Kiss Me Goodnight in Rome (The Senior Semester Series Book 2) (23 page)

He nods brusquely. “Yeah. Mama loves it here; she was so happy the day Papa bought it. Let me carry up our bags,” Lorenzo says, unlocking the door and flipping on a series of lights.

The doorway opens up into a long hallway. He drops his keys into a bowl on a marble console and continues walking to a grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time while carrying our travel bags in his left hand. I stare up in awe, especially when I spot the frescoes painted onto the ceiling of the living room. Walking slowly into the room, I run my fingertips over the plush furniture. I pause in front of various paintings, which I can only assume are originals. It’s like being in a museum. Lorenzo’s family owns a museum. I blow out a breath. Sure, I went to a private school in New York City, my dad earns a healthy living, and I’ve never wanted for anything, but this … Lorenzo’s home, his car, his lifestyle is on a whole other level than anything I’ve ever experienced.

The room extends into a smaller space. A study. Thick, wooden bookshelves line the walls, filled from floor to ceiling with books in Italian, English, French, and German. Two leather chairs sit facing a gigantic window that takes up the entire back wall. It overlooks the sea; white foam sprays, leaving little drops of salt behind. It’s mesmerizing. I walk to the window, placing my fingertips against the cool glass and stare as the sea rolls in and reseeds back.

“Like the view?” A gravelly voice asks from behind me.

I turn and my breath catches in my throat. Lorenzo stands in the doorway, his right forearm bracing the weight of his body against the doorframe.

I swallow thickly. “It’s incredible.”

He nods once, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward me. His light gray sweater hugs his arms and his ripped jeans drag slightly on the ground now that he has traded in his shoes for a pair of slippers. “Make yourself comfortable. What would you like to drink? Wine?”

“Sure,” I say, stumbling into a chair. The leather is broken-in and smooth like velvet. I sink back into the seat and close my eyes.

In the background I can hear Lorenzo at the bar. The clink of the glasses, the pop of a cork leaving a bottle, the rattle of ice. I sense Lorenzo sink into the chair next to me. I open my eyes slowly, my head resting against the cool leather.

He smiles warmly, handing me a glass of red wine. “It’s the same from Angelina’s.”

I nod and take a sip, smacking my lips appreciatively. I sit up straighter in my chair. “Lorenzo …” I have to get this off my chest.
Just say it, Mia!

He looks at me expectantly.

“I’m sorry about last weekend. I’m sorry for crying and being a pathetic mess.”

His face softens and he reaches over to brush a kiss against my cheek. My heart beats faster at his close proximity. “You’re not pathetic. Don’t worry about it. We all have rough nights. It sucks that Pete didn’t turn out to be the friend you thought he was.”

“Yeah, well, I’m over it. We still have to do our project together so whatever.” I shrug.

Lorenzo frowns. A vein in his forehead throbs, and he rubs his hand across his face. “You’re still working with him?”

I nod. “Yeah, I don’t really have a choice. I don’t want to make a huge deal out of it. I just want to do the project, get a good grade, you know?” I watch him closely.

He sighs, leaning back and studying me. After a moment, he nods. “Yeah … sure.” He swirls his wine expertly and takes a giant gulp. “Are you hungry?” He changes the subject.

Well, at least that’s over and done with.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? You barely ate anything since we left Roma.” He leans forward again, studying my face carefully. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I feel fine,” I assure him.

He watches me for a moment longer. “Okay, well I’ll start dinner, and we can eat when you’re hungry. I think you’ll really like it.”

“Can’t wait.” I smile back. Oh God, what is he going to cook?

* * *

Ricotta and Grana Padano Gnocchi. You’ve got to be kidding me!

The aroma of homemade gnocchi and pesto sauce is delicious. The fresh basil is fragrant, and I breathe in deep, enjoying the scent as I set the dining table. Emma would be jumping up and down with pure happiness if any man—even an old and bald one—made her this meal. I feel like puking.

How am I going to get through this dinner? Of course Lorenzo will notice if I don’t eat. Should I fake sick? No, he already asked me if I was feeling okay. Plus, I don’t want to outright lie. I want us to enjoy this weekend together. Ah, why? Why couldn’t he just make salad?
Because you aren’t rabbits
, Emma’s voice echoes in my head.

