“I can stay. Maria said they didn’t need me today so I thought I’d visit and then go exploring,” I explained, taking the small piece he offered.
“I wish I could join you. Where are you headed?” he asked, biting down, his eyes rolling back.
My mind went blank as I watched his lips close over the sweet pastry.
“Nowhere specific,” I said, patting my tote. “I have free time on a gorgeous Roman day and figured I’d wander around and stop when inspiration struck.”
I’d been doing it quite often when I had a spare moment. Sometimes I would hop on the Metro or the bus and just get off at a random stop. You saw so much of the city that way. Each individual neighborhood had its own vibe, eclectic restaurants, and its own stamp on history. It was a great way for me to learn the city.
Marcello got my attention with a sticky finger rubbing my bare knee. “I have some news,” he said between bites. He lifted the puff pastry up to my mouth again, rubbing the powdered sugar over my lips. “I wish my office wasn’t full of windows.”
He leaned forward, and I felt exactly why he wished for more privacy.
“Tonight, I’m all yours. I’ll buy more pastry and you can see where else that powdered sugar can go. Tell me your news.”
He laughed, kissing the stickiness from my knee. “I almost forgot. You have me so distracted.” I licked the sugar from my lips, earning a groan. “You don’t play fair, Avery.”
Shaking my head, I sat at the edge of his desk and waited while he pulled up an email on his computer.
The subject read “Como Villa?”
“There’s a client we have. I did him a favor—”
“Ooh, favors. What did you do?”
“Nothing like that,” he insisted, pulling up the email and the images of a gorgeous villa. Scratch that. It was a castle on the water that looked like a stone hotel in heaven. “This is the payment for the favor. A weekend. Here.”
“This is Lake Como, right? The Lake Como?” I chirped. “Like George Clooney’s Lake Como?” I was drooling over the pictures.
He gave me the side-eye. “Clooney does not actually own the lake; you know that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah sure. So, a weekend here? How big is your luggage? Will I fit? I’m flexible.”
His hand moved to my thigh, rubbing small circles against it. Higher, then higher still until his fingers danced along the hem of my shorts. “Oh, I know how flexible you are.”
“Now who’s not playing fair, Marcello?”
“Touché.”
My eyes went back to the villa photos. It was stunning: light-colored brick, climbing with ivy. Window boxes spilling over with every color flower. Your eyes were drawn to the villa’s reflection in the lake. Shimmering like jewels over the water, it practically jumped off the screen.
“Are you interested?”
“Huh?” I asked, shaking my head free of thoughts of us skinny-dipping in the lake. “In what?”
“Spending the weekend there.” He leaned up to give me a kiss. “With me?”
I clenched my thighs together, sealing his hand between them before I jumped off the desk and ran for the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked with a worried frown.
“Home to pack, hot stuff. We have a Lake Como villa to defile.”
* * *
“SO HIT ME. How are things in Amsterdam?”
“Things are, well, hairy would be the best word right now,” Daisy said.
“Hairy is never a good word to describe anything.”
“Unless it’s a redheaded prince of England.”
“Good point. When are you coming home?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and tucking my feet underneath me.
“I love that you’re calling it home. That’s a good sign.” Her voice snapped me back to the present.
“You know what I meant. When are you coming back?”
“As soon as I convince Maarten—”
“Who’s Maarten?” I asked, hearing something in her voice that caused a blip on my radar.
“Never mind that. I shouldn’t be here too much longer. About a week or so. And if you’re up to no good in my apartment, please sanitize all surfaces.”
“Can you hang on a second?”
“Sure.”
“I have to make a note to pick up some Clorox at—”
“I knew it! I had a feeling you two would eventually get it on,” Daisy said.
“We’re talking minutes.”
“Minutes what?”
“We only waited minutes after you left town.”
“Shut your mouth!”
“I will not!” We both laughed, and it felt good. Good to be sharing this with one of my best friends. Being able to talk freely about Marcello and what was going on was new to me.
I told her some. But most I kept just for me.
Like the hunger. And sweat. And push. And pull. And don’t you dare stop. And yes, exactly right there. And goddamn, that’s good!
I ran my fingers across my bottom lip, thinking about how just last night Marcello had put his mouth on—
“—my box?”
“What?” I needed to pay more attention when I was on the phone.
“I had a box shipped from Amsterdam, so keep an eye out for it, okay? In between sessions of hide the cannoli with the Italian stallion.”
“Yes. Box. Sure. Stallion. On it. Anything else?”
“Not unless you want to tell me more.”
“I love it when you sound like Frenchy from Grease. We’re actually going to Lake Como this weekend. I can’t wait!”