Roman Holiday Read online

  The hardest part of this, other than the sheer heartbreak on Toby’s face, was that she couldn’t tell anyone, discuss it with anyone. No one knew of her relationship with Toni, so no one would know of his loss – the hole she had, albeit inadvertently, carved rudely into her baby’s life. Nothing would ever be the same again. Not for him. Not for her.

  Their relationship, as it was yesterday, was over.

  Caro’s throat closed. Her eyes itched and she swallowed hard. It hurt. She looked down at her hands, wondering why she was suddenly conscious of them. They were clenched into fists, her nails causing half-moon dents in the soft pads below her thumbs. Slowly, she released her fingers and stretched them out. Breathe in, breathe out, she told herself.

  A little calmer, she reached for her phone and dialled the di Luca home. She had absolutely no clue what she was going to say, but she knew if she thought about it too much she’d find some excuse not to. And she owed it to Toby to at least try. The one thing he asked her, other than the heart-wrenching conversation-stopper last night – “I’d like you to find my dad; I think it’s time I got to know him” – was to meet his grandparents.

  Hands shaking, she pressed End Call and sat down, her knees suddenly weak, simply refusing to hold her up any longer. The di Lucas had been wary at first, but Caro had pressed, asking if she could please meet with them as soon as possible – it was a matter of urgency. They’d been puzzled, naturally, but there was no way Caro was going to tell them such momentous news over the phone. She was to meet them at their hotel the following evening, after her lecture, and she’d urged them to both come, as Antonio had implied that Valentina had other plans.

  Should she bring Toby and just produce him as evidence? Was that a bit harsh? A bit soap opera-ish? Considering she felt like she was writing the play-by-play of one, that would be most apt. Caro huffed out a strangled laugh. Where was the script when you needed one? She wished she knew the ending of this drama. She’d ask her son what part he wanted to play when they met up later this evening – he deserved the courtesy of being included from now on, that much she did know.

  Shit. She hadn’t realised Nick would be at her lecture again. And she really wished her body wouldn’t react so traitorously the second her lady parts clocked he was there. But, seriously, that suit and that shirt and the snazzy tie . . . And the tousled hair as if he’d been stressed at work and run his fingers through it numerous times absent-mindedly . . . She wanted to do that, run her fingers through his silky hair. She also wanted to yank off the tie, rip open the shirt and lick her way . . .

  “Caroline.”

  The voice alone was enough to weaken her knees. Dark and textured like a rough log, it was nevertheless soft and stupid sexy.

  “Hey,” she said. Illuminating conversationalist that she was.

  “May I tempt you with a glass of wine?” he asked, handing her the bundle of papers that almost slipped off the podium. “I have an appointment later, but I have an hour free now and thought you might like to wind down after that scintillating talk.”

  “Well, I . . . hmm, I actually have an appointment too, in about forty-five minutes, so probably not. But thank you,” she added hastily.

  God, she could inhale a glass of wine right now or, better yet, a stiff whiskey to help her face what was only an hour away.

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you? There’s a charming bar just two streets from here and I’d love to chat about your amazing Irish stained-glass artists. I’d no idea there was such an incredible body of work.”

  Boy, he was smooth. Let her think he really wanted some of her time and that he’d enjoyed her lecture. Nicely done, Mr Sexy Pants . . . er, voice.

  She glanced at her watch. How long could one stiff drink take? And yes, she was going for the hard stuff.

  Toby was to meet her at the Hotel Paradiso about the same time as her arranged meeting with the di Lucas and that way they could wing it, let him meet them or not. He’d sit in the lobby and Caro would either come and get him or come and collect him – depending on how the encounter went.

  “Sure,” Caro said, “why not – but it’ll have to be quick.”

  She smiled up into Nick’s eyes and wished like hell she was living someone else’s life. A life that could include this man. She didn’t know him but she liked him. Was ridiculously attracted to him – more than any man she’d met since . . . well, since. But he wasn’t for her future. He was for right now, and that, really, was it. So, enjoy right now.

  The drink tasted sweet on her tongue and she savoured it slowly. She’d gone with brandy in the end and was glad of it. Her mum always said brandy was excellent for settling the stomach and by golly, hers needed settling.

  Nick wiped his mouth with a napkin and put down his glass of Scotch. They’d both forgone the wine and now all Caro could do was try not to drool over the man in front of her. She crossed her legs to alleviate the thrumming building between her thighs. Her eyes were drawn to his mouth thanks to the napkin swipe and Jesus! she needed to get a grip.

  “So, yeah,” she finished half-heartedly, “Harry Clarke was really a trailblazer when it came to creativity in stained glass – and not just with his colours but with his use of drawing.”

  Another drink of brandy. Another glance at his mouth and all that carnal stuff he could do with it . . . his mouth . . .

  “I really should get going.”

  Caro rose from her seat, the navy skirt swirling about her knees as she turned to collect her things. Nick stood too, resting his glass on the table, unfinished. She pulled her navy-and-white striped cardigan straight and edged out from behind the table. Nick took her elbow and walked with her to the door. He’d barely spoken and seemed eager to hear what she had to say about glass in the artistic sense – but she’d noticed his gaze lingering on her face, her mouth . . . When she looked at him he was always looking right back. It was unnerving. Unsettling. Flattering. Sexy. Christ!

