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“Did you try?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nah, not really. Not my thing. I took some college classes for a while, but then… I was already fucking around. Guess I pissed off the wrong people.”

“You
’d make a good officer, Sebastian. Maybe you should think about it.”

He shrugged. “I
’m a Warrant Officer: that’s what the title ‘Chief’ is – highest ranking for noncoms.” He correctly interpreted my expression. “Yeah, you know that stuff. Sorry. I did get asked to join the Navy SEALs, though.”

“Really? That
’s great! I mean, that’s a real honor, isn’t it? You’d like that: all that super-macho stuff.”

He smiled, and ran a finge
r down my arm. “I turned them down.”

I gaped at him.
Nobody
turned down the chance to join the Navy’s elite team. “Why?”

He looked at me as if the answer was obvious.

“Caro, there’s no way I’d join the same service that my father is in. Fuck that! Can you imagine if we ended up at the same Base? I’d end up killing the bastard.”

“Sh
h,” I said, resting my finger on his lips, as his voice started to get louder. “We’re in Italy; it’s a beautiful day, and we’re going to go and find some waves for you to surf.”

He took a deep breath and smiled. “Ok
ay,” he said, happily.

Then his hand drifted down to my thigh and he circled, slowly, his fingers tugging at the material of my panties.

“You know what would make this day even better?” he said, suggestively.

“Oh no,
Sebastian. I’m not falling for that. I’m going to take a shower, and you’d better have some damn clothes on by the time I get back.”

I rolled out of bed before he could stop me, and stomped around the room picking out clean clothes to wear.

“Are you sure?” he said, smiling lasciviously, as his hand disappeared under the sheets. I could tell he was stroking himself, and the thought of what I could do with the result was very arousing.

I shook myself out of reverie. No, I
’d promised myself that we had to get through at least another 24 hours without having another major meltdown before I’d give in. It was just being smart. If I let him in any further without some sort of proof that I could trust him with my heart, I was a damn fool, and deserved everything that happened to me.

I headed for the shower, cursing myself for not having taken a photograph of him lying there in my bed, all hot
and wicked. I’d need something to entertain myself with during the dark, lonely nights when I was an old woman, and boring anyone who’d listen about that summer vacation where I’d had more sex than Madonna. Well, maybe – I was still thinking about it.

The shower was cool enough to put out the flames of passion that Sebastian had been stoking in me.

Twenty-four hours
I chanted to myself.

When I got back to our room, he
’d gotten as far as pulling on a pair of jeans, but that was all.

“You shouldn
’t wander around like that,” I admonished. “You’ll give Signora Battelli a coronary.”

He winked at me but took no notice whatsoever, as he sauntered out of the room.

While he was gone, I searched through his jacket pockets until I found his map. I scoped out the beaches that might have enough swell for surf, then Googled them on my laptop. There were two possibilities within an hour’s drive. We’d already gone past one of the best surf spots at Levanto. The next best spot was outside Rome, but that was a five hour drive. I decided we could save that for another day.

“W
hatcha find?” said Sebastian, as he wandered in from his shower, still only wearing his jeans.

He
knew damn well what that was doing to me!

“We seem to be in between surf spots here, but about 30 miles away, there
’s a place that looks like it might be okay. There’s a big campsite there and it says they rent out boards, so it seems like a good bet. Want to try it?”

“I
’ll try anything with you, baby.”

“Sebastian, focus.”

I pointed at the map.

“Sure, baby
,” he said, smiling. “I just need to fill up the gas tank, but otherwise we’re good to go.”

He wrapped his hands over my
shoulders and kissed my hair.

“Come on then,
Hunter,” I said, throwing him one of his ubiquitous white T-shirts. Let’s go see what Signora Battelli has got us for breakfast.”

Breakfast: the word was deeply inadequate for what Signora Battelli had laid out. It was more like a banquet of breakfast foods: fresh
oranges and wild berries; panini; sweet rolls; fette biscottate; muesli; three different homemade yogurts; caciotta and pecorino baccellone cheese; and a chef’s delight of salumeria – cold meat – including the local specialty of wild boar.

Sebastian
’s eyes glowed, and he completed at least three circuits of the buffet table before he was satisfied, or possibly too embarrassed to go around a fourth time. Maybe not: I didn’t think Sebastian did ‘embarrassed’.

