Forever Rome (Forever #1)

by Brittney Sahin

  Forever Rome

  By: Brittney Sahin

  Published by: EmKo Media, LLC

  Copyright © 2016 EmKo Media, LLC

  This book is an original publication of Brittney Sahin.

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting EmKoMedia@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Editor: Sarah Norton, Chief Editor, WordsRU.com

  Cover Designer: Dane, ebooklaunch.com

  Images: Shutterstock

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN-13: 9780997842104

  Sign up to receive exclusive excerpts and bonus material for my novels, as well as take part in great giveaways. Get alerted when my books are released at a special limited time sale price.

  Hidden Truths Books

  Silenced Memories

  Innocence & Betrayal

  Buried Lies

  Deadly Consequences (March 2017)

  Forever Series

  Forever Rome

  Forever Dublin (Jan 2017)

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Forever Dublin

  Connect with Brittney Sahin

  One

  “Drink this. It’ll help.”

  My hands clenched the arms of my seat, and my knuckles whitened as the change in altitude created a crackling, high-pitched noise in my ears. The alcohol in Will’s tumbler sloshed; a few drops of the brownish gold liquid spilled onto his mocha skin.

  “Turbulence. No big deal, Mags.” Will’s free hand was covering mine, and I captured a lungful of air. With it came a whiff of Mexican winter oranges and Spanish marjoram. Will’s cologne.

  I exhaled as my eyes steadied on his.

  “I hate flying overseas.” I took the glass. “All that water beneath us. Freaks me out.” I held the tumbler in both hands and brought it to my lips. “Ugh!” My face puckered as my shoulders jerked. “How can you drink this stuff?” I pressed the glass back into Will’s hand and took another deep breath as my chest warmed from the burning liquid.

  He released a throaty laugh, and his hazel eyes flashed to mine. “Like this.” He swallowed a mouthful and raised his glass in the air. “You better drink something, though. I don’t want you panicking every time we hit an air pocket.”

  I re-gripped the side arms of my seat and quickly whipped my head around. The flight attendant was serving the guy behind us—yeesh, what a square. Who wears a suit on an overseas trip?

  The pretty flight attendant’s eyes shifted to me. “Could I have a vodka and cranberry—” Another bump. Shit. I swallowed, attempting to free my heart from my throat. “Please,” I croaked.

  “Sure.” She patted her hand over mine and moved her attention to Will. “Anything else for you, sir?” The beauty pushed fiery auburn locks behind her ear and focused a pair of sharp, forest green eyes on Will. A smile danced across her face the second his lips twitched.

  “I’m good. But thank you,” he responded, his Jamaican accent like honey, adding a delicious sweetness to his words.

  Miss Auburn stood erect, batting her lashes as though caught up in his spell, before turning on her heel and sashaying into the galley with purposeful, gently undulating hips.

  Will’s eyes remained superglued to the woman’s curvy backside until she disappeared. “You can’t help yourself, huh? Making the women swoon.” I fanned my face, grateful that he’d distracted me from thoughts of the plane. Well, for a moment. How could I forget that I was trapped on the flying, metal, death-cage?

  It would be heaps of metal bobbing in the Atlantic Ocean. My body would drift down into the depths of the deep blue water.

  Okay, so maybe I’m a bit dramatic. But come on, it’s not normal to be in the sky. Gravity is there for a reason.

  Will’s teeth flashed my direction. “What can I say?” He placed a hand on his chest and angled his head. “I’m irresistible.”

  What were we talking about? Oh. Yes, Will the charmer. Focus on him and not on crashing.

  “Relax, Maggie.” He set his drink down and grabbed a magazine from his travel bag: Men’s Health and Sports. Of course.

  My attention shifted to the all-American good ol’ boy and NFL quarterback who graced the cover of the magazine for which Will and I both worked. It was the July issue. Jeremy Jensen. He’d been one of my favorite stories.

  I half-growled and jabbed my finger at the cover of the magazine. “I shouldn’t be on this plane. I should be in Jersey, at the Giants’ training camp. Even Tampa would be a step up. Anywhere but on this plane.”

  “Maybe you need a change.” Will sighed. “You’ve been writing articles about football since you got out of school. Probably before.” He looked me over and scoffed. “You should do something different. Time to shake things up a bit.” Licking his thumb, he peeled back a page of the magazine. He peered at me out of the corner of his eye. “Besides, we’re going to Rome. To watch real football.”

  “Real?” I slapped his hard chest. “Soccer’s boring.” I groaned. “They just kick the ball back and forth down a field. Sometimes the game ends with absolutely no one scoring—and they’re actually okay with that.” My voice began to rise. “It’s ridiculous. I don’t understand the world’s obsession with soccer.”

  “Football.”

  “Ugh.” I leaned back in my leather seat and popped the leg rest in some lame attempt to get comfortable. Like that would happen . . . “I’m pretty sure Travis assigned me to this project as some form of punishment.”

