Forever Rome (Forever #1)

by Brittney Sahin

  I tried to soften my attitude. “I’m tired. I’m sorry.”

  He swiped a hand over his jaw and pushed his fingers against the center of his forehead as if fighting a blinding headache. “Meet me at my room—forty-six hundred. Or text me the time and location and we can meet tomorrow,” he responded dryly and turned away.

  No goodbye. Why was I surprised? I lowered my head into my hands, angry with myself for allowing him to leave like that. I hated him for lying and yet admired him for what I had learned tonight. The conflicting emotions played tug of war with my heart.

  My eyes found his teal tie, still draped over the chair, and a lump formed in my throat.

  I grabbed the tie and played the silk through my hands, a groan escaping my lips. Before I knew it, I was moving to the door.

  I wanted to stop him, to tell him why I was the ice queen, even if he didn’t necessarily deserve an explanation.

  I paused at the door when I realized I was wearing my nightgown.

  “Shit.” I released the knob and rushed into my bedroom to change. Hoping to catch him before he left, I threw on the first clothes that came to hand—jeans and a tee. I grabbed my wallet and phone at the last minute, in case he’d already left the hotel.

  But would I really jump in a taxi in the middle of the night to face him? To ask him why he lied to me? Why he cheated?

  I made a mad dash through the lobby with no Marco in sight and hurried to the hotel desk to request a taxi. Outside, I leaned against a column and waited for my ride, my leg shaking a little, fueled by impatience. I patted my wallet against my thigh (I still hadn’t bought a new purse). My attention shifted to my phone, to Marco’s text. I studied it as if I were deciphering an ancient language.

  Hieroglyphics made more sense than Marco Valenti.

  The taxi ride felt like an eternity, even though it was a short drive. My eyes were glued to my lap, because every building, park, and statue reminded me of Marco. Rome and Marco were one and the same to me now.

  How had I let this happen? How had I fallen for a pro-athlete?

  The driver said something in Italian once we jerked to a stop, and I handed him a few euros. I stepped with trembling legs out onto the sidewalk and looked up at Marco’s hotel. What room had Marco said he was in? Forty something? I needed my brain to come through for me. I didn’t want to wake up some person in the middle of the night because I was desperate and a little drunk.

  I snapped my fingers as the number came to my mind, and I moved through the glass doors as they parted open for me.

  The elevator’s trek of forty floors went too fast. I had been tempted to hit a few floor buttons to slow it down, but I refrained.

  Adrenaline pumped through me as I darted through the now opening elevator doors and down the hall in search of his room.

  I halted at the sight of Sophia Rossi.

  With my feet planted firmly on the ground, I observed a shirtless Marco standing with arms crossed, talking to her.

  Her back was to me, and she had changed out of her obnoxious ball gown and into black pants and a scarlet red blouse. Her voice was loud, and it carried down the hall. I didn’t understand a word since she was speaking Italian. Still, there was no mistaking her tone. The woman was pissed, and part of me cheered on the inside.

  I took a quiet step back, ready to turn, but Marco’s eyes landed on mine. His shoulders tensed, and his arms fell to his sides as his lips quirked at the edges.

  I peeked over my shoulder, contemplating a dash to the elevator.

  When I glanced back down the hall, Sophia’s eyes were on me.

  There was no way I’d stay. I turned and rushed to the set of elevators and jabbed at the call button.

  I flinched at the sight of Marco and Sophia in the mirrored elevator doors as they gained ground behind me

  “Sophia was leaving.”

  She squinted at me and angled her head, her lips tight in a straight line.

  Did he tell her that he’d cheated?

  My gaze dropped to her hands, which clutched her purse. There was no ring in sight. What’d that mean?

  I tried not to feel hopeful because it didn’t change the fact that he lied to me. And there was still an ocean between us, as well as the very real fact that he was my story.

  “Maggie?” Shirtless Marco was still waiting for me to respond. “Goodnight, Sophia,” he said to her once the doors opened.

