Roman Holiday Read online

  “Why did you leave my bed without talking to me first?” he practically growled.

  He, too, took his coffee and drank it “naked”, never taking his piercing glare from hers.

  “Oh, please. What? You expected to have a little morning-after chit-chat? Look, we both got what we wanted and anyway, you lied to me, so why would I wait around for more of the same?”

  She tore open the brown sugar and poured it into the dark liquid. Stirring with a tiny spoon was as good a displacement activity as any, she supposed as she broke her gaze away from his.

  “Lie to you? How did I lie to you? We barely had enough conversation to include any lies, for Christ’s sake.”

  Caro smirked. “Well, now, funny you should ask. Speaking of conversations, you sure kept your perfect English to yourself, didn’t you?”

  Nick’s face tensed. It was obvious he hadn’t even realised they were speaking in English now and she could practically see him kick himself. Caro had spoken in her native tongue on purpose, to see how he’d react and explain himself.

  Nick raised a hand to rub the back of his neck and, grimacing slightly, he said, “I never said I was Italian. You just assumed.”

  “Imagine that. There was me, bumping, literally, into a tall, dark Italian-looking man in a café in Rome, speaking the language, and I had the nerve to think he was . . . oh, I don’t know, Italian, maybe?”

  He let out a bark of laughter.

  Feck, the change to his face was frustratingly attractive. Damn this man.

  “Touché.” He raised his hands in a mea culpa gesture. “But to be fair, your Italian is so good I didn’t consider using English and, correct me if I’m wrong, but I got the impression you wanted me to be Italian.”

  Busted.

  Caro could feel herself blush. Shit. Now, she basically had to tell him she was simply using him for sex but, wait, wasn’t that what he was doing, too? He wasn’t blushing. Jesus, this “grown-up woman hook-up” thing was harder than it looked.Still . . .

  “So, where are you from?” she asked, deciding attack was her best form of defence and maybe he’d forget the whole “I had sex with him because he was a foreigner” part.

  He quirked his eyebrow at her subject change but didn’t pursue the former topic.

  “I’m a US citizen by birth but have Italian and Irish parentage. I grew up with both languages, and have gone to school in both America and Italy – lucky, I guess, as I can use either equally fluently.” He paused to order two glasses of wine from the hovering waiter and turned back to Caro. “When did you know? About my English, I mean,” he asked.

  Caro leaned back in her chair, trying to decide how much to tell him. She really didn’t need to get any more involved with him than was absolutely necessary. She had limited time here in Rome – teaching and lecturing to do. And not forgetting the father of her child to find. A half-American, half-Italian sexy man in a suit was so not on her agenda. She’d been there, done that, so to speak.

  And yeah, let’s be honest here – she would undoubtedly like to do it again, but at what cost? Complications, explanations, discussions, even . . . No, best to leave well alone, but she could certainly have a conversation with the man and oh, yes, please, a glass of wine, thank you very much. She took the proffered glass from the waiter and raised it to Nick in a mock toast.

  “You talk in your sleep,” she announced.

  Nick’s eyes glinted. “I do not.”

  “Yeah, you do,” she countered, “and you know, calling out some other woman’s name as you lay draped over me really isn’t very good manners. Your mama should have taught you better.” She smiled serenely at him.

  “I do not talk in my sleep,” he repeated, lips twisting up in a barely concealed smile.

  “And how would you know?”

  He leaned back in his chair, threw his hands up and let out a laugh. “Okay, you got me. What did I say and whose name was it?” he enquired, the eyebrow raised again.

  “I’m only messing with you,” Caro grinned at him cheekily. “It was actually when you spoke to the woman in the lift that night, when we were on our way up to your room.” Christ, she could feel herself blush again. She really needed to get on board with the whole “it’s okay to have sex as a grown woman” issue. “You spoke to her in English, but I didn’t twig that till I was leaving your room.” More blushing. “And I heard you mumble something. I genuinely don’t remember what, but it was definitely English not Italian.”

  “Ah. That woman was my PA and I hadn’t expected her to work that late.”

