Chapter Ten

There were plenty of reasons guys woke up with morning wood. Dirty dreams. Sleep patterns. High testosterone levels. But Dante couldn’t remember the last time he had a reason who looked or smelled as good or who he’d shared as much with—and not just physically—as Zoe, with her ass snuggled against him and her lips curved into a satisfied smile that said she’d enjoyed their nighttime activities as much as he had.

For a long moment, he stared down at her, barely daring to breathe for fear he’d wake her. She looked so damn beautiful and peaceful, like Botticelli’s Venus, her hair splayed in all directions and her pristine skin seeming to glow from his caresses.

Not wanting to start something he couldn’t finish, he eased himself away from her. He needn’t have worried. The second he stirred, her eyes fluttered open, and she stretched one leg behind her, entwining it with his, trapping him.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“We had a busy night, and you were sleeping so soundly. I thought you might be worn out.”

She reached up to run a hand across the early morning stubble dotting his jaw. “Do I seem worn out to you?”

He turned his head to kiss her palm. “You seem ready and—how do you Americans say it?—raring to go.”

“So do you.” She arched her back, pressing into him. “No regrets about last night?”

He pressed back, sliding his cock between her ass cheeks. “Does this feel like regret?”

“No.” She rolled over to face him, and the sheet slipped to her waist, exposing her breasts to his greedy gaze. “It feels like repeat performance number four.”

“Then I better get performing.”

He stripped away the sheet, uncovering them both, and gave her a long, lingering kiss before sliding down the length of her body until his head was nestled between her legs. He put a palm on each thigh, spreading them wider.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked. “Because you’re going to be here for a while.”

She nodded, and he flicked his tongue over the skin below her belly button. She let out a sexy little hiss, and he licked lower, brushing the patch of golden curls above her sex. This time her hiss was longer, ending on a low moan, encouraging him to move lower still.

He made good on his promise, taking his time with her, tasting her with long, leisurely licks that brought her to the brink of ecstasy before backing off and starting the whole wickedly torturous process over again. He’d had her this way last night, too, after they’d used their only condom and found more creative ways to enjoy each other’s bodies. But it hadn’t been enough, and he had the frightening feeling he’d never get his fill of her.

She fisted her hands in the sheet and raised her hips, letting him know she needed release and she needed it now. As tempted as he was to delay her gratification, he didn’t have the willpower to postpone his own need to claim her, to feel her writhe and buck beneath him and hear her call out his name as she came.

One of her hands moved to his head, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking his face into her. He flattened a palm over her stomach to keep her still and gave her what they both wanted, slipping a finger inside her and working his tongue against her folds until she flooded his mouth, ripples of pleasure coursing through her body.

When the tremors finally stopped, she released her death grip on his hair and let her head fall back onto the pillow, her eyes closed. “That was—”

He kissed the inside of her thigh. “Outstanding? Unforgettable? Mind-blowing?”

“Quite a way to wake up,” she finished.

He crawled up her body and folded her into his arms, his cock, still rock-hard and wet with his arousal, brushing against her belly. She cracked one eye open and reached down to take him in her hand.

“I have a confession to make,” she said on a whisper.

“A confession?” Her words seemed far away, like she was underwater. It was hard to concentrate on what she was saying with her fingers wrapped around his dick.

“I heard you.”

Her hand squeezed, and his cock swelled even harder.

“Heard me what?”

“That night, after we kissed. I was out on my balcony and I heard you. In your room.” She ran her thumb through the moisture at his tip. “Touching yourself.”

“Why, you little minx,” he growled. “Tell me, carina. Did you enjoy it? Did you picture your fingers replacing mine, circling me, stroking me, driving me insane with lust like you’re doing now?”

“Yes,” she said. “And…”

Her voice trailed off.

There was more? He was almost afraid to ask. Almost, but not quite. “And?”

“I touched myself.”

