6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Tuesday, June 25th
When Matteo knocked promptly at noon, Danielle squeaked like a cat toy, gulped a deep breath, and quick-stepped to the door. There he stood, leaning on the frame, a knowing smile on his handsome face. Such a sexy, relaxed pose. Did he rehearse in front of a mirror?
“Hi.” She pecked his cheek. “Come in.”
He set his backpack on the table by the door. “I like what Mary’s done with the place.” He gazed around at the cushy couch and white canvas armchairs, the bright pillows embroidered with sea creatures, the porthole mirror above the brick fireplace, and the nautical knickknacks.
“You know the landlady?” she asked.
“Limoncello gelato in a sugar cone and espresso doppio.” He grinned. “I doubt there’s a full-time resident Sal hasn’t introduced me to. Hey.” He stepped around the counter into the kitchen. “That table’s one of mine.”
“Really? I love this piece.” She trailed her fingertips over the tabletop’s little blue and green tiles scattered with gold like glints of sunlight on water.
“This started as doors from an old dining room hutch.” He stroked the blue-tinted wood as if caressing a lover. “Picked up the tiles from an art shop going out of business. Serendipity, eh?”
She nodded. “It’s gorgeous.” Like its creator, the table had a beautiful surface and surprising depth. Original too. An idea snapped into place. “That’s what you should call your shop.”
“Pardon?”
“Serendipity. Perfect name for what you do.” She flushed, aware he could take that in more than one way. “With old furniture, I mean.”
He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever get a shop of my own. For now, I’m doing fine with word of mouth.” His brows drew together as he patted the tabletop. “Not looking to set the world on fire. I just want to make good quality pieces.”
Oh, crap. Did he think she was criticizing him? She brushed the awkward moment aside by fluffing the full skirt of her navy sundress. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”
When he faced her again, the scowl was gone, replaced by a crooked grin. “You look gorgeous. As long as you can climb over rocks in that, you’re golden.” He gestured toward the backpack. “Gourmet picnic for two. Better than braving the mob on Main Street.”
“Not a fan of the tourist hordes?”
He shrugged. “Can’t blame people for loving the beach. But I’d rather focus on you without shouting over the noise, you know?”
She ducked her head to hide her flushed cheeks. “Give me two secs to pack a few things.” Back in the bedroom, she slid into sturdy Keds, rubbed sunscreen on her shoulders and across her nose, then packed her bag with a ball cap from her daughter’s soccer team, a towel, tissues, a phone charger, a few Band-aids and antiseptic wipes…
“God, I’m such a mom.” Too bad she hadn’t packed condoms and lube for this trip, but honestly, the thought had never occurred to her.
Once again, they strolled toward the beach. The sun burned brighter today, and the wind had calmed to a soft breeze that lifted her hair and cooled her damp nape. Matteo kicked off his Vans and led her across the pebble-strewn sand, past lounging families, giggling kids, and dogs chasing sticks and frisbees, until they reached the water’s edge, where he paused, his dark gaze trained on the horizon.
“I never get tired of this,” he murmured. “Il mare. My ancestors have always lived near the sea. Fishermen, boatbuilders, traders—the tides run in our blood.” Stepping behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her breathing slowed, soothed by the waves’ whispered rhythm. Cool breeze at her front, warm man at her back, perfectly at peace.
His grip tightened. “How can it be, bella mia, that I never met you before? Every summer, I was here, and you were here. We must’ve passed on the street dozens of times.”
That very question had danced in her head as she lay in bed last night, basking in the afterglow of Matteo’s kiss. How could she have missed him—in the gelato shop, on the beach, in the stores on Main Street? Just an accident of time, a corner turned two steps ahead of him, a child’s distracting cry, a husband’s grumpy complaint.
She huffed a laugh. Until this spring, she’d been a married woman. Even if he’d caught her eye and flashed that molten smile, what could she have done about it?
“Come on.” He stepped back and reached for her hand again. “Tide’s starting to turn. We’ve gotta hurry to catch this spot. I don’t want you to miss it.” They strolled up the beach, pointing out sights along the way: a formation of pelicans diving with military precision, a joyful yellow Lab splashing into the surf, a trio of little boys giggling as they buried their dad in sand. A bittersweet pang pulled tears to her eyes. So many memories of happier days when her kids were small. But this was a happy day too. Her life had changed, but it wasn’t over.
