Forever Rome (Forever #1)

by Brittney Sahin

  Oh wow. “He didn’t let his team know ahead of time? Isn’t he the captain?”

  “He was on the fence about his decision up until a week ago.”

  Which was exactly when Travis had ordered me on the assignment. “Why is he quitting at the last minute?” I just couldn’t help myself.

  “He didn’t want any questions from his team. Or anyone trying to change his mind. He already had enough grief from me.”

  Will and I exchanged looks. I was pretty sure he was also dying to know why Marco was quitting in his prime. I thought about pushing Sean for the reason, but I held back—for now. “I’ll need to meet with you to ask some questions, at some point.”

  “Sure. Just ring me.”

  “Thanks.” I pulled my lip between my teeth, wondering how this whole thing would turn out.

  “No . . . thank you. You’re really helping me out.”

  Sean’s words pushed a slow moving fear inside me. He was counting on me to bring his breadwinner back into the game. If I didn’t follow through, so many people would be disappointed.

  Too bad for them—I was never one to follow the crowd.

  Five

  He still hadn’t shown up. Fortunately, Sean had granted Will and I access to the stadium. We sat in the seats watching the team run drills.

  I didn’t mind. I enjoyed the view as a bunch of good looking guys ran around on the field as the sun blew kisses on my skin.

  I popped my shades up a little when I spotted him. Marco it-should-be-illegal-to-be-so-good-looking Valenti.

  “You’ve totally got a crush on him.” Will jabbed me with his elbow.

  My shades fell back in place as I rasped, “No.”

  “Ha. Sure. And I don’t get hard thinking about Heidi Klum.”

  I shoved his shoulder. “Ew. Gross. Keep talk of your manly parts to yourself!” I laughed a little as I rose to my feet. My anxiety kicked up tenfold as I watched Marco approach his team. The players stopped practicing and shifted to face him like an army of angry men. Oh God, would they attack?

  I moved out of the aisle and down the steps until I was standing against the railing that separated me from the field.

  Marco’s hands went up in the air and his voice murmured over the field. I couldn’t tell if he was yelling or if he was being boisterous. I wished I could see his face.

  Several of his teammates were crossing their arms.

  The coach was now almost on top of Marco and in his face. There was no mistaking the tone of the conversation, Italian or not.

  Marco was looking over at me now. My hands gripped the railing, tightening around the warm metal, and I wondered if he would approach me or take off. I wouldn’t blame him if he left, after being shamed by the coach in front of his team.

  As he walked past them and to me, I had to swallow my nerves. You’re an award-winning sports writer, I reminded myself. “Hi,” was all I managed.

  “Climb over,” Marco commanded while looking up at me.

  Will was at my side now. Did Marco really expect me to jump over the railing?

  “I’ll catch you,” Marco added, his eyes still on mine.

  “Me too?” Will joked before hopping up onto the railing and vaulting down. His sneakers landed on the lush green grass, and he spun to face me. “You’re good.” Will shook Marco’s hand and patted him on the back. “Good to see ya, man.”

  Marco did a half smile, as if he wasn’t sure that he agreed, then he directed his attention to me. His hands stretched out in front of him.

  If anyone was going to help me down, it should be Will, right? Why would I let a stranger put his hands on me?

  Okay, so I let him put his mouth on me . . . but that was a mistake.

  Will smirked at me, turned away and moved toward the other players.

  I stepped up and swooped a leg over the railing, thankful to be wearing shorts instead of a skirt. I’d paired my white shorts with a black tee and a pair of Converses.

  I sucked in a breath when Marco’s hands touched my hips. He pulled me down, and I instantly warmed as I spun to face him. “Thank you,” I mumbled as I pulled my black T-shirt down to cover the top of my shorts. I needed to focus on my job, on writing a story, not on the way his hands had scorched my skin. “Um—what do you want me to call you?”

  “Call me? I do not understand.”

  We began to walk over to the team, which was crowded together mid-field. Will was off to the side, bent on one knee, snapping photos.

