High-Risk Fever (2 page)

While Anne and Brian turned their faces to avoid the blow, the draught hit the two young guys. The blond managed to stand, but his friend’s bike fell to the ground, bringing him down with it.

“
Vaffanculo!
” Legs tangled, struggling to regain his balance, the second bicyclist threw his hands in the air in true South-European style.

“Son of a bitch.” Brian glared at the cloud of dust left by the disappearing vehicle. “Fucking narrow street and no sidewalk.”

Anne’s heart raced. “It’s so dangerous.” If—when—she had her own child one day, there would be petitions to sign and meetings with officials to attend.

Breathing deeply to calm her nerves, she approached the unfortunate bicyclist and bent to grab his handlebar.

Surely by pure coincidence, one of his gloved hands landed on hers, curling strong fingers around her small ones and helping her pull until the bike stood upright between them.

Still, even as he stood on his feet, his hand lingered, holding hers firmly on the hard-plastic handle.

Anne looked up into his face, seeing him for the first time. How in the world had she missed such a jewel earlier? Among tanned, Latin features, a pair of black diamonds sparkling with mischief stared back without shame. His long, black locks were swept back in a ponytail, revealing a single golden earring in his left lobe. Large chest muscles heaved beneath a tight, pink spandex shirt, begging to be caressed by a woman’s hand, and black chest hairs peeked from the open collar.

Unable to believe the seductive intensity he exuded, she sucked in a breath and held it while the world narrowed. Her head buzzed. “What?”

“What?” The beautiful bicyclist used the same low tone, his full lips forming a teasing grin inches from her face. He was so near she could smell his hot breath. Intoxicating.

How had he come so close? And how long before her husband noticed?

Thankfully, Brian’s calm, indifferent voice rose behind her, addressing the blond bicyclist. “So you’re looking for a place to stay?”

“Yeah. We’ve already asked in several different villages on our way here.”

Anne tugged at her trapped hand and took a demonstrative step back. “Please.”

“Oh.” Feigning surprise, the dark beauty lifted an eyebrow and removed his hand, allowing her to retrieve hers. “Sorry,” he added, rolling a thick
R
with his tongue, keeping his lips parted a second too long. A move so deliberately naughty, her stomach knotted with need.

As she retreated, he studied her face with a grin, arrogance and amusement gleaming in his dark eyes, before turning his attention to the two other men.

Blood pulsing in her temples, she copied his movement.

“I’m sorry, but we’re full. This time of year—” Brian gazed into the blond’s eyes. The two men were the same height and had a similar hair color.

“But, Brian.” Anne trembled from the sensual shock. “We have one room available.”

He shook his head. “No, honey, a couple called an hour ago, when you were out shopping.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was firm but kind. He looked from one young guy to the other. “But we’re full.”

A new boom of thunder roared above the rooftops, threatening to crack the sky open. Anne hunched away from the noise.

“See, we’ve asked everywhere.” The blond lifted his shoulders. “We’d take anything with that storm coming. A couch, whatever.”

Brian shook his head, apology marring his sad dog features, before a new thought lit his eyes. “Say, man, sounds to me like you’re from the ole US of A.”

“Damn right I am.” The blond smiled. “Baltimore, actually. Where’re you from?”

“Some shitty place in Kentucky, but I been around since.” He offered his bear paw of a hand. “I’m Brian.”

“Todd.” The blond took the proffered hand and shook it, green eyes holding her husband’s. “And my, uh,
friend
here”—he turned to the Latin guy, who stood still watching the scene—“is Micaela, from Italy. We’re riding the Alps this summer.”

Heat rushed through Anne’s chest. An Italian! That explained his shameless advance. The charm and sex drive of the French were reputed, but a woman could not walk in Italian streets without having lustful stares and whistles thrown at her from both young and old men.

Brian nodded at Micaela. “Nice to meet ya.”

Micaela nodded back with a reserved, self-confident smile.

The first cold raindrops fell from the darkened sky, landing on their faces.

Brian glanced up and blinked. “Well, keep looking, guys. Every village has a bed and breakfast. But don’t waste time. All hell’s about to break loose.”

“Yeah.” Todd sat up on his bike and adjusted the weight of his rucksack.