They reached a wall of stacked boulders. “We cross here,” Matteo said while stepping into his Vans. “Better put your shoes back on.” Holding her hips from behind, he boosted her onto a limpet-encrusted rock. She scrambled over the top and dropped onto a small, deserted cove, no bigger than half a soccer field, ringed by jagged, pine-topped cliffs.
“It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed. “All these years coming to Trappers Cove, I never knew this was here.”
“Ivan’s Hollow. Unless the tide is all the way out, you have to climb the rocks to get in. Every summer, some idiot drives through at low tide, parks too close to the surf line, and loses his truck to the sea.” He dropped his backpack onto the sand and pulled out a checkered blanket. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
While she nestled her butt into the soft sand, Matteo set out paper plates and two foil-wrapped sandwiches. “Ali Baba’s kebabs, the best on the coast. I wasn’t sure which toppings you like, so I got them all on the side.” He arrayed foil packets holding paper-thin slices of red onion, cucumber, tomato, shredded white cabbage, black olives, and slabs of feta cheese. A cardboard tub held garlicky tzatziki sauce, and another held spicy harissa. Cold cans of flavored seltzer water completed the feast.
“Yum!” She paused, bamboo spoon aloft. “Are you having garlic sauce on yours?”
“And onions. Don’t worry, I brought mints for after, just in case.” He waggled his eyebrows.
They loaded up their sandwiches and feasted, tossing bits of pita bread to the ever-increasing flock of seagulls who tap-danced just out of reach. When one got too aggressive, Matteo leapt to his feet and charged at the birds, flapping his arms like a deranged scarecrow. Danielle laughed so hard seltzer sprayed out her nose.
Chuckling, he dropped down beside her again. “We’re at the top of the food chain, baby.” He thumped his chest. “No one’s stealing our kebabs.”
She patted her middle and smiled. “Greasy, spicy, salty goodness. Brilliant choice, Matteo. Thank you.” She stuffed their wrappers into the backpack and leaned back on her elbows with a contented sigh. “Seems you’re always feeding me something delicious. You’ll have to let me cook for you.”
“I like that idea.” He reclined on one elbow and twirled a lock of her hair around his forefinger. “What’s your specialty?”
His smoldering gaze ignited a tendril of lust that meandered through her body and flared between her thighs. She fanned her skirt to hide her squirming. “Well, I make a pretty good coq au vin.”
The corners of his lips inched upward. “It’s a date. I’ll bring the wine.” He rolled away and dug into the backpack. “Speaking of—” He pulled out a leather-covered flask and two tiny metal cups. “Nocino. Walnut liqueur, good for the digestion. Uncle Sal swears by this stuff.”
She took a cautious sip—nutty, with sweet spices, and not too much alcohol. “Delicious.” She drained her cup, then stretched out, head pillowed on her folded arms, and watched cloud castles sail inland. The soft whoosh of surf and the press of midday heat soon had her eyelids drooping. Stifling a yawn, she rolled onto her side. “Don’t want to fall asleep and end up stranded by the tide.”
“I can think of worse fates.” He held up a little tin. “Mint?”
“Subtle, aren’t you?” Giggling, she took one and crunched it up.
“Well, I’ve only got two weeks to convince you.” He popped a mint into his mouth, stretched out on his side, and grinned.
Oh, that minty, garlic-tinged, playful, seductive, beautiful smile. The contrast between dark, close-trimmed whiskers and plush, dusky-pink lips completely undid her.
She sucked in a breath and almost smoothed the tremor from her voice. “Convince me of what?”
“To give this a try.” He pointed to his own chest, then to hers.
“You mean a little vacation fling?”
“No, bella. A woman like you could never be just a fling.”
She snorted—probably not the reaction he was looking for.
But instead of looking hurt, he chuckled. “Too cheesy, eh?”
“Just a little. But thanks for the compliment.”
“So.” He scooted closer on the blanket and rested a hand on her hip. “What do you say? Are you up for an adventure? You’ve got a ready-made escape clause.”
Mere inches away, his nearness made it damned hard to concentrate. “What do you mean?”
“Two weeks. When it’s over, you decide. If you got what you wanted, you leave me behind, knowing you made a lonely guy very, very happy.” His hand slid oh-so-slowly down her thigh. “If you still want more, we’ll figure out a way to make it work.”
“Mmm hmm.” The warmth of his palm burned through her skirt. “And if you don’t want more?”
His voice dropped to a husky growl. “Oh, Danielle, I will definitely want more. Call me crazy, but when we danced, something inside me started to—I don’t know how to describe it. Hum? Glow? Fizz?” One-handed, he bunched her skirt, baring her thigh. The sea breeze raised goosebumps on her exposed skin.
