Out of the Dark (6 page)

He removes his hands from my face and lowers them to my back then down to my ass. He presses his fingers into my flesh, encouraging me to keep moving against him.

It’s unexpected, but it’s the green light I was hoping to get. I let my hand slip beneath his shirt and run my fingernails down his back.

He moans, and I respond by pressing harder. He replies with nibbles on my bottom lip.

I’m afraid he’s going to stop at any moment to keep us from going too far so I cling to him, rubbing against him in a fevered motion. His hands move to my waist, and I’m so afraid that he is going to push me away.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he rocks forward, eases me onto my back across the blanket, and lowers his body over me, pressing into me. He looks into my eyes, and I see his desire fighting its way through. He wraps his lips around mine and commands the kiss.

This is what I’ve been waiting for—his body between my legs, moving against me. I feel his hardness through our clothes, and he teases my most delicate places.

I grip his hair, tugging lightly on the ends, and he moves faster.

He reaches back and grabs my leg. He holds me in place and never stops moving. He trails his lips over my cheek and down my neck.

I open my eyes and look up at the puffy, white clouds floating over the hillside. My heart is pounding. Reaching down, I find the waist of his pants and fumble with the buttons, trying to unleash him.

He keeps kissing my neck and doesn’t stop me.

I reach inside and feel him, smooth and warm and hard. He moans against my neck. Wrapping my fingers around his shaft, I begin to stroke him. His body tenses as I rub my palm over the head and back down again. His breath quickens and I know I’ve found the right rhythm.

He confirms it, whispering in my ear, “Carina, your touch . . . so good.”

I turn my head toward him so our mouths meet, and our tongues tangle together with passion. I begin trying to wriggle him out of his pants.

His phone rings—and to my utter dismay, he rolls over and answers it.

My heart sinks.

He speaks between panting breaths. “Savano. Yeah? Goddamn it! Fuck. I’ll have . . . I’ll have to come out myself. I have no choice. I’ll be on a plane tonight.” He snaps the phone shut and sits up, buttoning his pants and readjusting his clothing.

“You’re leaving?” I feel like crying, and I cover my face with my hands, so embarrassed, hurt and frustrated.

He takes my wrists and pulls me up next to him, cupping my chin and forcing me to look at him. “There’s an . . . emergency. I want nothing more than to stay here with you. I’m so sorry. My business is very demanding, Carina. I’m surprised we were able to have this much time before we were interrupted.”

So this is it. This is goodbye. I’ll get dropped off like a sack of potatoes at some hotel. He’ll hop a plane, and I’ll never see him again
.

I can’t speak. I just nod.

“I may have to be gone for a few days, but I was thinking you could spend some time with Bianca while I’m gone. You seem to enjoy each other’s company. Maybe you two could go shopping? Sightseeing?”

“You want me to stay?”

He looks hurt. “Of course I do. Did you think I wanted you to go?”

I nod.

“You should know by now, goodbye is not a word I want to say to you. Will you stay? Everything I have will be at your disposal.”

A kiss is my answer. Of course I’ll wait for him. I can’t imagine doing anything else.

My flight back to America is in a week. I hope his trip will be brief and he’ll return before then.

We rush back to the estate, and Stefan asks Bianca to look after me and to make sure my wishes are met.

Before I know it, we’re saying goodbye, and I feel a twinge of emptiness in my chest when he leaves, like I’ve lost something important.

Overwhelmed, I make my way to the kitchen to find Bianca and Fabrizio talking and enjoying the picnic food that had been meant for Stefan and me.

I feel out of place, but Fabrizio stands when he sees me. “Please, Miss Carina, sit down and enjoy with us.
Mangia
.”

Bianca smiles and nods.

They’re conspicuously quiet, and I feel as though I interrupted something. I pick up an olive and begin to nibble around the pit.

“So, Miss Carina, how would you like to go shopping tomorrow? A little Gucci? Prada? Dolce and Gabbana?” Bianca asks with a smile.

It sounds wonderful, but I don’t have the funds to indulge in such extravagance. “I don’t think I can afford any of that.”

“Well, it’s a good thing Mr. Savano is buying.” She winks and passes his credit card to me.

“Oh, no. I can’t.” I shake my head in protest.

Bianca grabs my hand and forces the card into my palm. “Miss Carina, Mr. Savano would not be happy if you refused him.” Her smile is gone.

Not wanting to display poor manners or show any kind of disrespect, I close my hand around the card and heed Bianca’s words. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone, especially not the man who has shown me such hospitality and kindness.

I shower before bed and don’t bother to dry my hair. I miss Stefan already. I was so close to being with him today and having my plans thwarted has me feeling very blue, and unsatisfied. I toss and turn in the cool sheets. Unlike most nights here, I’m unable to sleep. I borrowed a novel from Stefan’s library earlier, so I begin to read. I get lost in the story and an hour passes.

I stare up at the ceiling. Moonlight pours in from the open window. The night breeze blows the sheer curtain to and fro. Then, I hear something.

“Not on the balcony. She will hear us.” Bianca’s voice comes in through my window.

“She won’t hear. She sleeps like the dead.” It’s a man’s voice.

It’s not Fabrizio. It’s Rocco.

His
voice must be the voice I’ve been hearing each night in my sleep.

“Please, baby. Please not out here,” she begs him.

I find myself straining to hear and move closer to the window. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but I can’t resist. I feel a bit confused. I was sure Bianca was involved with Fabrizio, but they must just be friends. She wears a ring, so Rocco must be her husband.

“If you don’t want her to hear then you better be quiet,” he says.

I hear kissing and find myself moving even closer then I hear metal clinking.

“Do you have to use those?”

