by Amanda Usen
“A balcony would work. Plenty of those, right?”
Olivia picked up her fork, color rising in her cheeks. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the kinky type.”
He lifted one eyebrow, unable to prevent the corners of his mouth from turning up. He encouraged his buttoned-down, by-the-book, technicality driven, Type-A, loophole lawyer image. He enjoyed arguing a point, any point, just for the sheer fun of it. He liked to be right. He liked to be in control. He liked to win. It had been impressed on him at a very early age that all of these things were necessary for survival, but the bedroom was not a courtroom. Control was necessary up to a point, of course, but buttoned-down lawyer guy disappeared with his tie.
She leaned forward. “Sean, I just don’t get it. You had a prime opportunity last summer—”
“I told you, you were married.”
“I’ve been under the impression that guys don’t give that detail a lot of thought.”
“Some guys don’t.” He shrugged. “I’m not your ex-husband.”
She flinched and dropped her gaze. After a second, her eyes met his again. “You want me to believe you’ve been dying to have sex with me? That you rejected me a couple of months ago because I was barely married, but now you want to take me to Italy and blindfold me in a freaking gondola?” Her voice was soft, belying the intensity of her words. “Give me one good goddamn reason.”
Sean let the desire that had sharpened inside him for years roll across his face. He reached across the table and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I’ll make you glad you did.”
Her nostrils flared. “A better reason than that.”
He hesitated.
He never put anyone on the stand unless he knew exactly what they were going to say, and that went double for his personal life. He had no idea how Olivia would react to the information he was about to give to her, and that made him nervous. Unfortunately, this felt like his last chance to convince her to let him join her.
“Your mother is expecting me,” he said reluctantly.
The color drained out of her cheeks. For a minute, he thought she might fling her fresh glass of wine in his face. When she didn’t even glance at the food the waiter gingerly placed in front of her, Sean knew he was in serious trouble.
“You called my mother?” Her voice rose unevenly.
“I’m afraid she’ll be very disappointed if I don’t arrive at Villa Farfalla. I got the impression she’s eager for American tourists to discover the delights of her hospitality.”
“No doubt.”
“The villa sounds amazing. A sprawling estate, a vineyard, cooking classes with a famous chef, wine tours, a private spa…” Sean was actually looking forward to spending a week there, as long as he didn’t have to do it from a shallow grave dug by Olivia, which is where it looked like he was headed.
“Spare me the propaganda. My mother is a brilliant businesswoman, but if you think I’m difficult, wait until you meet her. No detail escapes her attention.”
Sean covered his elation with a frown. “Do you think she’ll check your bed every night? That would put a kink in my plans.”
“Your plans are kinky enough,” she said darkly.
Sean chuckled. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.” He leaned across the table to take her hand. “I didn’t mention I was arriving with you, but if I cancel my reservation, I’ll feel compelled to give your mother a reason.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“So sue me. I get free legal representation.” Olivia’s green eyes reminded Sean of the sky just before a tornado ripped across the horizon—lush, eerie, and dangerous to life and limb. He squeezed her hand. “All you have to do is say yes, Olivia.”
***
Sean’s thumb in her palm was making it very difficult to think. Each time it stroked across her hand, new tingles would start in another area of her body. Was it the wine or just him? Had she eaten anything for breakfast or lunch?
She shook her head. What had he asked her again? Right. How could she forget?
Sean wanted her to say yes. He had spun her well-deserved meltdown into a kinky, sun-kissed, wine-soaked vacation in a picturesque villa and almost made her believe it could happen.
He had no idea what he was walking into. For that matter, neither did Olivia. Her father would likely accept her behavior with his usual good humor, but her mother was another story. Her mother was going to go ballistic. In fact, having a human shield might not be such a bad idea. Maybe her mom wouldn’t kill her in front of a guest.
Olivia concentrated on her tingling palm. Under the table, her toes began to curl. In all of her twenty-nine years, no one had ever made her toes curl. Certainly not her ex-husband, although by all reports he’d curled the toes of every other female who let him. For the first time, Olivia could see what all the fuss was about. She smiled into her wineglass. Maybe…
Not.
She knew from experience sex was not the easy romp Sean had just described to her. It was complicated. Embarrassing and confusing. Her smile flatlined. Better not to turn this into anything it wasn’t.
Sean was still caressing her hand and waiting patiently. Well, he could wait, the cocky bastard. Any decision she made would be based on practicality, and she would not allow her judgment to be affected by her tingling palm or any other tingling parts either. Just to be safe, she pulled her hand away from him and picked up her fork, finally noticing the fresh plate in front of her.
“Olivia?”
“Patience, counselor. Jury’s out for dinner.”
***
Exactly three hours and five incomparable courses later, her eyes flew wide as she caught sight of the digits on the bill that had just been delivered across the table. She barely managed to swallow the “Holy shit” that was on the tip of her tongue. She really couldn’t let him—
“Don’t even think about it.” Sean frowned as she reached for her purse. He tucked his credit card into the check cover. “Would I bring you here if I expected you to pay for it? No way. It’s my pleasure. Did you enjoy your dinner?”