Anne’s heart tightened as she watched the rock star-looking Italian do the same. She sent a quick, discreet glance at the bulge in front of his spandex pants, resting on the saddle between his muscular thighs.

Why did they have to leave so fast, when they’d just come into her life? She was a married woman and had not once had unfaithful thoughts, but at this moment, she couldn’t help enjoying the flattery of another man.

“You take care, now.” Brian petted his fellow-countryman’s arm.

Like a shower of tiny spikes, raindrops fell from the sky, wetting everything in their path. The guys would be soaked in no time. She prayed they would soon find a safe place to stay.

“Sure.” Flashing a shiny smile, Todd leaned forward to grab his handlebars and plowed on the pedals. His tires crushed tiny stones on the wet asphalt, spraying them to the sides, the sound ricocheting between house walls.

Anne let her eyes drift to the Italian, who seemed to hesitate. His mesmerizing black diamonds met her gaze and sharpened. Rain splashed on his cheekbones, giving his tanned skin a glow.

What?
She raised a brow at him. A pulse pounded in her ears.

In the next beat, he ripped his look away from her with a shake of his head, sent her husband a courteous nod, and followed his blond friend down the street.

If Brian hadn’t taken her hand to drag her back into the house, she would have stood still, numb, under the now-pouring rain, until the two bicyclists disappeared at the end of the village.

“Talk dirty to me.” Legs apart, Anne writhed, her back pressed deep into the mattress by Brian’s heavy body. Soft heat from the bed sheets enveloped her, and her husband’s warm skin touched hers in all the right places.

Low moans drifted from another room. One of the tenant couples. Outside, a symphony of sounds revealed Mother Nature’s fury. Rain hammered on the roof. Violent wind tore at the closed shutters, making them clatter against the frames. Occasional thunder boomed in the distance as the storm moved to a neighboring village.

Brian grunted disagreement into her ear. The tip of his thick, hard cock poked at her entrance, teasing. One thrust and he’d slide in, but she wanted more than the usual fucking and moving on to other family matters. She wanted hot, she wanted dirty.

“
S’il te plaît
.” She pressed her hands against his hips, stopping him from penetrating her. “Say porn stuff to me, first.”

He grumbled, moving his nose down the side of her throat, his excited breath leaving a trail of moist heat on her skin. “Why? We don’t usually….”

Why? Because—dare she even think the thought?

It’s because of those ebony eyes. I can’t get them out of my mind
.

The teasing eyes of a Latin beauty on a bike, staring at her in a haze of naughtiness and shameless seduction.

How pathetic, really. All day, the memories had haunted her, each time making her breath catch and her chest ache. And each time, she’d pushed the vivid images away and forced herself to concentrate on everyday life instead.

But now that the familiar, musky scent of sex filled the dimly lit bedroom, and her husband lay on top of her, eager to introduce his hungry erection into her wetness again, she couldn’t help bringing the Italian back into her mind.

She had to be delirious to allow such a violation of acceptable conduct—infidelity. Her cheeks colored.

A lusty female scream flared through the thin hall walls separating them from the other lovers. A moment later, a male groan.

Anne listened, and when silence settled, she replayed the sounds in her mind. Jealousy stung. Several times, Brian had brought her close to the edge, making her whimper with pleasure, but never
this
far. She wanted to scream like that woman, wanted to experience a real orgasm like her.

The black-haired bicyclist could do it to me, I’m sure
.

Just thinking about it made her pussy muscles contract. Her husband didn’t need to know why. It would be her small secret. The first and only.

She moved aside a bit, leaving air between their stomachs, took one of Brian’s large hands, and brought it between her legs.

“Oh, fuck.” He gasped and brushed his lips against her throat, the hairs of his moustache tickling her sensitive skin. “You’ve never asked me to do this before.”

True. But he hadn’t shown much interest, either. Though he said he loved her more than his own life, he’d never been curious about her body, never fingered her. Hadn’t this liberal-minded hippie learned a few tricks during his world travels?

“There.” She guided his two longest fingers into the damp heat of her cunt and pressed them inside. “Can you feel how wet I am?”

Wet?
Dripping might be a better word.

She withdrew her fingers.

“Yeah.” Sucking in a breath, he moved around inside her, probed, discovered. His breathing picked up, grew heavier.

