She hated that, but she wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of her having what she wanted, what she deserved: a fun fling with the sexiest man she’d ever known. To hell with the future, to hell with everything. She was sick of worrying, sick of stressing. She just wanted to feel, and no one had ever made her feel quite like Nico Montebello did.
Nico grinned as he peeled the skin off a banana, his eyes on the beach. The storm of a few nights ago had washed right out to sea, leaving Ondechiara sparkling and vibrant. His beach was pristine. Rolling waves glistened in the morning’s sun, the sand shone white like crystals and the sky was the most striking shade of blue, almost as stunning as Maddie’s eyes.
His smile grew broader.
It had been a couple of days since he’d seen her, since that night in La Villetta when he’d made love to her slowly, thoroughly, enjoying her piece by piece until she’d fallen asleep. He’d left her like that, perfect, heavenly, angelic, but he’d written a note and propped it on the pillow beside her.
Dinner, Friday night. I’ll pick you up.
Short, simple, to the point. Of course, it was only Wednesday and he was already craving her in a way that had caught him completely off guard, but even that was good. Good because he felt alive and excited in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Since Gianfelice had died? No. Since Claudette.
The thought brought a metallic taste to his mouth. Her deception was one he’d never forget – but at least it had taught him a valuable lesson. He’d never again allow himself to be as gullible as he had been with her. He’d bought every single one of her lies hook, line and sinker. It was only by sheer accident that he’d woken up and discovered the truth.
For a moment, he imagined what his life would have been like if he hadn’t. If Gabe hadn’t presented him with the incontrovertible proof that Nico was being played.
He locked his jaw, anger cresting inside of him for a moment before he brought his thoughts back to Maddie. She had secrets of her own, of that he was certain, but it didn’t matter. Secrets were only dangerous when you came to rely on someone. To trust them. And Nico wasn’t looking for anything more than a bit of fun: Sex. Laughs. Food. Wine.
Bliss.
And at the end of the summer, he’d walk away without a backwards glance.
“You’re okay with this?”
Nico thumbed his finger towards the motorbike and a thrill of anticipation lifted inside Maddie.
“It would be another first for me,” she said slowly, her head tilted to one side. She’d left her hair loose, flowing in long blonde waves around her face and in deference to the balmy summer’s evening, she’d chosen a flowing maxi skirt and a skimpy singlet top. The collection of bangles she’d added at the last minute took up a good two inches on either arm, and they jangled when she moved her hands, which she tended to do a lot in conversation.
“I can call a car—,”
“No, no,” she demurred. “That’s fine. I feel like living dangerously.”
He moved closer, wrapping an arm around her back and drawing her close. “I’ll drive carefully, I promise. You’re safe, remember?”
Maddie wasn’t sure it would matter. Her heart was slamming into her ribs in a way that was unlikely to alter whether they walked, drove or skied to dinner. Her racing pulse began and ended with her proximity to Nico. It had been too long. She’d woken up craving him the morning after they’d slept together. His note had brought a smile to her face but it had been little solace to a body that had begun to reverberate at a frequency only he could answer.
She’d tried to focus on her book, but the words had been as stubbornly resistant to fall from her fingertips as they had been any other day for the past few weeks. So she’d walked, and she’d swum, and she’d eaten leftover soup and thought of him, remembering every detail of how he’d prepared it, of how comfortable he’d seemed in the kitchen, how completely at ease. And she found herself smiling, because he’d been so uber-masculine even as he’d insisted he wanted to feed her.
Michael had never made more than toast for Maddie, and even then, only in the beginning. It hadn’t taken long before she’d become responsible for all the domestic chores. You’re home through the day, Madeleine. It just makes sense.
And he was right. She was home. But she was supposed to be working from home, not doing his laundry or bleaching his bathroom, nor planning elaborate meals that slowly yet surely failed to earn his praise and which eventually received only his criticism.
“Here.” He’d moved towards the bike – it was big and a gleaming black with shiny silver details – and was holding a helmet in his hand.
She lifted one brow. “Protection?”
He grinned. “Always.”
He slid the helmet onto her head, clipping it into place and checking it was snug before nodding with satisfaction, before pulling his own in place. Her stomach rolled. He swung a leg over the bike with ease, then turned to her.
“Jump on.”
She nodded, moving to the back of the bike. He was a good foot taller than she was. For Maddie, it was slightly less graceful but she couldn’t really focus on that with Nico Montebello squeezed between her thighs.
“Hold on tight.” His voice was muffled by his helmet, and hers, but she got the gist. Her hands clamped around his waist, her fingernails digging into his chest, just a little. The engine roared to life beneath her, like some kind of wild animal, and an answering rush of feral, primal need thundered through her body.
“Where are we going?” But her words were swallowed by her helmet and the engine. There was nothing for it but to hold on and wait. She clung to his body – his warm, hard body – as the bike sped down the narrow road that connected La Villetta to the town of Ondechiara. He drove the streets as though he’d created them, leaning the bike into tight corners, his manner was confident and skilled, so within a few minutes, Maddie forgot she’d always been half-way terrified of motorcycles and started to enjoy herself. There was something incredibly elemental about the feeling of the bike rumbling beneath her and the wind ripping past her. Even the excessive noise was like an echo chamber so somehow, despite the volume, all she could hear was the thundering of her own pulse in her ears.
He drove the motorbike through the town and towards the water. Here there were shops and cafés, bistros and restaurants – she remembered her joy exploring this seafront when she’d first arrived. Beautiful little stores brimming with artisanal items, restaurants that smelled amazing, even from the distance of the footpath. It was a perfect holiday town, and yet it wasn’t swarming with tourists.