  “You know . . . which name do you prefer? You told me your friends call you Marc, but your name is Marco.”

  He stopped walking and faced me. He slipped his sunglasses from his head and to his face, hiding his eyes.

  “My English-speaking friends call me Marc.”

  Oh. “And your Italian ones?” I perked a brow.

  “Marco.”

  “Well, where do I fit in? I’m American, but I’m not exactly your friend.”

  “Call me whatever you want. It’s of no concern to me.” He started walking again, and I remained standing behind, feeling like I’d been hit in the face by a strong breeze.

  “Got some good photos of the team. Not that he’s a member anymore,” Will said once I came to his side. Far away across the field, the team was talking to Marco again. I bit my thumb, wondering how bad it was.

  Marco peeled his white T-shirt up and over his head. He snatched the ball from his teammate’s hands and dropped it to the ground.

  I swayed back a little in my stance, not sure if I was capable of watching a shirtless Marco play ball without swooning. He had a damn perfect chest and strong abs, which led to his hip bones, below which his shorts hung . . . I was ready to let the word “merda” slip from my lips.

  “You all right, sweet thang?” Will was in my ear.

  I slapped him on the arm and shook my head. “Great,” I choked out, my eyes still fixated on Marco as he kicked the ball down the field. He weaved through a series of orange cones.

  I was pretty sure he was looking my way, despite his shades. He started to work the ball back down the field and straight to me. The rest of the team was leaving the field. I wasn’t sure if they were too pissed to continue, or if Marco had planned on meeting us around the same time his former team’s practice ended, so he wouldn’t have to deal with them for long.

  He popped the ball up and clutched it under his arm. “Care to play?”

  Was he asking Will or me? Or both?

  “I’ll get some photos. Go ahead.” Will nudged me forward until I almost fell against Marco.

  “All right,” I answered.

  Marco dropped the ball to the ground. He came around behind me and positioned his hands on my hips, which had me jolting a step forward.

  “What are you doing?” I shifted free and faced him.

  He shoved his sunglasses into his thick hair and folded his arms. “Teaching you to kick. You need the right hip movement and stance and—”

  “I know how to kick a ball.” Although I probably wouldn’t do that well in my Converses.

  He raised his hands up in the air. “Molto bene.” He rubbed a hand over his face and grinned at me. At least his mood had lightened.

  Damn him. He didn’t think I could do it.

  The goal wasn’t too far, though. I’d show him.

  I swept my leg back and brought it forward fast, slamming my foot hard against the ball. Before I could stop, I fell back, my rear crashing to the ground.

  “You okay?” Marco was kneeling next to me, his hand on my arm, trying to help me up.

  Will was laughing at me, and I was ready to kill him.

  “I’m fine.” Marco released his hold once I was on my feet. I glanced down at my white shorts, wondering if they were grass stained, but I couldn’t get a good enough look.

  “Your backside is fine,” Marco announced. His shades were still up; his eyes were on my ass.

  “Fine, huh?” I chuckled, trying to hide my embarrassment. “It’s been awhile s
ince I’ve kicked a ball.”

  “I doubt you could ever kick a ball, Maggie.” Will patted me on the back.

  “I can catch a football, though.” I winked at Will, trying to ignore the sexy, shirtless Italian at my side.

  Do not look at his tanned, hot body.

  I repeat: Don’t look!

  “You really like American football?” Marco put his sunglasses back on as Will retrieved the ball and lobbed it at Marco.

  “Yes. It’s, well . . . Watching the ball spin and sail in the air, and when it lands in your hands and your fingertips glide over the pebble-grained leather . . . nothing’s better.”

  Marco came around in front of me, giving me no choice but to stare at his naked chest. It gleamed before me in the sunlight, like the torso of some damn Roman god. “You play?”

