“Thank you for this, Sebastian,” she breathed. “Thank you for bringing me.”
Thank you for giving me another chance, Caro.
She leaned into my body and I wrapped my arms around her, taking the time to appreciate her soft lips. She deepened our kiss immediately, her tongue moving possessively into my mouth—and I loved it.
Oo-rah.
When she pulled away, her face was flushed, and I was wondering if it was too cold for outdoor sex at the top of a mountain pass in the snow.
She must have guessed what I was thinking, because she said, “Save it, Marine. We’ve got a long way to go yet.”
I stood back while she snapped some photographs, then helped her climb onto the Honda. Moving slowly until the roads cleared, we started the steep descent down through the Alps to Italy. It was strange that I felt such a connection to a country I’d never been to before. Caro’s father was born near Salerno and I wanted to see his village. He’d been the only real parental figure I’d ever met until I was 14 and Ches’s family moved to San Diego. He’d been the one to start teaching me Italian, and it was from him I’d learned what a father should be. Taking this journey with Caro was the past crashing into the present. I wasn’t used to feeling so much.
A short while later, I pointed at a sign that read ‘Italia’, and then we were showing our passports to a border guard who was eyeing Caro with appreciation. Not that she noticed—she never did.
We were 20 Km from Genoa when the ocean came into view. It was a deep dark blue, calm with no waves, and white colonial-style villas followed the tree-line upward.
I took the shore road, passing dozens of concrete docks filled with yachts and expensive motor-cruisers as well as huge cargo vessels. Nothing military that I could see.
We drove through the city center, cruising past buildings that were hundreds of years old and what looked like a real castle on the top of the hill.
I stopped briefly to check the map. “Not far now,” I told Caro.
She gave me a quick thumbs up, and I headed up the mountain. Our route took us off the main drag, and we bumped up a steep and stony road. A sign next to a small, whitewashed villa welcomed us to ‘Casa Giovina’.
I pulled up, but let the engine idle.
“This is it. It only has one guest room, but it’s out of season … want to try it?”
When I’d planned this trip, I hadn’t expected to have company. The places I’d chosen to stay might be a bit basic for Caro’s taste. She was used to upscale hotels on her newspaper’s budget; she might not like my choices. I didn’t need the reminder that I didn’t know her so well anymore.
But then she smiled and I felt the tension ease from my shoulders.
“It looks charming. Let’s go see, but if the owners have a pretty daughter, we’re out of here.”
Was that a joke?
An old woman dressed in black opened the door.
“Posso aiutarvi?”
“I hope you can help us,” Caro replied, in Italian. “We were wondering if you had a room for the night?”
It was a good thing that I’d let Caro do the talking, because the old lady was eyeing me like she was afraid I was going to burglarize the place. I was pretty certain she wouldn’t have let me across the threshold if I’d been by myself.
“Are you married?” the old woman asked, folding her arms across a pair of enormous tits. I was afraid to look at them—I couldn’t help thinking that if they weren’t covered up, they’d be hanging by her ankles. I shuddered at the thought.
Caro was stuttering out a surprised answer when a man in his fifties hurried down the corridor.
“Mama! You can’t ask people questions like that! I apologize—my mother is very old-fashioned. Are you French?”
“No, American.”
“But you speak Italiano! Americans never speak our language.”
I decided he might respond better to a man, so I rolled out the Italian I knew, although it wasn’t as fluent as Caro’s.
“We mean no disrespect to your mother—this beautiful woman is my fiancée,” I lied, “but if your mother would feel more comfortable, I will happily sleep in a separate room.”
I already knew that they only had one guest room—as did Caro. I kept my expression neutral, waiting for his answer.
“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” said the owner, as his mother rolled her eyes to heaven and crossed herself twice. “Besides, we have only one room. Please, come in.”
The room was sparse, filled by a large old-fashioned bed, but the views out toward the ocean sold me on the room. Caro was smiling, which I guess meant she approved, too.
“The bathroom is across the hall, signore; it is to share.”
The owner shrugged in apology, but it didn’t bother me and Caro didn’t look fazed either.
“Breakfast is at 8am, signore, signorina. There is a ristorante just two kilometers up the road. It is very good—run by my brother.”
“That sounds great.”
We hadn’t stopped after our quick breakfast, and my stomach was growling.
“Ah, signore, one more thing: if you would refrain from riding your motorcycle after dark. My mother doesn’t sleep well, you understand, and she has the room next to yours.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Caro muttered, once he left. “I’m not getting on that thing again tonight if you pay me.”
“Feeling a little tender, Ms. Venzi,” I asked, pulling her toward me and rubbing my hands over her ass.
“Not really. It’s more the feeling that I’m still in motion.”
“I know something that will cure that,” I offered suggestively.
“Would that have anything to do with taking off our clothes and making mad, passionate love on that bed?” she asked, frowning at me.
Busted.
“It might have,” I admitted, eyeing her warily.
“Oh, alright then. I’ll try anything once.”
“Is that a yes?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t misheard.
“Yes, that’s a yes,” she stated, her eyes glittering. “But you’ll have to hurry—the ristorante probably closes before midnight.”
I glanced at my wristwatch, completely confused. “It’s only five o’clock?”
“Like I said—you’ll have to hurry.”
Okay, now I was on the same page. Damn! I liked the way she thought.
“Well, in that case, woman, you’re wearing too many clothes.”
“By the way,” she said, taking a step away from me, “your fiancée?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Hmm, well, I like my idea better—the one where we commit as many sins as possible in the shortest amount of time.”
And, to make her point, she unzipped my jacket and ran her hands down my chest, before tracing a finger around the waistband of my jeans.
I was there. I was so there, and then some bastard knocked at the door. I yanked it open, ready to take the fucker’s head off, a murderous look on my face. It had the villa’s owner taking a couple of steps back.
“Ah, mi scusi, signore, signorina,” he stuttered, throwing nervous glances in my direction. “I have just telephoned my brother: he is closing at 7:30pm tonight. If you wish to eat there, it would be best if you leave now.”
“Thanks,” I said, in a tone that telegraphed my extreme fucking displeasure.
Caro was trying to hide her wide smile—it wasn’t working. “Rain check?”
“Looks like,” I grumbled, adjusting the un-fucking-comfortable boner in my jeans.
“Never mind,” she smiled. “Come on, let’s get you fed and then I can have my wicked way with you.”
That got my attention, but did nothing to ease the tension in my pants.
“How wicked?”
“Not that wicked, so stop drooling. Just moderately naughty—it’s been a long day.”
I was pretty sure I could change her mind.