The Italian

I stare up at the sign above the door, and I smile.

When in Rome

That’s me, in Rome, loving myself sick.

The weather is warm, the scenery is breathtaking, and Rome is everything I dreamt it would be.

I’m in week two of a five-week Italian vacation. I’ve been to Venice and I’ve been to Tuscany. I may also be in the middle of a small midlife crisis, but whatever. It’s forced me out of my comfort zone and into this Heaven, so I’ll take it.

I push open the dark, heavy, timber door, and I walk into the bar and restaurant. It’s dusk outside, and the restaurant is large with a huge back garden area. Fairy lights are lighting up the space, and it has a party feel to it with jovial laughter echoing loudly around me. A three-piece band are playing at the front, and the place is a hive of activity. One man is singing, while two others play guitar. I can’t understand what they’re saying but I don’t need to. It sounds so good—so Italian.

I take a seat at a table for two outside in the courtyard.

“Buona sera.” The waiter grins as he approaches.

I smile nervously. “Do you speak English?”

“Ah, yes, Madame. How can I help you?”

I quickly peruse the menu. “May I have a Prosecco, please?”

“Ottimo.” He nods and takes off in the direction of the bar, leaving me to look around in wonder at the gorgeous surroundings.

Everything is exaggerated in Italy. The hand gestures, the laughing, the story telling.

The beauty of the language. I could sit and listen to people speak Italian all day, and I have done so for fourteen days straight now.

It’s been the best trip. I thought I would have been nervous traveling on my own, but I’ve found an inner bravery I didn’t know I had. I’ve eaten out every night by myself, and I haven’t once felt self-conscious or unsafe. The people are all so lovely and friendly that I feel totally at home.

I glance around the crowded bar and see people drinking, laughing, and having the time of their lives. I find myself smiling as I watch them talk with their friends.

The waiter comes back with an entire bottle of Prosecco, and my face falls. Oh jeez,

I meant a glass, not the whole damn bottle. I’m going to have to pace myself.

I watch on as he pours me a glass. “Grazie.” I smile.

He nods as he gestures to the food menu. “I back soon, okay?”

“Yes, okay.” I open my menu and look down at the choices as he runs off to tend to other customers.

Everything is written in Italian. Some choices I can make out, and others I have no idea about. I look at the people at the tables around me to see what they are eating.

There’s pizza, pasta, something in a hot pot. Everything does look delicious, though. I look up to the bar and stare straight into the eyes of a man. I didn’t notice him before. He’s standing with a group of men. He’s huge, towering above the others around him. His black hair has a little length to it, with a curl, and his eyes are dark. Those eyes are unmistakably locked on me, and he doesn’t look away. Instead, he dips his head and gives me a slow, sexy smile.

My stomach flips—his gaze is intense… hungry.

Is he doing that to me, or is his girlfriend behind me?

I sip my drink and casually look at the surrounding tables. I drag my eyes back to my menu and scan back through the choices. He has me flustered from just one look. From my peripheral vision, I feel him still watching me, and I glance back over.

Our eyes meet and he smiles again, prompting me to give him a reaction. I have no idea if he’s smiling at me or not, but I decide to play along with the fantasy that is him.

I give a weak smile, and then in slow motion his lips curl into the sexiest damn smile I’ve ever seen. How can a smile be so fucking sexy?

He’s absolutely drop dead gorgeous—tall, dark, exotic. He’s everything I’m not.

I look back down at my menu.

Focus fool.

Abbacchio alla Cacciatora

Abbacchio Brodettato

Bistecca Fiorentina

Braciole

Braciolone

Bresaola

Brodo

Cacciatore

I frown as I look down at the choices, and I turn the page. A million delicious things on the menu, and I’m about to no doubt order something crap that I’ll hate.

I glance back up to the Italian Stallion and he’s gone. My heart drops.

“Looking for me?” I hear a deep voice say from behind me.

I jump and turn and see him standing behind me. “W-what?” I stammer as I stare up at the god.

His eyes hold mine. “I asked if you were looking for me.”

I stare at him, electricity zaps through the air between us. I’m unable to think because of his close proximity. He’s even more delicious up close, if that’s even possible.

“Ahh.” I pick up my drink and take a big gulp. “No, actually.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and raspy. It does things to my insides.

He holds out his hand for me to take. “My name is Enrico Ferrara.”

I place my hand into his. Its big, warm, and holy hell, is this happening?