“You have to ask?” She was pretty sure she had moaned aloud more than once.
“I just wanted to hear you say it.”
“It was fabulous, Sean. Thank you. But are you sure you don’t want me to—”
He shook his head and smiled at her, displaying the dimple in his chin. The irresistible dimple. In fact, she wanted to touch it. Sean caught the hand she raised toward him and pulled her out of her chair.
“Time to get back to the airport, darlin’. Italy is waiting.” The question in his voice gave her pause. Or it would have, if she hadn’t spent the last few hours replacing her blood with wine and then diverting all of it away from her brain and to her stomach, which was now busy digesting hundreds of dollars of prime seafood and extremely fine wine.
The pro and con list she had made in her head during dinner had come up dead even, but the wine was making her feel decidedly optimistic. She giggled as she allowed Sean to lead her out of the restaurant and into a waiting taxi. Her messy meltdown suddenly seemed less necessary than enjoying the company of the guy climbing into the taxi next to her. The guy with the dimpled chin and the fancy suit, the accommodating credit card, and the admitted desire for kinky sex.
Normally, that would have freaked her right out. She was not a kinky sex kind of girl. She was a boring sex kind of girl. An on-your-back-and-hold-still-until-it’s-over girl. Frigid. Like ice.
A disappointment.
Forget it.
Olivia sat up straight on the taxi seat, lips tight, blood cold. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and turned to Sean, ready to tell him no. All the wine in the world couldn’t make her agree to do something that was guaranteed to bring more failure. One more failure would break her, which was the whole reason she was leaving
in the first place.
Sean caught her fingers in his warm hand and brought them to his lips. Heat shot from her knuckles to her nipples and then, yes, lower. Tingling, swelling heat. Not ice. Not ice at all, in fact.
“Hmm,” she mumbled as he leaned toward her.
She had never felt like this before. Sean smiled into her eyes just before his lips brushed hers, and she saw the silvery flash again. Her body responded, going loose and melting.
From an intellectual standpoint, this was fascinating. She felt like an observer, watching very strange behavior. Olivia Marconi did not make out in the back seat of a taxi. She had always been the good one, gingerly perched on the front bumper of whatever car Marlene had been making out in. She was the lookout. The best friend.
Olivia Marconi certainly did not moan and press into the bold hand on her knee. Her panties did not slip wetly between her thighs. She did not throw her head back to invite teeth to graze her throat.
Olivia Marconi had clearly been missing out.
Sean’s soft mouth on hers translated a foreign language. His thrusting tongue, no longer intimidating, explained the rules of an exciting new game. His hand on her breast awakened a fresh desire. Was it just the wine? If so, a bottle of wine per day could have saved her marriage.
She stiffened, brain trying to seize command of her renegade body. This is not a good idea. I can’t do this. Sean pulled her closer, and it was impossible to reject the smile she could feel on his lips. He was still asking, seducing, waiting for her to answer. He wasn’t Keith, and she suddenly didn’t want to be the old Olivia. She wanted to say yes, wanted it badly enough to risk disaster.
Distantly, very distantly, she knew it was crazy to do any heavy thinking when her brain felt like it was operating six solid inches above her body, but Sean’s lips felt heavenly. Like, astral heavenly. In fact, it didn’t seem necessary to think at all when his mouth moved across hers and his tongue flirted in a way that made her heart pound.
She was tired of thinking all the time—sick to death of being terrified of her inadequacy while pretending everything was fine, that she was happy, successful. There wasn’t anything Marlene couldn’t do better at Chameleon. Nothing Joe couldn’t do more efficiently. The restaurant was better off without her, but where did that leave her? She hadn’t thought any further than Italy and the relief escape would bring her. What happened next?
With shock, she realized she didn’t feel like crying anymore. Her hands fisted in Sean’s jacket. Damn it. She couldn’t even have a proper meltdown; it wasn’t her style. Her approach was more along the lines of tighten the bolt until the wrench broke and make sure that sucker never cut loose again. The breakdown she had been planning wasn’t going to happen unless she checked into a mental institution, and she just wasn’t that far gone. Not quite. Not yet.
She needed to come up with a new plan for the rest of her life. The alcohol had cut through the fog that had kept her immobilized for months. What did she want? She had no idea. It was easier to name the things she didn’t want—Keith, Chameleon, and failure, damn it. Her mother would just have to understand. Maybe Sean could provide a distraction while she decided how to break the news. His lips drifted over her jaw, feeding her hope. Yes, he was a very good distraction. Even if it was the wine talking, there was plenty of wine in Italy. She’d be well supplied.
“I’ve made my decision, counselor.”
Sean froze against her. “Will you let me come with you?”
“Far be it from me to deny you an Italian vacation.”
“So you’re saying—”
God help me. “I’m saying yes.”
Chapter 4
Olivia woke slowly. Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry. She tried to stretch and found that she couldn’t move anything but her neck, and even that felt like it was made of cement. She muffled a groan as she eased herself upright a quarter inch at a time.
Strong, warm fingers pressed firmly against the ache in her neck. A hand released the buckle at her waist and she sagged in her seat, resting her head against the vinyl side of the plane. She let Sean work the knots out of her shoulders for a few delicious minutes, but there wasn’t enough residual alcohol in her system to let him continue indefinitely.
