Disenchanted

by L. D. Davis

  Marco made a face. “That sounds yummy, but maybe not today, Principessa.” He shot me an amused and bewildered before turning his attention to Gavi. “What say you, little man? What would you like to chew on tonight?”

  “Cora is gross. I am not eating a tongue.”

  “I promise, no tongue for you tonight. I can’t say the same for your mom.” He winked at me, making me flush with heat and embarrassment.

  “Marco Mangini.” There was a clear threat in my mom’s tone that made him smile apologetically.

  I tried not to giggle as he again winked at me.

  Marco swept Mandy up in his arms and made another suggestion. “How about juicy cheeseburgers, hot French fries, and milkshakes? What do you think, bella bambina?”

  He showered her with kisses, making her shriek with laughter.

  There was a general chorus of concession before my mom’s eyes lit up. “Do you mind if I invite Wes?”

  I gave her a sour face, but before I could give her some snide remark that would’ve gotten me in deep trouble as a kid, Marco intervened. “Yes, of course. I’d love to meet him.”

  I transferred the sour look to Marco, but he was unruffled by my sourness as he strolled over to me. Once he was close, he spoke low enough for only me to hear. “Will some cocktails tonight make up for it?”

  “Cocktails?”

  “Maybe your mom can watch the kids after they’re in bed and you can come to my hotel. We can grab a few drinks at the bar.”

  I hesitated, not because I didn’t want to go, but because I was used to saying no. I’d said no to so many people over the last couple years, that the few friends I had left stopped asking.

  “Okay,” I answered softly. “Cocktails.”

  He didn’t kiss me—he hadn’t done so even once in front of the kids, but it was almost like I could feel his lips on mine just the same.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marco and I agreed to meet in his hotel lobby around nine after the kids were asleep. He wanted to pick me up, but he got caught up in a conference call and sent a car for me instead. Not a cab, but a car, like a dark sedan with darkened windows and a fancy emblem on the hood.

  Even after spending time with Marco and the time spent in the Sterling household, I was not used to such fanciful treatment. I had on a nice pair of jeans and another pretty blouse that I’d dug out of the back of my closet, but I still felt like a grub in the back of that car with its leather seats and uniformed driver. I felt no more confident about my appearance when we pulled up in front of an opulent hotel that I never thought I’d ever set foot in. When I was younger, I never even felt good enough to walk in front of it, let alone go inside.

  I hadn’t considered it before, but I wondered what Marco thought of my humble little house. His cabin didn’t scream wealth with it’s simple but beautiful décor, but the size of it, and the size of the property it sat on, did. My house was not even a quarter of the size of his, and with the dated kitchen, scuffed wooden floors, and frayed furniture, I knew it was lower middle-class in appearance—at best. I didn’t have much in the way of my own money, and I knew nothing of the high-class society he belonged to, except that many of them were stuck-up assholes, as my sister had told me. It just made me wonder again what Marco saw in me, what it was that I had to offer that made him so interested.

  As I climbed out of the car and made my way inside, I tried to push those thoughts to the back of my head. It was just drinks at a hotel bar, and not some fancy gala. Despite that knowledge, my heart went crazy with nerves. It wasn’t just the thought of not being up to par that made me anxious, but the tingling currents that had been running through my body ever since Marco proposed we meet for cocktails.

  I glanced down at my phone, only to discover that it had died on the ride over. I knew the front desk wouldn’t tell me what room he was in, but they called him for me and let me know he would be down shortly.

  I moved further into the lobby and started to go sit down when I spotted the small shop near the front desk. It was a quick stop for the guests if they wanted a snack, a drink, or needed the necessities like toothpaste or shampoo. Unable to shake off a growing nervous energy, I went inside instead of sitting in a chair and rocking back and forth like a crazy person.

  I’d just stashed a bag of mostly useless items into my pocketbook when I heard the soft chime of the elevator. A moment later, Marco walked around the corner, his eyes searching for me. I gave a little wave and caught his attention. His smile made an appearance, making mine come out, too.

