Full Moon in Florence (11 page)

“It’s ruined,” she said, meaning the evening, not the shoe. Colin was probably right that it could be fixed.

“I’ll find a shoe repair first thing in the morning. I promise.”

He kneeled down and slipped the foot bed off her foot. He pulled the unbroken shoe off, too.

“You’ll have to walk in your stockings. Unless you want me to carry you?”

Laine shook her head. She could walk. She just felt so disappointed, and clumsy.

“It was all supposed to be so perfect,” said Laine quietly, feeling the magic of the night fade, the heat of passion between them cool. Colin stood up and threaded her arm through his. He seemed to catch on now.

“Tonight?” he said. “You wanted
tonight
to be perfect? And your broken shoe ruined that?”

Laine nodded.

Colin started to laugh.

Laine couldn’t control it. Her tears started to fall.

Colin must have realized his response wasn’t appropriate because he stopped in mid-gufffaw. Laine’s response wasn’t appropriate either and she wiped a corner of her wrap against her eyes, no doubt smearing her fastidiously applied mascara.

Colin stopped walking and turned to her, her shoes, in three parts, clamped in the fingers of one hand. With his free fingers, he wiped away a tear that Laine had missed.

He was still smiling, the feature left over from his quickly aborted laughter. “You have to admit it’s kind of funny,” he said gently.

Yet to Laine it was tragic. She had taken such a risk coming here, reaching out to Colin, pretending to be the kind of woman who could build an affair out of a one night stand, believing she could give a hot guy a foot job under the table at a restaurant. She was fooling herself. Sure, it was just a shoe. It was also just her life. Just her messy, clumsy, very unsexy life. She sighed heavily.

“Hey,” said Colin, using two of his fingers to lift up her chin so she would meet his gaze. His eyes seemed to twinkle. More of that stoppered laughter, Laine guessed.

“Nothing’s ruined. Believe me. I wanted tonight to be perfect, too.”

Laine lifted an eyebrow. He did?

“And then I went and kissed you too early and said the wrong thing. And I stumbled over my words back at the restaurant.”

Laine smiled. “You mean about the bath? That was cute.”

“And then I practically mauled you in the middle of the street because I was too impatient to walk the few blocks back to the hotel like a gentleman.”

“It’s all right.” Laine had liked it really, though he had come on rather strong. She’d had a hard time getting her bearings.

“But we nearly got hit by a car and I yanked you out of the road and that’s why the heel of your favorite shoes got stuck.”

“They’re your favorite shoes, too.”

Colin, who seemed about to say something else, stopped to think.

“My favorite feet might have been in those shoes, but you could be wearing trainers tonight for all I care, Laine.”

“But in Paris…”

He tilted his head back, sighed with recognition. “Is that what all this is about? You wanted tonight to be perfect, like in Paris?”

“Didn’t you?”

Colin looked away for a moment. Then he said. “I admit I wanted tonight to be perfect, but I don’t even know what I mean by that. I think, for me, that just means I wanted you to be happy. I wanted us to have fun together, and I think we were having fun, that we
are
having fun.” He frowned with those last words because it was pretty obvious they weren’t having fun at this exact moment.

Laine slid her arm through his again and they continued walking. “I’m sorry I got upset. I guess my expectations were too high.”

“Uh, what do you mean?” Colin looked genuinely concerned.

“Oh no. Not about you. I mean of myself. I thought if I dressed right and said the right things and everything went smoothly and beautifully then …” Her words kind of died off.

“Then what…?” He turned to her, his gaze open and curious.

Laine hadn’t really formed that thought fully. What did she think? That if things went well they’d want to keep on seeing each other? They might be able to create something more than a one night stand or an affair? That maybe she would finally feel free to love wholeheartedly and with abandon? That they might truly, deeply fall in love? Every one of those answers was too heavy for a first date. Colin might run screaming in the opposite direction. He didn’t come to Florence for any of that.

“Then we might have as much fun as in Paris, maybe a bit more. That you would kiss me like you did in the street and we’d go back to the hotel and tear each other’s clothes off and make mad passionate love.”

