Gaining visibility, p.12
Gaining Visibility, page 12
Some of the women didn’t seem to care what they talked about as long as they got to flirt with the hot Italian artist for a while. One Brit was so bold as to flutter her fingertips down his arm as she pointedly asked him about his “techniques.”
Julia rolled her eyes at that one.
Vitale answered the woman by going into great detail with his limited English about glazing techniques. The lesson was even more effective than Julia could’ve imagined as the woman’s eyes did actually appear to glaze over before he finished.
When he flashed Julia a disarming smile, she understood that he knew precisely what he was doing. She also realized that shouldn’t surprise her.
When it came to women, Vitale always knew exactly what he was doing. The thought, which started as a warning, ended with a tingle in her lower belly.
Julia could feel his eyes on her as he talked with the customers, and she wandered around, snapping pictures. Eventually, she moved to a safe uncrowded corner, where Vitale sought her out.
“Julietta, I want you to leave.”
Aha! So he wanted rid of her after all? Must be cramping his style. Her prior irritation bloomed again until he added, “I worry the person step on the toe.”
His genuine concern threw a hearty bitch slap to her unfair assumption, and she nodded. “I want to see some more of the town, so I’ll meet you at the tables down by the water in, say, three hours? Is that long enough?”
“Sì. She will be the too long.” He gave her a quick kiss, and she left him then. And while she was glad to be rid of the worry about her toe, she was surprised by the twinge of disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to watch him talk with people about the art he held such passion for.
* * *
The day was certainly shaping up to be an interesting one, Julia mused as she put down her spoon.
It wasn’t until they got ready to leave the house around noon that she’d actually realized—with more than a little shock and dismay—that the man’s only mode of transportation was a motorcycle.
She’d never even sat on a motorcycle before. But once she got over her initial fear, she’d found it undeniably invigorating. Sitting straddled on the seat . . . pressed against Vitale with her arms around him . . . skirt hiked up around her thighs, the wind in her hair. Whew! That memory would play in her fantasies for years to come.
All the touching and kissing and even the sweet kiss he’d given her at the gallery had ignited all sorts of not-so-sweet thoughts. So for the last three hours she’d been trying to find anything that would redirect her invisible-but-apparently-not-indefatigable libido, but to no avail. She kept asking herself why, if she wasn’t looking for romance, she’d picked the most romantic place on earth for her stay?
Shelley and Byron had warned her in their writings, but she’d been smug that her invisibility would have her watching from the sidelines, impervious to the allure. Instead, everything—the pleasantly sweet gelato on her tongue, the fresh scent of the sea, the heat of the sun, couples in various stages of embrace everywhere she looked, all set against a playlist whose backbeat was the thrum of life itself—blended into a sensory-loaded, sensual maelstrom she was incapable of avoiding....
And maybe unwilling to bypass without a sample.
Even her wanderings, which had taken her off the beaten paths to the quiet back streets, had led to heart-pounding adventure when she’d happened on an art alley. Although the studios lining the shady lane showcased mostly wall art, some delightfully whimsical triptychs made her laugh out loud while other floor-to-ceiling photographs from inside caves at sunset held her spellbound. She filled her clutch with business cards and her hands with postcards and brochures—so many, in fact, she had to make a trip to Vitale’s motorcycle to drop them into the storage unit.
With only a half hour left before she was to meet Vitale, she’d finally sought out a shady table near the edge of the water, in sight of the gallery. At that point, she’d made a call to Camille to warn her of all the money they were going to spend and to describe the feeding frenzy surrounding Vitale.
Her friend only exacerbated her delicate condition when she said, “Do whatever it takes—bribes, hot sex, whatever. Just get Vitale’s line for us.” Fortunately, Camille hadn’t picked up on the nervous laugh given in response.
