New Title 1 (33 page)

I smiled. “We still have one left.”

“Yeah, but that’s not nearly enough for what I have in mind… unless you want to do what we talked about earlier?”

I could hear the hope in his voice, but I shook my head.

“That’s another discussion for another time, Sebastian.” He pouted, and I couldn’t help smiling. “When you’ve finished this next tour: we’ll talk about it then, I promise.”

He returned a few minutes later, scowling.

“Fucking useless!” he fumed. “They didn’t have any in the restrooms and I checked with the waiter: all the nearby supermarkets and pharmacies are closed on Sunday evenings.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, smiling. “Well, never mind: we
’ll just have to get creative.”

“Yeah, ok
ay,” he said, sulkily.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “I hope you
’re not getting bored with me already!”

He rolled his eyes. “You
’re like a freakin’ drug to me, Caro. I can’t get enough of you. And I really like wake-up sex.”

I couldn
’t help laughing out loud. “We’ll figure something out. Don’t sweat it, Hunter.”

Sebastian was still in a bad mood when we left the restaurant. Ok
ay, it wasn’t the ideal situation for two apparently sex-starved adults who were behaving like rampant teenagers, but I thought we’d already proved that we could be creative – and I had one or two things in mind. Besides, I’d brought the rest of the bottle of wine from the restaurant, so we could always have a quiet evening with a glass of vino and watch the stars appear.

Sebastian
, however, was a lot less relaxed, accelerating hard out of the parking lot in a shower of gravel, tires squealing.

I gripped him
tightly around his waist, hoping that he’d slow down, but instead he went faster, taking the turns on the coast road at such a speed that our knees were ridiculously close to the ground. I closed my eyes and hung on, until he slowed abruptly. I soon saw the reason: two Italian police officers were waving their table tennis-shaped batons at us.

Crap.

We’d been caught speeding.

Sebastian pulled over to the side of the road and swung one, lo
ng leg over as he climbed off. Watching as he removed his helmet, I decided to follow him. He was so hotheaded, I could imagine him mouthing off at them and spending a night in a cozy, Italian jail.

“French?” asked the first
policeman, looking at the license plates on Sebastian’s motorcycle.

The officer
looked disconcertingly like Groucho Marx, which was rather distracting. The second one was younger and stared at us through his aviator shades, even though it was dusk.

“No, American,” replied Sebastian.

The policemen looked surprised.

“Is this motorcycle yours, signore?”

“Yes.”

“You have papers for it?”

“Yes, in my wallet.”

Sebastian started to reach into his jacket
, and the younger officer immediately went for his gun.

I gasped and Sebastian swore. The next second
, they were forcing him to kneel on the ground and put his hands behind his head. I could see the older man reaching for handcuffs.

“No, please!” I called out. “He was just trying to show you his papers.”

“Signora, he was driving at 120km an hour; the speed limit here is 90km an hour.”

“Pleas
e, let him show you. I’ll get his wallet!”

I moved slowly so they could see exactly what I was doing. I reached into Sebastian
’s inside jacket pocket and carefully lifted out his wallet.

“What am I looking for?”
I whispered, urgently.

“The
Certificat d’immatriculation – the papers in gray. Caro, I…”

“Just don
’t speak, Sebastian,” I hissed at him. “Let me handle this.”

Silently
, I handed over the document, although it was clear neither of the officers could read French.

“Are you authoriz
ed to ride this motorcycle, signora?” said the older, gentler officer.

“No, but…”

“Then we’ll arrange to have it removed,” he said, kindly.

“Please don
’t arrest him!” I begged them. “He’s only on leave for two more weeks, then he’s going back to Afghanistan.”

The two men looked at each other
. I was hoping that the militar
y
/
police solidarity that existed back home, also held true in Europe. I pulled Sebastian’s ID card out of his wallet, the one that identified him as a US Marine, and showed it to them.

“We only have two weeks,” I repeated, not
needing to fake my desperation.

