Blue-Blooded Romeo (The Royal Romeos #6)

by Jenny Gardiner

  Stella flinched at that phrase. Make love. Is that what they did? Wasn’t it simply good old sex? Make love sounded so committal, so intentional, more than a blurred frenzy beneath the sheets.

  “To be truthful, I just wanted to scratch that itch, you know?”

  Domenico frowned. “Great. So does that make me the flea? Or the dog? Either way, I’m flattered.” His smile was wistful.

  Stella squeezed his hand. “It makes you the brave man who was willing to put yourself out there for someone who wasn’t particularly capable of reciprocating.”

  He laughed a little. “Do you know how many times I’ve reread those notes you wrote?”

  “What do you mean, reread them? I thought they’d disappeared into the ether. At least I had hoped as much.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry, but I took pictures of the screen with my phone. I hope that doesn’t sound too stalkerish. But the thing is, it turned me on when I realized you thought I was sexy and were thinking about my cock. I couldn’t think of anything but getting you naked from that point on.”

  “Wait a second—you read those notes and got turned on?”

  He nodded as if stating the obvious. “Of course. I’m a guy. A girl mentions how big your cock is, and that’s a turn-on.”

  “But I was being a jerk about it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Between the lines: you wanted my cock.”

  She swatted at him. “That’s a little, uh, cocky.” She smiled.

  “Don’t get me wrong. You put up enough roadblocks to stop any guy from getting too hot and bothered. Enough that if it weren’t for your persistent friend, I’d have probably thrown in the towel.”

  “You mean my interventionist roommate?”

  “Your thoughtful roommate who wanted to help you.”

  “Help me get laid?”

  “Maybe. But help you get past whatever trauma has been holding you back.”

  “But what if it’s something I can’t let go of.”

  “Look, Stella, you were brave enough to drop everything and cross an ocean to carve out a life for yourself other than what you seemed fated to. I’d say that’s evidence enough that you’re able to let things go.”

  “Can we take this slow and see? I’m not sure if I trust myself.”

  “We can go as slow as you’d like. As long as you don’t cut me off. Now that I’ve had a chance to be with you, I can’t take that.” His finger was toying with the thin strap of her camisole top, gradually tugging it down. He pulled her toward him and pressed his lips to hers as his fingers tugged down the strap and slipped beneath the top to toy with her breasts.

  Stella opened her mouth to him and their tongues stroked and tangled and danced with one another, their breathing increasing as his hand massaged her breasts, and his other hand reached down to unbutton her shorts, then slip beneath the top edge of her panties.

  “Domenico, the boat captain—”

  He shushed her with his mouth, his tongue tracing her lips and finding her mouth again, where he slicked his tongue along her teeth, her gums, her own hungry tongue. “It’s pitch dark out. The captain can’t see us all the way back here. Besides, he’s steering the boat. His back is to us.”

  Stella was still conflicted. Most of her wanted nothing more than to shrug off her fears and yield to Domenico. His touch did crazy things to her. She could barely contain her thoughts against the sensation of his warm fingers stroking along her lips, already so wet from his ministrations. They slid inside of her and pressed, deep, first one finger, then two, then three. She was mad with the sensations racing through her belly and down to her pelvis. But every now and then the practical Stella reared its uptight head, reminding her that she didn’t “do” relationships. That men left. That nothing good could come of this. But then Domenico’s mouth was on her nipple, sucking, hard, and his teeth nipped her and his fingers pumped harder and harder against her wet center. And she could shut up practical Stella long enough as her muscles coiled low in her belly, and her body erupted in pleasure. Her center clenched down on Domenico’s fingers as his tongue toyed with her breast. She pressed her hips hard against him, and he held her tightly as she rode out her climax.

  They remained like that for a few heartbeats as Stella’s breathing calmed down. Domenico slid his hands from beneath her panties, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them each, slowly, deliberately, before he settled his lips over hers and kissed her hard.

  Which was when, as usual, the panic set in.

  “Domenico,” she said, trying to figure out the best way to say this. “I love when you do that to me but it’s not fair to you. I mean really, this can’t go anywhere. I know we can have some fun together, but you and me...”

  Domenico pulled back and perched on the edge of the seat with his legs spread, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands.

  He scrubbed his fingers through his hair, about to speak, when the boat suddenly swerved, and Domenico went flying, right off the side of the boat into the dark waters of the Seine.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Domenico!” Stella yelled, waving her arms as she ran to the front of the boat. “Capitaine! Il est dans la rivière!”

  She pulled on the captain’s shoulder and pointed desperately toward the spot where he flew off the boat. “You need to hurry!”

  The water was dark and there was the danger of another boat hitting him. Despite the late hour, there were still Bateaux Mouches cruising along the Seine as well as smaller craft like the one they were in.

  She kept jumping up and down, pointing toward where she thought she saw him bobbing in the water. It was so hard to see in the dark. She was terrified. It was all her fault. Here he was, again, being so sweet, so thoughtful, worried only about her pleasure, trying to show her how he felt about her, and she lost it again. Such. Complete. Chickenshit.