Enrico sounds so exotic.

“I’ve been watching you from the bar,” he says with a heavy accent.

“You have?”

“Do you need some help?”

Help with what? Kissing? Undressing? Unzipping your trousers?

Stop it.

He smirks to himself as if knowing exactly what I was thinking. “Help with the menu.” He gestures to the menu in my hand. “I saw you frowning while reading it.”

“Oh, of course.” I giggle nervously and drain my glass. Idiot. “Yes, that would be great, thank you.”

He sits down opposite me and steeples his hands under his chin. His eyes are assessing me. “Come ti chiami?”

I don’t know what he just said, but fuck, it sounded good. “I don’t speak Italian, I’m sorry.”

“What is your name?” he repeats in English.

“Oh.” I shake my head, flustered. Honestly, this guy needs to go away, I’m embarrassing myself here. “Olivia Reynolds.”

He picks up my hand across the table and slowly kisses the backs of my fingers, leaving me to watch on. “Olivia,” he purrs. “What a beautiful name.”

Oh jeez. “Thank you.”

We stare at each other, and my heart is beating hard in my chest from the feeling of his lips. A trace of a smile crosses his mouth, and he’s clearly amused by my physical reaction to him.

Annoyed with myself, I snatch my hand away and open my menu. Unexpectedly, he does the same.

“What would you like to eat, bella?”

You. I would like to eat you. “What would you suggest?” I ask casually as I pretend to read through the choices. I can’t see a thing. I have double vision from the smell of his aftershave. Why does he smell so good?

He raises his brow at me. “You like meat?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

His eyes drop to my lips, and I feel my insides clench.

Okay…what the actual hell is going on here? This guy is insanely sexual.

“When was your last meal?”

I look up into his stare…what are we talking about here? Food? Sex? It’s been twelve hours since food and twelve months since sex.

I’m basically fucking starving in all areas. “Too long.”

Arousal flares in his eyes, and I know in that very second that we are talking about sex.

He sits back and steeples his hands under his chin again. “You’re beautiful. Where are you from?”

“Australia.”

“Where is your man?”

I frown. “I haven’t met him yet.”

Our eyes lock as tension bounces between us. I’ve never encountered a sexual attraction to someone like this before. You read about it, but it’s never actually happened to me.

I break the silence. “Where is your… other half?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Oh.” I pretend to read the menu once more.

“What are you doing in Rome?” he asks.

“I’m on vacation.”

“Alone?”

“No. My girlfriends are back at the hotel,” I lie. Rule 101: never tell anyone you are travelling alone. See, Mom, I do remember some rules.

“Why are you here alone… in this bar?”

“You’re very nosey.” He frowns as if not understanding the term. “Inquisitive,” I add.

“I don’t understand.”

“You want to know everything.”

He breaks out into a broad beautiful smile. “I do.” He reaches over and picks up a piece of my shoulder length, honey-blonde hair. “So fair,” he says. “Is your hair fair like this everywhere?”

I swallow the lump in my throat as my heart has an epileptic fit.

He smiles as if fascinated and takes my face in his hands. “Blue eyes.”

“The opposite to you,” I breathe.

“Opposites attract.” His eyes drop to my lips again.

Okay, what the actual fuck is going on here?

I pull out of his grip and open the menu in a fluster. “The food,” I remind him.

He sits back, clearly annoyed that I pulled away from him. “I already know what you are eating tonight.”

“You do?”

His eyes hold mine. “And so do you.”

I begin to hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? “What’s that?”

“Pasta.”

“Pasta?” I frown.

“Yes, of course. What did you think I meant?”

I giggle and refill my glass.

“What were you thinking, Olivia?”

“I don’t know. You have me all flustered.”

He frowns. “Flustered?” I can see him trying to translate the word. “Like a chicken? You mean plucked?”

I laugh. “Yes, plucked like a chicken.”

He smiles and holds his glass up to clink it with mine. “I hope to pluck you many more times tonight, Olivia.”

The word play between P and F has never been so high. I smile goofily as we stare at each other, electricity buzzes between us, our glasses touch.

I need to change the subject. “What do you do for work, Enrico?”

“Poliziotto.”

“Huh?”

“Policeman?”

“Ah.” I smile. “Law enforcer.”

“Yes.”

I feel myself relax a little. If he’s a policeman, I’m safe.