“My
son-in-law is serving out there,” said the older officer, shaking his head. “Very well, we will let you go, but this one time only. Obey the speed limits.”

They let Sebastian stand
, and handed him back his papers.

“Thank you so much,” I said, feeling slightly tearful at our reprieve.

“Make him obey the speed limits, signora,” said the older officer, wagging his finger at me.

“I will. Thank you!”

“I will pray for you both,” he said, simply.

We watched as they wandered back to their car, chatting amiably to each other.

“You were great, Caro,” said Sebastian, grinning.

I slapped him hard on the arm. “No more speeding!”

“I don’t know… I’ve got my own Caro-shaped ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

“Yes, well, do that again, and you might be finding out what Italian jails are like.”

“You wouldn’t let that happen to me, baby.”

“Don
’t bet on it, Chief! I’ve got enough gray hairs without you giving me anymore.”

He pulled me in for a hug.

“Nope, can’t see any,” he said, kissing my hair.

I pushed him away
, crossly.

“Another two weeks with you and I
’ll have to color my grays,” I said, grumpily.

He laughed.

“It’s not funny!”

“God, you
’re beautiful, Caro!”

I climbed back on the bike, irritated to see that Sebastian was still grinning, but at least he drove to the campsite at a more moderate pace.

When we got back, Sebastian parked the bike and locked up, while I stomped off to our room, feeling very irritated with him. If he was this reckless in Italy… no, I really didn’t need to start thinking like that.

I hunted around for a corkscrew
to dig out the damn cork that the waiter had managed to ram back in, but there wasn’t one to be had. I was just contemplating smashing off the neck and sieving the wine through a clean sock to remove any broken glass, believing that desperate times called for desperate measures, when Sebastian sauntered into the room.

“I can
’t open the fucking wine!” I snarled at him.

He looked taken aback.

Yeah, well, he wasn’t the only one who knew how to swear
.

“What
’s the matter, Caro?”

“I just told you!” I yelled, “I can
’t open the wine!”

Quietly, he took the bottle from m
y hand, produced a Swiss Army knife from his pants pocket, and proceeded to dig the cork out using a small blade.

“I think some of the cork fell in,” he said,
placing the bottle on the table.

“Thank you,” I
muttered, rather sullenly.

“Caro…”

“What, Sebastian? You could have got arrested back there? That was so stupid and reckless!”

He stared at me in amazement. “Nothing happened…”

“It could have!” I shouted at him. “And if you take chances like that out in…”

But I couldn
’t finish the sentence. Angry and frustrated, I was furious when I felt tears spring to my eyes. I cuffed them away with my fists, while Sebastian watched me in silence.

“Hey, come here,” he said, softly. “It
’s okay.”

He pulled my stiff bod
y into an embrace, but I stood rigidly, fighting back tears, willing anger not fear to win out.

“Caro, tonight was just dumb, I admit that, ok
ay. I’m just enjoying being… free, here and now, with you. Don’t cry.”

“I
’m not crying!” I yelled. “I’m mad at you!”

“Yeah, got that message, baby.”

Eventually, I pushed him away, grabbing the wine bottle as I walked past the table, and took a good slug. Then I threw myself on the bed, piled the pillows behind me and tipped another large quantity of wine into my mouth, rubbing the back of my hand across my face to catch the drips.

“Are you going to share that?” he said, at last.

“No. You drink too much.”

“You
’re just going to sit there and finish the whole bottle by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t like drinking.”

“I do tonight.”

“It’ll make you sick.”

“I
’m being reckless. You do it all the time.”

“Caro,” he said, tiredly, rubbing his forehead, “come on, that
’s enough.”

He pulled the bottle out of my hands and put it on his side of the bed.

“Give me my goddamn wine, Sebastian.”

“No,” he said, evenly, sitting next to me.

I tried to reach over him to get it, but he blocked me.

I wanted to scream with frustration, even though I knew I was behaving childishly.

“Fine.”