An Innocent Abroad: A Jazz Age Romance (9 page)

He
laughed again, and kissed her, and she could taste herself on his lips. His
mouth was hot and wet.

His
hand once again probed between her legs, and this time he slid two finger inside
her, widening, exploring, penetrating deeper, sliding faster over the sensitive
folds of her skin.

His
erection pressed against her core. His fingers slid from her and she cried out
her disappointment, the cry changing as he pushed the hard head of his erection
into her. He tried to be gentle, but she tensed around the invasion, at once
reluctant and willing.

Slowly,
slowly he buried himself in her and she felt the moment when he encountered her
resistance, and the final barrier inside her gave way. Pain flashed through
her, sharp, momentary. He stilled inside her, waited.

“Hush,”
he murmured. “The worst is over now. Relax.” He stroked her face. “Are you
okay,
cara
?”

She
nodded. Muscles she hadn’t even known existed clenched around him in protest.
She forced herself to relax as he instructed. Forced herself to breathe.

But
the pain was nothing compared to the sense of victory, of conquest that
uncurled in her. Everything she had known, everything she was, shattered in
that moment, setting her free. She was no longer a girl, but a woman. And she
was his.

For
a long time he held still inside her, letting her body adjust to his. She
breathed through the discomfort, enjoying the slide of his hand over her
breasts until she had relaxed enough. Then he shifted inside her, and a little
ripple of pleasure echoed through her bones, a pleasure that promised more to
come.

He
had been so patient with her, though it seemed the tension in him was only
barely held in check. She wanted him to enjoy this too, to enjoy her.

Cautiously,
she rocked her hips against him, feeling how the movement caused his erection
to rub against her inner walls. His breath stuttered.

“Take
me,” she said.

His
gaze held hers, and the look in his eyes made her feel like a goddess,
desirable, all-powerful, wicked. Raising himself above her, those strong,
muscled arms braced on either side of her shoulders, he thrust into her again,
a slow sensuous glide of skin against skin.

He
moved inside her, building a slow and steady pace, the friction starting waves
of pleasure and pain up through her abdomen, slow at first, and growing faster
with each thrust.

She
arched her back, instinctively forcing him deeper, harder, and he responded,
plunging into her with a gathering wildness that drove them both towards the
edge of reason. This time she knew what to expect when the explosion of feeling
came. She forced her eyes to stay open so she could watch him as he came. His
eyes were blacker than night, darker than sin, and so extraordinarily
beautiful.

Then
she clung to him as his release crashed over him, and through her, his warm
seed erupting into her
, and she felt his pleasure as her
own.

Time
stood still as they lay together on the sun-washed deck, wrapped in each
other’s arms, not talking, content to let their hands explore, to touch and
discover. Infinitely gentle, Stefano kissed her bare breasts, circling the
sensitive nipples with his tongue. The stir of his erection against her leg
sent a swift shaft of desire piercing through her, even though she felt bruised
and aching in places she hadn’t even known existed before today.

A
strange, alien trickle of warmth escaped between her legs.

She
reached out to touch his erection. It was only semi-hard now, growing fuller as
she stroked. He pulled away, grinning, the devilish glint back in his eyes.
“Not so soon,
bella
. In case someone asks to see them, you will need to
do some sketches. For your … what do you call it … alibi?”

He
climbed down into the cabin to fetch her sketch pad and pencils. Isobel leaned
back on her arms, stretching out her naked body, worshipping the sunlight. She
felt so free, so alive, and so full of possibility.

Not
just a woman now, but something more. Like a new person.

When
he returned, he handed her a damp cloth so she could clean herself up, then she
sat and took the book from him. He lay on his back beside her, his head pillowed
on his arms, eyes closed, though she knew he was not asleep.

“Tell
me about yourself. Have you lived here all your life?” she asked, as her
charcoal pencil began to scratch across the thick paper.

He
spoke without opening his eyes. “I grew up here, but I attended university in
Rome, then I went to the naval academy at Livorno. That’s where I was when the
war started.”

For
a moment, she stopped drawing to look at him. Of course he was old enough to
have seen action. But she hadn’t even considered it until now. If he carried
any scars from the experience, they were beneath the surface.

She
smiled a little, admiring the gorgeous, very masculine body stretched before
her. “And then?”

“When
the war was over, I left the navy and travelled a little.” His tone was light,
as if what he discussed was inconsequential. The stiffening in his shoulders
was barely perceptible.