  “What—a girl can’t play football?” Okay, so I didn’t actually play. I’d tossed the ball around, but I was more of a fan than an active participant. “Let’s focus on Italian football, for now. But maybe we could save practice for another day. When I have better shoes.” I rubbed my ass and pointed my finger at Will. “Don’t say anything,” I warned as Will smiled.

  “Well, what would you like to do then?” Marco pressed the ball between both hands.

  “I can get some more photos of you on the field. Do your thang,” Will said with a nod.

  I made my way to one of the team benches and watched Marco on the field for the next half hour.

  I took mental notes about the way he played—kicking, kneeing, or using his head to advance the ball down the field. The way he made soccer look almost graceful, like an art form. It was—well, he played beautifully. It was easy to see that he was a pro. Even so, I hadn’t expected to become so mesmerized watching one man drive a ball up and down the massive green grass field.

  The stadium and seats towered around us. Although it was empty, I could almost hear the cheers, a ghost echo of the fans chanting: Valenti. Valenti.

  “Well?”

  Will was in front of me, and I had to snap my gaze away from the glistening sheen of sweat that beaded down Marco’s hard chest as he approached us. He had a slight dusting of chest hair, which I found sexy. “Well what?”

  “What do you think about him?”

  So many things . . . “Um.” I gulped. “He’s got skills, but without seeing him play against an opponent, however, I can’t truly judge.” I smiled at Marco as he came up to us.

  “What’s that noise?” Will’s chin went up, and I followed his eyes to the loud whooshing sound above. A helicopter appeared over the field, and dipped lower, just outside the stadium walls. When I looked at Marco, his mouth was clenched tight.

  “You okay?” A strange shudder snuck through me.

  “Huh?” His eyes were back on me. “Yeah. Fine. That’s the owner. He has a helipad outside the stadium.”

  “Must be nice,” Will commented.

  Marco shrugged. “You guys feel like grabbing a drink?”

  “Sure,” Will responded before I had a chance to say no. Alcohol and Marco were a bad combination for me, after all. But Marco probably wanted to get away before the owner gave him any slack. I’d be curious to talk to the owner and get his take on Marco’s quitting, though.

  “Let me take a shower first,” Marco said before turning away.

  The last thing I needed to be thinking about was Marco stripping down to nothing and taking a shower.

  Thank God I was a woman—that there was no embarrassing evidence of my desire.

  Will tapped me on the shoulder. “You’re in so much damn trouble.”

  ***

  “Salute.” Marco raised a tumbler of amber colored liquor in the air and touched it to Will’s beer and my Limoncello martini. Mm. My beloved Limoncello combined with my favorite go-to made the perfect cocktail.

  Marco was attempting to be incognito, or so it seemed. He was wearing a baseball cap again, pulled so low I almost couldn’t see his eyes. He wore jeans and a white tee—nothing flashy.

  It had to be a pain to try and hide who you were to avoid being bothered all the time. Of course, in this instance, I was betting that Marco didn’t feel like having all of Rome bug him about why he had quit.

  He sat across from me, but the table wasn’t too wide, and there was little room between us. I gasped when our knees bumped against each other, regretting the contact that had created an instant buzzing of need.

  “Marco, do you—”

  Marco tipped his head and said, “You decided to call me Marco?” He wet his lips, and I was forced to immediately tuck my desire deep, deep down. I swallowed hard, hoping no one noticed the warmth in my cheeks. “Do you have any specific plans while you’re not playing?”

  He took a sip of his drink and glanced over his shoulder at the bar behind him. A British pop song came on over the speakers. “No,” was all he said when he looked back at Will and me.

  “You met Sean in London?” I found myself asking, attempting to subtly sneak in a question.

  A line formed between his brows as he studied me. “Sean told you that?”

  I nodded but kept my mouth shut, hoping to pull the words out of him.

  “What else did Sean tell you?”

  I shrugged. “That was all.”

  His eyes narrowed on me as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal much. “Sean played for Manchester United back in the day.”

  I peeked a glimpse at Will, but he showed no surprise. Had he done his homework? “As in the British football team?”