She turned around.
“Better?” he asked.
“Not even close.”
“Take these.”
He handed her a travel packet of ibuprofen and water. She hoped there was enough in the bottle to wash down the unfortunate sweat sock that seemed to be lodged in her throat.
“Hair of the dog?” Sean suggested slyly.
“Hell no, I’m never drinking again.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.” Sean held her still and kissed her so thoroughly that Olivia was sure he’d find half a sweat sock in his mouth when she pulled away from him.
“You got me drunk,” she accused.
“I didn’t drink the wine for you, darlin’.”
“Temporary insanity.”
“Whatever gets you through the flight,” he quipped.
“I’ll be right back.” She pointed at the airplane lavatory, needing a moment alone to assess the damage from wine consumption, bloating, and dehydration.
She made her way to the bathroom and locked the door behind her, peering hesitantly into the mirror. Not completely tragic. Her blond hair always looked exactly the same. Her skin was clear, although she looked faintly green under the punishing fluorescent light. She looked into her eyes, trying to puzzle out how she felt by gazing at her reflection. No clue.
She used the bathroom, washed her hands, then fished a tinted lip balm out of her purse and stroked it over her dry lips. She’d better get some more water into her body soon. Wine could only take a girl so far. She gulped to think about where it had taken her in the taxi.
The prospect of spending a week in her parents’ house fooling around with Sean seemed improbable in the sobering light of the airplane lavatory. His interest was flattering—beyond flattering—but an affair spelled catastrophe. Was there any way to pretend that whole conversation hadn’t happened?
Olivia turned to the door and caught a whiff of Sean’s aftershave trapped in the crease of her neck. His scent shot a thrill straight through her. She lingered for another minute, reliving his kiss. She shivered, saw his eyes flash silver in her memory, wanted to kiss him again. Sean had made her feel like a different woman—someone adventurous, exciting, and carefree.
Could she be that woman with him?
Sadly, tragically, unfortunately, no. She couldn’t fake sexy. She was still the same woman he’d rejected. Sure, he’d said it was because she was married and from the intensity in his kiss she could almost believe it, but that didn’t mean it was worth the risk of disappointment. Hers or his. Resolutely, she unlocked the bathroom door.
***
The door to the airplane lavatory opened and Olivia walked toward him. Her frown told him to expect trouble. Desire kept him still as she brushed by his knees and sat down beside him. His heart sped when her arm brushed his. She fastened her seat belt and stared straight ahead. “Listen, about what happened in the taxi…” she began.
He said nothing, waiting to see where she was taking her argument.
“I can’t do this. It’s just not possible. I, uh, the whole sex thing—it’s not something I can do.”
Sean reached out with two fingers to turn her face to his. “Can’t do? Or won’t do?”
Anguish shone bright in her eyes. “I have it on good authority that sleeping with me only rates slightly higher than watching grass grow.” Her lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile.
Her bastard ex-husband convinced her she is bad in bed? Half the marital estate was too good for him. They should have taken him to the cleaners for making Olivia feel inadequate. Sean cupped her jaw,
bringing her closer, wanting to reassure her in the most direct way possible. “Good thing I don’t plan for us to sleep much.”
She held him off with a hand on his chest. “I can’t handle any more complications, Sean. I can’t—” Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she stared at him, mute and miserable.
He smoothed escaping strands of blond hair against her cheek and leaned toward her until their mouths were a whisper apart. “Of course you can,” he murmured against her mouth as he closed the distance between them. Her lips were soft, and she tasted faintly of grapes. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. It’s just a vacation.”
Her body relaxed beneath his palms, which had come to rest on her neck and her waist. She sighed, and he moved his lips to her eyelids then her cheeks. Her eyes opened. She looked at him with deep green eyes gone sleepy and he kissed her lips again, a quick, hard, possessive kiss, before he settled back in his seat.
Whatever Olivia believed about her sex appeal, he knew better. A simple kiss from her set him on fire, and he couldn’t imagine what making love with her would be like. In fact, he’d better not even try or he was going to scare the flight attendant, who was approaching with her snack cart. Her ex-husband was an idiot, and he couldn’t wait to prove him wrong. He’d spend the week showing her exactly how wrong, in as many ways as he could imagine, in even more ways than he had suggested in the restaurant in New York.
He glanced over at Olivia, who was pretending to be asleep again. He watched a pulse beat faintly in her neck. He itched to press his lips to that spot and feel the blood flowing through her veins. He couldn’t believe his luck. He was on a plane to Italy with Olivia Marconi and there was nothing to keep them apart anymore.
As he’d mentioned in the restaurant, he hadn’t wanted any of his high school friends to meet his mother. He’d also been afraid they might tell their parents what was going on at his house. He’d worried every day that Child and Family Services would arrive on the doorstep and plunk him and Colin in foster homes. Keeping their lives together had been more important to him than dating or making close friends, but by the time Colin had been old enough to fend for himself, Olivia had been busy with college and the restaurant, then away at culinary school.