“What
is a little?”

“Nearly
three years.”

She
did the mental calculations. So he had not been home long. “Why did you come
back?”

“My
father died, and it was time for me to take up my place as head of the family.”

“Did
you mind having to come home?”

He
was silent for a long time. “At first I did.” His mouth twisted in a smile.
“All the time I was travelling, I was searching for something, only I didn’t
know what it was. In coming home I found what I had been looking for.”

“What
was that?” Her voice was hushed.

He
raised himself up on an elbow to look at her. “I found where I belong. This is
my home, it’s my future. No matter what has happened, no matter what will
happen, these are my people.”

She
nodded. She had felt that same sense of belonging, from the moment the carriage
had left Naples and begun the twisting, heart-stopping journey on the narrow
shelf of rock between sea and sky, she’d felt at home. But she didn’t have the
luxury of being able to stay. These weren’t her people.

Then
she heard the echo of his last words. “Why do you say ‘no matter what’?”

His
face clouded. He stared out into the distance, across the still water to the
mainland. “Change is coming. There is restlessness in the air. It’s time for us
to make a new future for this country, but I am afraid of the direction that
future will take.”

“The
fascisti
?”

Stefano
nodded.

“I
saw what happened on the steps of the church the other night.” She bit her lip.

“I
am sorry you saw that.” He reached forward to brush a tress of her hair back
behind her ear with a soothing caress. “We are a volatile people. But nearly
all Positanese are related, so every fight is like a family quarrel. But that
...” He scowled, his bright eyes dimming for a moment. “Those men were
outsiders. That is not who we are.” Then the irrepressible smile softened his
grave expression. “But let’s not borrow tomorrow’s problems. This day is too
precious to waste a moment.”

He
traced a pattern down the inside of her thigh with light fingers, setting her
skin alight where he touched her.

She
swatted away his hand. “You’re distracting me.”

“That
is my intention.” He took the sketch pad and pencil from her nerveless fingers,
glancing down at her drawing.

She
blushed. It was not a picture she could ever show to another living person. But
it was a memory she would treasure all her life, long after this Italian idyll
was over.

“I
like it,” he said simply, setting the book carefully aside, unembarrassed to
see himself naked upon the page.

They
kissed, they tasted, they explored. This time their lovemaking was not slow and
sensuous as it had been before, but wild and fervent. Knowing what to expect,
Isobel opened herself up to him, and he took the invitation, plunging harder
and faster, holding nothing back until they soared together.

“Bella,
you will get sunburnt if you stay in the sun much longer.” Stefano placed a
tender kiss on the exposed skin of her shoulder, already turning pink. She
blinked open her eyes, still basking in the afterglow of his loving, her limbs
soft and liquid.

“We
should go inside, and I will prepare lunch.”

Though
she didn’t want to leave the comfort of his arms, she climbed ahead of him down
the ladder into the cabin. She made herself comfortable on the narrow bunk,
wrapping a thin blanket around herself. Once again she propped the sketch pad
against her knees.

Stefano
prepared a simple meal in the tiny kitchen area, his movements deft and economical.
Completely unconcerned by his own nakedness, he did not put on any of his
clothes, and she was able to admire the shift of muscle, the angles of his
beautiful body, as he worked.

She
dragged her gaze away and flipped to a clean page, starting a new drawing, an
innocuous image of Positano, the church dome rising above the rooftops and the
fishing boats drawn up on the beach. Her very first impressions of the place,
from that day she’d first met Stefano. She smiled as she worked. That sunny day
in Positano felt like a lifetime ago. The girl who had sat on the steps above
the beach was a stranger to her now.

“The
day we met,” he said, as if reading her thoughts, “we spoke of your marriage.
What are the plans your parents have for you?”

She
didn’t want to talk of the future, of marriage to another man. Not after what
she had experienced with Stefano. It was a stark reminder that some things
hadn’t changed, and that her future lay elsewhere. That Stefano had still not
offered her anything more than this one day of hedonistic abandon.

She
answered reluctantly. “Next week I return to London. My parents have rented a
house there and I will be presented to society. There will be parties and
balls, and hopefully by the time the lease is over, my engagement will be
announced in the papers.”

“You
don’t sound excited at the prospect.” A wry smile touched his lips as he
glanced her way.

She
shrugged. “I don’t enjoy parties or big crowds. The
Ferragosto
celebration was the only time I’ve ever enjoyed myself in a crowd. That was
fun.”