As she waited for Vitale to meet her, Julia caught herself drumming on the table. Restlessness—that was her problem. Maybe her body wasn’t craving sex as much as it was craving physical activity of any kind. For so long she’d been in workout mode, preparing for ten days of hiking tough terrain. Walking, running, weightlifting, aerobics. She needed something that would exhaust her, make her sweat and groan—grunt! Not groan! She shoved the dish of gelato out of her reach as a woman with hair cut in a chic, angular bob walked by.
Since I can’t hike, maybe a new look to celebrate my health?
She pulled her ponytail holder loose and ran a hand through her nondescript, shoulder-length, lackluster brown locks. It would be fun to go home with a major change. If anyone noticed, she could say, “My hair? I had it cut while I was in Italy.”
Snap. Snap.
The nearby sound caught her attention, and she turned her head to find Vitale with his camera aimed at her. Snap. He took another couple of shots before he tucked the camera into his pocket and pulled up a chair beside her. “You look sexy when you put the fingers through the hair.”
“And you don’t ever miss a chance, do you?” The question in his eyes asked what that meant, but she didn’t want to have to get into that discussion now. “Actually, I was thinking it might be fun to have my hair cut while I’m here.”
His bottom lip drew into a sensuous pucker. “But why? She is beautiful as she is.”
“I’ve had it this way a long time.” She ran her fingers through the top of her hair and lifted it. “Change would be nice.”
“My sister Adrianna, she cut the hair. Is very good.” He picked up a strand of her hair and curled it around one of his fingers.
Julia’s toes on her good foot curled dangerously in response.
As soon as he released it, she tucked the strand behind her ear and stood up. “Oooo, that would be fun. Do you think she would fix mine?”
“Feex? Prepare? Make ready?” He repeated her words from earlier, tilting his head in obvious confusion.
She snorted and shook her head. “Sorry. Used this way, it means ‘repair,’ make better. Like you would fix a car that has something wrong with it.”
“Your hair, she has the nothing wrong with it. She does not need to feex.”
“But it’ll be fun to do something different. ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans,’ you know?”
“The town, she is Lerici. Not the Roma.”
“Then, when in Lerici, do as the . . . Lerici-ans?” He laughed at her word, and she could tell he was softening. “Please, Vitale? Will you call her?” She handed him her phone. “And I want to hear about your afternoon, so can we walk for a while? I need some more exercise.”
He arched one eyebrow. “We do not have to walk for the exercise, Julietta.”
When it came to one-liner sexual innuendos, this guy sat on dead-ready. She batted her eyelashes and exaggerated her Southern drawl. “Well, that seems to be the best option on this crowded street with all these people around.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her present state of mind and body vetoed any sexual banter. She gave him a brotherly arm punch and pushed her chair in.
Vitale looked perplexed at her sudden burst of energy, but he stood up and offered her his arm, dialing the phone with his other hand.
Julia could hear the enthusiasm in Adrianna’s voice when Vitale asked the favor.
“Domani?” Vitale swiveled the phone away from his mouth. “She can tomorrow the morning, but not tomorrow the afternoon.” Julia nodded and he went back to his conversation. A few seconds later, he turned to Julia again. “She want to know if you want the color. I tell her no, you already have the pretty color.”
Julia squeezed his arm. “Yes, color would be great. Anything she wants to do.”
He rolled his eyes and reported back to Adrianna, giving a couple of kissing sounds before hanging up. “Tomorrow the morning she come to my house. Not early. After the breakfast.”
“Yay!” Julia waved her phone in the air before dropping it back into her purse. “Thank you so much. Now, tell me all about what happened at the gallery.” She nodded toward the docks and the old fort in the distance, a place she still wanted to explore.
“We sell all the pieces! Gena want more.” The exuberance in Vitale’s voice was palpable. “You start the sell when you say I am the artist. Then people, people, people . . .”
His hand closed around hers as he talked, an innocent gesture that today felt uncommonly intimate.
