Blind Submission (33 page)

I thought if I could get up and tidy some of the mess in my room, it might help me to gain some clarity, but I was just so tired. It occurred to me that the hollow feeling in the center of my being was probably due to hunger and that I should eat something. I decided I would order room service as soon as I checked my messages. I reached over to the bedside table for my cell phone and dialed my home number first. There was one message:

“Hi, Angel, it's Elise. You never called me back. Are you okay? Have you been eaten by wolves? Or should I say
wolf
? I tried you at work, but that weirdo who answered the phone wouldn't tell me where you were. Listen, Angel, I've been doing a lot of thinking and planning and, well, you always knew that I wouldn't be able to stay out of the book business, didn't you? Anyway, I've decided to go for it again. I want to reopen Blue Moon but”—there was a long sigh—“smaller, more upscale. More, I don't know, geared to a specialty market, although I don't know what that is. I'm still thinking. But the thing is, I was wondering if you'd be interested in putting this together with me. I couldn't afford—I don't know how much you're making now, Angel, but I'd love to have you with me on this. Think about it. I miss it, Angel. And I miss you! I'm going on and on here, listen to me, I'm going to fill up all the room on your machine. Please call me when you can, okay? And I've
still
got something I want to show you. I won't tell you what it is—I'll leave it a surprise, okay? You'll find it very interesting, I can tell you that. Call me! Bye, Angel.”

I listened to the message one more time and then erased it. I was in no state to think clearly about what Elise was offering. Part of me was thrilled that she was going back to bookselling, but another part of me was frustrated that she was doing it
now
and offering me an opportunity that I would have jumped at only a few months ago. I missed her as well, but in the way you'd miss a halcyon period in childhood you know you can never return to. The truth was, no matter how difficult it was to deal with Lucy, one day in her office was more exciting than all my years at Blue Moon combined, and I'd become addicted to that rush. I knew that going back to what I'd been doing before I started working for Lucy would feel like a huge letdown. I'd need some kind of rehab to get back to normal—although, now, I wasn't even sure what “normal” was.

Despite this ambivalence, I decided to consider Elise's offer anyway. It was reassuring to know that I could still count on her, and if my behind-the-scenes maneuverings blew up in my face, I knew she would help me pick up the pieces. I made a note to call her as soon as I got home.

I closed up my phone and laid it down on the bedside table. I felt sweaty and covered with grime. What I really needed was a shower, I thought. At least that was one thing that was easily done. With great effort, I lifted myself from the bed, pulled back the cover so that the clean sheets were exposed, and stripped off my clothes. I was almost there, almost under the hot running water, when I heard a knock at my door. Lucy. She'd found something else for me to do or had suddenly decided I needed to come with her to hold up the hem of her dress while she mingled. Typically, she'd found the most inconvenient moment to come looking for me. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around my body as best I could.

“Lucy?” I said, placing one hand on the door handle. I hoped I sounded as exhausted and unable to muster enthusiasm as I felt.

“Angel? Is that you?”

My heart leaped into my throat.
I'd heard and read that phrase so many times, but I'd never really understood it—never truly felt it—until that moment, when I realized that it was Damiano on the other side.

I pulled the door open and the towel fell to the floor. I froze, unable to make any kind of move to pick it up. Damiano walked in and closed the door behind him, and I stood in front of him completely naked. For a long moment, he just stared at me and said nothing. When I raised my eyes to meet his, I saw them shining with frank admiration and desire. But there was so much more behind that. There was empathy, the whisper of sadness, and deep longing. It was as if I were looking into my own heart. It was Damiano I needed. Of course.

He moved toward me until we were almost touching, then stopped. Without taking his dark eyes off mine, he reached out his right hand and slowly traced the curve of my hip as if he were carving it out of soft clay. He moved his left hand up to cup the side of my face and drew me close enough for me to feel his breath on my lips. We stood like that for a small eternity, his hands warm on my skin, the moment before the kiss suspended in anticipation between us. I wanted to stay like that forever and I wanted to grab him and pull him into me. My tension turned to trembling and I felt myself start shaking.

