Page 12 of Her Dirty Secret
He grabs my waist before I can get away, dragging me into his embrace. This close, his smell is strong, as neither of us has showered in a while, but it’s also overwhelmingly appealing, and as I look up at him, the intensity in his expression takes my breath away.
“So I’ve been told,” he murmurs. His face dips toward mine, and my breath catches in my throat.
His nose gently touches mine, gliding up, then down again. His hot breath fills my senses, and breathing is still difficult. He’s alluring in a way I’ve never experienced, intense yet somehow still playful, and the anticipation of his kiss is killing me.
I bring my hand to his face, stroking the coarse hair of his beard. A small sigh escapes him, and his mouth finds mine. His kiss is soft, sensual, and more polite than I’d like it to be. At least, at first. I slide my hand back into his hair, gripping it as he kisses me. His hands wrap around my back, and he pulls me completely against him, deepening the kiss.
Finally, his tongue pushes into my mouth, and I accept it eagerly. But just when it’s getting really good, he pulls away.
“This is exactly why I knew better than to kiss you. Now I need a cold shower,” he teases. He runs a thumb over my lip.
“Be careful, or you’re going to get more than a cold shower,” I caution him.
He laughs and stands up. “Fair enough,” he replies. “When you’re ready, follow the smell of coffee.” And with a wink, he’s gone.
I hurry through a shower, and dress quickly in a shamelessly skimpy pink bikini, covering it with a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a white tank top, finishing with a pair of flat, white strappy sandals. And then, just as he told me to, I follow my nose to the bottom floor, joining everyone in the kitchen as they sip at coffees and argue loudly. Well, it sounds like arguing, anyway.
Alessandro sits on a packed couch, across from another one, and they’re all talking animatedly. He looks me up and down and gives me a wink as I pass by. I stick my nose in the air and pretend I don’t see him. But I can see his amused grin in my peripheral vision. As I get breakfast, I chat idly with one of the other women, who kindly reminds me that her name is Bianca. She seems to be closer to my age, and her husband, Lorenzo, grew up with Alessandro and his brother. Soon she’s telling me all sorts of stories about the trouble they’d get into as teenagers. As if sensing his secrets are being spilled, Alessandro wanders over and inserts himself into the conversation.
“Don’t believe a word she says,” he tells me with a deadpan expression. “Enzo made up all kinds of shit to impress her.”
Bianca laughs. “As if I couldn’t tell the difference,” she chides him.
Alessandro laughs and looks down at me. I’m struck by his easy charm among his friends. He slides an arm around my waist. “Having fun?” he asks lightly.
“Very much,” I reply, looking up at him. Wishing he’d take me back upstairs and finish what he started. But I’m also excited to explore. “What are we doing today?”
He chuckles and looks back to Bianca. “Americans, always in a rush,” he jokes.
She shrugs. “I’m tiring of all this talk myself. Let’s get out of here.” She rises, fishing around behind the counter we were sitting at and producing a bag. Wrapping it around her body, she yells at her husband from across the room.
“Enzo, andiamo!”
He yells something back that I don’t understand, and everyone laughs. I look at Alessandro.
He leans into me, whispering into my ear, “He called her his beautiful, bitchy alarm clock.” My eyebrows jump, and he chuckles. “It’s their way.” He looks down at my outfit. “By the way, you look beautiful.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” I tease him. In his bright blue board shorts and black tank top, he looks like a magazine ad for beachwear. His toned arms are tan, as is the bit of well-muscled chest peeking out the top of his shirt. With a pair of designer sunglasses hanging casually from his top, he looks ready to go. “But you don’t look so bad yourself.”
He plants a kiss on top of my head, then pulls me along. We take our time meandering down the hill. I don’t mind the slow pace, as it gives me time to take everything in. It feels surreal finally being someplace so different from Seattle, someplace I’ve always wanted to go like this with its packed, colorful buildings, cobblestone walkways, and balmy sunshine. I don’t bother with the hat or sunglasses I brought in my bag, letting the rays hit my face, soaking up every bit of their warmth.
We spend most of the day lying on the beach, tossing a frisbee around, splashing in the water when we get too warm. After lunch, the women lay out to tan, but it really ends up as a nap. Late in the day, we wander back up the hill, a final workout to top off a day of exhausting sunshine and laziness.
We cycle through showers and donning more appropriate clothes to go out for dinner, then head out to an actual restaurant, where we spend the rest of the evening and into the small hours of the next day.
Much as the night before, the food, alcohol, and laughter flow freely. I find myself participating more, all the while sticking close to Alessandro. It’s hypnotic watching him slip so easily between English and Italian, his easy grace and warmth making me comfortable and happy by his side. By the end of the night, when I’ve spent most of my time watching him, I realize I’m way more into him than I was even this morning. No way I’m going to settle for “whatever.”
Once we’re all back at the house, he offers to walk me to my bedroom door, and I’m practically giddy with anticipation. Thankfully, he follows me in, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed as I remove my sandals. I sink onto the bed, suppressing a frown.
“You’re awfully far away,” I say, patting the bed next to me.
He raises an eyebrow. “Did you have good day?”
“Yes,” I reply. “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”
“I did,” he agrees, crossing his legs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this relaxed.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You fit beautifully into the group. I expected it to be…” he pauses, searching for the word.
“Awkward?” I supply.