He closed his eyes against the fire rushing through his bloodstream. Not just his dick, his whole body throbbed with heat.

Zoe. Pleasuring herself. Her fingers white-hot blurs against her pussy as she edged closer and closer to climax, finally toppling into oblivion.

Fuck, how he’d love to see that. But it would have to wait for another time. Now he wanted—no, needed—her hands right where they were.

On him.

He forced his eyes open and rested his forehead on hers. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not before I get the chance to do this.”

She followed her hand with her mouth, her warm breath teasing his aching dick, and his world stopped. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this woman, kneeling between his legs with her hand around the base of his hard-on and her lips closing in on the tip.

“Zoe, per favore—”

She flicked her gaze to his and their eyes locked as a wide, self-satisfied smile filled her face. “Who’s begging now?”

He wasn’t too proud to grin back, but the grin disappeared the instant she sucked him in and swallowed him up, never losing eye contact. She swirled her tongue around his throbbing head and moaned, sending a jolt of electricity down his length to his balls. Her free hand came up to give them a delicious squeeze, and he swallowed a gasp, fighting the urge to bury his hands in her hair and thrust into her.

For what could have been minutes or hours, the only sounds in the room were her slurps and his groans, with an occasional outburst of incoherent Italian. She was hot and hungry, relentless in her determination to return the favor and get him off. And he was powerless to do anything but lie there and accept what she so willingly, so beautifully gave to him.

“Zoe,” he croaked. A tidal wave of pleasure began to crest in his groin, threatening to take him under. “I’m coming.”

His hips jerked up and his fingers instinctively reached out to thread through her long locks as the wave swamped him, pushing him over the edge. When he was spent, Zoe eased off him and hopped out of bed like she hadn’t just completely wrecked him.

“In a hurry to get away from me?” he drawled, still too stunned to move.

“Coffee.” Her eyes darted around the room, eventually landing on her long-ago discarded robe draped over the back of a chair. She snatched it up and shrugged it on, pulling the belt so tightly he thought it might cut off her circulation. “I need caffeine. Stat. I don’t suppose this room has one of those fancy cappuccino makers?”

He raised himself up on one elbow. “Carina.”

“Heck, I’d settle for a Keurig.” She paced from one side of the room to the other, like a tiger in Turkish cotton.

“Carina.” He swung his feet over the side of the bed, found his own robe crumpled in a ball on the floor, stuck his arms in the sleeves, and stood, tying the belt.

“Or even one of those crappy hotel coffee machines.”

“Carina.” He stepped in front of her and put both hands on her shoulders, stopping her. “Stop. Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry.” She stared at his chest, not meeting his gaze. “I suck at this whole morning-after thing. I mean, the morning sex I can handle, obviously. But I’m never sure how to act when it’s done. Do I grab my stuff and call a cab? Or cook breakfast?”

She was babbling again, and it was fucking adorable. She did that when she was nervous, he’d learned. And he liked that she was a little nervous now. It was nice to know he wasn’t alone in this, that the last twenty-four hours had knocked her for a loop, too.

He curled a finger under her chin, tipping her head up until her eyes met his. His heart gave an unexpected lurch at the uncertainty he saw there. “I don’t want you to call a cab or cook breakfast. But I know a cafe in La Piazzetta that bakes the best breads. We could stop there for some cappuccino and cornetti.”

“Cornetti?”

“Like croissants, but sweeter.”

“They sound delicious. But—” She bit her lip.

His brows knotted. “But what?”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a split second, like she was gearing herself up to deliver bad news. When she spoke, the words tumbled one over the other like circus clowns piling out of one of those tiny cars. “But what about after?”

“We catch a ferry to Positano. The storm has passed, so they should be running again. Maybe pick up a couple of caprese sandwiches for the ride back.”

She pushed at his chest, and he stumbled backward, surprised by her sudden outburst. “Are you being deliberately obtuse, or are you really this stupid? I’m not talking about food or ferry rides. I’m talking about when we get home. I mean, back to the villa.”