“We both know you like it. Don’t act like you don’t,” Rocco says. “First, take my clothes off.”

I cover my mouth, trying not to breathe and give myself away. The sound of other people having sex is something I’ve heard more times than I’d like to admit through my paper-thin dorm room walls.

“Now, take off yours.”

I hear a zipper.

“Bend over.”

I can’t believe it. Bianca and Rocco have an interesting relationship to say the least. I hear her moan, and then skin meeting skin.

I peek out the window and in the light of the full moon, I see Bianca handcuffed to the next balcony and bent over the railing, her body stuttering as Rocco fucks her. He’s rough, holding onto her hips and pulling her ass into him. She struggles to hold the rail with her restrained hands.

“You little slut. You love it when I fuck you this way. You like being tied up while I fuck your ass, don’t you?”

“Yes. I like it when you fuck me. I love your cock, baby.” She sounds robotic, her voice devoid of any emotion.

This isn’t sexy. It’s . . . sad.

“Tell me what a dirty—little—whore—you—are,” Rocco says, punctuating every thrust through gritted teeth.

“I’m a dirty whore. Only for you. I’m your little, fucking whore.” Bianca lifts her face.

From where I stand, I can see her expression is blank, but she moans with pleasure. I can’t tell if it’s real or fake.

“That’s right, baby. Fuck me just like that.”

I’m disgusted with myself for spying on the intimate life of two people. It’s not my place to witness this or to judge them, and what they do in private is none of my business.

I shut the window and try to forget what I’ve seen. I rummage through the bathroom and find cotton balls and stuff several into my ears then grab a book and read until I fall asleep.

It’s fitful and restless, and I don’t have dreams . . . I have nightmares.

I wake first thing in the morning and drag my clothes out of the closet and drawers, determined to get out of here.

I’m going to forget my silly, romantic dreams of Stefan. I’m getting on a plane, and I’m flying home to Michigan—to my nice little house with my nice little parents in my nice little town
.
What happened on the balcony last night made me so uncomfortable that there’s no way I can stay here.

I don’t even shower. I just fling my things into my suitcase under the rays of the morning sun. I have no idea how I’m going to get to the airport, but I’m not about to ask Rocco for a ride.

I look at the clock. It’s still early.

Maybe I can call a cab
.

I zip up my bag and sit down beside it as flashes of Stefan move through my mind—the first time I saw him, smiling in his slim suit on the plane, barefoot and handing me roses over breakfast, kissing me passionately in the vineyard, in the cellar, on the hillside. My whole body responds to the memories of him.

How can I abandon what we started? The intense pull and need . . . will I be able to forget?

I know the answer is no.

If it was just the two of us, I would stay, but something is off with Stefan’s employees.

It’s better this way
.

I decide to call him from the airport and say I’m just too homesick, that I need to be with my mother. She’s in poor health, and I
should
go back home. My absence can’t be easy on my dad. He needs me, too. Staying here is selfish.

Maybe I can mail Stefan a letter when I get home
.

I pick up my suitcase and close the bedroom door behind me. I don’t look back as I creep down the stairs toward the phone in Stefan’s office to arrange some transportation. I hope everyone is still asleep, but when I reach the bottom of the stairs, I freeze at the sound of Rocco’s voice coming out of Stefan’s office.

“Yes, sir, absolutely. What order has Alfonso given? We have to eliminate him then. Yes. I’ll meet you there this evening, Mr. Savano. Your nephew called earlier. He accepted your invitation and will arrive in the next few weeks. Yes, she is fine, sir. Bianca is taking her out shopping today. Yes, sir. My wife follows orders as well as I do.” He laughs.

Last night’s eavesdropping pops up in my head and I cringe.

She does follow his orders
.

“Please don’t concern yourself, sir. It will all be handled. Yes, Mr. Savano. I’m looking forward to it.”

Rocco hangs up the phone and a chill rushes through me. I don’t want to be caught here listening to his conversation. I rush toward the front door.

“Going somewhere?”

Fabrizio is wiping his hands on a dishrag with a sad look on his face as he leans in the doorway, and I wonder if he was listening to Rocco, too.

“Um, uh—”

“I can arrange transportation if you are leaving, but I have to tell you, Miss Carina, if you left, you would be missed.” He approaches me with hesitance, like a dogcatcher trying to capture a skittish stray, and puts his hand on my shoulder in an effort to soothe my obvious tension. “Sometimes, the thing that is pleasing at first can become a necessity, and that necessity can change into something you can’t imagine being separate from. The only way to tell is to go away. If you feel your heart is breaking, then you will know where you stand.”

In his own cryptic way, he’s giving me permission and telling me to follow my heart, but as soon as he says it out loud, I realize my heart is
here
. The idea of leaving Stefan makes me feel empty.

My eyes begin to water.

Whatever is happening inside me, I want to be here when Stefan returns. I can’t imagine being separate from him. It’s crazy, but I think I may be in love with him.

“No. I’m not leaving.”

He takes the heavy suitcase from my hand. “Good. Go into the kitchen. I’ll make you something to eat.”

It has been nice being waited on, but I miss cooking. “Or I could make something for you?” I give him a friendly smile.

He nods. “How about we cook together? Go inside. I’ll be right back.” He heads upstairs with my suitcase, presumably returning it to my bedroom.

In the kitchen, I begin to gather the ingredients for my all-time favorite breakfast—something to cheer me up and take my mind off of last night—decadent stuffed french toast. I rummage through the fridge. A little mascarpone filling will give it an Italian twist. Some walnut-amaretto glaze will do as well. My mind wanders through a recipe, but I startle and turn as I hear someone approach.

“
Buongiorno
.” Bianca’s dressed in her uniform and looks exhausted.

I squash my embarrassment.