Chapter 5
KARINA
He doesn’t say anything as he takes my hand and pulls me through the noise and chaos of the crowd. My heart is in my throat. I have a flicker of fear that someone will spot us, but everyone is so intent on the winner’s circle that the fear dissipates with each passing second.
He came for me. Just when I thought it was over.
We’re hurrying along so quickly that I wonder if he’s also worried about being spotted.
But I don’t care. The only thing that matters now is the thrill at having his fingers tightly entwined with mine.
My feet barely hit the ground as I follow him behind the track and into the shadows.
There’s no one back here…at least, not yet.
It doesn’t scare me to think about getting caught this time, though. So what if we do? I’ve got one more chance to be with him, and I’m taking it.
We slip past a private entrance that only the drivers and their teams use and then duck beneath the stands, hidden almost completely from view.
He smiles down at me, and it robs my breath.
Moving closer, he pulls me in tight so my chest meets his.
His hair is damp with sweat and flattened from wearing his helmet.
I wish I could run my fingers through it, mussing it even more and loving every strand.
I look up at him, and all I can stammer is, “Hi.”
He lowers his head, nearly meeting my lips with his. “Hi. My name is Marco.”
A shudder goes through me. Marco. It fits him so much better than Romeo. “That’s a nice name.”
The smile reaches his eyes and crinkles the corners. “Thank you, Karina Rossi.”
My brows knit together until I remember my ID was in my purse. He hands it over.
“Maybe Cinderella is more appropriate,” I joke, tucking the clutch into the large tote bag that’s slung over my shoulder.
“I thought the same thing last night when you ran off.”
The soft touch of his fingers trailing my jaw makes my legs weak.
“You’re just as beautiful as you were last night. Juliet, Cinderella, Karina. I don’t care what your name is, as long as—”
I interrupt him with a kiss, dropping my tote on the ground and raising up on my toes to loop my arms around his neck.
His body is strong and warm under his racing suit, but all I can do is trace my fingers along the front zipper, frustrated that I can’t get closer to him.
Smiling against my lips, Marco wraps an arm around me and backs me gently against a support beam.
His lips move easily beneath mine. He’s letting me lead, and I want to.
I want to be the one who goes first and takes what she wants.
My kisses are tentative and hesitant initially, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
My thoughts stray to the memory of his lips wrapping around my nipples, and I get more aggressive, aching for a repeat.
When I gently bite Marco’s lip, he sucks in a breath and pulls away, his eyes holding mine as he takes my arms and raises them above my head. Both of us are breathing hard.
Pinning my wrists to the beam with one hand, he softly, slowly runs the back of his other hand over the sensitive skin from my wrist to my bicep, then down the sides of my ribs and my waist. Then his fingertips trace the dips and lines of my body as if he’s trying to map it beneath my clothes.
Goosebumps rise everywhere he touches…my hips, down my thighs, back up to where he draws half-moons beneath my breasts.
I wish I could ditch my clothes and feel that caress over my entire naked body.
A deep moan escapes my throat. I need to touch him, too.
Marco steps into me before I get the chance and grinds his lips into mine.
The kiss is heady and primal, so full of passion that the sensation rushes straight to my head and consumes me.
Nothing exists outside of every contact point where our bodies touch.
His hips press into me, lightly at first and then with intentional force.
Sucking in a breath, I almost lose the kiss, but he takes my chin in his hand and holds me in place, whispering against my mouth.
“Just feel me, Karina. Feel how much I can give you.”
I’m not myself around this man. It’s as if every time I see him, I morph into a sexual being that wants to take, take, take and lose herself completely in pleasure. Some people drink to erase their problems, but this? This would be a much better way.
My body moves on its own, my hips pressing against his, seeking more contact. I let out a little groan of frustration.
“Relax, bella. Just feel.”
Grabbing my hips, he positions us so I can feel the hard ridge of his erection through his coveralls as he lightly grinds into me, giving me what I crave. Nothing so perfect has ever existed. It’s exactly what I need. Pleasure sparks through me but it’s not enough. I need more.
So much more.
Pleasure burns between my legs, hot and demanding. Our tongues meet as he draws me in completely. There’s no space left between us. His big body shields me, protects me, claims me as he gently offers his body for my pleasure.
A flicker of panic unfurls in my chest. This is all so much. It’s overwhelming and wonderful, but I’m scared.
“Marco,” I pant and twist my head away. “Wait.”
I don’t know why I feel so panicked all of a sudden. I don’t want to stop, but something ticks in my brain. Intuition maybe, I don’t know. He pulls back, cupping my face in his hands.
“What is it?”
I shake my head. The stranger I met in the stands earlier was a reminder that someone is always watching me. We could be under surveillance right now. There are thousands of people here tonight—it would be complete foolishness to assume that no one spotted me with Marco.
“I can’t do this,” I say. “Not here, not now.”
One corner of his lips turns up. “Bella, when I fuck you, it sure as hell won’t be under the stands at a racetrack.”
My cheeks flame hot. Holy. Crap.
Marco holds my gaze. “How can I learn your body in a place like this? How can I cover every inch of your bare skin with my lips when I can’t even lay you down properly? I’m going to spread you out on satin sheets where I can worship you the way you deserve.”
It’s not quite an Austen-era love poem, but who the hell cares? I’ll take it.
My breath comes out in a strangled gasp. “That sounds…you know…wow.”