She tried to shift her thoughts to follow what he was saying but found she was more preoccupied than ever with wondering why she was letting such a golden opportunity pass her by.
* * *
Gena had paid Vitale before he left, evidently a handsome sum, and he insisted on taking Julia for a celebratory meal at his favorite trattoria. He seemed to know everyone there, and everyone knew him.
Julia’s head whirled at the number of names thrown at her, the array of foods she ate, and the volume of alcohol she drank. Most of all, Vitale’s rapt attention made for a heady experience.
His arm hugged the back of her chair when he made introductions, and though she received little attention from those who sat and chatted, it scarcely mattered. She had his attention, and knowing that made all the difference.
He held her hand and kissed her fingers after they drank to his success with the premeal aperitivo. He fed her bites of spicy sausages and cheese off the antipasti tray, tracing his thumb across her lips in a way that echoed the pressure of that touch down below. His warm hand feathered up and down her arm as they talked over gnocchi de pesto. The scrumptious mixture of pine nuts and fresh basil exploded in her mouth, and a champagne-like effervescence flowed through her veins, heating her from head to toe.
Sharing the main course of succulent steamed mussels, they often touched foreheads or brushed noses when they laughed together. Every contact continued to suck Julia into the sensual vortex that hurled her forward through her insecurities and inhibitions.
By the time he ordered the limoncello for digestivo after dessert, last night’s reticence filled her with regret. She really should’ve taken him right there on the table.
Luckily, by all appearances, she was going to get the rare opportunity of a second chance.
Not exactly ignoring her sense of propriety, but finally simply choosing to throw caution to the wind one time in her life, she excused herself to the ladies’ room, removed her panties, and wadded them into her small clutch.
As if he sensed the final demise of her resolve—and probably congratulating himself for cracking a tough case—Vitale had already paid the bill by the time she returned. Swiftly, yet cautious of her limp, he led her through the crowd toward the door.
Once they reached the open air, he stopped and caught her under her chin, raising her mouth to meet his. She parted her lips, and his tongue made a quick and delicate sweep of her mouth. When he broke away, she leaned back and smiled up at him. He grabbed her hand and made straight for his Benelli parked around the next corner.
“Vitale! Don’t forget my toe. Slow down.” She protested his long strides, and he laughed and slowed his gait, though not by much.
They reached the bike, stopping to catch their breath before they got on. Adrenaline pumping through Julia’s veins made her bold, and she lifted her mouth to only inches from his. “Kiss me.” What she intended as a suggestion came out as a demand.
Vitale didn’t seem to mind. He gathered her to him and kissed her with a ferocity that surpassed any fantasy she’d ever had. The fullness of his lips cushioned their fervent press as his mouth devoured hers from ever-changing angles, sweeping her into sensual oblivion of anything but the tip of his fevered tongue against the roof of her mouth. Their heated breath mingled, sending flames into the deepest recesses of her body. He didn’t just kiss—he possessed. Their tongues sparred and tangled while their mouths met, parted, fused, danced.
Still pressing his lips and holding the front of his shirt for balance, Julia threw her leg over the seat. When her bare bottom connected with the cool leather, she stifled her surprised giggle and sucked his tongue with more vigor. He responded with a lusty grunt of approval.
At last, he pulled his mouth away slowly, but returned for three or four tiny kisses before he settled in front of her.
She molded her body against him, noting the seat beneath her was already warm and slightly damp. Clutching him around the middle, she whispered, “Hurry! I’m ready to let go.”
He gave it the gas.
CHAPTER 12
Tightening her thighs against Vitale’s hips allowed Julia to loosen her arms from around his waist, and she began a sensual bushwhack on his body, pulling his shirt from his waistband, employing her hands on his front, her lips, tongue, teeth on his back.
His muscles responded, rippling beneath her fingertips. She nibbled, nipped, scratched, licked, kissed—taunted him every possible way from her position on the seat behind him. All prior inhibitions were gone under the cover of darkness, but she continued her relentless assault even when the headlights of occasional on-coming automobiles placed the two of them in the spotlight.
