by Lula Baxter
Better than sex.
The taste of chocolate decadence my tongue plays around with definitely proves that truth. Especially based on my personal experience the past few months. I roll the gelato around in my mouth, savoring the dark chocolate flavor as it tickles my tastebuds. It melts from the heat of my tongue, and I greedily swallow every last drop of the creamy spoonful.
I shouldn’t be eating something so sinful this early in the morning. But the shop was already open and, when in Naples….
Besides, it’s a special occasion. This is the last day on the ten-day Italian trip I’m taking with my friend Claudia. In two weeks I finally start a real job after a year of “freelancing,” which has been my fancy term for “unemployed.” I’m also a “free woman,” which has been my fancy term for “unceremoniously dumped.” I deserve this gelato. I’ll worry about my hips when I get back to Seattle tomorrow night. Today, indulgence rules supreme.
I open my eyes to take another spoonful. That’s when I see him.
Now, my eyes are just as stimulated as my tastebuds have been. The man across the small outdoor seating area practically oozes sex.
Tall? Check.
Dark? Check.
Handsome? Double check.
He stares back at me with an intense gaze that makes me feel like I’m the scoop of gelato he wants to run his tongue over. I press my thighs together underneath my white sundress.
Like most of the Italians I’ve seen during this trip, he’s well-dressed. There’s a definite edge to this man that hardens some of that metrosexual style. His white, button-up shirt lies smooth against the hard curves of his muscular shoulders and chest. The sleeves are rolled up to expose his sinewy forearms. They’re covered with just enough dark hair to evince the testosterone running through his body, but not so much they take him right past the edge into caveman territory. His dark pants cling to lean, hard thighs spread open as he sits at one of the tables near the gelato shop.
He certainly wasn’t sitting there when I first came. I never would have had the gall to be so perfectly gluttonous, stuffing my face with chocolate, moaning with complete abandon, if someone this gorgeous was nearby. Something about this city in particular brings out the daring side of me. Even back home in Seattle I wouldn’t behave like this, even if I have yet to find a man there who looks like this one.
And why hasn’t he stopped looking at me?
Even from a few tables away I can see how strikingly blue his eyes are. It’s a rare sight to see this far south in Italy, especially set against the contrast of his deep olive skin-tone and thick black hair, which makes the brilliant aquamarine color stand out even more.
I’m glad Claudia had a stomach bug this morning. It’s a terrible thought and, the next instant, I’m ashamed of myself. She’s been my best friend since middle school. She can’t help it if she has a face and body that falls somewhere between Sofia Vergara and Adriana Lima. I have a fairly healthy self-esteem, but I know exactly where most men’s eyes first land when the two of us are together. It doesn’t even matter that she currently has a very noticeable engagement ring settled on her third finger.
This one is all mine, for this brief Italian moment at least. It’s a shame today is our last day here. I have yet to have a “deliciously, toe-curling fling with a sexy Italian,” as she put it when she suggested this trip in the first place. Maybe if Claudia is feeling better by tonight, she can go sight-seeing for a few hours while—
Those wicked thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the yank of my purse strap as it’s ripped off my arm. I don’t even notice the spoonful of chocolate in my hand that splatters against the front of my white dress.
My purse is gone.
My purse is gone!
“No!” I shout at the thief riding behind the driver of the scooter as it speeds away.
The word hasn’t even ended on my lips before the gorgeous man swiftly reaches out one long arm. It miraculously snags the strap from the hands of the thief as he and his partner-in-crime speed by. Rather than get pulled off the bike with the purse, my mugger wisely lets go of it.
Oh. My. God!
After a brief moment of stunned surprise, I forget all about my gelato and run over to retrieve my purse from the gorgeous stranger. “Thank y—I mean, grazie, grazie!”
“You’re welcome,” he says in perfect English, but with a definite Italian accent. The combination makes my already agitated heart beat a little bit faster. “You should be careful. Naples can be a dangerous city for a young woman alone.”
There’s a gleam in his eyes as he says it, which makes me think he might be one of the dangers I should be cautious of. With him it wouldn’t be something so simple as my purse that would be stolen from me, it would be my self-control, my inhibitions, my complete autonomy.
“Well…thank you all the same,” I reply, feeling my heart accelerate once again.
He smiles down at me as though reading my mind perfectly. I stare back at him, probably looking like fourteen-year-old fangirl, my big, brown eyes going completely doe-eyed. His gaze is overpowering as it fills the air between us, reading me, appraising me, savoring me. Even the city around us seems to hush as though waiting for something explosive to happen.
