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Chapter 92

BODY LANGUAGE

NORA

Readjusting the large sunhat I just bought, I grip my Italian travel guide and phrase book and make my way through the crowded streets of Venice. The place is packed, and even though I’m in a cute sundress with strappy sandals, I still feel completely out of place with all these beautiful Italian women walking around in their heels and big, dark sunglasses.

Clancing at the map on my phone, I see the art gallery I’m trying to get to, but I’ll be damned if I know which one of these small, twisty side streets is going to get me there. Maybe this spur–of–the moment trip to Italy wasn’t the best idea, but after graduating high school, I’d been desperate to get away and try something new. The money my grandparents gave me as a graduation present, probably thinking I was going to put it towards college, went straight to buying a plane ticket and a hotel room for two weeks..

My parents were less than thrilled, but since I’m eighteen, there really wasn’t anything they could do. My rebellious ass got its way, and now I’m alone in a foreign country and can’t seem to be able to even read a damn map.

Letting out a frustrated groan, I put my phone back in my bag and take a look around. All the gorgeous, old architecture is starting to look the same, and even though I’d happily move here in a second, I’d like to at least know where the fuck 1 am.

I scan the street signs, hoping that they’ll magically start to make sense, but no such luck. I’m about to turn back around when I catch sight of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I learned right after stepping off the plane that Italy is in no short supple of drop–dead gorgeous people, but this guy puts them all to shame. He’s leaning casually against a stone wall in a suit that probably cost more than my entire trip. The top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, giving him a laid–back sexy look, but the chiseled jaw and wide set of his shoulders is giving off all sorts of sexy, dangerous vibes. The dark sunglasses aren’t helping. I can’t tell if he’s looking at me, and not knowing is doing all kinds of things to my body.

I tell myself to move, to not look like the stereotypical, stupid tourist, but my feet aren’t budging. Instead, I’m standing in the middle of a cobblestone street somewhere in Venice with my nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of my dress while I soak right through my damn panties.

The loud honk of a hom has me nearly jumping out of my skin. I let out a yelp of pure terror and scurry to the sidewalk. By the time I look up, the mysterious man is gone, and I’m more disappointed than I should be. I mean, I saw the guy for a couple of minutes, and he probably wasn’t even looking at me, and here I am acting like a lovesick idiot. God, Italy is really starting to get under my skin apparently. Next thing you know, I’ll be binging mafia movies and dreaming about being seduced by a don.

“Get a grip.” I mutter to myself and head down the next right I come to. To hell with this, one of these damn side streets has to lead to the gallery.

I walk until my feet are screaming at me to just sit down in the middle of the cobblestone street and wait for someone to come run me over and put me out of my misery. Looking around, I realize that the street is completely deserted and the sun is getting lower in the sky. It’s not until I see the group of young men headed my way that I start to worry.

This can’t be good.

I turn and speed walk as fast as my chunky wedge sandals can manage on this centuries–old road. Turns out, it’s not all that fast. I manage a very slow hobble on my sore feet, which means I’m soon surrounded by a wall of muscle that doesn’t look at all friendly. I doubt this is the Italian welcome wagon, so I give a small smile and a ridiculous wave and hope they’ll take that as the I’ll just be on my way goodbye that I mean it to be. I take one step back and run into what feels like a brick wall. Looking up, I see a blonde Italian leering at me. Unlike the sexy man from earlier, this guy just makes me feel squeamish, and I try like hell to think of anything on me that I can use as a makeshift weapon.

My terrified brain can only come up with screaming and tossing my travel guide at him while I make the world’s slowest getaway, cursing the super cute sandals I just had to have and wishing I had my sneakers on. I’d like to say I make it about ten feet before they catch me, but I’m pretty sure it’s more like two.

I curse my own stupidity for not paying attention and for holding on so tightly to my virginity when it’s just going to end up being ripped from me by this grinning asshat. The idea of it has me so pissed that when I feel his strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, I scream like hell and elbow him in the stomach as hard as I can.

I’m not expecting much, so when he lets go and I fall to the hard ground, I’m more stunned than hurt. Holy shit, it actually worked? I’m all set to stand and put my fists up like a real tough–as–nails street fighter when I catch sight of the asshat’s face. I quickly realize two things. One, there’s someone standing behind me, and, two, whoever the fuck it is has all the bad guys scared shitless.

Wonderful, so a super, super bad guy is standing behind me, and I’m still splayed out on my ass, nursing a sore bottom. I wish I could say I’m surprised, but this does sort of fit my life. I seem to be a magnet for bad, embarrassing shit happening to me. It all started in first grade when I tripped at recess and fell in a puddle. I spent the rest of the day with a wet ass, and those little fuckers never let me forget it

1/3

Chapter $2

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the worst and look up at the big baddie behind me. The last thing I’m expecting to see is sexy Mr. Nonchalant from earlier. His eyes run over the quickly before he Inoks back at the group of thugs who are looking paler by the second.

He yells something at them in Italian, and I can’t help but squirm a bit at how fucking sexy it sounds. Plus, unless I’m reading this situation completely wrong, he just came to my rescue. I’m being rescued by a sexy, older Italian. I sit there, smiling like an idiot while my sexy savior rips this guy a new

asshole.

