There it was. All he needed to know.
His eyes flicked up to San Francesco and he said, ‘This stays between us.’
trentacinque
It had been Francesca’s idea to take an early stroll together the morning of the final tappa. She thought the fresh air, brisk walk and chance to talk would do them both good.
‘Let’s drain the last of the nerves and adrenaline from our legs,’ she said as they set off.
Somewhere between the fringe of the lower plains and heading back into town, Alessio said, ‘Nerves will always push me into food.’
‘You eat when you’re upset?’
‘Yeah. And all the wrong things.’
‘Does that explain your pasticciotto obsession? You’re just comfort-eating to lessen your worries?’
He dropped his sunnies to the bridge of his nose. ‘Not a chance. Those things have healing powers of their own.’
She tittered. ‘I am the opposite. If I’m upset or worried I knot like a ball of kitchen twine. Nothing’s going in. Stomaco chiuso.’
Alessio cast a quick glance over both shoulders then grabbed her by the waist, catching her off guard. ‘Come . . .’
‘Ale, what are you doing? No one is allowed to see us—’
‘They won’t. Follow me.’
Francesca succumbed and allowed herself to be led across the field of wispy golden grass into a small wooden grain store. It was no larger than the carport keeping a watchful eye over Sophia, and made of wooden slats with a corrugated-iron roof. It looked as if one steady gust of wind might knock it flat, but that didn’t matter. It provided just enough cover for the two of them to steal a moment together.
‘Ale . . . Sei pazzo!’ She melted into his arms and he pulled her close.
‘Non sono pazzo.’
‘Oh, now look who has found his Italian tongue!’ She dropped a slow sensual kiss to his lips.
‘You can do that again,’ he egged, and she felt him press harder against her middle.
‘Oooft,’ she panted. ‘I love when you feel like that.’
‘Like what?’
Her right hand slipped between them and toyed with his excited length through his shorts. ‘Like this.’
A low growl simmered behind his teeth. ‘That’s what you do to me. You only have yourself to blame.’
His lips grazed hers, drawing a vacuum of pressure between her legs which she ached to have released with his touch. Francesca could feel a wave of heat rise to her skin. She needed this, especially today; she wanted to cling to him the way she always did when they made love. The way that made her feel secure, safe; that melted her worries and fears, that saw her, that acknowledged her.
She turned in his arms and took stock of the grain store, noting a few bales of hay covered with tarpaulins. She gestured with a flick of her head and pulled him towards them by the hem of his tee. ‘Ti voglio. Adesso.’ Backing up against the hay she slipped her fingers under her dress and shimmied her black underwear down her thighs.
She saw Alessio’s throat bounce as he swallowed. ‘You want me . . .?’
‘Now.’
He shook his head, almost not believing his eyes as she stepped out of her underwear. ‘Fuck, Francesca . . .’
‘All. Yours.’ She sat back on one of the bales, propped on her elbows, bringing her hips in line with his waist. ‘If you want me . . .’
His expression became hungry and he moved over to her. ‘You’re the only one I want.’ Taking her flushed face in his hands, he leaned over and their mouths fused as one.