  Marco nodded and finished his drink. “He was injured a few years ago.”

  “That’s when he became your agent?”

  “Sì. He wanted to stay in the industry, and we were good friends, so he became, uh, how do you say, my right-hand man.”

  Will was on his feet. “Let me get you another drink.”

  Marco reached into his pocket and thrust a few large euros in Will’s hand. “Grazie.”

  Will nodded and retreated to the bar. I kept my eyes on Will’s back, not wanting to look at Marco—afraid of what I might reveal. Will began talking to a woman at the bar, and I had to chuckle at the sight. It only took him a minute to win someone over, even in a foreign country.

  “Your photographer is quite the ladies’ man.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “A what?”

  I pressed my hands to my lap, and my lips quirked into a half-smile. “I just meant, ‘Yes.’ The women sure love him, although I’m sure you know the feeling.”

  Marco’s eyes immediately darted down to his empty drink, and he lifted the glass, swaying it in his hand so that the ice rocked back and forth. What was he thinking about—a woman? A journalist at the press conference had mentioned a woman’s name. A broken engagement, the reporter had said.

  “And you? How do you do?”

  I smiled. “Oh, with the ladies? Great.”

  Marco’s lips curved up as his eyes landed on mine. “You tease?”

  “Yes, I tease,” I said with a pseudo-Italian accent, not able to stop myself. The lilt of his voice was contagious. When I’d been in London, studying abroad the summer between my junior and senior years in college, I had adopted some of the British ways of speaking, and every once in a while my thoughts even slipped into British tongue, the accent infiltrating my mind and dreams.

  Would that happen with this trip to Italy? God, Marco had already snuck into my dreams, and I’d woken up in damn heat this morning, needing a cold shower to douse the flame that had built inside me since the moment I’d met him at the bar. Of course, the cold shower had done nothing. The slow boil of heat was still in my belly, and it was about to go south if he kept looking at me like he was. His eyes were like knives on me, cutting deep, but in a good—no, wait! Having lusty feelings for the man was wrong.

  He was an athlete. An Italian superstar. A Casanova.

  Those were three strikes, in my book.

  “Maggie.”

  Oh. My.
God. Please do not say my name. My chest physically hurt to hear the sound of my name rolling off his tongue. “Yeah?”

  “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

  Okay, good. A work question. I could handle that. “Will and I were thinking of walking around the city. Taking photos of you at some of the sights. Go to some of your favorite places, maybe?” Since Marco wanted the story to be lackluster, void of any interesting secrets . . . what else could we do but take photos of him and only talk about the sport? Well, I hoped he’d open up at some point. I had a reputation to maintain, and although I flirted with the idea of a puff piece, I knew in my heart I couldn’t have my name on that byline.

  Marco looked over at the bar, and I followed his eyes. Will was still chatting with the tall, leggy brunette.

  “That’s fine, but I don’t see why you need to follow me around for three weeks.”

  I thought about what to say, but before I could respond Will had reappeared at my side. “Sorry, I got distracted. Here are your drinks, but do you mind if I—”

  I held up my hand and flashed him a smile. “Go ahead.”

  Will patted me on the back, slid some money back to Marco, and nodded at us before walking back to the woman at the bar. I was sort of jealous of Will. He was such a free spirit. So easily able to converse with the opposite sex.

  “I don’t need to be with you every day. I just have to stay here until the first game. Even if you don’t play in it.”

  His fingers brushed across his chest before moving up to his chin. “I will not be playing in it,” he emphasized the words with a deep voice. “But . . .” His forehead pulled together. “I do not mind if you are with me every day.”

  Really?

  My fingers wrapped around the stem of the martini glass, but I didn’t lift it. This man was more confusing than the rules of American football to a foreigner. He looked like he was ready to run from me one minute and devour me the next. Couldn’t there be some happy medium? One that involved me writing a great story without wanting to drop my panties every time I inhaled a whiff of his woodsy, semi-sweet cologne, or caught his eyes lingering on my mouth . . .