20. A Little Fun
CHAPTER 20
A LITTLE FUN
R affaele
Sleep threatens to overtake me, my lids growing heavier by the moment, as I pace the small confines of the hotel room. With this quiet time to reflect, the guilt has started to set in. I’ll have to apologize to Bianca later. I hate the feeling of lack of control, and clearly, I do not do well with surprises. The apartment not being ready was bad enough, but then to be forced to spend the night in this tiny room with Isabella is pushing my restraint to the limit. I shouldn’t have taken it out on the owner of the pensione … Damn it, Giuseppe was right about my temper.
I heave out a breath, and my stomach rumbles reminding me I’m also starving. At this point, I’m not certain what I want more: to join Isabella in that bed for an hour of blessed sleep or a pizza. Shaking my head, I remind myself I can’t have either.
My mouth waters, and I’m not certain if it’s from the idea of food or her . A curtain of dark hair is splayed across her pillow, her lips slightly parted in sleep. I watch, hypnotized, at the gentle rise and fall of her chest, at her perfect breasts straining against her pale blue blouse.
I’ve been watching her like a coglione for the past two hours as she sleeps peacefully, and it’s absolute torture. Besides being sleepy as all hell myself, I’ve been swept with the most overwhelming desire to curl up beside her.
It has to be sleep-deprivation.
I do not cuddle.
I wasn’t lying to Isabella earlier, I do not do relationships. That doesn’t mean I don’t occasionally fuck women… I’m no saint by any means. I need an occasional release like any man, and my rough palm doesn’t always do the trick.
But with her… I’m suddenly inundated with all these feelings . Feelings I’d promised myself long ago I’d bury, never to see the light of day again. It is the only way to survive in this line of work.
A faint sound purses Isabella’s lips, drawing my attention to the bed. She rolls over, and her skirt crawls up her thighs, revealing soft, milky-white flesh. A groan vibrates my throat as a hint of pink panties appear.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I force myself to turn around. Improper. Unprofessional. Wrong . With my cock already thickening, I compel my feet toward the window. Tourists line the busy streets just a stone’s throw from the Colosseum, it’s ancient crumbling columns standing proud against the brilliant sun. It’s just past three in the afternoon and all the stores are opening once again, after the typical afternoon closures. The Spaniards aren’t the only Europeans who take a mid-day siesta, even the eternal city comes to a halt for lunch. My stomach grumbles again, but at least my hunger for food turns my thoughts away from the other hunger coiling beneath my belt.
“What time is it?” A familiar raspy voice jerks my attention from the sights below. Isabella sits up, and a yawn escapes her pursed lips.
“Just past three.”
She stretches her arms over her head and her blouse rides up, gifting me a sneak peek of skin. “Why’d you let me sleep for so long?”
I shrug. “You seemed tired.”
“Now I’ll never sleep tonight.”
“Sure you will, just have a glass of wine with dinner, and you’ll sleep like a baby.”
Isabella’s dark brow arches, the corner of her mouth lifting with it. “Are you trying to get me drunk, signor Ferrara?”
“I would never, signorina Valentino.” But a smile crawls across my lips all the same. “Now get ready, I’m starving, and I haven’t had real food in years.”
“Real food?”
“Yes, you know, Italian food.”
With an eyeroll that has my palm twitching, she slides to the edge of the mattress and laces up her sneakers. Once they’re on, she slowly rises, pinning me in that wary gaze. “So where are you taking me for dinner? A romantic spot by the Colosseum?”
“Oh Dio, no. All they have around here are tourist traps. You won’t find any real Roman food in this area. We’ll have to go to the outskirts of town.”
“Great. Is Sal ready to go?”
I shake my head at her, a grin creeping across my face. “It’s our first night in Rome, the most beautiful city in the world, we’re walking, principessa .”
“I guess it’s a good thing I have my sneakers on then.”
I eye her oversized American shoes, and I must scowl because she saunters up to me and slaps her hands on her hips.
“What? What’s wrong with my Hokas?”
“Nothing. If you want to look like a tourist… You might as well be waving an American flag as you walk.”
A laugh tumbles from her lips and Dio , that sound kicks up my sluggish heartbeat. She twists her foot, eyeing the bright yellow and orange shoe. “They’re not that bad, are they?”
“If you want to look like a real Italian, I’ll take you to buy some more appropriate footwear tomorrow.”
“Thanks, I think,” she mumbles. “I’m not sure if I should be upset about you insulting my sense of shoe style or appreciative for the tip.”
“Definitely the latter.” I twist the knob and hold the door open. “Now come on, I’m literally going to eat my arm off in a second.”
After a quick walk by some of the city’s most iconic sights, the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, and St. Peter’s Basilica, I’d really worked up an appetite. But I can’t even focus on eating more with this tempting woman sitting across from me.
“Oh, Dio , this is heaven.” Isabella slurps up the final bite of spaghetti carbonara with a groan, and I shift uncomfortably beneath the worn wooden table. The quaint trattoria is nearly empty, with only one other table occupied besides ours. It’s exactly why I picked it.