At the next table sat
a couple of American students who were wide-eyed at the spread in front of them. One of the girls was asking Signora Battelli’s opinion on different types of fresh pasta.

“But how much should I give guests at a meal?” she said. “How will I know how much to buy back home?”

“Young woman,” said Signora Battelli, swelling with knowledge. “You buy a half pound of fresh pasta per person… except for my son: he eats one pound of pasta!”

I was rather hoping the son would appear so I could see if he lived up to expectations, but we were to be denied that pleasure. Signora Battelli explained that her son had taken a job in Rome.

It was the same story everywhere: young people leaving their small towns and villages to seek their fortunes in the big city. But wasn’t that always the case?

As soon as they
realized that we were Americans, too, the girls were determined not to leave us alone. Well, I’m sure I could have disappeared in a puff of purple smoke and they wouldn’t have noticed – their eyes were welded to Sebastian instead. I couldn’t blame them, and I was sort of curious to see how he behaved with them.

One of them reminded me of his ex-girlfriend, Brenda
. Maybe it was her propensity to toss long, shiny hair over her shoulder, and gaze at him from beneath her long lashes.

Jeez, she was flirting with him right in front of me like I didn
’t even exist!

Sebastian answered their questions pleasantly. It was obvious they were angling for a ride with us
, and it was almost comical how far their faces fell when he told them we were traveling by motorcycle.

“I
’ve never ridden a motor-sickle,” said the one called Lydia.

And today won
’t be the day either, lady
.

“Well, I
’m sure you’ll enjoy it when you get the chance,” said Sebastian, evenly. He stood up to go, and held out his hand to me. “Come on, baby,” he said.

I placed my hand in his and he pulled it to his lips,
kissing the inside of my wrist. A warm feeling traveled up from my feet, and settled somewhere in the area of my groin.

He was delicious and dangerous and my resolve to wait another 24 hours crumbled away.

The girls looked like they were in agony, and I couldn’t resist smiling at them as Sebastian and I walked away hand in hand.

“What?” said Sebastian, catching my eye.

“Sometimes you can be very sweet.”

I heard his breath catch
in his throat; he looked so raw and vulnerable as he stared down at me.

“Tesoro, what did I say?”

He looked into my eyes, then let his forehead rest on mine.

“I love you, Caro,” he said.

Chapter 8

Standing outside Signora Battelli’s breakfast room, my world changed.

“I love you, Caro, so much.”

I couldn’t believe he was saying these words to me.

“I haven
’t changed how I feel. I still love you – I’ve always loved you. It’s only ever been you.”

I thought my heart would stop beating.

Ten years ago he’d said these words to me, told me that he loved me. I’d believed they were the words of a lonely, infatuated boy: real, but not lasting. Now the same man was standing before me, saying that he’d loved me all this time – and that it was real. He didn’t care that I was older than him; he didn’t care that I was ridden with insecurities; and he’d forgiven me for doubting him.

Was I brave enough to accept his love? Could I accept that he wasn
’t perfect, that he had his own problems to deal with, that he drank too much, and his hot head led him into trouble more often than not? Could I accept that he did a dangerous job in a dangerous world, and that we would be apart for months on end?

He
’d asked me once if I was brave enough to take a chance on love. I finally knew the answer.

“I love you, too, Sebastian.
More than you’ll ever know.”

He gasped, staring at me with wonder. And then he kissed me.

Not the boiling, surging kisses that heated my blood and shredded my resolve; but a kiss so sweet and gentle, so honest and simple, that my heart cracked open, and filled with love.

H
e pulled me to his chest and we stood in silence, our arms wrapped around each other.

I was vaguely aware of the continuing quiet tide of humanity
flowing around us, but for that moment, we were the only people in the whole world.

“You mean everything to me, Caro.” Sebastian spoke softly into my hair.

“You’re so brave, tesoro,” I said, quietly. “You’ve never been afraid to love.”

I felt his smile. “That
’s because I learned from you, Caro.”

I shook my head.

“It’s true,” he said, gently.

I sighed and pulled my arms a little tighter around him.

He laughed softly and stroked my cheek.

We continued to stand there, basking in a love that came from
within, warming us, filling us.