The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (60 page)

“Whatcha find?” said Sebastian, as he wandered in from his shower, still only wearing his jeans.

He knew damn well what that was doing to me!

“We seem to be in between surf spots here, but about 30 miles away, there’s a place that looks like it might be okay. There’s a big campsite there and it says they rent out boards, so it seems like a good bet. Want to try it?”

“I’ll try anything with you, baby.”

“Sebastian, focus.”

I pointed at the map.

“Sure, baby,” he said, smiling. “I just need to fill up the gas tank, but otherwise we’re good to go.”

He wrapped his hands over my shoulders and kissed my hair.

“Come on then, Hunter,” I said, throwing him one of his ubiquitous white t-shirts. Let’s go see what Signora Battelli has got us for breakfast.”

Breakfast: the word was deeply inadequate for what Signora Battelli had laid out. It was more like a banquet of breakfast foods: fresh oranges and wild berries; panini; sweet rolls; fette biscottate; muesli; three different homemade yogurts; caciotta and pecorino baccellone cheese; and a chef’s delight of salumeria—cold meat—including the local specialty of wild boar.

Sebastian’s eyes glowed, and he completed at least three circuits of the buffet table before he was satisfied, or possibly too embarrassed to go around a fourth time. Maybe not: I didn’t think Sebastian did ‘embarrassed’.

At the next table sat a couple of American students who were wide-eyed at the spread in front of them. One of the girls was asking Signora Battelli’s opinion on different types of fresh pasta.

“But how much should I give guests at a meal?” she said. “How will I know how much to buy back home?”

“Young woman,” said Signora Battelli, swelling with knowledge. “You buy a half pound of fresh pasta per person … except for my son: he eats one pound of pasta!”

I was rather hoping the son would appear so I could see if he lived up to expectations, but we were to be denied that pleasure. Signora Battelli explained that her son had taken a job in Rome.

It was the same story everywhere: young people leaving their small towns and villages to seek their fortunes in the big city. But wasn’t that always the case?

As soon as they realized that we were Americans, too, the girls were determined not to leave us alone. Well, I’m sure I could have disappeared in a puff of purple smoke and they wouldn’t have noticed—their eyes were welded to Sebastian instead. I couldn’t blame them, and I was sort of curious to see how he behaved with them.

One of them reminded me of his ex-girlfriend, Brenda. Maybe it was her propensity to toss long, shiny hair over her shoulder, and gaze at him from beneath her long lashes.

Jeez, she was flirting with him right in front of me like I didn’t even exist!

Sebastian answered their questions pleasantly. It was obvious they were angling for a ride with us, and it was almost comical how far their faces fell when he told them we were traveling by motorcycle.

“I’ve never ridden a motor-sickle,” said the one called Lydia.

And today won’t be the day either, lady
.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it when you get the chance,” said Sebastian, evenly. He stood up to go, and held out his hand to me. “Come on, baby,” he said.

I placed my hand in his and he pulled it to his lips, kissing the inside of my wrist. A warm feeling traveled up from my feet, and settled somewhere in the area of my groin.

He was delicious and dangerous and my resolve to wait another 24 hours crumbled away.

The girls looked like they were in agony, and I couldn’t resist smiling at them as Sebastian and I walked away hand in hand.

“What?” said Sebastian, catching my eye.

“Sometimes you can be very sweet.”

I heard his breath catch in his throat; he looked so raw and vulnerable as he stared down at me.

“Tesoro, what did I say?”

He looked into my eyes, then let his forehead rest on mine.

“I love you, Caro,” he said.

CHAPTER 8

Standing outside Signora Battelli’s breakfast room, my world changed.

“I love you, Caro, so much.”

I couldn’t believe he was saying these words to me.

“I haven’t changed how I feel. I still love you—I’ve always loved you. It’s only ever been you.”

I thought my heart would stop beating.

Ten years ago he’d said these words to me, told me that he loved me. I’d believed they were the words of a lonely, infatuated boy: real, but not lasting. Now the same man was standing before me, saying that he’d loved me all this time—and that it was real. He didn’t care that I was older than him; he didn’t care that I was ridden with insecurities; and he’d forgiven me for doubting him.

Was I brave enough to accept his love? Could I accept that he wasn’t perfect, that he had his own problems to deal with, that he drank too much, and his hot head led him into trouble more often than not? Could I accept that he did a dangerous job in a dangerous world, and that we would be apart for months on end?

He’d asked me once if I was brave enough to take a chance on love. I finally knew the answer.

“I love you, too, Sebastian. More than you’ll ever know.”

He gasped, staring at me with wonder. And then he kissed me.

Not the boiling, surging kisses that heated my blood and shredded my resolve; but a kiss so sweet and gentle, so honest and simple, that my heart cracked open, and filled with love.