“Angelina mia,”
Damiano whispered. He put both arms around me and held me tight. He kissed me, his lips light and soft, savoring the taste. I pressed against him, opening my mouth to his, my hands moving wild across his back and arms in a frenzy of exploration. I pulled at his shirt, desperate to feel the smoothness of his skin beneath it. Our arms tangled, our mouths pressed together hard. He lifted me as if I were weightless and carried me to the bed. He tripped, stumbled, and we both fell heavily onto the sheets. He landed on my hair and pulled it out from under him. Something that sounded like a curse fell from his mouth and I laughed. He sat up, yanked off his shoes, and started fumbling with the buttons and buckles on his clothes.

“Vieni qua,”
he said, pulling me up. “Help me.”

I reached around him and lifted his shirt over his head as he managed to free himself from his jeans. There was a moment of awkwardness then, the hesitation that falls between new lovers when they see each other naked for the first time. But he leaned over, softly kissed the racing pulse in the hollow of my throat, and suddenly the entire room seemed to ignite.

Sensation took over, pushing every thought out of my head. I felt myself give way to the weight of his body on mine, felt the softness of his skin and the taut muscles beneath it. I felt my body rise up to meet his lips wherever they touched me—on my thighs, breasts, and belly. I felt myself open and heard myself sigh with satisfaction. I felt Damiano's breath in my ear, heard him whisper,
“Che ricco,”
tasted the salt of his sweat as it mingled with my own. I closed my eyes, using my fingertips and tongue to see. I felt him deep inside me and I lost myself there, buoyed up and away on a long swell of pleasure that went on and on and on.

The room was dark when I opened my eyes again. I couldn't see any sky at all through the narrow space between the drapes, just the reflection of artificial light against the buildings. Damiano lay melded to me, his arms fastened around me. I blinked my eyes to adjust to the dimness and realized that I was covered in sweat and that the sheets and pillows felt damp. Damiano's back was slick and wet under my hands. His breathing was soft and even against my chest, so slow that I thought he'd fallen asleep. I moved my arm, which was pinned under his shoulder, and he raised his head and kissed my mouth.

“Thank you,” he said. He traced one finger along my eyebrow, down my cheekbone, and to my lips. “You are so beautiful,” he said. “Here.” He stroked the inside of my thigh. “Here.” He rested his hand on the skin of my abdomen. “And here.” He laid his hand gently on my forehead.

“I don't…” I began, and had to clear my throat of all the passion that had accumulated there since I'd last spoken. “I don't usually open the door stark naked for men who come knocking.”

Damiano laughed, sending a merry echo through the room. “But it was very convenient,” he said. “Thank you for that also. I've never been greeted in such a way. I think it is something I'll remember for my whole life.”

“I was going to take a shower,” I said. “I thought you were Lucy.”

“You can still take a shower,” he said. “But not yet. Please don't go away from me yet. I have…ahh,
Angelina
…” He sighed and kissed me again. “I was wondering…I didn't know if you would be pleased to see me. The last time, you were so strange. I thought maybe I did something wrong or said something. I don't know. But…”

“But?”

“I knew we would be here before I saw you for the first time. I felt you inside me, Angel. Didn't you know, too?”

If I could have spoken, I would have told him that I did, but my lips were trembling too much for me to get the words out. I had started crying, without even knowing why, and the tears were coming fast, spilling down the sides of my face and wetting my hair. I tried to stop, tried to strangle the sobs that were forming inside my chest, but that only made them come harder.

“No, no,” Damiano said. He brushed my cheeks with his fingers. “
Non piànge.
What did I say? Why are you crying?”

“I d-don't kn-know,” I said. “I'm s-sorry.”

“No, no,” he said. “Shh. Don't be sorry.”

He wrapped me in his arms again, whispering words I couldn't understand into my hair. He stroked my back and my shoulders. And then he leaned over me and kissed the tears off my face.