“I mean it, Karina. You’re a treasure. Why do you think I only came in second?” He brushes a kiss across my lips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“You’re lying,” I say, but I hope he’s not.
He grins playfully. “Give me another kiss for making me lose the race.”
“Just one?”
He dips his head. “One for now, and more later when we’re completely alone.”
My legs go weak at the suggestion. Why can’t we run away right now and grab aloneness with both hands? We could disappear, stay gone long enough that my uncle will give up looking for me. I could just disappear for good, abandon my nuptials, reinvent myself with this man.
Silly, so silly. Of course that will never happen. Lifting on my toes again, I kiss him gently and then reluctantly pull away.
An ache spreads inside my chest, sharp as a knife. We aren’t even anything at all, Marco and I, yet I already miss what we could have been.
“Say you want to see me again,” he implores.
“I do.”
It rushes out of me before I can think clearly, but the reality is, I can’t. Of course I can’t. I’m engaged to another man.
Footfalls echo from the walkway behind us and I go tense.
“I really have to go, before my…” My voice trails off. Do I really want Marco knowing I live with a constant chaperone? How pathetic. The less he knows about me, the better.
You almost fell into the Bellanti pit!
Mercutio’s earlier words sound in my head. He’d uttered them with such distaste. I’ve never much cared about family business before, but now I want to know why the Bellanti name is said with such contempt within my uncle’s house.
“Before what? What’s wrong?” Marco searches my face.
The architecture of his features is absolutely perfect.
He’s pure masculine beauty, rugged yet finely formed.
The kind of man you see in an upscale magazine lounging around in his underwear while being completely aware that he’s too beautiful for most people to handle.
We should be thankful for getting one peek, and here I am getting so much more.
My chest aches. I have to let this go.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I smile. “I don’t want to go, but I should. That’s all.”
I hear another shuffle of feet, closer this time. Something about it triggers the panic inside me again. I know the rhythm of those footsteps. Quick but scraping the ground.
“Mama mia, Karina, come on! We’re due at the wine bar. Pietro wants to see you!”
Mercutio is wandering around hollering for me like I’m a child who needs to come home for dinner. This. Is. My. Life.
The spell I’m under snaps and my world comes rushing back at me. What the hell am I doing? If I get caught, I’ll be so fucked.
Marco grips my wrist. “Who is Pietro?”
I detect a tinge of jealousy. I’m glad it’s shadowy under here, because otherwise he’d see my cheeks go pale.
“He’s nobody,” I lie. “I have to go. That’s my cousin.”
“Ka-rina!” Mercutio yells again. “Come and drink some wine!” A string of curses in Italian follow, and I know if I don’t show up soon, it’ll just get worse.
I give Marco one last kiss on the cheek and grab my tote off the ground. “Goodbye.”
He moves to block me. “Wait. When will I see you again?”
Never, but I’ll play along for his sake. “You found me before. I know you can do it again. Ciao.”
I blow him a kiss and hurriedly leave our sanctuary. Entering the flow of people wandering around, I sneak up to Merc and pretend to run into him.
“Where have you been?” He grabs my upper arms and looks me over as if I’ve been tarnished in some way. Ha. If only he knew.
“You said you needed some time with—”
“Oh, yeah…her.”
“You still don’t know her name?”
He waves a hand in the air. “It’s over anyway. Let’s go. Pietro is getting impatient.”
I follow slightly behind and dig around in my tote bag, popping open my clutch.
Ah! My paperback book is still inside, along with my ID and credit card still tucked safely into its pages.
But something else peeks from between the pages farther back—a piece of paper.
I slide it out and unfold it. It’s a handwritten note.
From…Marco? My heart starts to pound. Merc is talking to some random man beside him, paying me no mind, so I quickly read the note.
It’s a poem. Written in Italian.
Ecco mormorar l'onde,
E tremolar le fronde
A l'aura mattutina, e gli arboscelli,
E sovra i verdi rami i vaghi augelli
Cantar soavemente,
E rider l'Oriente;
Ecco già l'alba appare,
E si specchia nel mare,
E rasserena il cielo,
E le campagne imperla il dolce gelo,
E gli alti monti indora:
O bella e vaga Aurora,
L'aura è tua messaggera, e tu de l'aura
Ch'ogni arso cor ristaura.
I recognize it. It’s by the Italian poet Torquato Tasso.
Now the waves murmur
And the boughs and the shrubs tremble
in the morning breeze,
And on the green branches the pleasant birds
Sing softly
And the east smiles;
Now dawn already appears
And mirrors herself in the sea,
And makes the sky serene,
And the gentle frost impearls the fields
And gilds the high mountains:
O beautiful and gracious Aurora,
The breeze is your messenger, and you the breeze’s
Which revives each burnt-out heart.
I can’t stop the joy expanding in my chest. Marco did this…for me. How did he know?
“You coming?” Mercutio asks.
I didn’t realize he’d stopped short until I almost run into him. I can’t speak, of course. I don’t even look at him. Slipping the paper into my pocket, I make a little show of rubbing my eye. “Sorry, I just…think I got something in my eye.”
He digs in his pocket and hands me a clean tissue. “Here.”
He says something else, but I don’t hear him. I’m on cloud nine. Marco gave me a poem. He took the time to choose one, then wrote it out in his own hand. Just for me. For once, I get to be the heroine. The recipient of romance. Maybe there’s a bit of the countess in my life, after all.
I’m going to cherish this forever.
Especially after I marry Pietro.