As a reward, she squeezed her inner walls around his fingers, massaged them, and showed him what she wanted. With a resolute push of her hand, she shoved his fingers deeper, then out, and in again, mimicking the regular gliding movements of his cock, wet sounds filling the space between them.

“Say it.” A burning sensation built from her inner muscles and spread to her stomach like a brutal rush of heat. Closing her eyes and conjuring up Micaela’s sparkling Latin eyes in her mind, she raised her hips to help Brian’s fingers dive farther.

It might work, this time. She wanted an overwhelming orgasm. One that rattled her innermost core and made her lose her mind.

Brian groaned against the skin of her neck. “Holy fuck, baby, you’re wet…you’re very wet.” He lifted his face and gave her lobe a surprising bite.

The sharp pain made her gasp. Needing more, she grabbed his thumb and guided it to her clit. “There, please!” As he rolled it around the sensitive nub, his touch sent sparks of fire through her entire body, and her hips jerked. “Ah!”

A loud rap at the bedroom door made them both jump and stare at each other, holding their breaths. What now?

A low, male voice behind the door. One of the tenants. “Excuse me, uh, Mister Johnston?”

“Fuck.” Brian lifted his head, the tendrils of his long hair brushing Anne’s chin. “Yeah?”

“Didn’t you hear?” The voice sounded irritated. “The doorbell rang.”

“Pfff.” Brian put his hands on the mattress and raised his heavy, glistening body from between her legs. His huge erection appeared before her eyes like a gigantic lollipop.

Oh mon Dieu
. How tempting. For a brief second, her mind flashed to the gorgeous Italian. What must his stiff cock look like? Thinner, perhaps? Darker?

“All right.” Brian jumped out of bed and put his pants and a sweatshirt on. Grumbling, he opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Heart beating a little faster, Anne crept out of the sheets, put on a bathrobe, slid into slippers, and followed him.

One light bulb lit the dark, paneled walls. To the left, next to their bedroom, stood a small spare bathroom and a bigger one with a tub. Across the hall were four rented rooms. The tenant gave them a scowl before closing his door. The whole house was quiet, as if every other breathing soul listened, wondering who could be waiting out in the pouring rain at such a late hour.

Anne was coming down the creaking wooden stairs when Brian opened the front door. A gust of cold, wet air blew in. She wrapped her arms around her waist.

Oh!
The young Italian bicyclist and his friend stood outside, shoulders hunched. They wore raincoats, but these had done little to protect them. The shower hammered so hard on the asphalt, she couldn’t hear what they said.

Behind them, a flash of white lightning pierced the dark sky above the neighboring rooftops. Brian stepped aside, and the guys hurried in, water dripping from their clothes and rucksacks, forming instant puddles on the floor.

Brian closed the door and turned to face them. “Fucking hell.” He shook his head. “Well, all I can offer you guys are these sofas.” He pointed to the living room corner. “Hope they’ll do.”

Anne’s heart pounded as she gazed from one wet hottie to the other.

Brian nodded at her. “Anne, my wife, will give you blankets.”

With a thankful nod, Todd took off his rucksack, removed his raincoat, and hung it on a chair at the dining table. He wore a pullover, but it was soaked, and his hands shook from cold. He looked pallid.

Micaela, equally haggard and wet-dog-like, sent Anne an inquisitive glance before undressing. Dripping black locks hung over his eyes, and his whole body trembled. He knelt on the floor to unpack his own rucksack.

“Anne, sweetie.” Brian shot her a look. “Maybe you could make them a hot drink first.”

One more order. Her jaw clenched, but she swallowed her pride. “Yes, of course. I’ll put on the kettle.” She turned toward the kitchen.

“
Franculo
.” The Italian’s curse behind her drew her attention again. “Wet. Clothes, everything.”

As she and Brian stared, Todd groaned and ran a hand through his blond hair. “Fuck, I’m sick of this shit. We’ve had rain before, but nothing like this storm.”

“Well.” Brian lifted his brows. “You can have some of my clothes. Anne will get them for ya. They might not fit, but….”

Again! At this point, she blocked everything and everyone out and pivoted back to the kitchen. The guys chatted on, but she didn’t want to hear anymore. First the blankets, then the hot drinks and the clothes. She didn’t know where to begin, or what to think of it all. Why was Brian giving her orders in front of the guys, humiliating her?