“Mia,” Lorenzo calls out. “Almost ready?”

“Yes,” I say, laying the last utensil on the napkin.

“Fantastico.” He smiles, carrying in a big bowl of gnocchi and setting it down in between our plates. “Take a seat.” He gestures to the chair.

I sit at my place and watch with dread as he piles my plate high with gnocchi. “Oh, that’s more than enough,” I say lightly, placing my hand over my plate to stop the next gigantic spoonful of gnocchi.

“You sure?” He frowns. “It’s not a lot.” He gestures to the bowl between us. My serving barely made a dent. He made way too much.

“It’s perfect.” I smile, picking up my fork.

“Okay, would you like some vegetables?” He points to another plate of grilled vegetables.

“I’m good for now.”

He spoons about three times as much gnocchi onto his plate, and I sigh in relief as I watch the gnocchi in the big bowl dwindle. Hopefully, he won’t encourage me to eat seconds.

Lorenzo refills both our wine glasses and holds his glass up to me. “To a fun weekend.”

I smile back. “Thanks for inviting me, Lorenzo. This is all pretty amazing. My friends will be super jealous when I tell them I had dinner at a private museum.”

A dark shadow crosses his face for a moment, and he lowers his chin. He nods curtly. When his eyes meet mine again, they’re clear and he offers me a tight smile. “Buon appetito.”

“Buon appetito,” I respond, wishing he had a dog.

* * *

I eat seven gnocchi. Seven. I feel sick to my stomach, imagining the carbohydrates turning into cellulite on my thighs. Even if I could go back to dancing, it would be too late now that I’ve turned into a complete glutton, eating everything that passes under my nose.

“That was delicious, thanks.” I smile at Lorenzo, placing my fork down next to my plate to indicate that I’m finished eating.

“What? You barely ate anything! You didn’t like it?” he asks, his eyes zeroing in on the leftover gnocchi on my plate. His voice holds a hint of hurt, and I feel badly.

I look down at my plate and shake my head. “It was delicious. I’m just full.”

His eyes narrow. “Really?”

I make a cross over my heart. “Swear it. Thank you for cooking dinner,” I say sincerely.

He nods. “Welcome. Wait till you see what I have for dessert.”

“What?”

He laughs out loud. “You’ll just have to wait till later.” He puts his fork down. “Come with me,” he says, standing and extending his hand. I follow him out of the dining room and down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway, a winding staircase greets us, and I follow Lorenzo down.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Lorenzo

I watch Mia’s expression as she takes in the indoor pool enclosed by stone walls and large windows. A tiny waterfall sits at one end, the water bubbling softly over the natural rocks. Surprise flickers across her face, followed by a smile.

“Wow,” she whispers.

I laugh. I love how easily impressed she is, how much joy she experiences in such simple things. I link my fingers through hers, swinging our arms back and forth. “Want to go in? The water’s warm.”

Her face immediately flushes. “Now?” she asks hesitantly.

“Sure, if you want to.” I smile down at her.

The last time I brought friends here was in June, right before the season really picked up. Caterina, Giulietta, Sandro, Marco, Rosa. We had a great time. I shake my head slightly as memories of Giulietta’s striptease floods my memory; I ended up taking her right under the waterfall. Sandro snorted beer out of his nose when I told him and swore to never swim in the pool again.

This time, being here with Mia, everything is different. For starters because we don’t actually own the home anymore. But it’s more than that, its simpler, quieter, more relaxed. Everything is more real, genuine, in her company. Gone are the loud parties with bumping music and too much Campari. With Mia’s hand clasped in my own, it just feels right. No more having to put on a show.

Well, except for the party tomorrow night to draw out Benito. That’s out of necessity, not boredom. A very different motivating factor.

I tug her closer to the water’s edge.

“Don’t push me in,” she whispers, a hint of fear laced in her words.

I look down at her appalled. “I would never push you in.” Who the fuck would do something like that? She’s fully clothed.

“Okay.”

“So…” I unlink our hands and pull my sweater up over my head “…want to go in?”

Her eyes widen slightly and track my hands, watching as I unbutton the top of my jeans.

“Uh, I don’t have a bathing suit,” she says uncertainly.