Fuck. She was right. He was an idiot. Chalk it up to post-coital haze. But the fog was clearing, and he finally understood what was bothering her.

“Never mind,” she huffed, obviously mistaking his silence for rejection. “Forget I said anything. We’ll go back to business as usual, avoiding each other. Me in my room with Houdini, you alone in yours.”

She grabbed her pile of freshly laundered clothes from the chair and headed for the bathroom. He blocked her path again, determined not to let her go before he could set the record straight.

“Is that what you want?” He ran his hands down her arms, taking her smaller, more delicate ones in his. “Because it’s not what I want.”

Her eyes blazed with a fire that he wished was desire but suspected was outrage. He consoled himself with the fact that she hadn’t released his hands. That had to mean something, although he wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t sure of much where Zoe was concerned. Off-balance seemed to be his normal state when she was around.

He held her gaze, hoping she’d see the sincerity in his expression.

“What do you want, then?” she asked. “I’m not a mind reader, and you’re not the most communicative guy on the planet.”

Nicole had had the same complaint. He felt a twinge of guilt at the memory but shoved it down deep, needing to deal with the very real, very angry woman in front of him.

“Simple.” He stepped closer so their bodies were almost touching, their faces inches apart. There would be no misunderstanding this time. “I want you.”

The anger in her eyes drained away, replaced by a softness that stunned him like an uppercut to the jaw. “I thought maybe this was a one-and-done thing.”

“Don’t you mean four and done?”

“You know what I mean.” Her pale cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “I thought—”

“Stop.” He put a finger to her lips. “No more thinking. Just feel.”

“My grandmother used to say only a fool is guided by his feelings.”

“And mine says feelings are sometimes more important than facts.”

“So where does that leave us?” she asked, a little breathless.

He turned her hands over in his, massaging her palms with his thumbs. “You’re in Italy for two more weeks, right?”

She nodded.

“Then it leaves us with two weeks to spend together. Wherever and however we like.” That was all he could give her. Nicole had taught him that love was temporary, so temporary was all he had to offer. Some fun and physical release until it was time for Zoe to return home. He only hoped it was enough.

She studied him for what seemed like an eternity while he held his breath, half anticipating her answer, half dreading it. Then she slowly backed away from him until her hands slipped from his. “I need to shower.”

Right. That was it, then. He watched as she continued on her way to the bathroom. She stopped at the open door to turn, untie the belt of her robe, and let it fall slowly, agonizingly to the floor. “Care to join me?”

He stalked toward her, loosening his own belt as he went.

Cappuccino and cornetti would have to wait.

…

Zoe knelt down on the cold kitchen tile and stared at her trainee, sitting on his haunches across the room. According to everything she’d read online—and there was a surprising amount of information available—the key to successful communication was to be on the same eye level and speak in a firm, authoritative voice. She held out a piece of popcorn and waved it temptingly. “Come.”

Houdini did the same thing he’d done the last ten times she called him, enticing him with a long string of his favorite treats—apple slices, halved grapes, Cheerios, and finally air-popped, non-salt, non-buttered popcorn.

Nothing.

“Come on, boy. You can do it. Come to Mama.” She needed him to master this basic command so they could move on to more advanced stuff, like sit and stay. It would make his eventual trip back to San Francisco much easier if he had at least a few skills under his figurative belt.

She ignored the pang in her chest at the thought of returning home and tried again, waggling the piece of popcorn.

“Smell that? Popcorn. Your favorite. All you have to do is come over here and get it.”

The pig made a snuffling sound and flopped onto his stomach.

Great. Now they were moving backward.

She scooted forward an inch, then another. “Pretty please? If you won’t do it for you, do it for me.”

“I’ll come for you, and you don’t have to beg. Or bribe me with treats.”