He pulled me to his chest and we stood in silence, our arms wrapped around each other.

I was vaguely aware of the continuing quiet tide of humanity flowing around us, but for that moment, we were the only people in the whole world.

“You mean everything to me, Caro.” Sebastian spoke softly into my hair.

“You’re so brave, tesoro,” I said, quietly. “You’ve never been afraid to love.”

I felt his smile. “That’s because I learned from you, Caro.”

I shook my head.

“It’s true,” he said, gently.

I sighed and pulled my arms a little tighter around him.

He laughed softly and stroked my cheek.

We continued to stand there, basking in a love that came from within, warming us and filling us.

Eventually, Sebastian rubbed my arm and stood up straight.

“I guess we’d better get going before Signora Battelli decides to start vacuuming around us.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling up at him.

At that moment, I’d have followed him to the four corners of the Earth and the very gates of Hell.

We walked back to our room in blissful silence, and every now and then I felt Sebastian’s fingers squeeze mine.

“I can’t stop smiling,” I said, stupidly. “I think I’ve pulled a muscle in my mouth.”

“I know what you mean,” said Sebastian, grinning back. “Although I’ve got some ideas about how you could do that for real later.”

I slapped his arm.

“You don’t change, do you, Hunter!”

He threw himself back on his bed and grinned up at me.

“Do you want me to change?”

“Oh, you could do with a bit of polish here and there, but otherwise, no, you’ll do.”

“I’d like you to polish me right now,” he said, smiling wickedly.

“Well, I’d love to oblige, but Signora Battelli is going to be knocking on our door in about two minutes.”

He pouted. “We could make it quick.”

“Oh no, I want to take my time.”

“How much time?” he said, his gaze heated.

“Hours, possibly days … whole months even,” I said, staring back at him.

He groaned and closed his eyes. “Months?”

“Years,” I said, softly. “A lifetime.”

He sat up, his gaze serious. “Do you mean it, Caro, a lifetime?”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Then his head sank to his chest. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up at me. His smile was glorious.

“Okay,” he said, his face glowing with happiness.

Yes, I did mean it. There was no doubt. And I could tell from Sebastian’s reaction that he was overwhelmed with happiness. I felt the same way. Overwhelmed, over-brimming, over-full, flooded with joy.

We packed up our small bag, moving easily around the room, touching each other as we passed, as if there was a physical necessity to express our happiness somehow.

Sebastian paid off a relieved Mrs. Battelli. We’d taken so long, she was obviously wondering if we were planning on moving in permanently.

Sebastian thanked her beautifully for her delicious breakfast, telling her that he’d never enjoyed a pensione more. Then he kissed her hand, and the stout widow blushed.

“You are so smooth, Hunter!” I scolded him as we headed out to get the bike.

“I was just telling her the truth,” he said. “I think we should come back here, and book the same room every year—then spend the night fucking.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“Yeah, I know, baby.”

Sebastian’s motorcycle had survived the night. I pulled on the now familiar black helmet and settled myself onto the seat, enjoying the comforting smell of old leather, with my thighs pressed into Sebastian. I’d almost go so far as to say I felt comfortable—although a car with a roof and doors also had a lot to be said for it. Hmm, hot, steamy car-sex with Sebastian. On the other hand, now beds had been invented…

We headed out of town and southeast along the coastal road, burning out of Pisa and racing into the sun.

I wrapped my arms around Sebastian’s waist and thought what a difference a day can make. Yesterday, I’d been unhappy and abandoned. Today … well, it was the start of the rest of my life.

The campsite I’d found was just an hour from Pisa, outside the village of Polveroni. The Mediterranean stretched before us and the sun heated the sea gently. Better still, from Sebastian’s perspective, long breakers rolled in, providing perfectly rideable waves of between three and four feet.

His eyes lit up at the surf barreling up the beach, and just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better, we saw a shop with boards to rent.

“Game on!” he said to himself.

We parked the mean machine and Sebastian practically sprinted inside, talking animatedly with the owner. He returned a few minutes later with a battered longboard, a huge beach towel, and a pair of garish board shorts.

“Hey, Chief! You’re in danger of doing color!” I teased him.

He smirked at me. “Yeah, well, it was all they had. Either that or I’d have to do it in the nude. What do you think, Caro, naked surfing?”

“It could catch on, or you could get arrested. But I’m telling you, Sebastian, if you do get arrested and I don’t get laid tonight, I’m going to be mighty pissed at you.”

He laughed delightedly.

“Now you’re talking. By the way, the guy in the shop said that he rents out rooms. He said it’s pretty basic—just a big, old bed and a small bathroom. But I thought it would be kind of cool to be able to hear the sea tonight. Is that okay?”

“Very okay.”

He grinned at me, but his smile slipped away as he gazed in horror at the sensible, navy-blue one-piece that I was holding in my hands. It was the swimsuit that I usually wore to the public pool.

