“No, you are wrong. You she loves. I know this. Yes, let me see … somewhere special … ah, I have it! If you drive along the Amalfi coast for 20 minutes, you will see Capri on your left. The road is very beautiful—perfect for your motorcycle. At the top is a mountain pass: you must stop there for the view—it is a perfect place to propose and…”
“Um, well, we’re going to visit the place where her father was born tomorrow. Capezzano Inferiore, you know it?”
The signora sighed. “Yes, I know it. That is very romantic. I have high hopes for you, Sebastian Hunter. Romance is much needed in our lives, no?”
“I guess I agree with that, ma’am!”
“I know just the place you must take her—Il Saraceno. It is a very fine hotel with wonderful views of Capri. It is the perfect place to make love all night.”
I shifted uncomfortably and tugged at the collar of my t-shirt. “Um, yes, ma’am. Um, we’ll need some fancy clothes to go with the fancy hotel. I want to buy Caro a dress—something amazing. I guess I’ll need a tux, but renting is fine.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Si, I can think of one or two places you could try.” Then she sighed again. “Young love—it sweeps all before it. L’amore mantiene giovani.”
It took a moment to translate the second half of her sentence: The heart that loves is always young. Her smile was wistful, but then she squeezed my hand and rushed into the house to write down the addresses I was going to need.
I leaned against the wall while I waited for her. I was trying to look casual, but my heart was racing. I’d said it out loud; I’d admitted that I wanted Caro to marry me. I tried to imagine it happening, saying the words.
Fuck, I really needed to think about this.
First stop was a fancy-looking woman’s dress shop, and I felt as conspicuous as a hippy at Boot Camp.
The moment I stepped through the doorway, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I felt eyes on me. At least they weren’t hostile—in fact I’d go as far as to say they were very … welcoming.
A skinny, well-dressed woman with pulled-back hair and no tits sauntered toward me, putting so much extra swing into her walk that I half-expected her to dislocate a hip.
“Signore,” she purred, “welcome to Camilla’s. How may I help you?”
This I could handle. I’d been ‘handling’ women like her for the last six years.
“I’m looking for a special dress for a very beautiful woman—I can see that I’ve come to the right place.”
The turmoil that flashed across her face was too fucking funny, but I gave her my best polite smile, and she had no option but to return it.
“For your wife, signore?”
“I hope so. I’m going to ask my girlfriend to marry me. And if she says yes, I’m going to take her to Il Saraceno for the night.”
“She will say yes, signore, I have no doubt.”
She helped me pick out a silky dress in dark blue that I knew would look amazing against Caro’s clear, tan skin. The matching shoes cost me more than a month’s wages, but it was going to be so worth it. Because despite what the saleswoman said, I was still nervous about what Caro was going to say. She’d made it pretty damn plain that she wasn’t planning on marrying a guy in the military again. I hoped I’d done enough to make her change her mind, but a small voice of doubt was growing louder. What the fuck would she want with a dumb grunt who’s only got a high school diploma? And if I left the Marines, an unemployed dumb grunt, too.
I wanted to believe that we’d been given our second chance for a reason, but maybe that was wishful thinking. It was making my brain hurt just thinking about it. The sooner I asked Caro and knew the score, the better.
The saleswoman also talked me into buying something cute but more casual for this evening, and picked out a short skirt and a pair of those round-toed flat shoes that chicks seem to like. If I had my way, Caro would be in nothing but a pair of fuckin’ sexy high heels that made her legs look endless—especially wrapped around my waist. A man can dream. I’d go for the short skirt as second best. She looked amazing whatever she wore, but I wanted to see her in something other than jeans for a change.
I also got talked into buying some sexy-as-fuck panties and bra for Caro. They cost about the same as a new kidney, but I looked on it as an investment. Trying to describe the size of Caro’s tits was … interesting.
Next stop was an upscale men’s shop where I rented a tux; even that was a pain in my ass finding something that fit right. And the guy measuring me up was entirely too hands-on for my taste. But I think he knew he was pissing me the fuck off, because he backed down when I told him he’d end up losing a few teeth if his tape measure went near my junk again—although my Italian might have been kinda off, because he looked scared.
Next and final stop was a motorcycle rental place a short way up the coast road. After a brief discussion, the owner agreed to buy the Honda. I had to take a hit on the deal because I was in a hurry to sell, but what the hell—I’d gotten a lot of fun out of the beast, and I could always buy another—maybe a Ducati next time … wherever the fuck I landed up. I hope it would be on the East Coast with Caro.
But selling the Honda would be easier than trying to get it shipped back to the US—well, easier than the damn paperwork.
I was hot and sweaty by the time I got back to Signora Carello’s villa, and I’d been without my Caro fix for way too long.
I parked the bike and ran up to our room, taking the stairs two at a time. She must have heard me because she called out as soon as I put the key in the door.
“You missed a great bath. I’ve been sitting here enjoying the view—naked, except for a towel.”
I walked up behind her, kissing her damp hair and running my hands over the towel that was wrapped around her. I was so consumed by touching her that I completely forgot she’d spoken.
“You’ve been gone ages,” she murmured. “I was beginning to think you got lost.”
“Had some business to take care of, baby.”
She twisted around to look at me, narrowing her eyes, the journalist in her demanding to know what I’d been doing; the woman in her excited as well as curious.
“Come on, Hunter, spill. What business?”
I grinned, giving her enough information to throw her off the scent.
“Signora Carello told me somewhere I can rent a tux, so it’s game on for tomorrow night. We’re going upscale, baby.”
“Really?” she said excitedly. “Where?”
She wasn’t getting that piece of intel.
“Can’t tell you. Not even if you torture me.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I think it can be arranged, Sebastian,” she smiled, running her hand over my hip.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
I picked her up out of the chair, carrying her into the bedroom while she fastened her arms around my neck, kissing me hungrily.
“Ugh, you’re all sweaty!” she pretended to complain.
“Yeah? Any objections if I get you all sweaty, too?”
“None whatsoever.”
And those were almost the last words we spoke for the next two hours, although she screamed my name several times. We got through three condoms and had seven orgasms between us. Guess we’d been saving up.
Caro was splayed out across the bed, limp and flushed from our long-delayed fuckathon. Yeah, and she was going to need another shower.
“Oh my God, I can’t move!” she gasped.
I was trying hard to pull it together, but that woman had wrung me out dry—for now.
“Fuck!” I muttered, trying to force my legs to move.
Eventually, I managed to roll over, enjoying the view of her long dark hair spread across the pillow. Although her eyes were closed, her kiss-swollen lips curved upward in a smile.
“I know you’re looking at me, Sebastian, but whatever you have in mind you can just forget it. I admit it alclass="underline" you’re an animal in bed, and I will never, ever question your virility again.”
I laughed quietly.
“You can question it as often as you like, baby, because that just means I have to prove it to you.”