I lick my lips.
“I said”—he leans in closer, his lips moving against mine as he speaks—“are we clear?”
“Still a little murky.”
His fingers curl around my neck and he holds my face to his. He kisses me slowly. Deeply. Intensely. A ball of need coils low in my stomach, tightening until it’s at the very brink of exploding. It hovers there, growing as Aaron’s kiss teases and taunts me.
He pulls away briefly before returning to my mouth and dropping a long, lingering kiss there. “My coffee.”
I grab the side of the counter until my woozy, heady feeling from him passes. Holy shit, the man can kiss. The tongue strokes, the pressure, the twitch of his fingers on my skin…
“Is apparently yours.” He shoves his jacket on and pockets his phone. “You,” he murmurs, rounding the island and cupping my chin, “have distracted me, and now I’m going to be late.”
“Better late than never.”
“I told you you’re my biggest temptation.” One more kiss. “There’s a car waiting for you downstairs when you want it. Just call the concierge and they’ll bring it around.”
“Why on Earth do I want a car?” I frown, watching him cross to the door.
“I’m not locking you in here. Not today,” he adds with a wicked grin. “Go and explore. You have the whole day to yourself.”
“I don’t want it,” I respond. “The car. How can I explore if I’m stuck inside a fancy-ass car?”
“You have a point. By the way, I thought you’d say that, so I programmed the concierge’s number into your cell in case you get lost. He’ll arranged for you to be picked up wherever you are.”
“In case I get lost?” I raise an eyebrow.
He winks. “Have fun, Bambi. Oh, and keep your eyes to yourself. I know how you like concierges.”
“Gosh, no concierge, no touching myself… Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes. Me. Tonight.” He opens the door and walks through it before I can respond.
I blink after him for a second then pour a cup of coffee. The clock reads eight a.m., and I should be tired from the flight, but I’m not. I never really adjusted to Australian time, so being in a time zone somewhat closer to home is sitting right with my body.
I hug the mug and stroll through the suite, my eyes gazing out of the windows. I have a city to explore.
***
The Duomo di Milano is by far the most incredible building I’ve ever laid eyes on. It stands proudly in the Square, ornately designed spires and window decorating the majestic cathedral. From the huge iron doors and carved archways over each window to the intricate patterns wrapping the building, it’s amazing. Just amazing.
It felt like I was standing in front of the Eiffel Tower again, wowed by one of man’s greatest creations. I felt the same rush of wonderment and excitement at what I was seeing, and it’s something I feel now as I sit outside a small café with the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.
I couldn’t even go in and explore the inside of the Duomo. All I could do was stand in front of it and stare at it like a teen girl at a One Direction concert. I may even have wanted to scream in delight at one point, so completely overcome with the beauty of it.
Still, something was missing.
I sip my coffee and watch the Italian people breeze past on the sidewalk. Some are chatting hurriedly into cell phones pinned to their ears, others are linking arms and laughing, and a few are coaxing young children into following them. The fluid, relaxing language surrounds me, and I sigh.
He was missing.
The last time I felt the way I did while staring at the Duomo was the day I met Aaron. It was the day my wonderment at something manmade changed into amazement at someone naturally created. It was the day an all-consuming relationship began, although neither of us actually knew it.
I wrap my arms around my stomach and raise my face to the sun as I walk away from the café. How different my life would be if we’d never met… How empty it would be. I’d never have felt the heart-pounding warmth of real love or the heated breathlessness of heavy lust.
I’d never have felt the earth-shattering reality of heartbreak either.
And I wouldn’t be here, in Italy, wondering if the way my stomach flips when he walks into a room is a reaction to something I know. Something comfortable. Something familiar.
Or if it’s an automatic reaction that will always happen because my body recognizes something I choose to ignore.
I wander the streets in a contemplative haze, those thoughts spinning around and around in my head. Spinning and somersaulting and beating at the corners of my mind. Demanding to be listened to, demanding to be answered, demanding to be known.
The hustle and bustle of the outlet stores outside the Galleria Vittorio Emmanuelle II drags me back out of my own mind. Shiny shoes and purses and cut-priced dresses grab hold of my attention and I gravitate toward them. I might not have planned to go shopping, but the concierge recommended this as the best place, complete with the original Prada store.
And a girl can look. And touch. And dream.
Maybe even buy if it can be kept a secret…
I shake my head at the absurd thought. Aaron would have a fit and burst the seams of his suit if he found that out—and I have no doubt he would.
The tiny stores are full of designer apparel. The only difference is the price—and it’s a big difference. A black knee-length dress with a pink patterned flirty skirt catches my eye. I run my finger down the seam and pull it out.
I nibble on the inside of my lip. It’s gorgeous. My size. A dress that could be dressed up or down depending on the occasion. With the pink heeled pumps across the store…
It’s a Paris kind of dress.
Taking a deep breath and refusing to linger on that last thought, I hold it to my chest and find the pink shoes. They’re my size, and there’s no way I can’t not buy them. This is one of the crazy little ‘fate’ moments Liv mutters about that I’ve never believed in.
Mostly because she talks about love and fate. This is shoes and fate. Totally different ballgame.
I take them to the counter and the olive-skinned girl behind it beams at me. I ignore the way my stomach rolls at the cost and reach for my card.
But it’s not mine I find. There’s a black American Express card with a bit of paper wrapped around it.
I know you too well.
A
A smile wins out over the pursing of my lips, and I hand her that card—begrudgingly—since mine is nowhere in sight. That ass**le…