ll get your breakfast.” Lifting his gaze back to me, the soundtrack of our moment currently a pig noisily eating her banana, he smiled almost shyly.
“I understand. I want to see you again.”
I stepped toward him, boldly looping my arms around his neck. His hands found my waist, and it was all I could do not to melt into him until I didn’t know where he ended and I began. “Date number two, remember? I still need to find out where your tattoo is.”
His grip on me tightened in a thrilling and possessive way. “Ah, right. You could always come by later today with Sam.”
That made me smile. “You might get sick of me if I come over too often.”
“You are like good Italian wine, Danica St. Claire. I could never get sick of you.”
“Good Italian wine, or good San Camanez Island merlot?”
His shoulders jostled playfully. “Okay, sure.”
I grinned even wider. “Thank you again for last night.”
“Prego, bella.” Then he kissed my forehead, took my hand and, like an absolute gentleman, he walked me to my car. “Come by later with Sam. Mouse responded well to you. We should continue that.”
“So … come over for Mouse?” I pouted.
Cupping my face in his hands, he stared into my eyes.
“Not just for Mouse.” Then he kissed me, as softly and sweetly as last night, but soon it grew more heated and he had me pressed up against the side of my RAV as the chilly morning wind off the water swirled my hair around us.
I wrapped my arms around his neck again, pulling him down to me, feeling his erection once again prod my hip.
With a growl, he tore away, both of us out of breath.
“Slow fire. Remember, bella?”
With my lips tingling, I swallowed and nodded. “Right. Slow fire.”
He opened the driver’s side door for me, and I climbed in. “See you later … alligator.”
I don’t know why, but that made me burst out laughing. Along with his adorable grin, puffy lips, and that roguish shimmer in his eyes.
“After a while … crocodile.” Then I closed my door and drove off, spending way too much time glancing in my rearview mirror as I made my way up the gravel driveway. I gave the horn a little honk at the top, smiled as wide as a whale shark when he waved, and pulled out onto the road.
I had just spent the night in the arms of a man I really liked. A man I really cared about.
Not only that, but he was a kind, decent person, and my kid liked him.
Was it finally my turn for a happily ever after with a man? Or was there some person out there with a vendetta against me, holding onto a rug just waiting for the right time to yank it out from under me? At this point, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if there were.