I want to laugh. God, she’s so sweet. I don’t want to embarrass her, so I shake my head instead. “You don’t need one.” I unzip my jeans and let them fall around my ankles before stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. I stand before her in my blue Armani boxer briefs and watch the blush work up her neck, spreading over her cheeks as she checks me out. Her gaze lingers over my tattoo, takes in my pierced nipples, but she doesn’t say anything. Damn, I want to kiss her.

Who knew innocence could be such a turn-on?

“Your turn.” I smile at her standing before me in multiple layers, the top one being a heavily crocheted sweater.

“Um …” She stutters again, her fingers playing with the ends of her sleeves. She’s unsure. That’s fine.

“I won’t even look,” I tell her, diving into the pool neatly. I swim to the waterfall and come up for air, making sure I keep my back to her.

After several moments, I hear a tiny splash as she enters the pool. I wait until she swims the length of the pool and is standing next to me before turning to meet her gaze.

And when I do, I groan inwardly. Because sweet Mia is sexy as sin.

Chapter Forty

Mia

Skinny-dipping? Really? I want to die. I grimace as I can only imagine Emma and Lila cheering me on in this moment and Maura laughing hysterically at my predicament. Tall, dark, and handsomes. Living in the moment. Being present in the present. Adventure. Travel. Having fun.

I can do this.

If I’m being honest, I want to do this.

I want to do everything with Lorenzo.

Jeez, he has pierced nipples! What am I supposed to do with that?

I peel off my heavy sweater and fold it quickly, depositing it on one of the comfy patio lounge chairs around the pool’s perimeter. Checking again to make sure Lorenzo has his back to me, I shimmy out of my black skinny jeans and remove my socks. Clad in just a black bra and black lace cheekies (hey, at least they match), I take the three steps down into the pool.

Lorenzo was right; the water is warm. I tie my hair up in a messy bun on top of my head, tucking the pieces that slide out behind my ears. Then I paddle out to Lorenzo. As I reach his side, he turns to look at me, and I blush profusely at the smolder in his eyes. Dark blue, heated, intense. His eyes dart down to my lips, and he groans quietly.

I blush again, my face hot. I can only imagine that I look like a tomato. Or a red pepper. Or a fire engine. Or … God why am I so awkward?

Lorenzo’s eyes meet mine again. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t anything. I stare back, reality drifting away, as he closes the few inches between us and captures my lips with his.

I moan softly, tilting my head to give him better access. He takes it greedily, his arms coming up to encircle my waist. Oh no! What will he think if he feels the rolls on my stomach? The muffin top that peeks above my jeans now that I’m no longer a double zero? I start to squirm away but his firm is strong. Ironclad.

“No more running, Mia,” he whispers against my mouth.

I shiver and can feel him smile. He pulls me closer, his left hand coming up to frame my face, his right forearm against my back pressing me into him. He kisses me again, his lips full, his touch tender. When he traces the seam of my lips with his tongue, my mouth parts on its own accord, and I groan as his tongue dances against mine. Completely unfocused, unable to think about anything other than the way his hands feel on my skin, the way his lips feel pressing against my neck, I wrap my legs around his waist. He chuckles quietly in my ear and his right hand shifts, palming my ass.

He kisses up my neck and slowly moves us to the edge of the pool. Caged into the corner by his body, I look up at him just in time to see a moment of indecision play out across his features.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “You’re perfect.” He says it quietly, more to himself than to me. And then his mouth closes the distance once more, and I’m obliterated by his kiss.

Lorenzo kisses me slowly, softly, reverently. He anticipates my every move and is two steps ahead of me. After pressing tenderness across my neck, my eyelids, the corners of my mouth, he pulls me out of the pool and in the direction of an indoor cabana. He grabs a plush, white towel off of a lounge chair and wraps it around me. Then he lifts me in his arms as if I was a feather instead of a Mack truck and walks us over to the cabana, laying me down on the soft cushions. I don’t even have the energy to panic about my appearance, my body. Being with Lorenzo is like being drunk; he overwhelms all of my senses, fills me with courage, and encourages me to do things I’ve never done before, but want to. Badly.

I never break eye contact, too scared that if I blink it will sever our connection, this moment, me and him, and I’ll never be able to get it back. Because in this moment, the heat in his eyes makes me feel beautiful in a way I never experienced before.