Watching this woman eat has been a true testament of my self-control. I’ve never met anyone enjoy food the way she does. Every bite comes with a groan or a moan, a licking of lips or some other tantalizing gesture that has fire racing to my cock.
I finished my meal in record time and have spent the last twenty minutes watching her devour the pasta. I never thought the simple act of eating could be so damned sexy. I reach for the glass of wine and down a deep gulp. Drinking on the job is one of those hard and fast rules, but cazzo , being with this woman makes me want to throw all my guidelines out the damned window.
Just tonight. So I can sleep.
If I have any hopes of getting quality rest on the floor, I’ll need to be knocked unconscious.
Isabella draws her glass to her lips and takes a healthy swallow of the red wine. A giggle snakes out as she finishes it and reaches for the bottle. The second bottle she ordered. Shit, how much has she had to drink? Not only have I allowed myself to indulge, but I haven’t kept an eye on her intake of alcohol either.
In the past month since I started working for the Valentinos, I’ve only seen her drink that one time when she escaped the penthouse to attend Serena’s party. Which means her tolerance cannot be that high…
The waiter appears, drawing my attention back to the present, holding a chilled bottle of limoncello. “Compliments of the chef.” He offers Isabella a smile as he sets down the small glass and begins to fill it with the lemon liqueur.
“ Grazie .” She smiles brightly at the young guy, and a twist of jealousy uncoils in my gut.
I place my hand over the shot glass before she can grab it. “I think you’ve had enough tonight, principessa .”
“All I had was some wine. I feel totally fine.” She winks at the waiter. “Don’t I seem fine?”
“Oh, yes, you certainly do. Sei bellissima .”
“Excuse me?” I growl, rising to my full height and towering over the guy who had the nerve to call my client beautiful.
He cowers, taking a step back. “ Scusi . I meant no disrespect, signore . I did not realize you were her boyfriend.”
“He’s not,” she blurts. And for some damned reason, her words sting.
You’re not her boyfriend, you stronzo . You are her guard . I repeat it over and over to myself, hoping it’ll get through my thick skull.
While I’m distracted, she downs the glass of limoncello then licks her lips, eyeing me with a smug grin.
“For you, signore ?” The waiter has balls to even dare offer.
“No,” I bark.
“Oh, come on, Raf. Loosen up a little…” Isabella brings the cool glass to my lips and the tangy scent of lemon fills my nostrils.
“It’s not a good idea.”
“Fine, then I’ll have it.” She shoots it before I can stop her.
“Isabella, no more,” I hiss.
“Who are you, my father? I’m twenty-two years old, Raf. You can’t tell me what to do, or what to drink and most of all who to date.” She eyes the young man again and bats her dark lashes. “I’m Isabella by the way, and you are?”
Oh, fuck no . I leap up so quickly my knee hits the bottom of the table and the entire thing rattles, sending plates and utensils scattering. This was a mistake. This is exactly why I stick to my rules, to my carefully calculated procedures, to prevent moments like these.
Dropping a wad of Euros on the table, I pull Isabella to her feet.
“What are you doing?” she screeches.
“We’re going back to the hotel.”
“But I’m not ready to go…”
“We’re leaving anyway.” I drag her to the door as she flails, and a handful of curious gazes flicker in our direction. “ Ci scusi. Mia moglie ha bevuto troppo ,” I call out over my shoulder as she tries to squirm out of my hold.
“I’m not drunk, and I’m not his wife!” she shouts.
Once we make it outside, she wraps her hand around a light post, halting us, and glares up at me, bright blue eyes ablaze beneath the lamplight. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Damn it, Raf, I was just having a little fun. We were at a freaking restaurant, why can’t I have some fucking limoncello?”
“Because you’re already well past tipsy and two more shots of limoncello will get you black out drunk.”
“Maybe that’s what I want. Did you ever think about that?” She twirls around the post, head back and eyes to the night sky. “It’s our first night in Rome! I just want to enjoy it.”
“Enjoy it in the daytime when you’re sober, and we have our normal retinue of guards.”
“Oh, my, God, Raf! You’re going to drive me crazy.” She tugs at the long locks of hair cascading down her shoulders. “I came here to escape, to finally have an ounce of freedom and you’re making it impossible.”
“I’m not here to cater to your whims, principessa . I’m here to keep you alive. Can’t you understand that?”
She closes the distance between us and jabs a slender finger into my chest. “What good is being alive if you can’t actually live?”
“It all trumps being dead.” I bring my hands to her face, cupping her cheeks. I’m too close to her, but I can’t stop myself. My head spins, a mad pounding in my skull a mixture of fury and the warm haze of wine. “Trust me.”
She inches closer, her body flush against mine. Her tongue darts out, dragging across her bottom lip and a flare of lust widens her pupils.
Fuck.
My eyes latch onto hers, the fire building in those crystalline irises igniting something deep inside me. The most overwhelming urge to capture those pouty lips rolls through my entire body. Every fiber of my being screams to close the distance, to taste the promise of her breath mingled with mine, as the quiet Roman streets around us fade to nothing but the electric space between us.
Instead, I wrap my hands around her hips and haul her over my shoulder.