  She remained silent as she stepped around me and into the elevator, which was surprising—I had expected a bitchy comment, to be perfectly honest. She pressed a button once inside, then turned to face me and folded her arms, her eyes never leaving mine until the doors closed.

  “I shouldn’t have come.”

  His hand was on my wrist, and he gently pulled me so I would face him. We were inches apart. “Come to my room. You came for a reason. We should talk.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but I allowed him to lead me to his room. Once he’d shut the door, I pulled my wrist free of his hold and entered the large suite.

  “What you saw was nothing.” He moved to the gray sofa, which was a shade lighter than his eyes, and took a seat. I tried to remove my gaze from his rippled and naked chest, but it was hard to look away. His body oozed raw, male power—strength and virility.

  He dragged both hands down his cheeks. “Sophia should not have come here. I apologize. She caught me as I was changing.”

  I remained standing a few feet away from him, afraid to close the gap. I didn’t trust myself around him. “Why shouldn’t she have come?” I set my wallet and phone on the coffee table, placing it between us as a safety net, a guaranteed buffer zone. Then I scanned the large suite, preferring to assess the ornate details and depictions of ancient Rome than recognize the burning of Marco’s eyes.

  “Why such a question? You know how I feel about her.”

  “Do I?” I snapped as my eyes found his again.

  He tilted his chin up, assessing me and my reaction to his question. Had I pissed him off? “What’s wrong, Maggie? You are cold. Not yourself.”

  “You don’t know who the real me is, do you? We barely know each other.” I folded my arms and took a few safety steps back. Despite my anger, he was still Marco freaking Valenti, the male definition of beauty all wrapped up in a sweet, kind, and sophisticated package.

  But, no. Kind people don’t cheat, do they?

  A stab of pain sliced my insides as I remembered my father. He had been kind. He cheated. “Shit,” I murmured beneath my breath.

  “Maggie. Nothing happened with Sophia. I told you that I would never forgive her.” He stood and approached me.

  My immediate response was to turn away, to run as fear snaked its way through my heart and brain.

  “You do not trust me.” A statement, not a question.

  I made my way to the door without grabbing my wallet or phone. I didn’t want to risk turning around. I couldn’t risk looking into his eyes.

  I rested my forehead against the door and shut my eyes, trying to make sense of my feelings. “I saw you together on TV in London. The engagement ring on her finger,” I said with a defeated voice.

  The warmth of his breath at the nape of my neck made me realize his closeness. His hands went to my shoulders and remained there as he spoke. “That is complicated to explain, but I need you to trust that we are not back together. I would never have spent the night in your bed the other day if I was with Sophia.” He cleared his throat. “I am not that man. I thought you understood that.”

  His hands left my shoulders and goose bumps skated across my skin at the loss of his touch.

  I spun around to confront him, and he caged me with both palms on each side of my shoulders. “But you are too afraid to trust me.” His mouth hovered an inch from mine, his eyes steely and cold. “Tell me, Maggie. Tell me I’m a player. A cheat,” he accused.

  My gaze flickered down to his chest as I took in a shallow, uneasy breath.

  He tipped my chin up, forcing my eyes t
o his. There was pain there. “Tell me to my face, Maggie. Tell me what you think of me.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, and he shook his head and stepped back, releasing me. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “You are safe and secure in your world of stereotypes and fear. And I clearly have no place in that world.”

  I closed the short distance between us and pressed my finger to his hard chest, my eyes locking on him. “You are the one who said you cannot be with me. You weren’t even supposed to have sex with me, according to your rules. You want me to find someone to love because I’m not allowed to love you . . .”

  My face blanched at my words as his eyes became thin slits, his lips parting. “I didn’t mean . . .” I covered my face and shifted away, heading for the relative safety of the living area. God, I didn’t love him. Love was a thing of fairy tales, for silly women and children . . .

  “Maggie, I—” He cut himself off, and I didn’t turn to look at him. I wouldn’t be able to handle the sight of rejection on his face.