  “Hi,” I said, almost shyly after he kissed me in greeting.

  “Hello. I am glad you came. Did you have any troubles?”

  I shook my head. “None. Thanks for sending the car.”

  Taking my hand, he began to lead me toward the bar that was situated in the far corner.

  “It wasn’t a problem.” He glanced at me curiously. “Do you think you’ll ever drive again?”

  I automatically shook my head. It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about, so I just left it at that, and thankfully, so did he. We sat at the bar, and within a couple minutes, Marco was kissing the side of my neck, distracting me as I read the cocktail menu.

  “So, what would you like to drink?” The question came out in a low, sexy murmur against my skin.

  “Umm…I don’t know. What do you suggest?”

  “Hmm. Not too sure. I only want a sip of you.”

  He nibbled my ear, making me gasp and giggle at the same time.

  “Stop making me sound like a little girl. I haven’t giggled so much in my life.”

  His lips were on my pulse, and I felt the curve of his lips. “I like to make you laugh, and smile, and moan.”

  Good grief, I was going to incinerate right there in front of the whole world. I pushed him back. “Okay, okay, behave.”

  He sighed dramatically and waved the bartender over with a quick crook of his finger. “Jack and Coke. What will you have, baby?”

  I bit back a stupid grin. “The same. More Jack than Coke.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?” he said after our drinks were served.

  My brows rose as I took a sip. “Another secret?”

  “I have many.”

  “Mmmhmm. I’m sure.”

  His fingers stroked mine on the bar. “I was not sure you would come tonight.”

  I let out a small laugh. “Honestly, I backed out about a dozen times in my own head.”

  “Why? Were you afraid to come?”

  “Why did you think I wouldn’t come?”

  He continued to stroke my fingers as he chewed thoughtfully on a piece of ice. “It is the first time you were truly given an option. You had no choice but to spend time with me when you first went to Philadelphia. Then you were pressed into going to the cabin by your family. I showed up at your doorstep yesterday and practically forced you out on our date.”

  “Practically?” I snorted. “Just admit you totally bullied me into it.”

  His grin was unapologetic. “Yeah, I did. But that’s my point. When I asked you to meet me here tonight, it was the first time you had a choice. I know you had a good time yesterday and you maybe liked me.”

  I held up my thumb and forefinger. “Just a little. Maybe.”

  Amused, he kissed me quickly before continuing. “But you know how you are. A little fickle sometimes.”

  “Fickle!” I exclaimed, rather insulted.

  He held up his thumb and forefinger. “Just a little. Maybe.”

  I smacked his arm, harder than usual. “But I did choose to be here, asshole. So, what does that mean?”

  His hand gently squeezed mine and he brought it to his lips. “It means you are healing. It means you are ready to try to live again, even if grudgingly. It also means that despite all of your previous blustering, you trust me.” He kissed my hand once more. “It means I have fallen a bit more in love with you.” Holding up his fingers again, his mouth curved up sensually. “Just a little. Maybe.
”

  My tongue got stuck for a moment as I stared at him. “You’re in love with me?”

  He held my gaze for what seemed like an eternity before he answered. His voice was low, and his face had grown serious. “Yes. I am.”

  There was no, “Yes, I think so,” or “Maybe.” His words had been straight to the point and left no doubt.

  “Does that scare you?”

  I hesitated for a few seconds before admitting the truth. “Yeah, it does.”

  He leaned toward me, placing one hand on my thigh and draping his arm around the back of my stool as that sexy smirk slowly showed itself. “Don’t even think about running from me.”

  I should’ve been off that stool, out the door, and in a cab back home as soon as he’d made it clear how he felt about me, but that’s not what happened. I put my hands on his cheeks and stroked the hair growth with my thumbs. His facial muscles shifted under my palms as his smile grew. Making another choice, this one my boldest yet, I kissed him. It wasn’t sweet this time, though. It was a kiss that made my intentions clear as my tongue sensually and slowly stroked his. A quick nibble on his bottom lip made a soft sound that was almost a groan come up from his throat as his hands dropped down to my waist, and even further until they cupped my ass.

