The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (69 page)

Yeah you, lady!

Sebastian glowed with happiness, although the glint in his eyes was still wicked. I’m sure, that evening, that I reflected his joy, felt it wash over me; I basked in it and bathed in it. At that moment, at that time, there was nowhere in the world I’d rather have been.

The dining room was exquisite, a small piece of perfection, with the Mediterranean at its feet. The chairs were swathed in linen that matched the tablecloths, and the starched napkins had been folded into shapes like a bishop’s miter.

Sebastian led me to a table in a small alcove, where the arched windows looked down onto the sunset over the sea. A waiter rushed forward to pull out my chair, but Sebastian waved him away, carefully seating me himself, before brushing his lips over my bare shoulder in a soft, lingering kiss.

“I can’t wait to get you out of that dress,” he whispered in my ear, as he ran a long, cool finger from my earlobe down to the base of my neck.

Then he sat across the table from me and smiled smugly.

“Every man in this room wants you, Caro. I’m so fucking proud, I can’t stop smiling.”

“Hmm, well I think you may be a little biased; I thought I was going to need a crowbar to pry that woman off you. Is it just me, or had she overdone the fake tan, because I haven’t seen that shade of orange outside of a drag review.”

He raised his eyebrows. “My girl’s got grit: I like it.”

“I felt like swinging her around by her hair extensions. Maybe some of your Marine training is rubbing off on me.”

“That comes after the main course,” he said, confidently.

“Thank you for today, Sebastian,” I said, serious for once. “It’s been perfect. Thank you.”

He smiled at me across the table.

“It’s been a long time coming, Caro, but it was worth the wait.”

I could see in his eyes that he meant what he said.

“Where did you get this beautiful ring?” I murmured, admiring the way it glinted on my finger. “Because I didn’t see any shops in Salerno that…”

“I didn’t get it in Salerno,” he said, interrupting me.

My mouth popped open in surprise. “Then where?”

“Geneva,” he said, grinning at me, completely unabashed. “You know I was supposed to be at that fucking dull hostile environment briefing—which they’d given me as part of my ‘rehabilitation’ after Paris…” he raised an eyebrow, “but after I’d seen you … I couldn’t face going back. I was just wandering around trying to get my head together, and I saw it in a jeweler’s shop.”

I was dumbfounded.

“But … you still hated me then!”

He shook his head vehemently. “I never hated you, Caro, although I tried; I really fucking tried. But I just couldn’t do it.”

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his hair.

“That ring has been burning a hole in my pocket ever since. I was just waiting for the right time to give it to you.”

I blinked back tears: tonight was not a night for crying, although I was certain that would happen in the lonely days to come.

“You’ve always been so sure,” I whispered, “I don’t understand why.”

“I told you, Caro,” he said, softly. “It’s only ever been you.”

I stretched out my hand, admiring the ring as it sparkled under the light of the chandelier. “Thank you for giving it to me.”

He caught my fingers and kissed the ring. “Thank you for wearing it.”

The wine waiter arrived with a bottle of expensive-looking
Prosecco and opened it with an understated flourish.

Sebastian held his glass and watched the bubbles effervesce. Then he looked up, staring into my eyes.

“Thank God for you, Caro,” he said, his voice low and aching with sincerity.

“And you, Sebastian, semper fidelis.”

As the hours passed, the tension that had been so briefly and beautifully absent from our relationship began to creep back. Once again our summer was slipping away, and we could count it in minutes and seconds.

Tomorrow, the dream would be over—but, for now, tonight was still ours. I had to remember that.

We dined on antipasti di frutti di mare, a primo of ravioli with pumpkin and almonds with sage; and as secondo, a melt-in-your-mouth ragú di pecora, as the sun set, sinking into the sea beneath us. It was a perfect and poignant end to a magical few days.

We walked back up the grand staircase, hand in hand, and my gentleman escorted me to our room. I was waiting for him to revert to my sensuous and very physical lover, but there was one more surprise to come.

He led me out onto the balcony, where two glasses of Galliano liqueur blazed in the light of a single candle. And next to that, in a crystal vase, was a perfect pink rose.

In silence, he handed me the drink and took the second for himself. His gaze was heated, and his eyes never left mine.

The golden liquid burned as it trickled down my throat, but the burn was not as fierce as the way my fiancé looked at me.

He finished his drink and placed the glass back on the table, and took mine. With a look that made my body tingle and dried my throat, he held out his hand and led me toward the bed.

In silence, he cupped my face with his hands and kissed me until I was breathless and dizzy.

Then he turned me around, and rested his hands on my waist, gently unzipping my dress, stroking my bare flesh as the material shivered to the floor. I stepped away from it, and regarded him intently as his gaze flowed up and down my body.

My turn.

I moved toward him, and slid his jacket over his shoulders, tossing it onto the chair. I pulled loose one end of his bowtie and undid the top button, while he gazed down into my eyes.

He kissed my neck, his warm lips sending ripples of desire through me, then he dipped down, scooping me into his arms, and carried me to the bed.

I lay, looking up at him as he undid his cufflinks, then slowly he unfastened each button on his shirt, never taking his eyes from me.

He shrugged the shirt off and my gentleman became a soldier again, his dog tags glinting in the candlelight, his tattoo a dark shape on his golden skin.

He bent down to untie his shoes and peel off his socks, then he stood up, watching me silently, with wonder on his face.

I sat up and hooked my finger into the waistband of his pants, and pulled him toward me. I held his eyes as I slid the button free and lowered the zipper.

He pushed the material over his hips and threw the black pants onto the chair with his jacket.

As he stood in front of me, I could see the defined muscles of his stomach, diaphragm and chest moving with each breath.