But
he was not so easily diverted. “Have your parents already chosen the lucky man
who will be your husband?”

She
sucked in a breath. Should she tell him the truth? It was the least she owed
him. “Yes.”

“The
fair haired young man who sat beside you at dinner the other night?”

“Christopher.
Yes.”

“And
you have accepted his proposal?”

Appalled,
she could only shake her head. How could Stefano think she would have made love
to him if she was already engaged to another man?

“He
hasn’t proposed yet.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “That’s why
I’m here in Italy. My mother hopes he will.”

“He
will.” He fixed her with a penetrating look. “He’s in love with you.”

“Not
really. He only thinks he loves me. But he doesn’t really know me.”
Not as
you do
.

“And
if he does not propose,” Stefano prompted. “Will you be free to choose your own
husband?”

“I
have always been free to choose. But I cannot disappoint them. My parents have
done so much for me. And I have two younger sisters. It’s the least I can do to
marry someone my parents approve of, someone who will be able to help us all.”

“Someone
with money?” There was an edge of humour in his voice.

“Not
only money, but the right sort of connections.”

“And
someone who is English?”

“Yes.”

“That
is a pity. I think you would like to stay here in Italy.” His dimple flashed.
“You belong here.”

Her
breath caught. Yes, she belonged here. Yes, she wanted to stay. And yes, she might
now be willing to defy her mother and follow her own dreams. But she couldn’t
do it alone. Stefano had to want her. He had to offer her more than this one
day.

If
only he would ask.

But
he didn’t.

In
spite of everything they had shared, today still meant nothing more to him than
sex with an
easy
English girl.

She
forced herself to breathe through the pain.

There
was time yet. The day was not yet over.

“What
do
you
want?” she asked, needing to divert this conversation away from
herself, to buy time to get her wayward emotions under control. “You have asked
me often what I want, but what do
you
want for your life?”

He
grinned. “I already have everything I want.”

That
explained the easy-going confidence he exuded. She sighed, envious. “And your
family, do they have any expectations of you?”

He
shrugged, a typically Latin gesture. “My mother would like me to marry.”

“Has
she picked out a wife for you yet?” In spite of the hardness in her chest,
somewhere in the region of her heart, her voice sounded credibly casual.

He
laughed. “I don’t think she cares who I marry, as long as I provide heirs.
Mamma says she wants
bambini
before she dies.” The smile turned into a
grin, full of mischief. “Lucky for me, she still expects to live a long life.”

So
he was in no hurry for a wife yet. She closed her sketch book and set it aside.

Stefano
carried a laden tray to the bunk and sat beside her, the tray separating them.
“Try these.”

He
gestured to the platter on the tray, artfully arranged with nearly a dozen
different delicacies. The smell and colours made her mouth water. “At the Villa
del Monte, you are not served true Italian food. This is
antipasti
, and
it is the first course of any meal.” He lifted a slice of melon, wrapped with a
wafer-thin slice of cured ham, and held it to her lips. “This is
Prosciutto
e melone
.”

She
took a bite. “Mmm. This is good. It tastes so much better than anything we have
in England.”

His
eyes darkened, and his gaze stayed riveted on her mouth.  “Everything in Italy
tastes better.”

She
selected a pimento-stuffed olive from the platter between them and raised it to
his mouth. “And what is this in Italian?”

He
didn’t just take the olive in his mouth, but her fingertips too, sucking gently
on them in a way that made her insides burn, starting a tell-tale flush
spreading across her skin.

“
Oliva
,”
he said, when she pulled her fingers away.

Who
could have believed something as ordinary as a meal could turn into a
seduction?

She
speared an artichoke heart with her fork and took a bite, savouring the taste
on her tongue before swallowing it down. She licked her lips, and watched his
pupils dilate. “And this?”

“
Carciofo
.”

She
let the blanket slip a little from her shoulder. He swallowed, captivated. He
might have begun this seduction, but two could play this game. As if he’d
opened a floodgate inside her, she wanted him to make love with her again.

For
the moment she wouldn’t let herself care if sex was all they ever had between
them.

“And
what is this?” She leaned across the tray to place a kiss on the edge of his
mouth.

“
Bacio
.”
His voice was almost a growl, so intensely appealing that all thought of food
was forgotten. She traced his lips with her tongue.

Stefano
swept the tray to the floor and rolled her in his arms. “I hope you aren’t too
hungry.”