  Caro blinked in surprise. “Wait. I thought you were staying at the hotel? Was your PA staying there, too?”

  “I keep rooms at the hotel for convenience,” Nick confirmed and took a drink of his wine. He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table. “How long are you staying in Rome, Caroline?”

  Now, here’s the thing. Not only was he stupidly handsome and perfectly built, but his voice was also like molten gold. Deep, low but with a touch of gravel about it. So bloody unfair, Caro mused as she drank in the man before her. His suit was immaculate, his silver-grey shirt contrasting snazzily with the dark charcoal of the wool jacket. His tie had mist-grey and deep-navy diagonal stripes, and as she glanced down she saw his black, old-fashioned brogue shoes were gleaming. Her dad would approve. Prof Fitzgerald always said you can tell a lot about a man from the shoes he wears for business.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Always better to answer a question with a question – especially when you want to avoid said question.

  The eyebrow quirked.

  “Oh, all right – you can see from my lecture schedule anyway, I suppose,” Caro said. “I’m here till at least the end of the year and then the next semester is an option for me depending on how things go, how much interest there is in my talks. So, nothing written in stone.” She reached for her glass and sipped the crisp, dry, gooseberry-flavoured wine. “This is delicious, by the way.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Caro started at the suddenness of the question, though there was no reason to assume he wouldn’t ask. She bit her lip. What to do, what to do . . . ? One, she did actually need to eat; two, it wasn’t smart to see this man again as she didn’t want any personal involvement with anyone while here, and three, she absolutely wanted to have sex with this man again.

  Caro could feel herself counting on her fingers, pressing one after another against her thigh as she mentally ticked off her thoughts. It was a habit from childhood but wasn’t helpful in coming up with answers, that’s for sure.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she told him, cleverly listening to point number two.

  “Why not? You have to eat, don’t you?”

  Point number one right there, blast him.

  “Yes, but . . . how do I say this without being crude?”

  “You don’t want to have sex?” he interrupted.

  “Yes. No. I mean, shit, you’re making this difficult for me. Could you look away while you’re talking? Your mouth is very distracting.”

  Oh. My. God.

  She did not say that aloud.

  Nick burst out laughing. “Your mouth is pretty fucking distracting, too, I can tell you.”

  Caro’s mouth dropped open at his use of language. It was the first time she’d heard him swear in either Italian or English and it should absolutely not have made her stomach do a sexy twist but, damn, it did.

  “I’m insanely attracted to you and really want to feel your naked body under me, over me, wrapped around me, any way I can get it and as soon as possible. But . . . ” He paused in the midst of his rather direct pickup line and waited till Caro’s eyes were fully engaged with his. “I will absolutely not have any expectations of sex if you agree to dine with me. Just have dinner. We can leave any other possibilities open till after we’re satisfied. Foodwise.”

  Holy shit. That was kinda direct. And hot. Was that
the American or the Italian side talking? Caro wondered as she stared back at him. Does it matter? Hell, no. Dinner it was and she’d deal with her now leaping lady parts later.

  “That would be lovely,” she accepted.

  “Which part of it?” he countered.

  “Let’s start with dinner,” Caro said and stood up from her seat. “I’m famished.”

  The restaurant he chose was tiny and dark and served the most amazing pasta Caro had ever tasted. The linguini had grilled tomatoes and what tasted like roasted hazelnuts and feta cheese and basil and God knows what else – every mouthful an explosion of taste. The crusty bread and salad complemented the smoothness of the pasta, and the wine he selected was light and fruity and not at all what she’d have normally picked herself but went superbly with the food.

  “You know your stuff,” Caro said, indicating with her almost empty glass and including the array of dishes on the table.

  Nick topped off their wine and set the bottle back on the table.

  “I did a course in wine somewhere in my career and it comes in handy now and again. The food?” He laid down his fork and crumpled his cotton napkin. “That’s the genius of Arturo.” He nodded towards the tiny kitchen visible through the opening about waist high in one corner of the small seating area. “I’ve known him for years and eat here fairly regularly. I love the simple but flavoursome food.”

  “You have a funny turn of phrase, do people tell you that?” Caro asked, her head quirked to the side.