That voice. Deep. Husky. Dripping with sexual innuendo. It never failed to make her breath catch and the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. She put a hand to the staccato pulse beating at her throat. Damn the man, sneaking up on her like that.

She turned her head to face him, taking a moment to drink in what she’d had the pleasure of exploring for the past week. Even with his body hidden by his button-down shirt and impeccably tailored khakis, her sense memory supplied every hard ridge, every smooth plane.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked when her pulse had slowed and her mouth was able to form words.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Long enough.”

“Long enough for what?”

“To know your pig is untrainable.”

“You could have said something.”

He gave her a sexy smirk that kicked her pulse back up a few notches. “About the pig?”

She returned the smirk with an are-you-kidding-me look. “About your eavesdropping. Or coughed discreetly to let me know you were there.”

“Then I wouldn’t be much of an eavesdropper.” He gestured to Houdini, who was scratching his back against a stool leg. “Ready to give up yet?”

She shook her head. “According to the AMPA, pigs are easy to train. Did you know they’re smarter than dogs?”

“The AMPA?”

“The American Mini Pig Association.”

Now the are-you-kidding-me face was his. “You’re making that up.”

“Nope.” She tossed the piece of popcorn still in her outstretched hand into her mouth and grabbed another one from the bowl on the floor behind her. “They’re a registered nonprofit. Their mission is to protect miniature pigs, improve breeding practices, and encourage responsible mini pig ownership.”

Dante crossed the room and stood next to her, staring down at the pig. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, confused. “Maybe what’s the problem?”

“Houdini’s not American. He’s Italian. Maybe he only understands commands in his native tongue.”

“He’s a pig. His native tongue is oink, oink.”

Dante crouched down, pried the popcorn from her fingers, and held it out to Houdini. “Vieni, maiale. Prendi i popcorn.”

The little turncoat trotted right over to him, practically inhaled the popcorn, and plopped down onto his round, pink, piggie bottom, looking up at Dante with Oliver Twist eyes that almost screamed, “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

“Traitor.” Zoe gave the pig’s head an affectionate scratch. “It’s not fair.”

“That your pig prefers Italian to English?”

“No, that he prefers you to me.”

Dante bristled, standing and brushing his hands off on his pants. “He does not.”

“Does, too,” she shot back. “He follows you everywhere. And you like him, too. Don’t even try to deny it. I saw you with him in the garden yesterday. You were cradling him in your arms like you were afraid he was going to break.”

“He was trampling Nonna’s lilies. I had to stop him.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” Dante’s gaze landed on the bowl of popcorn, and he nudged it with his foot toward Houdini. “Here you go, pig. Knock yourself out.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Sucker. You’re just proving my point. And he’ll never learn anything if you indulge him like that.”

“I’m not worried about that right now.” He hauled her to her feet, running one hand down her back and undoing her ponytail with the other. Free from its elastic prison, her hair cascaded over her shoulders. “I have another, more pressing concern.”

She was pretty sure she could feel it, pressing against her thigh.

“What’s that?” Why did she sound so out of breath, like she’d run a marathon instead of spent the morning trying to train a pig?

“Keeping him occupied so I can kiss you.”

There went her pulse into orbit again.

“What if I said I don’t want to be kissed?” she teased.

His eyes skated south, stopping on the hard points of her aroused nipples, clearly visible through the thin cotton of her tank top, before returning to her face. “You’d be lying.”

His mouth came crashing down on hers. He kissed her with the fervor of a man who’d gone days or weeks without seeing her, and not the mere hours since they’d lain together in his enormous, four-poster bed. She kissed him back just as hungrily, her hands slipping under his shirt, her nails digging into his back as their lips locked and their tongues tangled.

He broke the connection far too soon, staring down at her through long-lashed, lust-drunk eyes, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I came looking for you. But I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”

“What did you have in mind?” She stretched up to kiss his strong, stubbled jaw. “Not that I’m complaining about having your hands on me.”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Her heart did a little somersault. Depending on the question, that could be very, very good. Or very, very bad.