  “Punishment for what?”

  “He forced me to go on a date with his wife’s younger brother, and it didn’t go well.”

  “He forced you? Huh. I find it hard to imagine you being forced to do anything.” He cocked a dark brow.

  “Um, where am I right now? I’m on a plane going to Italy, against my will.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “When the editor in chief says jump—” I followed Will’s sudden grin, and my eyes fell upon the flight attendant. “Thank you.” I took the drink from her and took an eager sip. A vast improvement.

  Will nodded at Miss Auburn, and her cheeks turned crimson. I waved my pinky at her retreating backside.

  “What happened on the date, anyway?” Will’s eyes landed on mine.

  I grimaced. “First of all, he didn’t tell me his sister’s brother is Jeff Cruise.”

  “What?” His eyes widened. “The Jeff Cruise?”

  My lips pursed together as I nodded.

  “How’d he manage to keep that a secret from us? The guy has one of the best batting averages in the country. He won the World Series two years in a row.” His li
ps parted to expose his pearly whites. “Don’t tell me that you weren’t interested in him because he plays baseball? I mean . . . I don’t swing that way, but the guy’s good-looking. Right?” He smoothed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “Well, I mean—it takes one to know one.”

  “I don’t date players. Football, baseball—it doesn’t matter.”

  “And why is that?” He closed the magazine and slipped it back into his bag.

  I unbuckled and attempted to get comfortable in my seat. “I’m only twenty-six, and I work at a men’s magazine. I’m a woman in a man’s world—yes, things are slowly changing, but still, I feel like I need to work twice as hard to be accepted in this industry. To be taken seriously.” I pulled my long blonde hair up off my back and tied it into a ponytail. “Dating a player could tank my career.”

  “Mags, you don’t need to prove yourself—everyone in football knows your name. You’re an amazing sports writer.” He touched my shoulder. “You’re allowed to have a life, too.”

  A life? “Work is my life, Will. You know that.” I cringed.

  “At some point, baby girl, you need to slow down and enjoy a sunset or two.” His smirk was infectious, and I returned it before taking another sip of my drink. “Like I said, maybe this trip to Rome will do you some good. We just have to follow this Valenti guy around for a couple weeks. Get a good story, take a few photos . . . and once his first game kicks off, we can leave. You’ll be back in time for the start of the football season.”

  I dragged both hands down my face and moaned. “Why did Travis pick me for this article! It makes no sense. He wouldn’t even listen to me. Craig and Kevin are the soccer experts.” I sucked in a breath and tried to calm my nerves as the plane shook a little from turbulence.

  “I remember—I could hear them shouting about it from all the way down the hall.”

  “I haven’t even looked into the file Travis gave me on Valenti.” I held my palms up. “See, this is why I shouldn’t be writing the story.” I pressed my forefinger to my thumb making an O shape. “Zero interest. Zilch. Or whatever the Italian word is for zero.” The little bit of Italian I knew was escaping me at the moment.

  “You haven’t done your research? Maggie, that’s a first.”

  “We’ll be meeting him and his agent after the press conference tomorrow. I don’t even know what he looks like. Hopefully he’s not a jerk.”

  Will laughed. “You’re kidding, right? They’re all jerks.”

  ***

  It was one a.m., and I couldn’t sleep. I’d made the mistake of falling asleep on the flight over, even though I never slept on planes, and now I was trapped awake.

  After pacing my room for a few minutes, I found myself wandering around the elegant hotel lobby, studying the burnished copper on the ceiling, threaded with silver leaves and flowers.

  The hotel was grand in its architecture. Columns. Replica statues and a massive fountain adorned the center of the room.

  I caught sight of the bar at the other side of the lobby. Since the doors were still open, I decided to poke inside.

  The bar was empty, offering me silence. I supposed it was a Monday. And late, too. I stood in front of a window near the door, which offered a view of a massive park.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  I spun around to face the bartender. He was well built and probably in his late forties, with thick dark hair that was peppered with gray. His lips rocked up into a smile as his brown eyes met mine. “How’d you know—?”

  “You’re American, yes?” He rubbed the counter in front of him with a wet rag. “Your light eyes and blonde hair give you away.”

  My lips quirked as I closed the gap between the window and the sleek, black bar top. “I live in New York.” Well, I did. But to me, home would always be Alabama—a state where football was the religion on Sunday.

  “Let me make you something special.” The word “you” sounded more like “you-uh.” And the “h” went mysteriously missing from “something.” I had to admit, English sounded pretty damn cool from a native Italian tongue.

  I wanted to say yes to the bartender’s offer as much as I knew I should say no. I’d already had a few drinks on the plane, which is how I’d managed to sleep. But what the hell—when in Rome . . .

  That was the saying, right? Who’d coined that phrase?

  I tried to shrug off the inconvenience of my brain’s constant demand for answers.

