11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Wednesday Night
Holding her hand, Matteo led her up the stairs. “Sorry about Sal. He’s as bad a matchmaker as the nonnas. Shoulda told him about my promise not to pressure you.”
Matteo was right, but she couldn’t resent the old guy for his loving intentions. “He means well. He loves you and wants you to be happy.”
Clasping her hips, he danced her through the doorway. “You know, I’m pretty damn happy at the moment.”
Danielle kicked off her sandals beside the front door and surveyed Matteo’s home. Though small, the apartment felt airy and open. An eclectic mix of paintings, posters, and photos covered the walls. A squashy leather loveseat and chairs clustered around a colorful Kilim rug, facing one of those ski-chalet mini fireplaces. The sitting area, dining table, and kitchenette took up two-thirds of the space, separated from the bedroom by a divider of wooden crates holding vases, bowls, and other artsy knickknacks. She stroked the glossy wood. “Clever. Your work?”
“Yeah. Got a good deal on crates from a defunct cannery. Amazing what you can build with these. End tables, desks, platform beds, you name it.” He switched on a small speaker, and soft jazz filled the apartment. He stepped up behind her and trailed his fingertips down her ribs to the swell of her hips. “Didn’t have much time to clean up, so don’t peek under the furniture.”
Sighing, she leaned back into his embrace. “I don’t care if you have dust bunnies the size of Texas.” Do you have any idea how amazing you are? she added silently.
He planted a soft kiss on her temple, then moved to the kitchen where he scooped gelato into earthenware bowls. “Shall we eat this outside? We can watch the sunset.”
She followed him through French doors onto a balcony just big enough for two rattan chairs and a small table. He lit a pair of hanging lanterns suspended from the latticework roof. Golden flame danced behind frosted glass inscribed with stars and moons. Below, the fountain burbled, and a rising breeze stirred wind chimes suspended from trees below, a tinkling farewell to the sun’s last rays. Over the rooftops and sinuous curves of the dunes, the horizon bloomed a vibrant fuchsia that faded to orange, then indigo.
So different from her yard in Tacoma, with its giant trampoline and patchy lawn that demanded constant mowing. How sweet it would be to sit here with Matteo, watching the sunsets change as summer rolled into golden autumn, followed by stormy winter.
Right. And the kids would be where, exactly? Playing video games on his TV?
She tried a spoonful of creamy, sweet-salty gelato. “So good,” she moaned.
Matteo watched her, a cryptic half-smile on his face. He took a bite and licked his spoon clean.
Low in her belly, a swarm of fireflies ignited.
He inclined his head toward the interior. “I worried about asking you up. Not a very impressive apartment.”
“Well, I’m glad you did. And I like your place. It’s artistic. Comfortable. Surprising. Like you.”
He flashed an adorable aw-shucks grin and dug into his dessert.
She snuck glances between bites, mesmerized by the slow, sensuous movement of his lips and tongue over the spoon. Finally, he pushed his empty bowl away. “Should have asked you to bring your guitar. I’d love to hear you sing again.”
“Pssshh.” She swatted away his compliment. “I’m an off-key amateur. It’ll take me months to get my chops back. Maybe years.”
Maybe never. You can’t turn the clock back.
“Bullshit, bella,” he countered. “You have a beautiful voice. Rich and round, like a good Chianti. And you play that guitar like it’s part of your body.”
She rolled her eyes, sure he was just trying to get her back into his bed—not that she needed much persuasion.
Reaching across the table, he took her hand. “Everyone needs a creative outlet. Otherwise, your soul shrivels up like a prune. Saw that happen to my dad. He let that damn car dealership suck all the joy out of his life.” He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. The candlelight flickered and danced in his espresso-dark eyes. “Don’t let that happen to you. Stay juicy, bella.”
There was no denying how juicy she felt in his arms. Whether that had to do with his creativity, or hers, was an open question. But being with him sparked visions of how much fulfilling her life could be—someday, when the kids were older. When they didn’t need her to be their taxi driver, academic coach, and all-around support team.
Reality rolled in like fog, damp and cold. “Eleven more days,” she muttered.
“Is that truly all you want?” He pressed his lips behind her ear, and the fireflies in her belly became fireworks. “Think about it, Danielle. Our connection is amazing. I’m not sure why that is—chemistry, destiny, or just dumb luck—but we deserve more than eleven days.” He lifted her hair and trailed kisses down the back of her neck.
Drawn by the light, a moth bopped against her cheek. With a deep, sexy laugh, Matteo released her and opened the French doors. “Inside? Fewer bugs.”