And there was only one way to find out.

“It must be important if you were willing to tear yourself away from your work. I thought you said you had a lot of restaurant business to catch up on.”

Not surprising. They’d been joined at the hip since Capri, and all that play hadn’t left much—if any—time for work. Spending their days swimming, sunning, or touring up and down the Amalfi Coast. Snorkeling in Sorrento. Viewing the erotic frescoes at Pompeii’s Lupanar—an ancient brothel. Relaxing in the thermal pools on Ischia.

And their nights sharing the aforementioned four-poster bed.

They’d learned a lot about each other. Not just their bodies. Their lives. Their likes. Their dislikes. Despite the whole opera/rock debate, they had more in common than not. Both from unconventional families. Both preferred the beach to the mountains. And sand to snow. And they both detested deviled eggs and store-bought pasta sauce.

No topic was off-limits. Well, almost none. The one thing they hadn’t talked about was their exes. And while part—a huge part—of Zoe wanted to ask about the woman in the photo in Dante’s study, she was happy not to discuss her own checkered romantic past. What was the point? Next week, they’d be on different continents.

Cue another sharp stab of angst. She brushed it aside, leaving it in the proverbial dust with the last one, and pretended like her insides weren’t twisting in the wind at the thought of being thousands of miles away from him.

“I do have business to catch up on,” he said. “And this is important.”

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on her cheek. “I have to go to Rome for a few days.”

“Oh.”

The happy bubble she’d been floating in burst. A few days? That was almost all the time all they had left. She was hoping they’d spend it together, but he obviously had other ideas.

“I want you to come with me.”

Just like that, the happy bubble was intact again.

“You do?”

His fingers curled to cup her face. “La Bohème is playing at the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma. I thought you might enjoy experiencing it firsthand. There’s nothing like live opera.”

“That sounds amazing.” And romantic. Like that scene in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere takes Julia Roberts to the opera for the first time and she gets all emotional watching the prima donna die of a broken heart. Except Zoe was no Julia Roberts, and she didn’t expect a fairy-tale ending, with Dante following her to San Francisco and climbing up her fire escape, blasting Puccini and bearing a bouquet of flowers. She wasn’t even sure her building had a fire escape.

“Are you scheduled to fly home out of Naples?” he asked, his thumb tracing a line from her ear to her jaw.

She nodded, the sting of yet another reminder that their relationship’s expiration date was fast approaching making the words stick in her throat.

“We’ll change it. You can leave from Rome.”

“That could work.” There was only one tiny, four-footed sticking point. “But what about Houdini? I’m still waiting to hear from the United States Department of Agriculture on my application for a live animal import permit.”

The process was way more complicated than she’d anticipated, but the man she’d spoken to in the Maryland office last week confirmed that her application was complete and she should hear back from them—in one to six weeks. Meaning it was possible she’d have an answer before she left for San Francisco—and just as possible she wouldn’t.

Stupid red tape.

Dante pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll bring him with us. If your permit is approved in time, you can take him with you. If not—”

He paused and cleared his throat, like he was preparing to say something painful. “If not, I’ll take care of him until it is and make sure he gets safely to you.”

She looked at him in mock horror, tempered by the smile playing about her lips. “You’re volunteering to pig-sit?”

“Do I have a choice?” Dante asked, fending off Houdini, who had polished off the bowl of popcorn and was snuffling around their feet, trying to get in on the action. “Besides, you said George Clooney had one. If he can do it, so can I.”

“It’s settled, then. When do we leave?”

“This afternoon. Our flight leaves at two.”

“That soon?” She squirmed out of Dante’s arms and picked up Houdini, shoving him into Dante’s chest so he had no choice but to take him. “Then you can start practicing now.”

“Practicing?”

“Pig-sitting,” Zoe said over her shoulder, already halfway to the door. “You can watch him while I pack.”