Chapter 13 #3
‘During the Roman Empire, the reclusive Emperor Tiberius constructed twelve massive villas across these peaks,’ Carlo explained, spinning the steering wheel. ‘He hopscotched around the island because of his manic paranoia of assassination.’
Angel pursed his lips, leaning his muscular forearms on the captain’s console.
‘His security detail failed him, right?’
‘Si, signore,’ Carlo confirmed with a grin. ‘Tiberius got smothered to death in his bed, producing rousing roars of celebration from the Roman citizenry. After his empire collapsed, bloodthirsty pirates ransacked Capri, burning the villages.’
I leaned back in the leather cushions, fascinated by the bloody history of this stunning coastline.
We anchored the vessel outside the towering cavern of the White Grotto for our first swim.
Angel handed me a pair of rubber snorkeling goggles, his fingers brushing against my palm.
The brief contact sent a jolt of pure electricity through me even as he raked me up and down in my bikini.
‘Catch me if you can,’ he challenged, flashing a devastating grin before launching his sinewed frame over the gunwale.
He hit the water with a clean splash.
I dove in right behind him, the cool sea shocking my sun-warmed skin.
We came up laughing, then Angel submerged deeper, tugging at my feet to pull me under.
We play-fought and ended up with my legs encircling his waist, with only wet fabric separating us.
I caught him staring at my lips, and biting his own before he surged up to throw us back in.
The water fights only charged us up.
The attraction between us ratcheted into sneaked glances, bumps against each other, smiles.
At one point, Angel snaked his muscled arms around me from behind and buried his face in my neck.
I lifted my hands and held onto his forearm as we floated together gazing up at the sky.
I let it happen, helpless to resist.
What woman alive would say no to this beautiful Adonis?
We swam deep into the mouth of the grotto, exploring the milky ivory stalactites that hung from the cave ceiling like frozen daggers.
We returned to the deck to drain two cold bottles of local Peroni beer, and got into the food as the sun baked our shoulders.
Afterward, Carlo fired up the engines again, cruising past the legendary Faraglioni Rocks.
The three massive limestone stacks erupted from the sea like ancient titans.
I scrambled to snap a dozen photos on my phone, laughing as Angel ruined my scenic shots by crowding into the frame.
It was a playful side of him I hadn’t seen in forever.
Why did he have to be so captivating?
My chest compressed with a familiar ache.
I wanted this joy to be real, yet the cynical voice in my head kept asking if I was a convenient distraction for his pain.
We soon ran out of food in the picnic basket.
After I spent a good twenty minutes grumbling to Angel with my tummy growling, he relented.
‘Roxy, seriously, you’re a terror when you’re hangry,’ he muttered, though the corner of his mouth ticked upward.
‘Can’t help it,’ I shot back, rubbing my midsection. ‘I’m starving, and you ate the last piece of prosciutto.’
‘You had the lion’s share of the burrata and rolls, Rox. Check the receipts, babe. You’ve got crumbs all over your top.’
I blinked, somewhat rattled by his casual use of the endearment; it was not the first time either.
With a dramatic sigh of defeat, Angel raised his chin to Carlos.
‘Please find us somewhere to eat, please.’
‘Before she tears our limbs off and gnaws at us alive, eh?’ our guide chuckled.
Carlos turned the skiff around, and we returned to Marina Piccola for a seaside lunch at a rustic tavern built over the tide.
We devoured plates of grilled calamari and fresh caprese salad, and tons of bread.
My appetite roared, stoked by the sun, sea, and the thrill of Angel’s presence.
Our conversations dove into music, food, and art.
I loved his inquisitive, keen mind, the tone of his gravelly, deep timbre, and the way he threw his corded neck back when he laughed at something I said.
Following the meal, we boarded the boat again to explore the Green Grotto.
The water inside the cavern glowed with an eerie, cerulean luminescence that defied reality.
I hopped off the stern, floating on my back in the emerald light while Angel swam laps around me, his power-driven strokes cutting through the flux.
We puttered past the historic Punta Carena Lighthouse.
The red brick tower stood guard over the rugged western point of the island, providing a perfect backdrop for our photos.
Our final nautical stop brought us to the legendary Blue Grotto.
We transferred into a tiny timber rowboat, the local skipper ordering us to lie flat on the floorboards as he guided the craft through the microscopic opening.
The interior exploded into an impossible, glowing neon blue.
I let out a gasp, my knuckles gripping the wooden seat.
In the darkness of the cave, Angel reached out and slid his hand over mine, his thumb tracing soft circles over my skin.
Did this mean something real to him? Or was I just a convenient hand to hold in the dark?
My heart jolted, caught between the divine beauty of the grotto and the enticing shift of our fragile arrangement.
Hoping, yearning, craving so much more.