“Angelina,”
he whispered. “You see? I drink your tears. Don't cry.”

I thought that if I had to die right then, wrapped in his arms, his lips on my cheek, I'd die happy.

I must have fallen asleep, although it couldn't have been for long, because when I opened my eyes again, the lights were on and Damiano was propped up against the pillows next to me, smiling down at me.

“I wanted to look at you,” he said. “You are so beautiful, I can't believe it.”

I smiled back at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, and reached out for him, pulling him close to me again.

“I want to make love with you, Angel,” he said, “here in this room. Again and again.”

I rolled on top of him and stared down into his wine-brown eyes. They were alive with desire.
For me.
“I think I can help you with that,” I said, and placed my hands on either side of his head, feeling the bristly ends of his hair under my fingertips. “But first tell me, how did you know I was here? Why are you in New York?” I wanted—no, I
needed
—him to tell me that he couldn't stop thinking about me, that his desire for me had driven him to search me out, to drop everything and cross the country to find me.

“I spoke to Luciana,” he said. “She told me the hotel.”

“Lucy?”

“
Sì.
What's the matter?”

I slid off him and sat up. Out of some belated and now-unnecessary sense of modesty, I drew the sheets up around my waist. “Why would
Lucy
tell you where I was?”

“She told me where
she
was going to be. But I knew you were with her, Angel. I was there at the famous dinner party, remember?” Damiano was looking up at me with a bemused expression, as if he couldn't understand why any of this would be of concern to me. He lifted a strand of my hair and stroked it between his thumb and forefinger. “That was the first time I saw this beautiful hair all free like fire.”

“I still don't really understand, Damiano. You called Lucy to ask her where we were staying in New York? Didn't she wonder why you wanted to know?”

“Bella,”
he said patiently, and raised himself so that we were sitting side by side on the bed. “I didn't call Lucia—Lucy. She called me a week…maybe two weeks ago. She told me she was coming to New York. She said it would be a good idea for me to come as well. She said for me to meet my editor?
Capisce,
no? I thought you would know about this. She ask if I can get a ticket to New York and of course I can. We made a meeting with my editor for the day after tomorrow and today I am here with you.”

The day after tomorrow—Lucy's extra day in New York. Without me. I'd wondered why Damiano's editor hadn't been on Lucy's list of appointments when I'd scheduled this trip for her, and I'd even asked Lucy about it. “No need,” she'd said at the time, and now it made sense.

“I'm going home tomorrow,” I said.

“Yes, I know,” he said, “that's why I came early.” He shrugged as if all of this should be totally obvious to me and started pulling me gently toward him, his eyes sparkling with undisguised lust. “
Ècco. Vieni qua,
Angel. Come here,
amore.
”

“Wait,” I said, instinctively moving away from him until I was on the far corner of the bed. There was something about this scenario that was starting to feel frighteningly wrong, some sense that I'd been expertly manipulated into being the butt of an elaborate and cruel practical joke. “How did you know what
room
I was in? Did Lucy tell you that, too?”

“No, no, of course not. I spoke to Anna. She was very sweet. She told me where you were.”

“Anna knows?”

He missed the alarm in my voice and went on, a smile curving the corners of his mouth. “Don't worry,” he said. “I came in very quiet,” he said, and chuckled. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “Nobody saw me, I promise. I wore dark glasses.” He laughed again. “Like a rock star.”

“Like Vaughn Blue,” I said. My voice sounded distant and hollow, as if it were coming from across the room.

“Che?”
A worried and ever so slightly annoyed expression passed across Damiano's face and was replaced by renewed desire. He moved over to my side of the bed. “Ahh,” he breathed, “so beautiful.” He cupped my breasts in both of his hands, leaned over, and formed a kiss on my angel-wing tattoo.

I leaped off the bed, pulling the sheet with me and wrapping it tightly around my nakedness. I backed up as far from him as I could get until I was pressed against the window.