I can’t help but give asshat a smug grin when he darts his eyes to me. “Looks like you just lost the dick–swinging competition,” I say with a laugh. I know I shouldn’t, but come on. It’s not like I’m ever going to be in a situation like this again. I want to enjoy it, and who knows what this fucker was planning on doing to me?

He glares at me, making me wonder if he understands English, but sexy savior yells another string of Italian at him, and the guy actually fucking cowers. While the guy tries not to piss himself, my sexy Italian squats down close to me, and I suck in a quick breath. Holy shit, he’s even more gorgeous up close. Deep green eyes meet mine, and it takes all my willpower to keep my thighs together. Every instinct in my body is telling me to part my legs and invite him in, but I still have enough working brain cells left to remember that we’re not alone and that I have no idea who this man is. He’s got to be more than twice my age, but, fuck, do those extra years look good on him.

When he sees my scraped, bloody knees that I hadn’t even noticed because I’ve been too busy thinking with my pussy, he clenches his jaw tightly and stands up. Before I even know what’s happening, he punches asshat hard enough to knock him on his ass, then he points back at me and yells something that has them all grabbing their friend and getting the hell away from us..

I try not to stare at the broad shoulders and gorgeous profile of the man in front of me, but it’s impossible to tear my eyes away. When he turns back to look at me, he catches me eye–fucking him, and I feel my face heat up in embarrassment.

“Thanks,” I say, keeping my eyes down and fidgeting with the bottom of my dress. I try to get up, and nearly manage it, before a sharp pain runs up my foot and I’m falling down again. Before I can hit the hard ground, a pair of strong arms lift me up like I weigh nothing, and then I’m being cradled against a hard chest and looking into the most beautiful pair of green eyes I’ve ever seen.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” I say before I can stop myself. My face heats up even more, but he just looks at me like he has no idea what I just said. “Do you speak English?”

“English? No,” he says, and his thick, sexy accent has me feeling all warm and tingly. “Italiano?” he asks, raising a dark brow at me.

“No,” I say, cursing my own lack of preparation.

He runs his eyes over me again, making it feel more like a caress, and when I let out a soft sigh, his lips quirk up in a slight grin. When he starts to walk us back down the road, I wrap my arms around him and tell myself that it’s only so I won’t fall, but I know it’s bullshit. I want to feel more of his hard body, and I want to be pressed up against him as much as possible. I rest my head on his shoulder and breathe in the intoxicating scent of his cologne, feeling happier than I ever have. I know this can’t last long, so I’m determined to enjoy every single second of it.

Maybe I should worry about who exactly this man is, considering he last scared away an entire group of young thugs by just showing his face, and maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to get into his gorgeous, red Ferrari, but I don’t worry and I do get in. I mean, if he wanted to cause me harm, he could’ve just left me with those guys, and call me crazy, but there’s just something about the way he looks at me. I feel like I can trust him, and aside from the murder alley I just carelessly walked down, my instincts have never steered me wrong. Besides, this is my vacation, the last time I’ll be able to do wild and crazy things before I have to go hack and decide my future. The idea of going back to America and drowning in student debt makes me want to cry, and when he sets me into his gorgeous car and leans down, hooking a finger under my chin and lifting my face up to his, I’m surprised by the worry in his eyes.

He must think I’m upset because of him or what just happened. The long string of Italian makes zero sense to me, but I catch the tone well enough, and I smile at him to let him know I’m okay. He hands me his cell phone and lifts a dark brow at me. I shake my head no. I don’t have anyone to call. and I have my own phone anyway. He’s probably wondering what to do with me, so I reach Into my hag and grab the brochure I have in there for the hotel. I point at it and say, “That’s where I’m staying. You can drop me off there if you need to.”

He waves the brochure away and reaches up to cup my face again, running his thumb over my cheek and making goosebumps rise all over me despite the warm temperature. Without making the conscious decision to do so, I lean into his touch and let out a soft moan. I shoot him a worried look, hoping he doesn’t think I’m some kind of perry nut, but he looks pleased by my reaction.

“Matteo,” he says, pointing at his chest, and when I repeat his name, he smiles at the sound of it on my lips.

“Nora,” I say, pointing at myself. He repeats it, rolling gther and making my name sound sexier than I ever thought it could.

Giving me a wink, he stands and slowly takes his hand away before shutting my door and walking around to the driver’s side. The car is sexy as fuck, and watching him drive this sleek, powerful machine has me so wet I can barely stand it. He weaves us through the narrow, winding streets like a pro, constantly shifting gears as he speeds up of slows down to maneuver the old roads.

Chapter 92

By the time we pull into a very large villa with a guarded gate, I’m so aroused I can barely think. We’re immediately waved through, and I feel like I’ve just stepped into one of the malla movies my mom was so obsessed with when I was young. It makes me remember all the Italian men in those movies and how they all seemed to have mistresses, and a horrible iden starts to dawn on me. I turn in my seat so I’m facing him, and as soon as he parks the car in a garage that’s bigger than any apartment I’ll ever be able to afford, I reach for his left hand and look. I hadn’t noticed a wedding ring earlier, but I hadn’t exactly been thinking about it either. I’d been way too busy drooling over him and fantasizing about him fucking me.

He watches me with a curious, amused look on his face. I hold up his hand and point to the ring finger, thrilled that it’s not sporting a gold band but also knowing that doesn’t really mean jack shit.

“Married?” I ask “Wife? Family?”