Colin grinned. “I like the sound of that. We can still do that. Can’t we?”

Laine nodded. She smiled, too. But inwardly she sighed. She longed for so much more, but she wasn’t going to ruin this good, sexy thing she had with Colin. They were nearly at the hotel. At the foot of the stairs, Colin turned and said,

“Can I kiss you, Laine?”

“Of course.” He didn’t need to ask. He’s already kissed her twice without asking.

He lowered his lips softly. She felt his breath against her skin. Before his lips touched hers he whispered,

“Let’s start again. Let’s start from the beginning.”

Colin

He felt he’d been a total baffoon. He’d tripped at every step. It was astounding to him that she still wanted to be around him. Being around her made him feel a bit mad. Aroused, yes, and that contributed to the madness, but it wasn’t the usual randiness he could channel into charm and seduction. He tried, but he kept blundering. They had talked so openly about their families and past relationships. Laine had even shared some of her dreams. It all felt so precious to Colin, and it threw off his game. What was his game? To wine and dine Laine and recreate the magic they’d felt in Paris? Yes, he wanted that, but he sensed he wanted more. This made him nervous. There was no reason to think they could build something greater than a two night stand. Was there?…

Heck, she lived in San Francisco and he lived in London. It would never work out. So why had he come? Besides his work reason. There was that. Why had he been so excited to see her again?

Because he felt different around her. This woman was different. He hadn’t felt so nervous around an attractive woman in a long time. She made him blunder. This was both disturbing and exciting. He was usually so cool and smooth in his seduction approach. He’d been like that in Paris, hadn’t he? That’s probably what she wanted. That’s why she came all the way from San Francisco.

He corrected himself: she came for work as well. But she had contacted him first. She had thought about him before her trip and hoped to see him while she was in Europe. She wanted to recreate their night in Paris. That’s what she wanted. Not necessarily something more. And Colin could deliver on that. If he put his mind to it. If he stopped jumping around in his brain like this. If he put aside this unfamiliar madness and focused on the mission at hand… Or at foot… Laine’s foot on his cock… He’d lost the thread then. Or found it? His thoughts and actions since then had been driven from below the waist. Was that the point then?

That’s how they’d started and that’s how they ought to continue. Forget the other things. Forget the image of her tycoon-tyrant father now swimming in his head, or the image of her sister living in California’s wine country. Colin had seen a faraway look of happiness when she described the vineyard. He’d also seen her shyness and longing when talking about making art not just appreciating it. Every glimpse he got at dinner made him want to look further, dig deeper, into who this beautiful creature named Laine Dixon truly was. And when she’d cried when her heel broke (his big baffoon moment) he’d been shocked by her flow of emotions but also irrationally protective, and dead set on making things right.

They’d both wanted tonight to be a special night, and maybe they’d put too much pressure on each other, on themselves. That’s why he’d suggested they begin again. That’s why he’d asked to kiss her, because he’d helped himself two other times that night. He wanted to treat her right. He wanted to give her what she wanted.

The kiss at the bottom of the stairs was tender, thoughtful, but still probing. He couldn’t deny how much he wanted to dive deep inside her, taste every inch of her. He would do his best to give her a night to remember, because that’s what she wanted. He wanted that, too. No need to fool himself. But he didn’t need things to be perfect. They already were because Laine was in his arms.

They held hands going up the stairs. On the upper landing, he led her toward his room. Before he opened the door, he kissed her again. He pressed her up against the wallpapered wall, not too roughly, and kissed her mouth, her throat, her temples, her cheeks, her mouth again, until she was sighing deeply, on the brink of moaning, her legs opening slowly… She lifted one of her legs and hooked it around his waist. His breath caught. He leaned into her, holding her thigh, letting his hand slide up under her dress. His fingers slipped over her smooth stocking, bumped against a fabric seam, and then touched bare skin. He stopped all of a sudden, realizing her stockings only went partway up. His hard cock, already pressing against her through his pants and her dress, seemed to jump with an extra pulse. Colin moaned. She slid her leg back down to the floor.

“Get your key,” she whispered.