  But wait, hadn’t I come to reject him, to yell at him for making me the “other” woman? But he’d said they weren’t together, and she hadn’t been wearing a ring just now, had she?

  I released a pent up breath of air and went past him to grab my phone and wallet.

  “I’ll show you the truth. Sunday. Come with me to London, and I will show you.” His voice was softer now.

  Show me? London? My head was spinning.

  “I’d take you tomorrow, but we shouldn’t cancel on Will again, right?” His anger from moments ago had vanished, and in its place was concern.

  “Why are you doing this?” I faced him and took a step back, my legs brushing against the coffee table when I discovered how close he was to me.

  The back of his hand touched my cheek as I became lost in a sea of swirling gray and blue.

  “Because I trust you.”

  My eyes shut so I could think, but when his hands cupped my face, I was swimming in an ocean of impossible emotions. All I wanted to do was kiss the man.

  I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth as I opened my eyes and peered at him. His dark hair was in disarray.

  “No,” the tiny word escaped from my mouth, and he flinched at the sound.

  “No?”

  I wet my lips, unsure. I took a nervous breath. “No.” Another breath. “I’m saying no to my fear. I—I don’t want to let it rule my actions anymore. I want you, Marco, even if it’s for a week. I believe you. If you say you aren’t with Sophia, then I must have misunderst—”

  His mouth came down on mine as he pulled my face into his hands. My fingers danced across his skin and up to his shoulders before slanting down his back. I gripped his hard flesh as I pressed my body flush against his, needing to be close.

  He broke the kiss and scooped me into his arms. With my hands wrapped around his neck, he carried me into the bedroom, shouldered open the bathroom door, and set me down.

  “The bathroom?”

  “Take your clothes off.” He went into the large, walk-in shower that was open to the room, shielded only by a partial stone wall. He turned on the shower and came back for me. He freed himself of his black slacks, showing his hard on.

  I took in the sight of him, not sure if this was the right time to be doing this, but also not sure if I was willing to stop. My eyes greedily took in every delicious curve of his muscled body, and without further hesitation, I hurried to remove my clothes. My body buzzed with need as he grabbed my hand and pulled our naked bodies together. He found my center as he looked me in the eyes. “You are turned on by fighting?” He perked a brow and grinned at me.

  A smile teased my lips as he walked me into the shower as if he were afraid I wouldn’t come willingly. He moved us beneath the dual rain showerheads, and my nipples hardened as the warm water spilled over my shoulders. Marco lowered his head and kissed each of my nipples, sucking hard as his hands cupped my ass.

  As he lowered to his knees before me, I tilted my head back and shut my eyes. With my hands secured on his shoulders, bracing myself, I backed up against the stone wall, afraid I’d fall. His hands held my wet hips as his tongue tortured me.

  My teeth sunk into my lip as the water cascaded down my body, and drops of it entered my mouth. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hang on. The rush of sensations pounded through my body until I began to shake. “Marco . . .” I couldn’t handle any more—it felt so good it was beginning to hurt. But even after I orgasmed he wouldn’t stop, and it was as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he wanted to make me lose my mind again. “Oh God.” My eyes opened as my body shuddered again hard against his mouth, and he finally rose to his feet, leaving me weak.

  He rocked against me, grinding his hips hard against my stomach. His face was close to mine, his eyes caging me in his gaze. A storm of gray and silver. His lips touched mine, bruising them with his need. His tongue dove into my mouth, playing with mine, creating hot tendrils of desire inside of me.

  I gasped and pulled away. “My turn,” I cried and pulled my hands free from his hold. His eyes darkened, remaining on me as I looked up at him while sinking to my knees. I ran my hands over his wet corded thighs, my short nails grazing his skin. With my head still angled up, my eyes still on his, I took him into my mouth, and he groaned as his eyes snapped shut and his head went back.

  Knowing I was bringing him to the breaking point with my mouth after only a few minutes, had my body bristling with hot need again, and God did I want him to come undone with my lips around him. He trembled, and warm liquid came into my mouth, but I didn’t stop. I was torturing him the way he had tormented me. This was payback.