  My fingers stroked down one cheek to his neck as my other hand shifted into his hair, causing him to make that noise again. It was a noise I was quickly beginning to love and wanted to hear more of. I withdrew, kissed each corner of his mouth, nibbled on his chin, and basked in that noise along with his small chuckle.

  “You’re killing me, Tesoro,” he whispered as I kissed along his jaw.

  His hands tightened on my ass as he pulled me forward a little in my seat. I teased him, as he’d done to me last night, pulling the lobe of his ear between my teeth and flicking my tongue over it. The low giggle he released made me laugh, if not a little devilishly. I’d never heard Marco giggle, or any man like him. It turned me on, and I added that to the list of things I wanted to make happen again.

  When someone let out a catcall, followed by some lame comment about getting a room, I finally pulled back far enough to meet Marco’s wide eyes.

  “What was that?” It was asked with wonder and lust.

  I held his gaze as I moved my hands down to his chest. “Another choice.”

  A crease appeared between his eyes as he studied me carefully. “I told you I didn’t come here for that. This is not a choice you have to make tonight.”

  I took a deep breath as I reached for my purse. After I placed it on my lap between us, I opened it and then pulled apart the small paper bag inside.

  “I’ve already made the decision,” I whispered.

  One of the items I’d picked up in the gift shop earlier had been a box of condoms.

  Chapter Twenty

  “How many?” Marco asked as he put a spoonful of chocolate lava cake and vanilla ice cream in front of my mouth.

  We’d decided to order it soon after getting into his suite. It was more his idea than mine, but it broke the nervous tension between us as we sat close together at a small table. His face had been in my vagina last night, but still, he was reluctant to just throw me down and screw my brains out. I guess I didn’t blame him. I was rather fickle, as he had so graciously pointed out.

  I savored the dessert for a moment before I answered. “Twenty-three.”

  His brows rose almost to his hairline. “Really?”

  My nose wrinkled with irritation as I took offense to his response. “Yes, really. Why?”

  He laughed with heavy notes of incredulity. “Are you serious? You called me a womanizer. You called me a donnaiolo.”

  I held up a finger with objection. “I did not call you a male slut.”

  “You called me Casanova.” He poked my shoulder with each word.

  I pushed my hair back and winced. “You heard that?”

  Marco shook his head, clearly exasperated, irritated, and amused all at the same time. “You accused me of wanting to put a notch on my bedpost by bedding you.”

  “I believe I said headboard.” When he growled at me, I held up my hands in defeat. “Okay. Yes. I’m a hypocrite. I’m sorry I said all those things.”

  I meant it, and I hoped he heard the sincerity of it in my voice. When his eyes softened, I knew he had.

  “I was scared for my sister. And honestly, I was scared to see her again because even though we started talking again, nothing had truly been resolved between us. It still hasn’t,” I added as an afterthought. “I was anxious about going more than ten miles from my house for the first time since the accident, anxious about traveling with three small kids and a bum leg, and I was worried about my mom’s health. Then you walked onto the plane, and I thought you were such a beautiful man.” I shrugged helplessly. “And there I was, this crippled, skinny, pale woman with three kids.”

  “So you rejected me before I could reject you.”

  I poked at the cake and ice cream with a spoon. “That is a pretty accurate description of what happened.”

  He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, but his eyes glittered with amusement. “Has anyone ever told you that you have some psychological problems?”

  “My mom. My sister. Some of my teachers in school. Maybe a boyfriend or two.” I threw a hand up. “A lot of people have mentioned this once or twice, or a dozen times.”

  He laughed as he wrapped a hand around my neck and pulled me toward him. His next words vibrated softly against my mouth. “I love your crazy.”

