Page 58 of My Fake Italian Marriage

Federico held up his hands in surrender. “I get it, man. If I had a wife like yours, I’d also want to celebrate with her instead of with your friends. We’re heading to the guest house now to celebrate. Maybe we see you at the party later?”

Luca reached out to muss Federico’s hair. “Maybe.”

“You should celebrate with your team,” Cleo said as Federico moved away through the crowd to a knot of giggling young women.

“I have only now discovered what I’ve been missing, and we have lost time to make up for. Tonight, I want to make love to my ‘wife’.”

There. He’d put it out there. It was up to her now to say yes or no. He held his breath, waiting for her to remind him that this was a bad idea, that they were still working together. All those other very good reasons she could use as a barrier between them.

But she didn’t.

She held his gaze, her big hazel eyes still glazed with desire. Slowly, she blinked, as if clearing her vision. “Yes.”

Wrapping her hand in his, he led her to the edge of field. And that was when he saw Sarah. She and Tommaso were helping Alberto Rossi pack up their picnic baskets. She met his gaze and sent him a warning look that was easy to read: you’d better not hurt my friend.

He nodded. He had no intention of hurting Cleo. Quite the opposite. He intended to show her just how special she was, and how she deserved to be treated.

ChapterTwenty-Four

Il silenzio di un bacio vale più di mille parole.

(The silence of a kiss is worth more than a thousand words.)

In Cleo’s experience, first kisses were never like in the movies. There was no swelling orchestral music, no spontaneous kiss where the man cups the woman’s face as he leans in, their lips meet, and boom … magic! Nope, in her experience, first kisses were always awkward. First, there was the fumble as two people unfamiliar with one another angled in, wondering which way to go. Then, there was the grind of noses or teeth or glasses, or some other body part that wasn’t remotely romantic. She’d once bumped her funny bone mid-kiss, which had so not been funny. And that one didn’t even make it onto her list of top ten worst kisses.

So her expectations for first kisses were not high. As long as it wasn’t totally embarrassing, and he didn’t taste like stale beer or cigarettes, she was happy, knowing that once they got past that first awkward fumble to a second date, the kisses would improve.

And then Luca kissed her.

God, the man really knew how to kiss. No awkward fumbling. No smashing teeth. The perfect amount of pressure and tenderness and tongue. The perfect amount of everything, just when she needed it. But what pushed this first kiss straight to the top of her list of best first kisses was that the Hallelujah chorus could have broken out around them and she wouldn’t have known.

They walked, hand-in-hand like teenagers on a first date, in the opposite direction from the tide of people heading to the guest house for the post-game party. The air smelled of rain, and, in the distance, a flash of lightning lit up Monte Amiata, followed a moment later by a roll of thunder. Cleo shivered, not entirely sure if the shiver was caused by the impending storm or her own feverish anticipation.

Luca tugged her hand. “We should hurry. The rain will be here soon.”

They were barely halfway down the street to his apartment when the rain hit, a soft, soaking downpour that plastered Cleo’s sundress to her skin. They were both wet and laughing and breathless when they arrived at his front door. While Luca unlocked the arched wooden door, Cleo closed her eyes, tipping her face up to feel the delicious, cool droplets on her skin.

He held the door open, and though she must be a bedraggled mess, with her hair stuck limply to her face and neck, he looked at her with smouldering eyes as she stepped past him.

He kicked the door shut behind them, leaving them in the dark. Then he pressed her against the wall as he kissed her wet skin, her neck, her cheek, and, finally, her lips. She dropped her handbag and pulled him close, her hands on his hips. His kiss was passionate, with none of the desperate, drunken haste that had characterised far too many of her first encounters. He explored her mouth, tasting her, allowing her to set the pace.

When the kiss ended, he wove his fingers through hers and led her up the narrow stairwell. They hadn’t left any lights on, and the living room was dark, occasionally illuminated by a flash of lightning as the storm drew closer.

“I need a hot shower.” He released her hand. “Would you like to join me? You look cold.”

How could she be cold, when her skin still burned from his kisses? But she let him lead her upstairs.

In the week she’d been living with him, only once had she peeked into his bedroom. Now, as Luca moved into the bathroom to run the shower, she turned slowly, taking in his most intimate space, looking for glimpses of the man beneath the surface image he showed to the world. It was a masculine room, in shades of grey, with dark grey walls displaying a collection of artistic black and white photographs; stark trees against a clear sky, reflections in water, the shape of a human body. Creativity, beneath that smooth, masculine surface. There were other personal touches; framed family photographs on the dresser, a jacket and tie thrown over the arm of a chair, books on the bedside table, and a glass bowl filled with the usual detritus of mobile phone chargers, earphones and batteries.

She popped out her contact lenses, and the room turned blurry.

Luca returned to lead her into the bathroom, which was already filled with steam. He peeled off her dress, kissing her shoulders, her collarbone, tracing his tongue over her skin. Then he paused to yank his mud-stained football shirt over his head, and at last she was able to fulfil a fantasy she’d had since the day they first met; her hands roamed over his abs, tracing the dips and planes of his stomach with her palms. His body felt every bit as good as it looked. She rose on tiptoes to kiss him, swallowing his moan as her hands moved up his chest to his shoulders.

He stripped her out of her bra and panties, leaving a trail of clothes strewn across the bathroom floor. The admiration in his gaze, and his slow, heated smile, eased her inhibitions. Completely unselfconscious, she stepped into the enormous glass shower, under the warm spray. He joined her a moment later, naked, and she sucked in a breath, hardly able to believe that for tonight, maybe even for the next two weeks, all this gloriousness would be hers to taste and explore.

They soaped each other down, hands caressing, exploring, fingers entwining as they stole more kisses. Her skin flushed pink from the heat of the water, and from the desire turning her molten inside.

Luca switched off the water, handed her a fluffy towel, and they towelled themselves dry.

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