Chapter Thirteen #2
“Are you making any friends? You’ve been there for quite some time now.
” You have to know my mom to become fluent in her tone, or Barbara Speak, as my brother AJ and I have called it for years, but I’m a pro.
So that means I know she’s both asking me if I’m okay—she really does want to know if I’ve made friends—while at the same time chiding me for being away for so long.
“I’ve made a few,” I say. Not a lie, right? “But I’m here to work, remember?”
She pauses for a moment before dropping “And your niece can’t keep a secret to save her own life, remember ?” on me. There’s a definite tint of satisfaction in her voice. Yeah, she knows about Marina.
Well, shit.
I make a mental note to text Chloe about how she’s getting no Christmas gifts from me this year. It’s not that I’m embarrassed. I’m not. There’s nothing wrong with some casual sex. Or a little fling while away from home. I have needs, don’t I? Nothing wrong with taking care of those, is there?
But this is my mom , and as liberated as she is, I don’t really love the idea of her knowing all about my sex life.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I have met a woman. Her name is Marina and we’ve been…hanging out a bit.”
“Hanging out. Is that code for something?”
“Your delight in this is kind of obvious, Mom.”
“Can I help it if you’ve been single way too long?”
“Gee, thanks.”
She laughs, then gets somewhat serious. “Honey. I just want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”
“No, Mom. It’s not. I appreciate that. I just…
” My thoughts drift, and I inhale a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“She’s just keeping me company. That’s all.
” My stomach does an uncomfortable flip right then, as if I’ve betrayed something.
The truth? Marina? I don’t know. I somehow manage to steer the conversation to other things, and my mother reluctantly follows, finally realizing she’ll get no more from me.
But even after we hang up, I feel weird.
Marina and I never had “the talk” about what we’re doing, what we are exactly.
But…do we need to? Maybe we don’t after all.
I mean, we both know this is just a temporary thing, don’t we?
We live on separate continents, our age difference is significant, the logistics are just impossible for anything beyond a fun and casual fling.
Right? I know it, and I have to assume Marina knows it.
With a literal shake of my head, I try to get rid of the confusing train of thought and refocus my attention on my pastry chefs.
They’re having a lot of sex, I have to say.
More than my usual books. I refuse to wonder about the correlations between my fiction and my life, but I can feel a soft smile playing on my own lips, and I have no control over it.
I take Reggie out for a quick zip around the neighborhood—which has finally cooled off to a pleasant seventy-eight degrees.
Once we get back to the suite, I sit down to work some more and whip out another chapter.
I never write this much in one day. Never.
This Italian inspiration I’m suddenly immersed in has triggered my creative energy in a big way.
A very big way, and I absently wonder what I can do to keep it going.
I’m contemplating another love scene between my characters when there’s a soft, rapid tapping on my door.
I squint at my screen, make sure to save—I’m a little paranoid about that since my computer crashed three years ago and lost a full twenty-five pages of a screenplay I’d been writing—and cross the room. My door has no peephole, so I pull it open and there she is.
Marina looks like she just stepped out of a European travel magazine, with her linen pants, cropped T-shirt, and large sunglasses. Her lips glisten with gloss and she’s smiling.
I don’t even have time to register my surprise because she steps into the suite, directly into my space, and kisses me soundly, slamming the door shut with her foot.
My body responds immediately, and I marvel at that even as I kiss her back.
She backs me into the room until my legs hit the couch and we fall down onto it, our lips fused the entire time.
My blood is rushing, hot and fast. My underwear is instantly wet, my body preparing itself for her.
It’s shocking to me, how in tune we are this way.
Sexually. Sensually. Erotically. Three minutes ago, I was working diligently, and now I’m on my back on a couch and actively undressing the beautiful woman above me.
We never reach fully naked. We reach naked enough to reach important things.
Breasts and nipples. Hot, bare skin. Wet centers.
How is it we know each other’s bodies so well after just one night together?
This question only has time to bounce around in my head for a couple seconds before her fingers have worked their magic, and my orgasm blasts through my body.
All my muscles strain, and I grind my head back into a throw pillow as Marina slides her fingers into me and I contract against them.
I come down slowly, and when I finally open my eyes, she’s looking down at me with that sexy smile and a satisfied twinkle in her dark eyes. “Hi,” she says softly.