  For a long moment, I was lost in his kiss and the feel of his hand on my neck. He tasted like chocolate sauce and vanilla, though there was nothing vanilla about his kisses.

  “Does it bother you?” he asked after we separated.

  “Does what bother me?”

  “How many people you’ve slept with.”

  I drew back a little. “Why? Should it bother me? Is it because I’m a woman? Men are allowed to sleep with as many as they want. It’s praised by other men and forgiven by the women who want to be the next number in line, but if a woman has more than a few sexual partners in her life, she’s considered slutty, or she has bad judgment, or ‘psychological problems.’”

  He held up his hands. “I didn’t say any of that.”

  “It was implied in your question. How many have you been with?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t count.”

  “More than twenty-three?”

  “Yes.”

  I hesitated before asking, “More than fifty?”

  “Probably.”

  “And does that bother you?”

  Again, he shrugged. “No. Not really.”

  “So, why should my twenty-three bother me?”

  He thought about his words before he spoke again. “I guess it shouldn’t, and I didn’t mean to imply that it should. Most women I’ve known who have admitted to multiple partners were burdened by it. There was some amount of regret and shame.”

  “I’m not ashamed.”

  He nodded once in acknowledgement. “I know that now.”

  “And I don’t regret it. I might regret a few of them specifically because of things that happened afterward, but overall, I don’t regret it. I’m not bothered by my past sex life.” I paused, and my next question came out small, seemingly belying my claims. “Do you think less of me?”

  “Absolutely not. I am only asking questions, Lydia, not judging you.”

  After a moment, I nodded, accepting his words. When I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, Marco stood up and held out his hand.

  “Let’s lie down, so you can be more comfortable.”

  I stared at his hand. “In bed?”

  The skin around his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Yes. In bed. Come.”

  It was what I wanted. I don’t know why I was so hesitant, considering what happened in my bed last night. I put my hand in his and followed him into the next room. Silently, we took off our shoes and got onto
the bed. It did feel good to lay down, and even better to cuddle up next to a warm body.

  For a long time, we were quiet as Marco stroked my arm and I stared down at our legs, tangled together. It was hard to believe only a few short weeks ago the sight of him made me want to punch things. I suppose deep down, I had always wanted him in some way, but I hadn’t been able to admit it. I could barely admit it to myself in the present, even as I listened to his heart beating under my ear. The question again arose in my mind, though. What did he see in me? Why me?

  The answers didn’t come, and I temporarily forgot the questions as our bodies shifted and our mouths joined together. It started out soft but grew deeper and harder with every passing moment. My fingers found their way into Marco’s soft hair, and his hand crept under my shirt. There was no tentativeness, no question as to what either of us wanted or intended. The lust between us grew so heavy it perfumed the room with its heady scent.

  Marco got on his knees and hastily pulled off his shirt. I sat up and reached for him, wanting to put my hands on his bare skin. He was still, except for his heavy breathing, as I ran my fingers over his pecks and across his hard stomach.

  “Do you work out or are you a demi-god?” I teased.

  He grinned. “Demi-god.”

  I wanted to feel his skin against mine, needed to get the hell out of my own shirt. Marco aided me with that endeavor, and my shirt landed somewhere on the floor with his. For the first time in years, I wished I had on a sexy bra. I’d thrown out my lacey things years ago when it had become obvious that they did not entice my husband. Marco didn’t seem to care, though. He stared hungrily at my body like he could eat me in one bite.

  With adrenaline and desire racing through my veins, I barely felt the pain in my leg as I got on my knees and attacked him with a deeply seeded hunger. I kissed him hard on the mouth, claiming him, and making him groan. I gave his lip another little nip before I went to his neck and latched on with a growl that surprised me. His body tensed, but he pressed on the back of my head, wordlessly encouraging me to bite, suck, and lick harder as his fingers dug into my back. Italian curses left his mouth as he growled and moaned at the same time.