He nuzzled the sensitive crook of her neck. “You and me, we’ve got chemistry. Electricity. Magnetism.” The soft scrape of his beard sped her pulse and melted her bones.
His fingertips skimmed over her upper thigh.
Just a little vacation fling. What difference could it possibly make? When it was over, she’d go back home, and everything would return to normal.
“Two weeks,” she murmured and tugged his shirt loose from his belt. Her greedy hands skated over satin skin.
Maybe he was using her, a convenient distraction to keep the nonnas off his sculpted back, the horny single girls of Trappers Cove out of his silky hair. Even so, what he offered was far too tempting to resist. This gorgeous young man wanted her. The evidence thrust gently against her thigh—a hard, hot ridge of desire.
Heat pooled between her legs, pulsing, demanding. With a groan, she rolled atop him, her sopping panties pressed to his rough denim and splayed her fingers over his firm pecs.
His chest rose and fell beneath her palms. His lids lowered and his lips parted on a sigh as he grasped her hips and arched up against her sex. Back and forth he guided her, each slow pass over his erection shooting bright sparks of pleasure up her spine. Her breath stuttered. She was going to come any second now, and she wanted to feel him deep inside her as she tipped over the edge.
She fell forward and took his mouth in a sloppy, hungry kiss. “Do you have protection?” she murmured against his lips.
He gaped for a moment, then laughed. “Beautiful Danielle, as much as I want you, I don’t want to get sand in your most sensitive places. And the tide’s coming in. Let’s find somewhere more private and less gritty.”
Wincing, she rolled off him. Thank God his brain cells were still firing, because hers were totally fried by lust. While she folded the blanket, he stuffed the remains of their feast into his backpack. He slid the straps over his shoulders and pulled her against him, belly to belly.
There it was again, that perfect balance of sensation: warm, firm body and cool ocean breeze. Soft brown eyes and hard, pulsing cock. Balanced on the sharp edge between risk and safety, delight and disaster, she could turn back now, or plunge ahead. But for just a moment, she rested here and breathed in rhythm with the sea. Whatever came next, she wanted to remember this moment.
She deserved this.
Feigning confidence she didn’t quite feel, she cocked a hip and smiled. “You know, my place has a big, sand-free bed.”
He bit his lip and grinned. “Does it now?”
“And the headboard has pretty carvings. Seashells, I think. Wanna see?”
“How can I resist?” Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he danced her backward. “Artistic furniture is my jam.”
When her heels collided with the rock wall, she tottered and nearly fell.
His arms closed around her shoulders. “Careful. Wouldn’t want to scrape that beautiful skin.”
They stepped into their shoes and scrambled over the rocks. On the other side, Matteo grasped her waist and lifted her down, sliding her against his front in the process. He rocked his hips against her. Head lolling, she clung to him, lost in delirious pleasure.
“Dude,” a voice rang out behind them. “Not in front of my kids.”
“Oh, God.” She buried her face in the crook of his neck and shuddered with mortified laughter. When her kids were little, she’d had to divert their attention from amorous couples on the beach. And now, here she was, dry humping her new friend as if no one else could see. How gloriously tacky. How wicked.
Blushing darkly, Matteo stepped back and waved at the gawking sandcastle builders. “Sorry, guys. We were just, uh…”
Memory served up an explanation she’d used with her own kids. “Dancing. We were dancing. Great castle, guys.” She flashed them a thumbs-up, kicked off her shoes and stuffed them into her bag, then grasped Matteo’s hand and trotted away. Seafoam tickled their toes as they ran along the water’s edge. When the kayak rental place came into view, they turned toward town and slogged through slippery dry sand dotted with broken shells and driftwood.
They continued barefoot. The sand-dusted sidewalk felt good under her feet.
Matteo slung his arm around her shoulders and snugged her tight to his side. A few people heading for the beach greeted him by name as they passed.
“They’ll think I’m your girlfriend,” she whispered.
He squeezed her shoulder. “You are, bella.”
Somewhere in the back of her lust-addled, sun-drunk brain, a warning bell jangled. But when they turned the corner toward her cottage, all thoughts of consequences evaporated like the early-morning fog.
At her front door, he took her hands, a solemn expression on his handsome face. “Danielle, are you sure want this?”
This sweet, horny, so-damn-young man was worried about rushing her. “Do you?”
He nodded slowly. “My bones ache from wanting you.”
A fizzy sensation filled her, as if someone had lifted the top of her skull and poured in a bottle of champagne. “Me too.” She unlocked the door.