  “Sure. Go ahead and surprise me.” I sat down and pressed against the back of the seat, shutting my eyes for a brief moment.

  I listened to the sound of ice clanking and heard a deep cough.

  “Scusi, is this seat taken?”

  Was that a joke? Clearly the place was empty—and why had this man also assumed I spoke English? God, I’d love it if I knew enough Italian to respond with some quick remark about not judging a book by its cover.

  The smell of dark woods, warm spices, and a hint of amber floated my eyes toward him. “Su-su-sure.”

  The most beautiful man I’d ever seen took a seat next to me, his light, steely gray eyes capturing my own. Now, he was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. In faded jeans and a black T-shirt. And with an accent . . .

  An unfamiliar spark of heat shot down deep into my belly.

  The bartender was back, his eyes shining as he extended his arm and shook the stranger’s hand. He started speaking in Italian, and I stared at the two with my lips parted.

  Mr. Tall D. Handsome responded with the most beautiful and sinfully seductive sentence I’d ever heard. Of course, I had no idea what he said, but it sounded hot. Really, really hot.

  What was wrong with me? I never turned into a puddle of girly hormones around a man. Of course, watching a game-winning touchdown in the fourth quarter, I could become a sappy mess. But losing my cool over a guy?

  That was so not me.

  “Signorina?”

  Oh God, he was speaking Italian. To me.

  “Yes?” My eyes opened wide, and my fingers curled around the tall glass, which contained some red and yellow, fruity smelling substance.

  “How are you doing tonight?” A sexy grin spread across his face. “Well, it’s morning, I suppose.”

  I looked up at the bartender, who was busy making the stranger a drink, and forced my gaze back to the sexy Italian next to me.

  He pushed a semi-long strand of dark hair off his face and angled his head toward me. “Are you okay?” His accent washed over me, creating tingling chills throughout my body.

  “Um. Yes.” I shook myself free of my daze. “Jet lag. I just got here from New York and can’t sleep.”

  He nodded and smiled at me again, showing me his straight, white teeth. “Grazie.” He took the tumbler from the bartender and brought the drink to his lips. His eyes remained on mine as he swallowed the dark liquor. “What brings you to Roma?”

  I didn’t feel like hashing out the details of my job. He was probably a soccer—that is, football—fan, he might react the way a lot of Americans acted whenever I told them I interviewed professional athletes: certifiably insane. People would ask a barrage of questions, followed by the inevitable: Can you arrange for me to meet him?

  Sure, because I keep famous quarterback phone numbers on speed dial, and they are at my beck and call.

  In all fairness, I do have a few numbers . . . but never once have I actually called one for anything other than business purposes.

  “I’m here for work.” Simple answer. And the truth. “You?” I looked away from him and took a few large swigs of my drink, attempting to calm my sudden nerves.

  I wasn’t quite sure where the owner’s manual to my brain was, but I desperately wanted it, because the mode needed to be turned back to confident professional, and quick.

  His forehead creased, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. “Work, too.”

  I wondered what kind of work he was in. The hotel was having several corporate meetings this week, along with the press conference
.

  “Where are you from?”

  “I live outside Roma on the coast.”

  Every time he spoke, it was like lightning striking the tiny nerves in my body. I gulped and tore my eyes away from his lips as they touched the rim of his glass.

  “First time here?”

  Oh God, he was continuing the conversation. And I wasn’t sure if I was capable of formulating any more sentences. I took another quick sip of my drink, wishing I had a straw to suck the thing dry. “No, I have family in Naples. They took me to Rome and a few other places when I visited five years ago.”

  “Your family is Italiano?”

  I forced myself to look back at him, although I regretted it the second my eyes landed on his face. His gray eyes were bright against his bronzed skin, teasing my libido, bruising my insides with sudden need. How long had it been since I’d been with a guy? Too long, apparently. “You say that like you don’t believe me.” I flashed him a smile and toyed with the ends of my ponytail, wishing I looked less tired than I felt.

  “You do not look Italiano.”

  It-tal-e-an-o. So. Freaking. Sexy.

  His eyes were on my hand as I pulled at my hair. “Oh.” I shifted in my seat to better face him, although I wasn’t sure if that was the brightest idea. “Blondes can’t be Italian?” I joked.

  “I have never seen one like you,” he said in a low voice, and my insides practically split open. I touched the bar top in front of me, attempting to remain grounded—or at least upright—before I looked like a fool.

  Was it too late?

  He was smirking at me, and I had to wonder what was going on inside that head of his. He took another drink and placed his elbow on the counter before setting down his glass. He was still waiting for me to talk, huh? “My dad’s brother was in the military. He was stationed in Italy, and he met and fell in love with a beautiful Italian woman here,” I managed in one long, tortuous breath.

  “Smart man.”

  “I think so. My aunt’s pretty amazing. And don’t get me started on her cooking.” I shook my head, and my cheeks warmed. “Can all Italians cook like that?”