Page 112 of The Italian Obsession

“If I wasn’t already,” his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip—“I am now.” He has a certain twinkle in his eye and seems excited, too.

I bounce into the car, and he grabs my hand. I lean over to kiss him and his eyes flick to the rearview mirror. I sit back in my seat, instantly reminded that we’re not alone.

He pulls back out into the traffic and then picks up my hand to kiss my fingertips. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too.” I smile.

I see another two cars pull out behind us, but I push it to the back of my mind as I pretend not to notice. My stomach is dancing, alive with nerves. For the first time since we’ve been together, I actually have hope. Maybe this can be something more?

I didn’t imagine it when we were in Rome. He did feel it too, and I don’t feel near so foolish now. Maybe I’m being presumptuous. I don’t know, but this feels real.

We drive along with my eyes flicking between Rico and the road. He has this smirk on his face, like the guy that got the girl.

“What are you smirking at?”

“Just you.”

“Why?” I smile broadly.

“Are you packed?” he asks as he pulls into my hotel and parks the car.

“Yes, where are we going?”

He turns the car off. “Monte Carlo.”

My eyes widen. “In Monaco?”

“I have a yacht down there.”

“You have a yacht?” I squeak, wide-eyed.

He chuckles, gets out of the car, and comes around to open my door. He takes my hand and helps me from the car. “Yes, I have a yacht.”

“Of course you do.” We begin to walk into my building. “You have all the toys.”

We get into the elevator and he stares straight ahead while I stare up at him.

Touch me, damn it.

I’m really beginning to hate this no-touching-in-public rule. I want him draped all over me like a scarf. We arrive at my room, and as I unlock the door, his hand takes my hip from behind.

There it is. Touch.

It’s not sexual, not sleazy, but somehow it sends tingles all the way down to my toes. Maybe that’s because I know it’s a prelude of what’s to come. The door opens, and his hand comes from behind me. He pushes it open with force, unable to wait a second longer.

Then he’s on me. His hands are in my hair and he’s kissing me like his life depends on it. I smile against his lips.

“That’s more like it,” I whisper. “Took your time.”

For ten minutes, we kiss, and then he takes me into his big, strong arms and holds me tight. We stand cheek-to-cheek for a long time, just enjoying holding each other. I’ve missed him.

His lips take mine, slow and deliberate, and I find myself clinging to him as he leads me into temptation.

“Let’s take a shower,” I suggest.

“We can’t, our plane leaves at five. We have to get to the airport.”

“What?” Damn it, I want to have I missed you sex.