Page 42 of Tempted Hearts
The idea had come to me on my run earlier this morning. And while the thought of Juliette in a bathing suit nearly had me, dick in hand, taking a second shower, I wouldn’t let my attraction to her ruin these next two days. We’d agreed I would come for her, grab breakfast, and then work out a plan for the day.
But I had one already.
“I do. Funny you should ask,” she said, still in the doorway of her room. “I was going to see what you thought of hitting one of those beach lidos in town today.”
“Grab it now,” I said.
“I wondered why you were wearing that.”
By “that” she meant a bathing suit and T-shirt in lieu of my usual attire.
Instead of following her into the room, I waited at the door, holding it open. One didn’t play with fire unless they were willing to get burned.
“You can come in,” she called, rummaging through her luggage.
I didn’t move. Juliette didn’t seem to notice. From her luggage, she disappeared into the bathroom and then back to the luggage again. She flitted through the room like a butterfly. Breezy, colorful and more beautiful than anything around her.
“Okay.” She came back to the door. “I have my suit, a coverup, SPF, lip SPF… Do I need anything else?”
I had to ask. “Lip SPF?”
“They burn easily.”
Of course. Her lips were so full, I assumed she had filler. “Are they real?” I asked, even knowing it wasn’t PC to ask.
“My lips?” She stepped outside. The door closed behind her.
“Yep. One hundred percent. They’re my favorite feature, actually. I remember being in middle school,” she said as we made our way out of the hotel, “and hating everything about myself. My body. My face. My hair. But even then, I liked my lips.”
There was a hell of a lot I could say to that, but after last night’s loss of control, it wasn’t a good idea.
“You look so different.”
I tripped on a cobblestone and regained my balance.
“This seemed more appropriate,” I said, letting Juliette think we were going to the beach.
“Wait.” She stopped. “We usually eat breakfast here.”
“I had a different idea for today.”
“Okay.” Juliette continued to follow me. No questions asked. No qualms about not having the day’s plan. I wasn’t surprised in the least. Nor was I surprised when we headed along the coastline, past the restaurant where I’d first spotted her sitting along the sea, drinking wine, the day I arrived, toward Porti di Monterosso, that Jules’s eyes widened with each step.
“No way,” she said when it was clear nothing was in front of us but the docks. “Are you kidding me?”
Her expression was worth every penny. When I asked the woman at our hotel for the options, this was the most exorbitant. But also the only one I seriously considered.
When I committed to something, I was all in.
“Buongiorno,” the ship’s captain said as we approached. “Il Signor e la Signorina Ford?” he presumed.
“No,” I responded, his greeting not sounding as absurd as it should, for someone who had convinced his four friends to go along with a bachelor pact—though they’d dropped the ball big time. “Il Signor Ford e la Signorina Porter.”
“Molto bene. Sei Americano?”
“Yes,” I said. “We are both American. And excited to spend the day on your boat.”
“So, I am Marco, your captain for the day. And this beauty,” he said, gesturing to the beautiful wood-bottomed boat, “is a classic Ligurian gozzo—smooth ride, nice shade, good for pictures… and very good for couples. We’ll head toward Vernazza first, stop for a swim, then continue along the cliffs to Manarola. I usually stay up front and let romantics enjoy the back of the boat. You call if you need me.”