  They walked down the street in silence to where a taxi rank was situated. A lane on the right was dim and empty. Without warning, Nick dragged her several paces down the alleyway and, turning, cupped her face in his hands, his mouth descending on hers. Oh, thank you, Jesus, was Caro’s last coherent thought as she gave into the alarming sensations coursing through her body.

  Heat and desire raged down her spine and pooled heavily exactly where she wanted to be touched, stroked, rubbed. Nick’s mouth was demanding, searching, and so damn hot it was glorious. Even more glorious were those sounds he made. He needed this as much as she. They were both in it together.

  One of his hands reached down and his thumb slid back and forth over her peaked nipple, the other hand gripping the back of her neck, holding her as he tasted and sucked on her lower lip. He angled his knee between her thighs, pressing her back to the wall and leaning in, close, closer, till she was squirming against his hard, muscular upper thigh. Her own hands scraped up and down his chest, feeling his nipples pointed and pressed to her hands as his body reacted instantly to her touch.

  His hand left her breast and bunching her skirt, he glided his other hand up inside her leg till he met the silk of her underwear. His fingers slid beneath the fabric and circled, around and around, pressure upon pressure. He groaned. Or she did. Either way, the sound of it brought her to her senses. She dragged her mouth from his.

  “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped into her parted lips.

  “This has to stop,” she said at exactly the same time.

  Caro leaned back, away, breaking contact. She had to. This was insane. Insane. They were practically having sex in not exactly broad daylight, but near bloody enough. Who was she? Her son was facing a hugely traumatic time in his life – her son, the most important person in her life – and she was practically screwing against a wall in a Roman side alley. What was she thinking? Well, pretty fucking obvious answer to that one. “No thinking happening here,” she mumbled aloud, fixing her skirt, smoothing her hair, no thinking at all.Only feeling
. . . lots and lots of feeling.

  “Caroline.” Nick reached towards her and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. You just . . . I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”

  He shrugged almost thoughtlessly and she pulled back further, avoiding all contact.

  “Well, in the spirit of fairness, I want to lick you all over right now.” She blushed as she spoke to him directly, refusing to hide behind his own lust, his own passion. They’d both been participating eagerly and she wouldn’t put the blame on him. But. “Never again, Nick. We’re done.”

  He frowned at her. “I understood you’re in Rome till the New Year? Has that changed?”

  “No, that hasn’t changed,” she acquiesced, “but I have. Or at least my circumstances have. I have no more space in my life for hot sex with you, awesome though it’s been. So this is goodbye.”

  She formally stuck out her hand, officially intending to end the . . . arrangement.

  Nick looked puzzled and taking her hand, drew it to his lips. He brushed her knuckles with his mouth, gently.

  “I’d like the chance to change your mind. Have dinner with me tomorrow.”

  She pulled her hand back. “No, Nick. No more. I can’t. I won’t.”

  “Why?”

  It was a fair question but one she really didn’t feel she could answer.

  Their “fling” was never meant to be more than one hook-up and look how that had turned out. Every time he touched her, she melted. When he spoke her name in that certain way of his, she melted some more. And when he took her body to places she’d never known existed, she was a veritable pool of mush at his feet. And where did that leave her commitment to Toby?

  Maybe other more savvy women, more modern women, could juggle this kind of thing better than she – well, good luck to them. Caro knew that if she kept seeing Nick, especially while Toby was here in Rome, she’d end up hurting someone – and most likely herself. Better to cut it off now. So here she was, ending another brief Roman affair, but at least this time it was her body alone that would suffer, not her heart. Who was she kidding!

  “Caroline, why?” Nick repeated, more demandingly this time.

  Saved by the bell. Her phone rang loudly, Toby’s signature, and she reached into her pocket to pull it out.

  “I have to take this. Goodbye, Nick.” And she turned, hefting her bag under one arm and holding the phone up to her ear. “Darling, sorry. I’m running late. No, nothing important. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  She ended the call and flagged down a waiting taxi.

  She didn’t look back.

  Nothing important. Darling. Nothing important! Nick slowed his steps as he eventually approached the side door of the hotel and took a drink from the water bottle he’d purchased en route. Why did that sting? They’d agreed to a simple physical affair – no ties, no promises. He should be delighted she was treating it as casually as she’d said she would, but maybe it was that she’d definitely been talking to someone special, someone important when she took that call. Her voice had changed. Gone soft. Loving. And he, and what they’d just been doing, was nothing important.

  And it wasn’t. Not really. It had been hot and driven and so fucking tempting just to take her right there, but it was just sex. They’d agreed. He needed to shake it off and get a grip. He wasn’t a teenager mooning over his first love, for Christ’s sake. But he felt . . . flattened. And not a little hurt.

  He pushed the heavy door open and took the back stairs two at a time to enter the open foyer area of his office. Naomi was seated at her desk, head bent, typing away.