  His hands were on my shoulders now, and he was pulling back, but I grabbed his ass and insisted he stay.

  “Maggie,” he cried.

  My lips split into a fat smile, my stomach muscles clenched, and my mind drifted to thoughts of all the things I wanted Marco to do to me.

  Seven more days of Marco. Would it be enough?

  Would a lifetime?

  I cringed at the thought as he turned off the water and lifted me into his arms. Our wet bodies rubbed against each other, creating a new friction of need. He swallowed and the muscle in his jaw tightened as he stared into my eyes. “My bellissima Maggie—we have only just begun.”

  Seventeen

  I peeked over my copy of the New York Times to study Marco in secret as he drank his cappuccino and read the news in Italian. It was already after ten in the morning, but we’d had a late night.

  Eating breakfast together in his suite, sitting by a window that overlooked the beautiful city of Rome, it was, well, kind of perfect. Painfully perfect, because I knew it couldn’t last. This relaxing, casual morning felt so normal that it was actually strange. In all my adult years, never once had I thought of the future in regards to a man. My mind usually circled around reasons why it would ultimately never work out, and these ideas would go round and round until I flushed them and the relationship with them.

  But as I peered at Marco, his face framed by dark-rimmed reading glasses, I could see myself five years from now, doing the same thing. My heart ticked up at the thought before my brain began its protest: It will never happen.

  When Marco caught me looking at him, his lips curved at the edges into a smile, and he lowered the paper to the table and removed his sexy glasses. This football player had so many sides that I wasn’t sure I’d ever grow tired of learning them all.

  I returned his look with a nervous smile and swallowed back the strange emotions that were pulling at me. I cleared my throat. “We should get going soon.”

  Marco scratched at his morning beard and observed me. “It’s a shame. I would prefer to spend today naked in bed with you.”

  “Not a bad idea,” I said, smiling, “but Will will kill me if we cancel again. He’s super pumped about this surprise.”

  “Well, I need you alive to do the things I plan on doing to you later.” He tipped his
head. “So we’ll go.”

  I clenched my thighs together at his words, fighting my sudden urge to ditch Will’s plans and spend the day in Marco’s lap.

  “Will you still come to London with me tomorrow?”

  I pushed away from the table. “Yes, definitely.” And I still had a story to write, after all. Of course, what he was going to ‘show’ me was probably off limits.

  He picked up his linen napkin and tossed it onto his empty plate. “It’s settled. Today we meet Will, tonight we make love, and tomorrow we go to London.”

  Make love? That was a nice way of saying sex, right? He didn’t mean anything more by it. Shut up, brain.

  “Sounds good,” I answered as my phone rang. Travis had been blowing up my phone all morning, and there was one potential consequence to this canoodling with Marco that had to be considered: the loss of my job. I wasn’t sure why Travis was calling me and texting me so much today, but the timing had me on edge. Somehow, had he discovered I had crossed the line?

  He had chosen me because I was a professional. Well, that and he thought he could get me to manipulate Marco.

  “Marco?” I walked over to his chair and stood in front of him. His hands slipped up my bare thighs and beneath the T-shirt of his I was wearing. He gently gripped my hips, pulling me a little closer to him, between his parted legs.

  “Sì?” He perked a brow.

  “Are you sure you’re making the right decision?” I should have slapped my hand over my mouth, but it wasn’t the journalist in me asking this time.

  Why was I doing this? After only a few hours of sleep, we had spent the morning in bed talking. He told me more about his brother and his brother’s love of football—and how every time he played, he thought of him. I could see the passion in his eyes and the way he spoke, his thick Italian accent pouring over me, giving me the chills over his love for the game.

  Lori’s warning about a football player’s first and true love had briefly entered my mind, but I decided she was wrong. The most important thing to Marco was family. The man didn’t simply defy the stereotypes I had built up in my mind about athletes—he crushed them.