He nodded. He was beyond speech now. He dug around in his pocket, only one thing on his mind. Get inside. Get
inside
. The room… her body … and though he’d told himself not to think anymore, he couldn’t help but add: Her heart.

Laine

The bottoms of Laine’s stockings were nearly shredded. Tiny runs zipped up her ankles and calves. One of her shoes was broken — Colin set the pieces gently on the chair next to the wardrobe in his room — and now she no longer cared.

Colin’s kisses had awoken a deep fiery desire, something more powerful than her insecurities about her looks and what she was wearing, something stronger than her worries about the future, something hotter than her simple attraction to Colin, and his attraction to her. It was as if an animal side of her nature had been roused from slumber, was yawning and stretching, sharpening her claws, settling into the sensual strength of long lean muscles, and feeling the urge to hunt, an urge driven by an appetite in need of satisfaction. It was a part of herself she wasn’t familiar with, though she had sensed it with Colin in Paris, but it had only been a light sense, a question, a wondering. Perhaps this sensual animal self had been at the root of her hesitation to get in touch with him again, as much as it was also the driving force to overcome that hesitation.

This creature was awake now, roused by Colin’s erection at dinner, his kiss in the street, at the bottom of the stairs, his fingers along her bare thigh. She had drawn him to her with her leg, urging him to press into her as she leaned against the wall, and something in him, already very much awake, had grown even more alert, more urgent.

Passing the threshold after he’d unlocked the door, Laine now stood next to the bed, which was made with the same brocade spread as in her room.

Colin shut the door and came to stand behind her. He ran his hands lightly over her hips, up her sides along her ribs, over her shoulders to her neck, and then back down again. She yielded to his touch, softening, melting, leaning back into him. He drew her close from behind, her back against his chest, his mouth on her neck, his hands roving across her hips and across her belly up to her breasts and down again, a swirling, searching massage, his hands mapping every inch of her. She leaned her head against his shoulder and moaned.

His lips on her neck switched from light kisses to a biting suck and his hands slid lower, down her thighs, and he gathered up the bottom of her dress and lifted.

Laine arched her back so that her bottom pressed against him. She felt his length, so hard… She wanted to spread herself for him, have him be a part of her right then and there. But they had too many clothes between them still. Colin’s hands, having pushed her dress up around her waist, pressed against her black-laced pubic bone. He pulled her toward him tightly, tilted his own hips as if he could drive himself up into her right now. One hand slid up across her belly and then down, a single finger slipping under the satin edge of her panties. She gasped even before she felt anything
there
, because as soon as she did, she couldn’t help but give a high-pitched moan of anticipated pleasure.

His finger slid over her nub and dropped lower, gathering slippery wetness on its twirling journey. Colin moaned her name and murmured, “I’d forgotten how soft… how wet… Oh, Laine.” He swirled his roving finger, pressed lightly against her opening, but didn’t penetrate yet, and then he withdrew his hand. Laine nearly gasped with disappointment.

But he’d freed his hands so he could lift her dress over her shoulders, over her head, and toss it over to the chair. He turned her toward him, and with his dreamy green eyes, slightly hooded with desire, he drank in her skimpy lace bra, panties, and garter. “Oh god, you look amazing,” he whispered. He kissed her lips as he slipped out of his jacket and then he started fumbling with his shirt buttons.

“Let me help,” whispered Laine.

As he worked from the top, she worked from the bottom, pulling out the shirt from his pants, trailing her fingers along his stomach and making him shiver.

Laine let him finish the buttons on his own as she went for the belt buckle and pants button, holding his gaze as she did so. His gaze kept flicking from her bra to her eyes to her lips. He leaned in for another kiss. She drew his tongue closer to hers, sucking lightly. He moaned happily.

Once he’d shrugged out of his shirt, he tangled his hands in Laine’s hair, holding her head close to his while his tongue probed further, making a demanding search of the interior of her mouth. She had to pull way to catch a breath, and by then she had his zipper down and was sliding her hand down his boxers to feel, skin to skin, what she’d been feeling through clothes with her toes, hands, hips and bottom.