A man approaches the table and says something in Italian. Enrico answers him, and then turns to me.

“Olivia, meet my brother Andrea.”

“Hello.” I smile as we shake hands.

“Hello, nice to meet you.” He smiles. He’s slightly younger than Enrico, but with the same gorgeous bloodline: dark hair, olive skin, and big brown eyes. He, too, is deliciously handsome, though in a completely different way to his brother. He seems softer but the family resemblance is strong.

“Andrea is a doctor here in Rome,” Enrico says proudly.

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing.” I begin to feel at ease. He’s a cop and his brother is a doctor. Maybe Enrico isn’t a serial killer after all.

“Thank you. Are you English?” Andrea asks.

“Australian.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiles and turns to his brother. “Are you coming with me, Rico, or are you staying? I have to go now. I have work in the morning.”

Rico. They call him Rico. I like that.

Enrico’s eyes come back to me. “No, I’m going to eat pasta with Olivia, and then show her why I’m the best dancer in all of Italy.”

Andrea rolls his eyes, and I smile into my drink.

Sounds so fun.

“All right then, good luck, Miss Olivia.” Andrea bends to kiss my cheeks. “You will need it. It was nice to meet you.”

“Goodbye, Andrea.”

He disappears, and Enrico turns back to me with a satisfied smile. “What am I feeding you, bella? You need energy for dancing.”

I giggle and open my menu, this is the best night of my life. “Pasta,” I remind him.

“Ah, yes.” His eyes dance with delight. “That’s right. Pasta it is.”

“So, tell me about yourself.” He drops his chin onto his hand as his elbow rests on the table. “What is the Olivia Reynolds story?”

We’ve eaten, drank two bottles of wine, and now we’re sitting in the darkened courtyard, fairy lights are lighting up the space and the music now soft and romantic. I’m feeling very tipsy indeed.

“Well.” I sip my wine. “I’m here on a holiday… I guess to try and find myself.”

“Are you lost?”

“Perhaps.” I smile bashfully across the table at him.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” I contemplate his question. “I feel like I’m searching for something, but I don’t know what it is yet. I’m here to try and figure that out.”

He gives me a slow sexy smile. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe you’re looking for an Enrico Ferrara?”

“Oh yes, that’s the logical answer, how many of you are there?” I giggle.

“Just one.” He smiles. “One is enough.”

“How long have you lived in Rome?”

“About ten years. I moved here when I joined the police force. Where do you live in Australia?”

“Sydney. Have you ever been?”

“No, it’s on my list, though. I don’t travel far.”

“Really, why not? I love to travel.”

“I prefer Italy. I travel around Europe regularly, but Australia is a long way from here. How long does it take to travel there by plane?”

“Twenty-one hours.”

“Twenty-one hours,” he scoffs. “On a plane? You must be crazy, woman.”

I giggle at his horror. “We’re used to it. Australia is on the opposite side of the world from everywhere. If we want to travel, it’s a twenty-four-hour plane trip to most places. That, combined with the terrible jetlag from time zones, it turns a lot of people off.”

He frowns and sips his drink. “Do you work at home?”

“Yes, I’m a fashion designer.”

He smiles, as if surprised. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you design?”

I shrug, embarrassed. “Well, I’m designing pyjamas at the moment for Kmart.”

“Kmart?” He frowns.

“It’s a department store.”

“What pyjamas would you put me in?” he asks. I watch his tongue dart out as he sips his drink, and my sex clenches in appreciation.

“I don’t think pyjamas would do you justice. I imagine your birthday suit is enough.”

His eyes have a tender glow to them as he watches me, and my heart constricts in my chest. He really is a beautiful man.

Embarrassed by my forwardness, I change the subject. “But it’s only temporary. I would love to work in fashion one day. That’s the ultimate dream.”

“Who’s your favorite designer?”

“Umm, let’s see.” I narrow my eyes. “Valentino or Dolce and Gabbana.”

“And you’ve applied to both of those houses?”

“Yes. Nothing back from them yet, though.”

“One day,” he replies.

I smile. “One day.”

“Finish your drink, bella. I’m taking you dancing.”

“Bella?” I frown. God, he doesn’t even remember my name.

He takes my hand over the table and lifts it to his mouth. “Bella means beautiful.”

He kisses my fingertips. “And you really are very beautiful, Olivia. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

Oh, I like him.

