Thirteen minutes after Wardsen had ascended to the doctor’s room, the couple exited the elevator. Sad what seven months in-country did to a man’s stamina.
Camouflaged by his Continental Daily News, Draycott assumed they wouldn’t register his presence. If they remained as absorbed as they’d been in each other yesterday, the smartphone concealed beneath the trilby on his knee could sing “God Save the Queen” and they wouldn’t turn.
“Sorry to break your heart,” the woman said. “But I don’t like shopping.”
“Humor me.” Wardsen passed within fifteen feet of his seat, the doctor on his far side. “You need better footwear first.”
So they weren’t headed directly for the motorcycle.
Wulf’s cheekbones and tight denim achieved what Theresa knew she never could have: two Prada salespeople reduced to kittens lapping milk. She should have been mortified that he insisted on kneeling in front of her rather than allowing the assistants to do their jobs, but as his fingers wrapped around her calf and he eased the second black knee-high boot on to her leg, she liquefied. When he traced the open V of the leather upper, a line of fire tattooed her skin. The tiny grind of zipper teeth rent the charged silence as the smooth calfskin closed.
“How’s the fit?” Behind the inner bend of her knee, his hand provoked tremors while his expanded pupils drew her into swirling blue and amber until she felt nearly dizzy.
Guaranteed she’d collapse if he asked her to stand or walk; answering seemed to be nearly as difficult.
“The signorina will wear the boots.” He held her ballet flats in the air for the male clerk. “Please deliver these to Signorina Chiesa at the Hotel d’Inghilterra.”
“Yes, I’ll take them, grazie.” Theresa swallowed and opened her purse. The boots passed perfection, transforming her from Audrey Hepburn in a classic screwball comedy to a femme fatale, an international assassin, a woman men noticed. She offered her credit card.
“Signorina, it has been done.” The female employee’s eyes flicked to Wulf.
“You can choose these.” He hadn’t stood, so his eyes remained level with her glare. “But you can’t pay. It’s completely inappropriate and I can afford—”
“My day.” He pressed his finger over her lips. An impish smile dared her to contradict him, as if he wanted to misbehave in front of the clerks. “My gift.”
His cockiness punched her last button. He couldn’t tease her and then expect her to mold herself to his dictates. “No.” She bit his fingertip.
The salesman squeaked.
Wulf sucked in his breath and stood, towering over her as he picked her up by her elbows and set her on her feet. “We’ll go now.”
“Yes, master.” Arms crossed, she glared. “Shall I walk three steps behind?”
He hustled her out of the store and around the corner. Before she could ask about the red-and-chrome motorcycle, he thrust her against the stone wall and covered her lips. This embrace resembled last night’s as much as molten chocolate lava cake resembled office Halloween candy. He didn’t play or coax. He demanded that she open for him, and she did. As his tongue traced her lips, she tried to bring him into her mouth, but he controlled the kiss. His body pressed hers at every point, legs and hips pushing into the cradle of her thighs in a way they hadn’t while sitting on the couch. His hands shielded her head, but the roughness scraped her shoulder blades through her shirt. If the building disintegrated, she’d spiral into the depths of space with him, uncaring and unaware.
“You bit me.” He slid his mouth along her cheek to her ear. His teeth closed on her lobe, making her shiver. “Did you think I’d let that pass?”
“No.” She clutched his shoulders, the jacket leather too slick, not what she yearned to touch, not his skin, the heat and suppleness that made even the best leather seem monotonous.
“You want this as much as I do.”
“Yes.” Tilting her hips matched the bulge under his fly to the part of her that most wanted to be pressed. She slipped her hands under his coat and up his chest, then around to his—
Gun. She froze, her hand on a hard shape strapped over his upper ribs. Although she could barely move her lips, she managed to ask, “What’s that?”
“You know what.” He shuddered and separated their bodies.
“Why?” Chilled without his embrace, she waited for his answer. He took so long she wondered if he hadn’t heard the question.
“I’m not entirely convinced yesterday’s adventure was my imagination.”
The sun seemed to disappear, leaving the cobblestone alley merely gray and musty. “But a gun is more dangerous to—”
“I’ve carried one nearly every day since before you were ali—allowed to drink.” His expression told her nothing. “You carry one everywhere at Caddie too, Doc.”
The reminder made her wince.
“Haven’t shot an unlucky patient, have you?” He cocked his chin as she slowly shook her head. “Not your foot? Well, I’m going out on a limb, but I bet my weapons training is a bit more intensive than what you get in the Medical Corps.”
That she couldn’t dispute.
“And before you ask, I have an Italian gun permit in my back pocket.” He twisted to show her the area in question. “Want to fish it out and check?”
“In your dreams, bud.” Her cheeks heated at her predictability. Certainly not at the view.
“Then let’s get moving.” He jerked his thumb toward the motorcycle. Triple exhausts, chromed to a precious-metal shine, swooped along each side like an orchestral horn section. On the gas tank and body panel, the bike proclaimed itself a Benelli 750. No way could he rent such a spectacular ride.
“Where’d you get that?” Her stepbrother would pant with excitement over a Benelli.
“Friend.” His answer didn’t even attempt subterfuge.
“Another top secret pal?” While he lowered the helmet over her head, she recalled the accidental-death statistics Colonel Loughrey had brought up at a staff meeting. “You know vets are five times more likely to die on a motorcycle than a civilian?”
“I have no interest in dying on a civilian.” His visor obscured his expression, but his voice gave away his smile. “Can you offer me odds of expiring on a captain?”
“Zero.” Now that she’d fulfilled her professional responsibility to address the safety issues, they could go.
He snapped her chin strap without catching her skin. “You’ve ridden a motorcycle?”
“I’m from New Jersey. What do you think we do in the summer?”
“With a man?” His hands lingered under her chin, not tickling, but heightening her awareness of him.
“No, with a space alien.” Filled with energy, she rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet, an urge to move brought on by his nearness. “I can walk and chew gum too.”
“Then you’ll remember how.” He tapped the side of her helmet to turn on radio speakers. “Follow my lead, hmm?”
They roared away, and she closed her eyes only once, when he cut across four lanes of traffic at the Victor Emmanuel Monument. She didn’t want to enjoy the ride, but wrapping her arms around him while unleashed power vibrated between her thighs was an undeniable thrill.
“Theresa,” he said as the gritty urban outskirts blurred past. “Did you talk about our plans?”
“No. Why?”
“Idle curiosity.” The voice coming through the helmet speaker sounded too clipped for that to be true. “Who knows about your trip?”
“Jennifer and my other roommates. Colonel Loughrey approved my leave.” The trickle of anxiety down her spine reminded her that the only absolute truth she knew about Wulf was his rank and unit. He admitted he lied to everyone, including the army.