The moment is broken by the shout of a woman nearby. We both turn to see her and, what I assume is her daughter, on their phones. One is speaking frantically into her phone and the other is looking at the screen to hers with a worried expression. Based on what little I catch of the older woman’s voice, they are American and definitely just got some bad news.
“I guess I’m not the only traveler having an awful morning,” I say with a sympathetic smile.
“And yet, my morning has been quite pleasurable,” he responds, giving me a charming smile.
“Oh..I didn’t mean. I mean, you’re absolutely wonderful”—I cringe at how obvious I sound—“I mean, you, you’re…” I can’t stop my eyes from wandering down his body, making it so much worse as the foot in my mouth goes further and further in.
“You seem to have suffered an unfortunate accident. But it does look tempting,” he says, looking straight at my…breasts?
My eyes snap down to my chest and that’s where I see the blob of chocolate just sitting there.
“Oh, no,” I groan.
“Un momento,” he says before disappearing off into a shop. I’m left looking down at the mess, wondering what in the world inspired me to get dark chocolate of all things when I’m wearing white.
He comes back with a handful of napkins and a paper cup of water.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching to take it.
“No, no,” he says. “I insist.”
I eye him warily, but subtly push out my chest for him all the same. He starts by wiping away the large blob of chocolate. That’s bad enough but when he gently pours water over the stain and begins lightly patting it with a fresh napkin I swear I can hear my breath in my ears.
I’m standing here in the middle of Naples with a perfect stranger—a perfectly gorgeous stranger—pawing at my tits. At least that’s the picture I have in my head. It’s scandalous. It’s humiliating. It’s so wrong. It’s wonderful.
‘But it does look tempting.’
I wonder what it would be like if he just licked it off. I wouldn’t feel anything through my dress of course. I’d have to take it off to get the full effect. Now, I’m picturing those full lips against my skin as his tongue….
He laughs softly. My eyes, which have been deliberately averted, swiftly come back to his face. His are still concentrating on my chest and I look down to see how hard my nipples are, even more glaringly evident now that my wet dress is clinging to the left one.
Perfect.
Then I notice how faded the stain is, now mostly a barely noticeable beige blur. I can hardly see anything, even this close up.
“Wow, you’re amazing,” I say in surprise. I’m sure if I’d done it, I’d have a dark brown stain the size of Europe on my dress front. “H
ow’d you get so good at this sort of thing?”
“Too many...what you might call nannies? Governesses?” he says, a humorless smile coming to his face.
“Well,” I respond, exhaling as I wonder what to say after that.
“It’s a shame about your gelato,” he says, his eyes glancing over my chest again. “Perhaps I can make it up to you with another treat?”
His voice is so sultry and inviting, I get the absurd notion he’s actually talking about sex. Then I laugh, nervously tucking a long, brown strand of hair behind my ear.
“No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have been eating it in the first place.”
“A tiny bit of sin is good every once in a while,” he says with one eyebrow arched invitingly and a subtle, teasing smile on his full lips. “Since you didn’t get to finish, you should allow me to treat you to something even more sinful.”
I feel my insides perform a gymnastics routine that could win gold at the Olympics. I’m officially one of those silly American women who fall head over heels for any man with an accent.
But he did save me from getting robbed.
And his body is so very nice underneath that button-up shirt and those slacks.
And his voice is more delicious than that gelato was.
And those eyes, those eyes, they’re perfectly hypnotic.
When in Naples….
“Why not?” I say with a smile.
He returns a smile, and it gives new definition to the word “sin.”
Dirty Player: Author’s Note
First of all, thank you so much for taking the time to read my debut novel, Dirty Player. I hope you enjoyed it!
A few things of note.
First of all, if you’re wondering why Ardant Jewelers had such a prominent cameo in this novel…stay tuned! Another book is coming to provide insight, probably some time next year. Anything more is under wraps.
Secondly, I’m sure a Google search will prove it, but to save you the time, there is no such thing as the Boston Register.
Finally, I highly encourage you to find a man to take you on a little boat—or captain your own damn boat!—to all the hidden coves in the French Riviera. There truly is nothing better than swimming naked in the Mediterranean.
Until the next book…
à bientôt, luvbirds!
P.S. If you enjoyed this book, please help an indie author out by leaving a review!
About Lula Baxter
I am a lover of sinfully sexy romance. Alpha males who combine intelligence, wit, and charm, with that tiny bit of dominance and aggression to spice things up. Heroines, who have their own sinfully sexy side.
When I’m not typing away at my keyboard, in between sips of wine, you can find me out exploring New York City, where I live… or some other far away place, finding fodder for my novels.
You can mostly find me on Instagram, being creative…or Tumblr, being naughty.
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