“Do I know you?” I joke.
“You do,” she says, but she seems much more serious than me. Pressing a kiss to my forehead, she pushes herself up. “I have a tour in fifteen minutes, but I had to touch you.”
I push myself to sitting, still breathing a bit raggedly, and I reach for her. She lets me latch on but also grasps my hands, I presume to keep them from wandering. “But I want you,” I say, hoping I sound sexy.
She grins, and her cheeks flush pink, so I think I succeeded. She lifts my hand and brushes her lips across my knuckles. “No time, bella .”
“Later?”
“I have another tour tonight.” At least she looks as bummed about it as I do. “Tomorrow?”
That’s better. “Definitely.”
“Good.” She gives me a quick kiss, then pushes to her feet and rights all her clothing. I lie back, still half-undressed, and watch. It’s a pretty awesome view. When she’s all fixed and has run to my bathroom to wash up, she gives me a look.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I say. “You can pop in any time you want.”
“I shall make a note.” She bends to me, gives me what I think is meant to be a quick kiss, but I grab her head with both hands and deepen it. She lets me and moans into my open mouth before wrenching herself away. She points at me with a grin. “You are trouble.”
“You love it.”
“I do. One hundred percent.” She’s at the door now, her hand on the knob. “Text you later.”
I nod and watch the door close behind her, and then I continue to lie there on the couch, my shirt up to my chin, my bra unfastened and my breasts spilling out, my joggers halfway down my thighs, my underwear soaked.
I don’t move. Instead, I close my eyes and replay the last several minutes.
Pretty sure there’s a stupid grin on my face, and when I hear the clickety-click of nails on the floor, I turn my head to see Reggie staring at me from the bedroom doorway.
“Hey, don’t you judge me. Do you know how long it’s been since a woman popped in just because she wanted my body? Do you?” He clearly does not, so I go on. “Like, a decade. Two, maybe. I think. If ever. And you know what? I deserve it. I deserve it!”
He stares for a moment longer, then the little bastard has the audacity to yawn at me just before he turns and goes back into the bedroom.
“I said don’t judge me,” I shout after him.
I had to touch you .
Had to touch me. That’s what she said. Aaand the stupid grin is back.
I lie there for a little while longer, just floating in that lovely, cottony aftermath of sex, when your limbs are like jelly and you can feel your own pulse against your skin.
The sun coming through the window above me is warm, and before long, my eyes close and I can feel myself about to drift off.
And then my phone chimes from the desk, and I sigh, reminded that I’m in the real world and have a real job and real people trying to get hold of me.
“Ah, well,” I say as I push to my feet and fix all my clothing.
The chime was a text from Serena.
Busy tonight?
As I’m standing there, I lean backward, stretching the muscles in my back that I only just now realize are kind of achy. I remember Marina saying she has a tour tonight, which means I’m free.
Nope , I type back.
Come over. I miss Reggie. That’s followed by a smiling emoji and a wink.
We settle on a time, and I find myself relieved to have something to do other than sit around my suite drinking wine and wishing Marina wasn’t occupied by other people.
Oh. I’m getting possessive.
Not sure what to do with that.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!” Serena wraps me in a hug, the scent of her sandalwood perfume enveloping me, her blond hair tickling my nose. It feels good, knowing someone cares about you. And I missed her, too.
“I know. What is that?”
She takes Reggie’s leash from my hand and bends down to give him some scratches, then unclip him.
He’s free but doesn’t leave her side, instead standing up on his hind legs for more attention, which she gives him by swooping him up into her arms. He clearly loves it, the look of satisfaction and importance on his furry face super clear to me, and I just shake my head.
“It’s Italy,” she says. “Rome in particular. Time feels like it’s going so fast when it’s hardly moving.
I have no idea why.” She leads us out into the courtyard.
“Thank God the heatwave broke, right? We can sit out here and not swelter. Finally.” She tells Ria to bring us wine and nibbles, and we sit.
“So, what’s new?” I ask her, and it really does feel like we haven’t seen each other in weeks and weeks, when it’s really only been a handful of days. “Any more out-of-town guests coming?”
“Next month,” Serena says. “A couple that were good friends of Tony and me.”
“Well, that sounds fun.”