Sexy saxophone music sighed and moaned from the speaker on the counter. Taking her hand, he led her to a clear spot beside the front door. “Dance with me, bella?”
He could have pulled her straight to his bed. Already, she was flushed and slick with desire, but Matteo was in no hurry. He made it so easy to relax in his arms and sway to the music’s lazy beat. So easy to forget the world outside this cozy nest. Just two bodies moving to the same rhythm, two hearts beating in time.
Her fingertips toyed with the open collar of his shirt. Satin skin, soft hair, strong pulse. She pressed a kiss to the notch in his collar bone.
Spearing his fingers into her hair, he angled her head back and pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue teased her lips apart, then swept inside, all velvet sweetness and slow, sure strokes.
There was magic in his kiss, a sensual balm that quieted her doubts and gave her the rare gift of savoring the moment. Didn’t matter if he embraced her on the dance floor, on the beach, in her cottage, or here in his cozy apartment, Matteo’s succulent kisses anchored her to the present. She angled her head to welcome his unhurried exploration.
He pressed her against the cool wood of the front door, cupped her face in both hands, and fixed her with a glittering dark gaze. “Beautiful Danielle, you are…” He sighed and touched his forehead to hers. “A class act. Kind, funny, smart. What are you doing with a beach bum like me?” He unknotted the silk scarf holding her hair, wove his fingers into her curls, and trailed hot, wet kisses down her throat.
What was a gorgeous young artist like Matteo doing with a suburban drudge like her?
She raked her fingers through his soft mane. “I’m having more fun than I’ve had in years. Too many years.” It was easy to tell him the truth, since he’d be gone from her life soon. “You’re a treasure, Matteo. I wish I could keep you, but I can’t. So let’s enjoy today.”
“You deserve to enjoy every day, bella. Don’t forget that.” With a sexy animal grunt, he sank to his knees, raised her skirt, and whispered kisses over her inner thighs. Her core clenched and throbbed, craving his touch. He slid her panties down, lifted her leg onto his shoulder, and with a soft exclamation, buried his face between her thighs.
All thoughts of tomorrow drowned in a wave of pleasure as his tongue performed its magic. Long, lingering strokes, feathery licks, gentle nibbles, and firm suction on her clit that pulled her right to the edge of bliss. Too fast. If she only had eleven more days to indulge her sensual whims, she was damn sure going to taste them all. Starting now.
“Stop.” She unwound herself from his embrace and pulled him to his feet. “I want my turn.”
She tugged her blouse over her head, then unfastened her skirt and let it fall. With a giddy whoop, she flung her bra across the room.
Matteo gaped, chest heaving, his erection tenting his linen pants.
He must be going commando again, naughty boy. She scooped up the silk scarf, wound it around her neck, and stroked the cool fabric over her breasts.
His gaze slid over her naked form as he unbuttoned his shirt.
“No.” She spun him so his back rested against the door and pinned his wrists at his sides. “Let me. Keep your hands here.”
His eyes widened, and he flattened his palms on the wood.
A heady, almost drunken sensation swam through her veins. Who was this wanton woman? Where had she been hiding all these years? No matter—it was her turn to take control. Licking her lips, she unfastened his shirt buttons.
He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but let her undress him without protest. She kissed each inch of exposed skin and ran greedy palms over the smooth planes of his chest. His belly tensed beneath her hands. When she sank to her knees and hooked her fingertips into his waistband, he clenched his fists.
Barely restrained by the loose linen, his erection jutted up and out. She pressed her lips to the tip and heated the cloth with her breath.
“Bella, please.” His breath shuddered as she stroked his length, then unknotted the drawstring at his waist. One quick tug, and his pants fell to the floor.
She sat back on her heels and admired the delectable treat before her, long and thick, its rosy crown weeping a tear of pleasure. “Ciao, bello.” Corny, but she couldn’t resist. Just to prolong his sweet torture, she stroked his length with her scarf and ran the cool silk over his plump balls. His strangled cry landed somewhere between a groan and a growl.
Encircling his shaft with both hands, she took the plush crown into her mouth. Immediately, his hips began to buck, a small, instinctive movement that made her shiver with need. His fingers threaded into her hair and softly kneaded her scalp, but he let her set the pace, never pushing too hard. She licked him from root to tip, teasing him with nips and nibbles, all the while stroking his balls and cock with her scarf. Such a mesmerizing contrast—silk over hot stone.