  “Monsieur,” she said. “Se dépêcher!” Hurry!

  The boat looped back and circled several times when over the din of the motor Stella could hear Domenico calling her name.

  “That way,” she said, pointing for the captain. “Go slowly so you don’t run him over!”

  The boat chugged along and finally, she saw one arm waving to her.

  “Stella! Here!”

  She finally spotted him and helped to guide the captain to where he was, and she tossed a life preserver overboard, then pulled the rope back. She lowered the step ladder at the back of the boat and Domenico climbed aboard, grasping Stella’s arm for balance.

  She pulled him toward her and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Domenico, look at you.” She stretched her arms to get a good look while holding on to him still. “You’re drenched. You must be freezing.”

  He wiped the water from his face. “It’s not so bad. If this had happened in January, I’d have been in more trouble.”

  “But you could have died!”

  “More like died of embarrassment.”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “Oh, except for yet again, for all of my desperate efforts with you, I got shut down. I guess that was the ultimate cold shower, being flung overboard like that.”

  Stella frowned. “I’m sorry—”

  He held up his hands. “It’s fine, Stella. I get it. You’re not that into me. Now let’s get this captain to take us back to shore and we can go our separate ways. No hard feelings.”

  “But—”

  “I think we both realize it’s for the better. You don’t need some man nagging you, and my ego doesn’t need the rejection. Besides, I have things to focus on while I’m here, so perhaps the distraction would have been an unnecessary one anyhow.”

  Stella sighed. This wasn’t how she wanted to end things. She felt horrible. And confused. And conflicted. And annoyed. And wrong. Because after she shed all of those other emotions and her own self-preservation concerns, she knew ultimately she was making a terrible, terrible decision. But she had no idea how to rectify it.


  ~*~

  Stella was left to fester on her own once she returned to the apartment, still wet from hugging Domenico. It seemed Alexa had left the apartment alone just in case... Just in case Stella had remembered to not be a heartless jerk. Just in case Stella had decided to not be a coward. Just in case Stella had decided to toss her heart into the ring and take a chance.

  She finally lay down in her bed and cried. Cried for the little girl who was so broken that she couldn’t allow herself to be happy when happiness was pounding on her door. More like clubbing her over the head with it.

  When she could cry no more, she drifted off to a restless sleep, and by dawn, she only felt worse about everything. What a schmuck she was. But Domenico had made it clear, he’d had enough. She needed to respect his wishes.

  It didn’t get any easier when Alexa showed up around lunchtime, excited to hear about her night.

  “Don’t ask,” Stella said. Her tearstained face was a dead giveaway that things hadn’t unfolded quite as expected.

  “Awww, Stel, what now?”

  Stella proceeded to tell her the story, ending with a world-weary sigh, her shoulders sagging beneath the weight of her failure.

  “So how does this make you feel, honey?” Alexa asked.

  “Really shitty.”

  Alexa lifted an eyebrow. “Good!”

  “Good?”

  “Yes, of course. Great, in fact.”

  “How so?”

  “Because a) that means your little heart hurts. Which means your little heart is capable of feeling love. Which is a great thing. And b) because that means you’re ready to fix this.”

  Stella started to cry. “But it’s not fixable. I blew it.”

  Alexa waved at her as if shooing away an annoying fly. “Don’t be silly. These things can always be fixed.” She handed her roomie a tissue. “Now wipe your eyes. We’ve got some scheming to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I appreciate your reaching out to me, Alexa,” Domenico said. “I know you meant well trying to facilitate me and Stella getting together. I’m afraid it wasn’t meant to be.”

  They were walking out of the Champ de Mars metro stop, en route to the Eiffel Tower.

  “I’m sorry I kept leading you on like that. I honestly thought maybe she could do it. I guess she’s not quite ready to let her heart go. I don’t understand it—if I was single I’d go for you in a heartbeat—but I guess it’s hard to get past the past. I’m glad you were willing to come out tonight. I pictured you alone in your hotel room and I knew that was crazy. Plus you’ve never been to the Eiffel Tower. We’ll meet Antoine there—he’s picking up the tickets. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Really, you did not have to do that.”

  “But I want to.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. I’m yours for the evening.”

  They met up with Antoine, who was waiting with their tickets at the West Pillar. The three of them got in line and waited for the elevator to go up, piling in with the crush of tourists who were also hoping to see the twinkling lights of Paris from high atop the tower. They boarded the second elevator that took them to the top and walked out to a breathtaking view of Paris.

  “Come, let’s go grab a glass of champagne. As we’ve said, you have to have champagne at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

  Domenico was thinking about the last time he’d had champagne. Had that been twenty-four hours? It seemed like a lifetime ago in some odd way.

  He followed Alexa and Antoine and when they arrived at the tiny bar, Stella stepped out of the shadow, two glasses of rosé champagne in her hands.

  “I think I can take it from here, Lex,” she said, giving her friend a hug.

  “He’s all yours. And do me a favor: don’t blow it. My heart can’t take this drama anymore.”