  “You should be gone by now, Byrney,” he said as he filled a coffee cup. He inhaled the dark brew before sipping and reached for a spare cup. “Want one?” He wiggled the empty one in her direction.

  “No thanks, boss,” she said, “and I’ll be on my way shortly. Your aunt and uncle are downstairs in the rose salon. They had an appointment so chose to come into the city.” Naomi rested her hands lightly on the keyboard, pausing in her work. “They seemed a little on edge, if you don’t mind me saying, so maybe you could pop down and see them.” She stretched out her back and resumed tapping on the keys.

  Nick’s brow furrowed. They’d been fine when he spoke to them a couple of days before. He hoped nothing was wrong. They’d had enough heartbreak in the last few years to last a lifetime and he wouldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way of their hard-won contentment now. Zio Antonio and Zia Valentina were like second parents to him. Always so supportive, even considering how it was that he’d come to take over the reins of the business. Losing a child, no matter what age, is something no parent should ever face. And knowing that the son they’d lost had been unhappy and discontented for many years made their grief even worse.

  He knew they blamed themselves for not helping more, seeing more, understanding more. No amount of reasoning would change that. They were good people, if a little old-fashioned. When Nick had broken up with Melanie it had been almost humorous. They’d never liked her so were partially delighted it was over, but being traditionalists they wanted Nick settled, married, a father, and if Melanie was how to get there, so be it.

  “Thanks, Byrney.” Nick opened his office door and dropped his briefcase inside. He turned back to her, shoving both hands into his pockets. “I’ll go on down in a moment – I’ll take a wander through reception first, from the front, and see how things look. Vito around?” he added casually.

  He waited a beat, to see if his imagination was working overtime. The last few times Vito Maloney and Naomi Byrne had been in the same space things had felt . . . off. He wondered if it was a problem or something entirely different. Byrney blushed, a soft pink flushing over her cheeks and staining them a beautiful delicate rose.

  Aha. Different, then. Not necessarily off. Hmm. Interesting. He’d have to see if the same reaction occurred when he mentioned her name to Vito. Nick smiled in what seemed like the first time in ages. He’d have to tread carefully – there was no way Byrney was going to get hurt – again – not on his watch.

  “Nope. Not a sign.”

  Naomi kept her head bent industriously over her work, but Nick reckoned it was just a ruse to make him go away.

  “No worries. Just asking. If you see him before I do, have him check in with me.”

  He strolled to the side door, hands still casually shoved in his pockets, bumped it open with his hip and backed out. Somebody needed a little romance in their lives and if it wasn’t going to be him, he’d make damn sure the people he cared about would.

  “Later,” he called as the door swung behind him and he headed downstairs, out into the side alley and around to the front entrance.

  He loved this hotel. It was small and intimate and as perfect a place to stay as any he’d ever visited. The curb appeal was charm itself, with warm honeyed stone facing the street and window boxes spilling with colour from every floor. There was a lot of stained glass in the main doors and Nick tried to veer his thoughts away from artistic endeavours as he let Bernardo open the door for him.

  Nodding to the evening doorman, he entered the elegant and welcoming room, comfortable armchairs scattered about an open fire. It was flickering nicely, throwing off a glow that made guests feel right at home. It wasn’t needed for heat, not with upgraded central heating, but the effect never lost its appeal. Beside the beautiful artwork on the walls and on well-placed stands was a map of the ancient city on the wall next to the fireplace.

  A young teenager was studying it intently, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he leaned in to examine more closely a specific street. Almost overbalancing, the young lad whipped out a hand and placed it flat against the wall to prop himself up and continued to pore over the intricate draughtsmanship.

  Nick was intrigued. It wasn’t often he saw such intensity for maps and from a youngster too, and it peaked his interest. He and his younger cousin used to spend hours disse
cting old maps and then challenging each other to various “name that place” games.

  Sensing he was being studied, the young boy turned from his inspection and faced Nick, his head tilted questioningly. The evening light streamed though one of the windows and for a second Nick felt like he’d been sucker-punched in the gut – Holy shit!

  It was as if he’d conjured up a flashback or a time warp of his cousin, straight out of his mind, because he stood, right there, before him.

  The absolute spitting image.

  Chapter 10

  Taking a deep breath, Caro sat down on the leather armchair. She’d mulled over and over what to say and how to approach the “situation”, as she air quoted it in her head. But nothing seemed right or even bearable for these lovely people. What she was about to tell them would change their lives forever. And Toby’s. And, she supposed, hers.

  But it had to be done. Rip off the Band-Aid, she told herself. This isn’t going away and you’ve taken step one.

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” she began, speaking in English as she had done the last time. She felt on home turf in her native language and she’d bloody take what she could get. “I need to tell you some things about your son, Toni, and myself. From fourteen years ago.” She looked at both Antonio and Valentina, her glance going from one to the other, ensuring eye contact, trying to build trust. “There are some things you don’t know – that I haven’t told you. That maybe Toni didn’t know.” She paused.

  Both heads nodded slowly and Antonio shifted slightly forwards in his chair.

  “What is it, Miss Fitzgerald? You have us very interested.”

  He leaned over and took his wife’s hand in his, patting it gently, resting it on his thigh.