His mother shook her head. “She tried.”
“Yes, she did,” said his grandmother. “It’s been hard for him to trust a woman since then.”
That wordtrust. Why did it hurt so much? Why did it make her feel sick to her stomach?
Why are you asking why? You know why.
After that, the men came out, and talk about Carolyn stopped.
As the sun set over the Italian alps and the sky turned from dusky gray to violet, deep purple, and finally black, Nico talked and laughed. But most of the time she watched and listened. She could see how much they loved one another. Really loved one another. And she was content to just sit back and absorb the warm glow that was Rocco’s family, all the while thinking how very lucky this man was.
She was still thinking it when she turned off the bedside lamp and lay gazing up at the ceiling, wondering how she was ever going to sleep.
She wanted him. Wanted him now. Next to her. Inside her.
Does counting sheep really work? Do people really do that?
She sighed.
Is it possible? Am I happy? I feel happy.
Dinner, as much as she’d enjoyed it, had been difficult. She had kept waiting for the questions—the inevitable questions. Preparing herself for how she would answer them.And what about your family, Nico? Who took care of you after your grandfather died? Where are they now? What do they do?
But the questions never came. Not even after dinner when they sat outside, listening to the river, looking up at the stars, and sipping limoncello.
That in and of itself would have been surprising enough. But what was even more surprising was her. Talking. Not about her entire past. But some of it. The best of it.
I think I am happy.
Soon after, her eyes grew sluggish, and she drifted off—no sheep required.
Rocco shut the door quietly behind him. He pulled down the covers and smiled, seeing that T-shirt, and then slipped into bed beside her. He placed his hand on her thigh and slid his fingers up her silky skin.
Her eyes flew open. “What—”
He slapped his hand over her mouth and straddled her.
Placing his mouth next to her ear, he whispered, “You have to be quiet. Really quiet.”
He removed his hand.
“But—”
His hand flew over her mouth again.
He shook his head. “You’re a naughty girl, Nico. Do you never do as you’re told?”
Those black eyes flared back at him while his other hand crept up her thighs and slipped under her T-shirt.
“Remember,” he whispered, “quiet.”
His hand slid between her thighs, and one finger slipped easily between the wet lips of her vagina.
Damn, he thought, gazing down at her.
Tell me you were dreaming of me.
Slowly, he removed the hand that was over her mouth.