“To be honest, I’m having a hard time staying on my side of the table. I want us to dance so I can have you in my arms,” he says softly.

Nerves dance in my stomach. “Then take me dancing, Mr. Ferrara,” I whisper.

He smiles darkly, tips his head back, and he drains his glass. “Let’s go.”

Three hours later and the room is spinning to the sound of my laughter. Enrico and I are dancing and he’s throwing me around like a rag doll. He is holding me by the hand and is spinning me around and around.

We’ve drunk way too much, and now it’s late—3:00 a.m., to be precise—and we’ve come to our third bar of the night. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so much. He’s funny, smart, and seriously gorgeous. He’s also making me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

I couldn’t tell you if anyone else is here, because all I can see is him.

He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, with his square jaw, dark, wavy hair, and the biggest brown eyes I have ever seen. His lips are pouty and a beautiful shade of red. He has this joyfulness that seeps out of him, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. His laugh is loud, echoing, and his voice has a deep huskiness that speaks to something deep inside of me.

A slow song comes on. Enrico pulls me close and wraps his arms around me. “Finally,” he whispers as he kisses my temple.

“Finally?” I smile, liking the way his lips feel on me.

“Finally, a slow song that allows me to hold you close.”

He towers above me. He’s so tall that I only come up to his shoulder. One of my hands is in his, while he holds me by the waist with his other. The air between us is electric. My heart is pumping hard and fast.

What would it be like to have sex with a virile, intense man like this?

Imagine fucking him.

A deep ache begins to grow inside of me. I can feel myself getting wet as my need for his body grows. Enrico slowly dips his head, and his lips softly dust mine, his tongue gently asking for permission to enter my mouth. I grant him access. His kiss is slow and erotic, and it does things to me as I get a visual of him on top of me. Naked. Fucking me hard—so hard. Our bodies wet with perspiration. I’m aching for him to touch me.

His hand tightens around my waist, pulling me closer as we kiss. I lose control and my hands go to his hair, bringing him closer to me.

For fifteen minutes, we stand on the dancefloor, kissing like we are the only people in the room. I can feel his hard cock up against my stomach. His eyes have darkened to nearly black, and I can feel the want in his vice-like grip.

He’s different to any man I’ve ever met. It could be the whole Italian thing, of course, but I feel like it’s more than that. There’s more to him than meets the eye. Perhaps that’s just my inexperience with gorgeous men speaking. Maybe all players make women feel like this. Maybe it’s a spell that only a few men know how to cast.

A special kind of black magic.

Suddenly, achingly aware that I’m dripping wet and acting like a horny ho, I whisper, “I should get going.”

His eyes hold mine, and some kind of silent acknowledgement runs between us. He bends and kisses me softly, a promise of more.

After a beat, he replies, “I’ll walk you home.”

Half an hour later, we arrive at my hotel, hand in hand. “This is me,” I say nervously.

He turns toward me, takes my face in his hands, and he kisses me again, waiting for an invitation to come in. Our lips dance as my mind runs at a million miles a minute. Visions of us naked together play like a perfect porno in my mind.

But… I can’t. I can’t do it. As much as I want to, I can’t sleep with a stranger. It’s not who I am.

Damn you, conscience.

“It was nice meeting you,” I say.

His face falls as he stares at me, his chest rising and falling as he battles his arousal.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I…” I hesitate, because damn, saying it out loud seems so lame. “I’m not the type of girl who sleeps around.”

Tenderness crosses his face but he remains silent.

“You make me wish I was.” I smile bashfully.

We kiss, and then he holds our foreheads together as we both try to come down from our high.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks. “I have the weekend off. I can take you sightseeing.”

“Really?”

He takes a step back from me, creating distance, and I know he’s trying to calm his throbbing body down.

“Okay.” I smile.

“I’ll pick you up at ten?”

I look at my watch. “That’s only six hours away.”

His eyes dance with mischief. “I know. It seems stupid to go all the way home. I can just stay here until then.”

I giggle. “Nice try. Go home, Ricki.”

He chuckles, and with one last lingering kiss, he opens the front door of my hotel. I walk in, trying to act cool and hide the over the top smile on my face.

I turn back to him through the glass. He has his hands tucked in his pockets as he watches me. I give him a wave, and he blows me a kiss. I get into the elevator with my heart jumping all over the place. I smile broadly at my reflection in the elevator mirrored wall.

Holy shit…. what the hell just happened?