Gaining Visibility (14 page)

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.

C
HAPTER
12

T
ightening 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.

She arched against him, mewling like a kitten, scratching like a cougar, relinquishing control at last. He teased, making her scream with no breath to carry the sound beyond her captured mouth.

Teetering on the very brink she'd pushed him to a few moments ago, she was vaguely aware when he grasped behind her knee and pulled her thigh up tight against him. He slid his length into her, filled her to the point of bursting. She cried out in relief.

Two years of release.

He kissed her and murmured lovely, unintelligible things into her hair as his thrusts became more powerful. She met his rhythm, yelping in pleasure with each contact, grinding against him harder as her circuitry started to overload.

A scream tore from her mouth as the encapsulating current coursed through her body. The involuntary pulse of her muscles surrounded his last strokes. She felt his rush, heard his labored breathing through clenched teeth.

It was all she could do to cling to him as surge after surge sapped her strength, and he held her steady, pressed against her until her breathing returned to normal, then finally lowered her leg to the ground.

“
O Dio,
Julietta.” He rested his forehead against hers.

“Oh, Vitale.” His name was a whisper on her lips. “I expected it to be great. Wonderful. But never in my wildest dreams did I expe—”

He cut her off with a kiss, then another, and another as his hands massaged her back, stroked her hair. “We go to the bed now, yes?” He cupped the sides of her face gently and covered it with tiny kisses. “I sleep with you?”

“Yes, as long as you let me sleep.” She laughed as a huge yawn gripped her. “I'm tired.” She meant it, too. She was exhausted, too tired to worry how she could stay covered next time.

If there was a next time, she would have to figure out something then.

* * *

Julia woke early with Vitale's soft, steady breathing against her hair, his arm heavy across her middle. She hadn't slept so well in years.

After they'd gone in last night, she'd pleaded for some privacy in the bathroom and had used the time to slip into one of his T-shirts. And nothing else.

When he awoke in a sleepy but amorous mood in the middle of the night—as she suspected he might . . . and hoped he would even while she fretted about it—she pretended to be too cold to remove the shirt. The draping of the huge shirt coupled with the darkness gave her enough cover to allow his hands and mouth a physical, if not visual, exploration of her breasts.

Not being able to feel his touch brought her other senses to heightened awareness.

Imagining
the feel of his kneading hands, the heat of his tongue as it laved across her nipples, kept her brain engaged in sensuous thought and the rest of her body responding as if the sensations actually existed.

As the time grew right, she'd lain on her side and snuggled her backside against him, guiding him into her from behind. Their orgasms had been explosively in unison.

And neither of them had moved since.

But she sighed now, all too aware she couldn't keep up with this façade much longer, all too aware it probably wouldn't fool him even one more time.

If she stayed here, she couldn't keep from wanting him—he'd make sure of that. She wanted him this instant, in fact, which probably made her some kind of insatiable Mrs. Robinson. Having sex certainly hadn't given her the extended relief she was looking for. It had only complicated things.

Her insides twisted at that sobering thought.

She could simply tell him the truth and show him the scars. Maybe he wouldn't find them repugnant. Maybe he wouldn't make her feel like a modern Frankenstein.

The memory of Frank's face when her bandages came off swam to the surface of her mind, bringing with it the haunting burn of rejection. She couldn't bear seeing such a look on Vitale's face . . . couldn't bear to
ever
see such a look again—from anyone.

She shuddered as the battle raged inside her—warring factions both deflecting and accepting what she had to—and the tightening of Vitale's arm around her was almost imperceptible, but it was there. He would wake soon.

She had to find another place to stay. Today. There had to be a room somewhere. Maybe Adrianna could help.

Thoughts of Adrianna and the upcoming hair event propelled her out of bed. She'd promised Vitale a home-cooked breakfast. It was the least she could do to show her gratitude. For everything. And after breakfast, she'd explain that she had to leave.

“No, Julietta. Do not go yet.” His words were slurred with sleep, but their poignancy pierced her heart.

She leaned down and brushed her fingers through his hair, kissing him lightly. “Don't get up. I'll wake you when breakfast is ready.”

His eyes never opened, though he nodded.

She studied him as she slipped into her clothes, finding it difficult to tear her eyes away, knowing she'd never have this chance again. She was looking at perfection personified. The sable hair against the stark whiteness of the sheets. The perfect lines of his body. Bronze skin stretched over muscles defined even in total relaxation. And all the pretty packaging surrounded a soul that was thoughtful and kind and loving . . . but also petulant, arrogant, and demanding.

Human, after all.

This Adonis would make some mortal woman very lucky someday.

Her phone was still in her skirt pocket, but if she took a picture she'd probably wake him. Instead, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath through her nose, trying to inhale a small part of the essence that was Vitale. Something that would mingle with her, become a part of her. Stay with her forever.

She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove to boil water for coffee. She'd have to watch it to keep the whistle from waking him. As she scooped the dark grounds into the French press pot, her thoughts wandered back to the night before, and she tried to relive it moment by moment.

Sex with Frank had always been the way she thought sex
was,
whereas sex with Vitale had been sex the way she'd always dreamed it
could be.
With Frank, toward the end, she'd felt somebody else in bed with them, knew that he was fantasizing she was someone else. She'd accepted it because she thought that's what happened when women started getting older. That their partners dreamed of them as younger women.

But Vitale seemed to be in the moment with
her.
She would always have that.

The pressure in the kettle caused the lid to jiggle. She poured the water over the grounds, then carried the pot and a cup out to the backyard.

The sun's warmth had already brought out the scent of the flowers that surrounded her, and normally the smells would have been calming. Today, they made her melancholy. She walked around, glumly examining the festive blooms with no enthusiasm.

She went back to the table and pushed the plunger down through the water and coffee grounds. The liquid swirled into a black brew, and she poured a cup, hoping the strong elixir would cleanse the negativity from her thoughts. Instead, one sip brought reality thudding into her brain. She'd had her one night of a lifetime, the fantasy every woman dreamed of.

And what scared her most was that she would probably never experience anything even remotely close to it again.

Guilt mingled with the taste of the coffee, intensifying the bitterness.

Yes, she'd had her night of fantasy. No one could take that away. For a forty-eight-year-old to have experienced that kind of sex. . . . She should be thanking her lucky stars instead of being greedy for more.

She turned to find Vitale watching her from the doorway, shirtless, wearing the shorts from the day before. “Hold it.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture before he strolled toward her, a half smile tugging at his lips.

“I hope you do not need the photograph to remember the last night.”

“No.” She forced a smile. “Last night was pretty memorable without a photograph. But it'll be nice to have.”

He kissed her softly. But when he moved in closer, she leaned back and pulled her mouth away, unwilling to let herself get more stirred up than she already was. “I, um, I haven't brushed my teeth yet.”

His eyes narrowed at the lame excuse.

She nodded toward the sunflowers on the table to get his eyes off her. “Those are beautiful, by the way. I forgot to say anything yesterday.”

He pointed to the flower beds that surrounded the yard with vibrant clumps of color. “Orabella, she plant. I do not have the time to care for, but she enjoy.”