I let my fingers drift over his bare skin and felt a shiver run through him; his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes fluttered closed.

I pushed his briefs down his long legs and he stepped free.

The way he looked at me took my breath away. Desire, need, love and lust: the emotions chased each other across his beautiful face, the candlelight throwing shadows that emphasized the perfect symmetry of his cheekbones.

I sat up, wrapping my arms around his waist, and placed soft kisses across his chest and stomach, before dipping down to plant a gentle kiss on the tip of his erection. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes.

I kissed him again, then reached over to find a condom, tore the packet open and slowly rolled it down the length of his erection. He sat down next to me on the bed and carefully pulled out my hairpins, one by one, until my hair fell down my back and shoulders. Then he tangled his long fingers in my hair, and tipped my head back to kiss my throat.

His hands traveled across my body, and I felt him unhook my bra, sliding the straps over my shoulders, before leaning down to kiss my breasts. I stroked his short, soft hair as he continued to run his tongue over and around my nipples, teasing them into rigid points.

I lay back on the bed, my arms stretched above my head, and he hovered over me, his erection probing softly at the entrance to my sex, before he kissed his way down my chest and belly, running his tongue along the edge of my silk panties and rubbing his chin over my mound.

He hooked his fingers under the delicate material and threw the panties somewhere behind him.

He kissed me softly and sweetly, then nuzzled his way back up my body.

I lifted my knees, ready for him, running my hands over his strong forearms and biceps, tracing his tattoo with one finger.

His dog tags jingled softly as they fell onto my chest, and Sebastian’s body loomed over me, his eyes locked on mine.

He pushed inside me slowly and I groaned loudly, feeling his body filling me. I lifted my hips, taking that extra length, and I heard his breath exhale sharply.

He gazed into my eyes, his hands stroking my face, as his hips moved and flexed rhythmically. My body trembled in response and he lowered his face to kiss me deeply, his tongue twining with mine.

He pulled back slightly, nuzzling my throat, and rolling his hips so every part of me felt him inside. I clenched around him and I heard a responding growl deep in his throat.

A quiet moan escaped me and his body recognized the sound, moving one degree faster. I lifted my hips again and I heard the breath hiss through his teeth. I cried out, on the edge of all sensation; then he buried his head in my neck and started thrusting rapidly until he reached his climax, and his body went rigid.

For a moment, his full, crushing weight pinned me to the bed, then, with a soft sigh, he pulled out of me and rolled onto his back, one hand resting across my stomach.

No words had been spoken; there was nothing that needed to be said.

For the rest of that night, we slept, woke briefly, made love and slept again, until dawn turned the sky gold and purple, with flames of orange reflected in the sea. We had spoken quietly, describing our love, and expressing our need for each other with our bodies.

We slept late, and Sebastian insisted on ordering a decadent breakfast of a dozen fresh fruits, a range of olive breads and light pastries, freshly squeezed orange juice with Sorrento lemons, and a large pot of coffee.

We sat on the balcony in our bathrobes to enjoy the feast, but our carefree happiness had slipped away with the night. Today we had to return to Geneva. And this time tomorrow, Sebastian would be headed out to one of the most dangerous countries on earth. I would follow when I could.

I sighed, staring out at the sea, and Sebastian held my hand, lifting it to his lips at intervals.

“As much as I hate to say it, tesoro, but I think we should get going. We’ve got a hell of a long drive ahead of us, or rather you have, and you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

He smiled at the memory. “Yeah, but it was worth it. Anyway, don’t worry, Caro, we’re not taking the bike; we’re flying back from Naples. Our flight is at 4
pm
; we’ve plenty of time.”

“Flying? But what about your bike?”

“Sold it, baby. I can’t take it with me, and they won’t send me back to Geneva after this tour.”

I was astonished. “When did you organize all this?”

“When we were in Salerno; I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t: it’s your bike, but I wish you’d told me—it would have been one less thing to worry about.”

He smiled at me. “Sorry, baby. I guess I’m just used to doing stuff on my own.”

I frowned. “Yes. Me, too. I suppose we’ll just have to practice the whole sharing and communicating thing. I promise that
I’ll write to you every day, tesoro.”

“Really?” he said, looking both pleased and surprised. “That would be cool. I never get mail. Well, Shirley always sends me a birthday card, but that’s about it. Ches is shit at staying in touch. So am I.”

“Well, I will expect an effort from you, Sebastian. Will you be able to email me?”

He pulled a face. “Maybe, I’m not sure. For a few days, but then … I’ll be out of range. Caro, don’t worry if you don’t hear from me regularly.” He paused, watching my expression. “The places they send me, I can be away from the main Base for days, sometimes weeks, in shithole little villages, trying to persuade the locals to work with us. Nonmilitary comms is limited. Your letters will catch up with me—eventually, but emails—probably not that often.”

“I understand,” I said, a chill creeping across my heart. “But in an emergency, what’s the procedure for contacting you?”

I could see he was toying with an answer.

“I’ll give you a number you can call but only in a real, fucking emergency, Caro: I’m not supposed to give it out.”

“Okay,” I said softly, then steeled my nerve to ask my next question. “If … if anything happens that I need to know about, how will anyone know to contact me?”

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Same as you, Caro. We have to do a call-list—the Emergency Contact Form—of who to notify. I’ve been wondering how, I mean, I can’t put you down as ‘Lee Venzi’ or even ‘Caro Venzi’ because they’ll recognize the name, they’ll start in asking questions, and you could be in deep shit.”

“What about Carolina Hunter?” I suggested, looking across at him. “They’ll just assume I’m a cousin or something; in fact, why don’t you do that? Put me down as a relative.”