  “Funny? As in ha ha, or peculiar?”

  “Definitely peculiar. I don’t remember the last time I heard someone refer to his food as ‘flavoursome’.” Caro tore apart the chunk of bread left on her side plate and bit into it. “God, take this away from me! I’m stuffed and really don’t need more.” She laughingly shoved the plate aside and put the bread down. A serious strength-of-will gesture. “I deserve a medal for this restraint.”

  Nick smiled. “No, people don’t tell me I’m peculiar.”

  “I never said you were, just your odd phrasing. Did you speak both languages from the cradle?” she asked.

  She was curious to know about this almost stranger in front of her yet was determined to keep him at arm’s-length. And as Dr. Phil., the American talk-show psychologist, would say, “How’s that working out for you?” – “Not too well, Doc, not too well at all,” would be the truthful answer. Their conversation had been a delight over the shared meal. Places they both liked in Rome, favourite galleries, favourite paintings . . . but, she realised as she waited for his answer, nothing actually personal and nothing more about what he did, let alone who he was.

  Nick watched her intently, his dark eyes even more mysterious in the dim lighting of the restaurant. It was getting late and Caro reached for her bag and tote to begin the gathering-up process. Her question seemed forgotten as Nick rested his hand on hers to still it.

  “Would you like some dessert or coffee, perhaps?” he asked.

  “Hell yes – and absolutely not at the same time, thank you,” she said.

  Nick did the eyebrow thing and Caro had to laugh.

  “I’d adore both and can honestly fit neither, but thank you for asking all the same,” she translated.

  She stood up and Nick did, too.

  “Please wait a moment while I speak to Arturo, if you don’t mind, and then I’ll see you to your apartment.”

  He strode across to the kitchen opening and leaned in. Caro couldn’t catch everything that was said, but there was a lot of praise and plenty of humour, by the sound of things. As Caro waited patiently by the table she noted the breadth of Nick’s shoulders as he leaned a hip against the wall. How the fabric of his jacket stretched the width . . . She remembered all too vividly the feel of those shoulders beneath her wandering hands as he lay above her. Her eyes journeyed down and, Jesus! his ass. It wasn’t totally in view, as the jacket covered most of the sight, but one hand was shoved in a side pocket and what she could see brought a flash of heat to her lower belly.

  She shifted slightly, heat forming between her thighs, and mentally slapped herself. For fuck’s sake, I’m getting turned on by a well-clothed and only partially visible ass. Get a grip, Caro Fitzgerald! You’re not a hormone-raging teen!

  Nick turned then and caught her staring, her teeth nibbling her bottom lip, and instantly his eyes went straight to her mouth. Time went to slow motion. She felt like a deer caught in the headlights and surely to God he knew she’d been fantasising about him only seconds before.

  Oh, the mortification.

  Without taking his eyes from Caro’s, he walked towards her and, relieving her of the bags, placed a hand at her back then steered her to the door.

  “But, Nick,” she said, her voice husky, “you forgot to pay. What about the bill?”

  “He owes me,” Nick growled. “Come on, I’m taking you home. Now.”

  There was silence as they walked along the quiet side streets. She told him her address and it turned out to be about a fifteen-minute walk from the restaurant. Nick seemed preoccupied and distant, and Caro was almost grateful. Distance was, after all, the key to getting through the “sex with the stranger” ploy, and so far she was failing miserably. Why, oh why did she agree to have dinner with him? Complications, remember?

  Her brain buzzed along as they walked and she continued to berate herself, feeling more and more embarrassed with the situation the closer they got to her building. She was just going to say goodnight and that would be that. No more chats over coffee and wine, and no more intimate delicious dinners. And no more sex. Definitely no more sex. Definitely . . .

  Nick drew her to a halt, taking her arm. Before she could offer her repeated thanks for the meal, he had her back flat against the wall and his mouth covering hers in a scorching kiss. The bags dropped to the pavement and his hands gripped the sides of her face, holding her still as his lips moved swiftly back and forth over hers. A hum of sound came from one or the other, she wasn’t sure who, but the whimper that followed was absolutely hers as his tongue delved inside her welcoming mouth.