She kept her hand above his waistband until he turned into the driveway; then she tiptoed her fingers past the barrier of his waistband to grasp him and tantalize him with a few strokes and caresses.
He revved the motor, making the plunge through the wooden columns, stopping a few feet from the door. In the sudden stillness, she could hear his hard breathing. She was breathing harder still.
When he rolled his head back to capture a kiss, she took the opportunity to nibble on the top of his ear. He sucked in his breath, making a hissing sound as his hands stroked her outer thighs.
“Julietta, you make me die,” he groaned.
It took a second to figure out what he meant. She giggled, fluttering her breath against his neck. “You mean I’m killing you.”
“Sì.”
Starting below his ear, she made a row of kisses around the back of his neck to the other ear. He grew more rigid in her hand, and her two-year fuse burned close to the powder keg. She released her hold on him and slowly eased off the seat.
When he stood up, she moved in quickly to unsnap and unzip the waistband of his cargo shorts. As they fell and he stepped out of them, her eyes were treated to the sight of a raging erection springing free, unencumbered by boxers or briefs.
She gasped, more in wonder than surprise. Until this very moment, she hadn’t been sure she would ever again see a naked male in the flesh. To have that uncertainty quashed to such a degree was momentarily overwhelming. Swallowing the lump of emotion in her throat, she moved back just out of his reach and, after taking a fortifying breath, unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to gather around her ankles.
His eyes registered surprise at her panty-less state, then shifted up to hold hers in their heat.
When he held out his arms, she stepped out of her skirt and into his embrace with no misgivings. His mouth swept down on hers and the world spun as his tongue took possession of her mouth.
Oh God, it had been way too long. Her every nerve was at heightened awareness. Wanting to touch him. Wanting to be touched. She ran her hands under his shirt, gathering it up to expose as much bare skin as possible.
His hands were everywhere, working separately to inflame two places at once—gliding into her hair, squeezing her behind, smoothing down her arms, slipping under her top to smooth across her back.
She was so close now. Didn’t want him to stop. Didn’t want to have to think. But the niggle in her brain warned that she couldn’t let his perfect touch come into contact with her hideous imperfection. So, in an act of frantic desperation, she tore her mouth from his and latched on to his nipple, pushing his T-shirt under his armpits to an annoying position . . . hopefully.
The diversion worked.
When he let go of her to wrench the shirt over his head, she dropped to her knees. She hadn’t been with many men, but it was a technique she trusted.
Vitale expelled a groan of pleasure and then protested, first low in English, then louder in Italian. She ignored him until his fists tightened in her hair and she recognized the sign—the helpless state when a man’s thought processes came only from his lower brain.
Vitale wouldn’t be interested in her breasts now.
A trick, but necessary, and she was unapologetic. No way would she allow her imperfections to screw up this perfect night.
She broke loose from him again, backing away until she leaned against one of the wooden columns. “I want you here.” Her breath came in ragged spurts. “Standing up.” Moving into the house would be too dangerous. Like his, her own control was almost gone.
Vitale panted, a feral and deliciously dangerous look in his eyes. His body, covered in a thin layer of perspiration, glistened in the moonlight, made him one of his own works of art, polished to perfection. “We go in. I have the protection in the bedroom.”
He held his hand out, but Julia shook her head. “We don’t need protection. I can’t get pregnant. It’s been over two years, Vitale. I can’t wait any longer. Here. Now. Please.” The last word trailed off to a whimper.
He leaned in and kissed her long and deep. When his hands urged the light sweater off her shoulders, she caught it at the bend of her elbows. Locking her gaze onto his, she took his hand and guided it where she needed it most.
A moan exploded from her lips at his first touch. He braced his weight with his other arm on the wooden post and caught the next one with his mouth as his fingertip became a tool of sweet torture.