Face flushed, eyes hooded, he lolled his head against the door and surrendered to her greedy hands and tongue—until his body jolted. He grasped her shoulders and pulled free from her mouth, panting, “Bella, I want to finish inside you. Please.” Feeling every inch the sultry temptress, she draped the damp scarf over her shoulders and flashed a wicked smile as she swirled the silk around one aching nipple.
With a growl, he yanked her to her feet and pressed her against the door. Her scarf slithered to the floor. His erection poked her belly, then slid lower to glide in the slickness of her arousal while he pinched and rolled her nipples. Fierce need flared deep inside. She wrapped one thigh around his waist and angled her hips until his blunt crown notched at her entrance.
He hissed and jerked backward. “Condom.”
Oh my God, we almost —Chest heaving, she gulped air while he sheathed himself.
He snatched up her scarf and turned her to face the breakfast bar. His breath hot on her nape, he wound the silk around the kitchen spigot, then around her wrists. Not too tight, just a symbolic binding, but the feeling of yielding control to Matteo fired her blood. She bit her lip and arched her back as he nudged her feet apart. The taut head of his cock prodded her entrance. With a ragged groan, he drove into her in one deep stroke that stole her breath.
He pummeled her, his hips slapping hard and fast against her ass while his cock did magical things inside her. His breath came shallow and ragged, but his nimble fingers slid through her slick arousal and found her clit, circling, circling. She gripped the counter and shoved her hips backward, meeting him thrust for delicious thrust.
“God, Matteo, so good, so good.” Her words dissolved into moans.
He slowed his movements to prolong the last delirious moments. She trembled on the edge, barely breathing.
His fingers tightened on her hip, his voice strained. “Now, bella. Come for me now.” He pinched her clit and drove his cock in to the root.
With a high, keening cry, she let go. Spirals of impossible pleasure lifted her onto her toes. Matteo clutched her close, his sweaty chest against her back as he shuddered and gasped.
Gradually the sparks winked out, her breath slowed, and her twitching muscles relaxed. Matteo’s damp palms stroked her flanks. His breath hot against her ear, he murmured, “Danielle Delfino, you are a goddess.”
Her chuckle was threaded with bitterness. “My last name is Peters.”
“Bullshit.” He gave a final thrust before withdrawing. “That bastard left you. Take your name back, bella. Take your life back.” He kissed between her shoulder blades. “Take me with you.”
Her spine stiffened. Beautiful words, but what did they really mean?
He unknotted the scarf and eased her onto a stool, then trotted to the bathroom and returned a moment later with a fluffy hand towel and a sheepish expression. Lips pressed together, he watched while she blotted between her legs.
God, I don’t want to tell him, but I have to. “Matteo—”
“Look, I—” He balled up the towel and held it to his chest. “Bella, I’m sorry. You make me crazy in the best possible way, and I say things I shouldn’t. I know you’ve got a life away from here, your kids, your job, your friends. I respect that. I’m just—” His sculpted shoulders rose and fell. “I wish I could be a part of it.”
Her gut vibrated like a plucked guitar string.
She slid her arms around his neck and held him close, rocking slowly to the music—a tenor sax solo, sultry and mournful. “I have to put my kids first.” She stroked his back and fought the ache behind her eyes.
This was insane. She wasn’t supposed to meet someone like Matteo, and she damn sure wasn’t supposed to have feelings for him. He was too young, too far away, too perfect to be real.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I know. That asshat ripped a hole in your family. You’ve gotta keep your kids safe.” He kissed her brow. “And I’m not asking you to move here. Though I bet your kids would love it.”
“Their friends—”
“Yeah, of course. At their age, friends are the most important thing.” He stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones. “But you’re important too, Danielle. Don’t forget that. You deserve happiness.” He kissed her. “I’d give anything for the chance to make you happy.”
She stroked his cheek. “A wise woman told me only I can do that.”
Three wise women, actually: her book club posse. One divorced like her, one fighting to hold her marriage together through the exhausting toddler years, and one never married, though she raised two bright, beautiful daughters. All agreed that no man could truly make a woman happy—she had to do that on her own, with or without a partner. But could Matteo be part of her happiness?
This wasn’t fair to him, with her living so far away. Once their two weeks were up and she returned to Tacoma, he’d find a more suitable woman, someone not tied down by young kids and a demanding job. Someone creative and flexible, who’d fit into this funky little apartment—who’d fit into his carefree life.
Blinking back tears, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and inhaled his scent—warm skin and fresh sweat, sunshine and promises. “Eleven days, Matteo. And then we’ll talk.”
And then I’ll tell you goodbye.