“Wait,” said Sebastian, “
that’s
what you’re going to wear?”

“Yes, why?”

I stared at him, utterly baffled.

“Stay here.”

He strode off back toward the beach shop. He returned a few minutes later with a tiny bit of string and a few triangles of material and handed it to me.

“Here. Wear this.”

I held out the skimpy bikini. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was barely big enough to cover my nipples, let alone anything else.

“I can’t wear that, Sebastian, there’s nothing to it! I’m forty, not twenty!”

“You’ll look amazing, Caro. I want every guy on the beach to know how hot my woman is.”

“I may as well go topless!”

His eyes heated, and a licentious expression appeared on his face. “Yeah, baby.”

I shook my head at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy in love,” he said, scooping me into a kiss that made my bones rattle.

“Fine, I’ll wear it,” I said, breathlessly.

He gave me a dark look that said I damn well would.

Jeez, he could be so bossy. Why was that hot?

Sebastian held up the beach towel to cover my modesty while I changed into the tiny bikini. Although ‘modesty’ and ‘tiny bikini’ in the same sentence didn’t really seem to be a good fit. A bit like the bikini. Whichever way I tugged it, more flesh than seemed acceptable was exposed.

“I can’t wait to take that off you,” he whispered in my ear.

“Sex or surfing, Sebastian?”

“Sex,” he said, at once.

I laughed, even as my body overheated.

“Well, you’ll have to take a rain check—we haven’t booked that room for the night yet. And I’ve warned you what will happen if you get arrested.”

He smirked at me.

“You owe me a lot of rain checks, Caro. I’m going to enjoy cashing them in.”

He didn’t bother using the towel when he changed into his board shorts—he just dropped his pants and briefs right out there in the open.

“Sebastian!” I muttered, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.

He’d already pulled on the garish board shorts by the time my eyes flickered back to him. He laughed at my surprised expression.

“Years of practice changing out of my wetsuit in windswept parking lots along Sunset Cliffs, Caro,” he said. “I’ll show you how quick I can get out of my clothes now if you like?”

“Go. Surf.”

“Here—look after these for me.”

He pulled off his dog tags and placed them around my neck, where the small metal tags nestled between my breasts. He stood back for a moment.

“Those look hot on you, Caro. Really fucking hot.”

He scooped me up in a ridiculous Hollywood kiss, dipping me so low, my hair was touching the sand, then he put me back on my feet. I was still off balance as he ran down to the water.

I loved to watch him surf: it brought back many good memories of our time in San Diego. There had been too few from that turbulent summer, but being on the beach with Sebastian, watching him in the waves, those had been happy times. He was so graceful out there, charging down the glassy, green surfaces; diving through the foam.

I’d taken my camera with me, so I zoomed in and snapped some photographs of Sebastian surfing. I had a pretty decent lens, and I got some really good close-ups of him in action.

Hmm, photographs of Sebastian in action, now there was a thought to warm a cold winter night.

I lay back on our beach towel, relaxed and filled with a quiet happiness. Once again my life had swung across the pendulum from bitterness and despair to an overwhelming sense of love and being loved. And this time I would allow myself to believe in it.

The warmth of the sun was pleasant, adding to my sense of peaceful well-being. It wasn’t really hot, maybe a balmy 68
o
F or 69
o
F. Enough to be relaxing: not enough to worry about getting burned.

Suddenly I realized someone was standing over me.

“Buon giorno!”

An attractive man about my own age was smiling down at me.

“Ciao?” I replied.

I sat up, wondering what he wanted.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said, in Italian.

“Yes,” I agreed, rather puzzled.

“It looks like you’re enjoying the sun.”

Oh crap! He was hitting on me. Was he hitting on me?

“Um, yes. It’s very pleasant.”

“Are you here on vacation?”

“Yes, we are,” I replied with the faintest emphasis on the plural.

“Ah,” he said, looking around him for my absent companion.

“My boyfriend is surfing,” I explained, with a small smile.

“Then he will be having some good rides,” replied my new friend, who then winked at me and ambled away.

I could see Sebastian jogging up the beach to join me.

“What did he want?” he said, looking none too pleased.

“Don’t blame me, Chief,” I said, raising one eyebrow, “You’re the one who bought this itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini for me. Anyway, I told him my boyfriend was surfing, so you don’t need to worry.”

Sebastian scowled.

Oh boy, talk about double standards.

“Did you have fun?” I said, trying not to laugh at him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, looking in the direction where my ‘friend’ had vanished, “not bad. Got some good rides.”

“I know, I was watching.” I pointed to the camera, “I got some great shots, too.”

“Really?” he sounded delighted, and turned his full attention to me. “I’ve never seen any pictures of me surfing.”