  Oh. Just oooh.

  His thumbs moved so gently, almost tenderly over her skin as his tongue and teeth simply devoured her. Even through the haze of lust she wondered how he could do that – be so demanding on one level and so careful on the other. She reached inside his jacket and twined her arms around his taught frame, stroking to feel his back muscles all tense and strained.

  He angled her head slightly and the kiss deepened. Heat flashed though her, her heart thumping madly, and they were both groaning with need. His thigh edged between her legs, pressing against her intimately, and her legs went weak at the feel of him, his hot, hard body pushing at her stomach. She groaned again. Very deliberately, he pulled back on the kiss, easing slowly from her mouth to her jaw and neck.

  Kissing lightly.

  Sweetly.

  He raised his head and frowned at her.

  Frowned? Why was he frowning? Caro took a few deep breaths to regain her composure and waited.

  “I apologise. I said no sex and truthfully? All I want right now is to take you right here. Right here against the wall. Shit!” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m not picky, any damn surface would do. But,” he paused, the frown still in place, “I gave you my word. So I’m going to leave you here and head to my hotel.”

  “I wasn’t complaining, to be fair,” Caro muttered, always stupidly honest even when it didn’t really do her any favours.

  “And I’m not complaining, either,” he agreed, “but if we’re going to do this we need some rules, no?”

  The Italian turn of phrase made her heart melt and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “This? Yeah, we probably need rules or else we need to not ever do this again. It’s one or the other, I think.”

  “I’m going for rules,” Nick said swiftly. “And stop doing that or I won’t be able to leave.”

  “Doing what?” Caro was bewildered.


  “Biting on your lip – it’s intensely distracting when I’m trying like fuck to be a gentleman.”

  He placed his thumb against her swollen bottom lip and slowly swept it back and forth, his eyes glued to hers. “Rules?” he asked quietly.

  “Rules,” she agreed.

  Caro closed the door to her apartment, her heart still thrumming in her chest. Holy bloody moley.What the hell just happened? And what the hell had she just agreed to? An affair, that’s what. She’d agreed to have an affair, just sex, no actual involvement, with some virtual stranger. Okay, maybe not a total stranger at this stage, but she didn’t know diddly-squat about him – not really.Fuck, she still didn’t even know what he did for a living, let alone his last bloody name. She was insane, that’s what. She closed her eyes in a moment of panic and tried to let her heartbeat slow. What would Ali do?

  No! She pushed away from the door and took several deep, cleansing breaths. She needed to stop trying to act like her younger more “out there” sister. She could do whatever she chose and just be Caro – not a younger, cooler, edgier version of herself. She knew her limits and, more importantly, she knew her responsibilities.

  First up, as always, was Toby.

  Caro walked into her little kitchen area and took a bottle of water from the fridge. She kicked off her shoes and opened the doors to her small contained balcony, propped her arms along the wrought-iron railing and gazed over the rooftops of Rome. How would her having an affair affect Toby?Well, it wouldn’t, she reasoned, unscrewing the cap from the chilled bottle. Toby would arrive in Rome in about a week and she’d ensure his path wouldn’t cross with Nick’s. She and her lover – oh, dear, God – could take a few days’ break from all the hot, steamy sex her mind was fast-forwarding into visualising.

  She took a long, cooling drink. No, her relationship, or whatever she’d have over the next couple of months with Nick, wouldn’t in any way affect Toby. So, what else was bothering her? Her complete lack of experience in the whole ongoing sexual partnership with someone?Yeah, that was a bit of a hurdle, all right. But – another swallow of San Pellegrino – at least she had some pretty delectable underwear to showcase. Caro snorted out a laugh, almost choking on her water. Here I am, thinking my snazzy underwear sets will finally get a proper outing while conveniently forgetting the daily leg-shaving and hairstyle upkeep, the body lotions I would have to buy and the outfits I would have to coordinate! Gah! Girl stuff she normally ignored because her life was too busy, too uninvolved in anything but work and Toby to have to make those female decisions.