Page 8 of Sinful Temptations
I started day one of my August tour with a smile on my face, pretty red fingernails, four rubbers in my day pack, and lacy lingerie beneath my Vacation Dreamz uniform.
After saying hello to Tracy behind reception and confirming that by some fucking miracle, Bruce had refrained from doing his creepy boob gaze at her, I strolled across the parking lot.
I aimed for Roman who, to my surprise, had arrived before me. None of my previous drivers had ever done that. I ducked my head beneath the panel door and squinted into the luggage hold. Roman’s ass was right there. “Oh, hi.” I shot my gaze away.
“Buongiorno, Daisy.”
My first sighting of Mr. Perfect had blood pumping through my body like a jet stream.
Jeysus. Why does he do that to me? Focus, Daisy.“How wasyour break?”
He groaned as he stepped out into the sunshine with me. Roman was clean-shaven and smelled like he’d just hopped out of a long, hot shower. “It wasmanicomio.” He shook his head.
I tried to translate but couldn’t. Looking up at him with a frown, I said, “Manicomio?”
“Sorry. It means bedlam. Mamma’s crazy. She gives me so much work. Cooking. Cleaning. Gardening. It never ends.” He slapped his forehead. “I couldn’t wait to get here.”
“I wondered why you were so early.”
“Ahhh, no, that’s not why. My flight gets in at seven, and I have nothing else to do so . . .” He shrugged. “So, I come here.”
In all our time spent together on the last tour, I hadn’t even thought about how he traveled from Manarola in Italy to London. “Jeez. What time did you get up this morning?”
He scrunched up his nose as if my question required much calculation. “Actually, I started last night at midnight. My brother-in-law, he drives me to Rome—that takes about four hours. My flight was at five-twenty, and I landed at quarter past six. Got a cab straight here.”
“Oh, my god. I can’t believe you do that.” Here I am complaining about my two-station journey in a train that was so crammed full I’d had my face in the armpit of a man who had strangely smelled like lemons.
Roman shrugged. “No other way to get here.”
“Wow. You must really want this job.”
A beaming smile lit up his face. “Last month wasfantastico. I loved it. Hopefully, this month is the same.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
A group of four women strolled across the parking lot, and I waved them over. “Come on in, ladies. Roman will store your luggage.”
Roman struck up a conversation like the five of them had shared a rowboat together for a week or something. I admired him for that. Personal conversations were not my thing.
Unless it was Roman—the cheeky bastard had given my comfort zone quite a beating last month. Usually, the idea of someone deep-diving into my back story would have me breaking out in hives. Roman, though? He’d managed to weasel all sorts of personal stuff out of me.
This month was his turn. I was putting on my wing-woman hat and tugging it right into place.
He simultaneously manhandled the ladies’ heavy suitcases into the luggage hold and said things that had them giggling like helium-affected schoolgirls. What on earth had his ex, Caterina, been thinking when she’d decided to sleep with that married man?
I bet she regretted it.
When he smiled at the ladies and ran his hand through his hair in that way that had it bouncing right back into place, I had no doubt Caterina would regret it. Roman was a good catch.
It was going to be so much fun hooking him up with some booty, as he called it.
Leaving Roman to the giggling women who were clearly in no hurry to move, I climbed the steps into the bus. Everyone was seated. They were a fairly quiet group.
With the microphone at my lips, I said, “Well hellloooo, gidday,hola,ni hao,bonjour,hallo,konnichiwa,andciao.” I frowned at the South African twins. “Karabo and Bokamoso, did I say your names right?”
Their faces lit up with brilliant, white-toothed smiles. “Yes.”
“Phew. How do you say hello in South Africa?”