  Stella rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  Alexa and Antoine waved good-bye to the two of them and walked off in the dark, to the far side of the tower, leaving Stella and Domenico in peace.

  Stella reached for Domenico’s hand and guided him to an open spot along the railing, overlooking the breathtaking city below. “It was pretty cowardly of me to let you go last night,” she said.

  “But—”

  “Hush.” She held a finger to his lips. “It’s my turn.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to his for a second. “I know I’ve got some issues. I’m trying to figure things out. But the last thing I want to do is drive you away. Domenico—”

  “Honestly, Stella, you don’t have to say this.”

  “Oh, but I do.” She lifted her champagne glass to his and tipped it against it. “Because, see, Domenico, somehow you managed to slip beneath my defenses. I don’t know how you did it. You got past the moat. And the crocodiles and the soldiers shooting poison-tipped arrows and the other ones pouring boiling oil from the ramparts. I have this whole army surrounding my fortress, all set up to protect me from loving anyone. But I realized now that it’s probably the stupidest thing in the world to deny myself love. So I’m going to stop being the chickenshit little girl who ran away from feelings and instead I’m going to open myself up to you and share them.” She took a deep breath and a swig of champagne for fortification. “Domenico Romeo, I’m afraid that I’m falling in love with you. And I understand if you’re completely sick of my nonsense and want nothing to do with me ever again, but if you could find it in your heart to forgive me, well, I promise you, I’m going to try hard to honor you by not pulling the stupid shenanigans I’ve been pulling on you. I’m going to open up my heart to you. I only ask that you’re gentle with it.”

  Domenico smiled. “That’s a lot of burden on my shoulders, caring for a fragile heart.” He pulled her toward him with his finger on her chin. “And I’m honored to be the man to carry that responsibility. I promise you won’t be disappointed. But there’s one thing.”

  Stella frowned. “I’m afraid to ask what.”

  He broke into a broad smile. “If you can please promise to keep me away from dangerous boat captains on the Seine?”

  She pulled him toward her by the collar, kissing him hard. “It’s a fair trade: my heart for your safety.”

  “And maybe one other thing?”

  She lifted her brow.

  “You still owe me a cake.”

  “As long as it doesn’t have to be a wedding cake.”

  He smiled. “Not yet. Not quite yet. But never say never.”

  They clinked champagne flutes—because, after all, she was now a fan of good champagne, and she leaned over and kissed him. “Never again will I say never to love.”

  ~*~

  Thank you so much for reading Blue-Blooded Romeo! I hope you enjoyed it! If so, please help others find this book:

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  Big O Romeo

  by Jenny Gardiner

  Chapter One

  If there was one thing Francesco Romeo hated more than having to attend a party full of strangers, it was having to attend a costume party full of strangers dressed in stupid outfits. So it was with great reluctance that he agreed to attend the 70th birthday party of his mother’s best friend, Elettra Giovanetti, who’d decreed that their little corner of Tuscany hadn’t had a decent costume party in what seemed like centuries. In Francesco’s humble opinion, it hadn’t been long enough. Because to him, there was no such thing as a decent costume party.

  For one thing, people tended to dress like fools at those things. Men usually looked like complete imbeciles, and women often felt the need to indulge in their inner beer wench, which, okay, sometimes wasn’t such a bad thing—at least from a visu
al perspective—but seriously, it was just downright odd when women took on the persona of the outfit they had on.

  He still remembered the last such party he’d attended, when a voluptuously-shaped lady who had been a teacher of his in primary school donned a cleavage-revealing corset-top, wedged a cup of maraschino cherries between her generous bosom, and insisted that guests pop her cherry all night long. You just couldn’t un-see that shit. Particularly when it belonged to the woman who taught you the alphabet, phonics, and how to get along with others.

  And for another thing, it’s just weird, standing there talking to your hairdresser, who’s pretending to be Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, when all along you know she’s just Maria Valdetti with the distinctive mole on the tip of her nose, who’s been styling your hair since you were about fourteen years old. The whole thing seemed sadly regressive to him.

  Nevertheless he found himself at the party rental shop minutes before closing time, waiting in line for a Three Musketeers costume, at the behest of his mother, who he hated to displease. It didn’t matter that there weren’t two other musketeers to complete the theme. Neither his brothers nor friends would agree to wear hats with feathers—they were for sissies, they claimed—plus all the more normal costumes had been rented by the time Francesco finally sucked it up and went in search of something to wear to this miserable party.

  He was seriously regretting not snatching up the Darth Vader costume before it was nabbed by a wiser party-goer. At the time he figured it would impede his chances to make out with a woman, what with his entire face being covered by a mask. In hindsight perhaps that would have been a better alternative.

  Because his remaining choices were to go as a 17th-century French swashbuckler, or settle for the oversized, body odor-drenched Barney the Purple Dinosaur costume, which he was certain hadn’t been either cleaned or worn in about twenty years. At least he had a chance of getting laid in his chosen costume. Though between the girlie stockings, thigh-high leather boots, and, yeah, that gargantuan damned feather that kept obscuring his vision, he wasn’t banking on much of any action from anyone under the age of three hundred.