“Mama! You can’t ask people questions like that! I apologize—my mother is very old-fashioned. Are you French?”

“No, American.”

“But you speak Italiano! Americans never speak our language.”

I decided he might respond better to a man, so I rolled out the Italian I knew, although it wasn’t as fluent as Caro’s.

“We mean no disrespect to your mother—this beautiful woman is my fiancée,” I lied, “but if your mother would feel more comfortable, I will happily sleep in a separate room.”

I already knew that they only had one guest room—as did Caro. I kept my expression neutral, waiting for his answer.

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” said the owner, as his mother rolled her eyes to heaven and crossed herself twice. “Besides, we have only one room. Please, come in.”

The room was sparse, filled by a large old-fashioned bed, but the views out toward the ocean sold me on the room. Caro was smiling, which I guess meant she approved, too.

“The bathroom is across the hall, signore; it is to share.”

The owner shrugged in apology, but it didn’t bother me and Caro didn’t look fazed either.

“Breakfast is at 8am, signore, signorina. There is a ristorante just two kilometers up the road. It is very good—run by my brother.”

“That sounds great.”

We hadn’t stopped after our quick breakfast, and my stomach was growling.

“Ah, signore, one more thing: if you would refrain from riding your motorcycle after dark. My mother doesn’t sleep well, you understand, and she has the room next to yours.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Caro muttered, once he left. “I’m not getting on that thing again tonight if you pay me.”

“Feeling a little tender, Ms. Venzi,” I asked, pulling her toward me and rubbing my hands over her ass.

“Not really. It’s more the feeling that I’m still in motion.”

“I know something that will cure that,” I offered suggestively.

“Would that have anything to do with taking off our clothes and making mad, passionate love on that bed?” she asked, frowning at me.

Busted.

“It might have,” I admitted, eyeing her warily.

“Oh, alright then. I’ll try anything once.”

“Is that a yes?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t misheard.

“Yes, that’s a yes,” she stated, her eyes glittering. “But you’ll have to hurry—the ristorante probably closes before midnight.”

I glanced at my wristwatch, completely confused. “It’s only five o’clock?”

“Like I said—you’ll have to hurry.”

Okay, now I was on the same page. Damn! I liked the way she thought.

“Well, in that case, woman, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

“By the way,” she said, taking a step away from me, “your fiancée?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Hmm, well, I like my idea better—the one where we commit as many sins as possible in the shortest amount of time.”

And, to make her point, she unzipped my jacket and ran her hands down my chest, before tracing a finger around the waistband of my jeans.

I was there. I was so there, and then some bastard knocked at the door. I yanked it open, ready to take the fucker’s head off, a murderous look on my face. It had the villa’s owner taking a couple of steps back.

“Ah, mi scusi, signore, signorina,” he stuttered, throwing nervous glances in my direction. “I have just telephoned my brother: he is closing at 7:30pm tonight. If you wish to eat there, it would be best if you leave now.”

“Thanks,” I said, in a tone that telegraphed my extreme fucking displeasure.

Caro was trying to hide her wide smile—it wasn’t working. “Rain check?”

“Looks like,” I grumbled, adjusting the un-fucking-comfortable boner in my jeans.

“Never mind,” she smiled. “Come on, let’s get you fed and then I can have my wicked way with you.”

That got my attention, but did nothing to ease the tension in my pants.

“How wicked?”

“Not that wicked, so stop drooling. Just moderately naughty—it’s been a long day.”

I was pretty sure I could change her mind.

We climbed the steep road to the ristorante, and I kept her hand in mine the entire way. I wasn’t usually the kind of pussy-whipped guy who held hands, and believe me it’s not something you do a lot of in the Marines, unless you’re talking hand-to-hand combat. I wouldn’t mind doing some of that with Caro—I was looking forward to seeing her capitulate, naked, coming apart under me.

I was so preoccupied with my plans for later on in the evening that we arrived at the ristorante before I realized it. So much for my skills of observation—if I didn’t get it together before the flight to Afghanistan, I’d be a fucking health hazard.

I was surprised to see that this out-of-the-way place was almost full and a load of kids were running around. Happy families—not something I knew much about.

The noise tailed off when they saw us. I heard the word ‘Americani’ whispered several times before the owner came over.

I guess his brother hadn’t given him the heads-up, because he seemed stunned when we spoke Italian and that we were happy to eat whatever was available. I don’t know where he got his opinions of Americans, but after years of eating MREs, he could have served me road kill, and if it had good gravy, I’d eat it.

There was no chance of having a table to ourselves, so I resigned myself to having to share Caro for a few hours. The unfamiliar feeling of jealousy seemed to be hovering near the surface ever since she’d been parachuted back into my life. It was a fucking uncomfortable feeling and it was making me act like a possessive asshole—something that definitely wasn’t going to impress her. I needed to regroup, so maybe it was just as well that we were seated at the corner end of one of the long tables, wedged in next to a family of seven.

They were wary of us at first, but when I shrugged out of my leather jacket, a little girl of about five or six noticed my tattoo and asked her mom about the ‘picture’.

Her mother tried to hush her up, but I smiled and used my limited Italian to explain that the tattoo was because Marines were warriors of the sea and the ‘picture’ reminded me of my work.

“Is that because you forgot?” she asked, running her hands over the globe and anchor.

The whole room burst into laughter as I smiled wryly.

After that I guess I was her new best friend, because she kept up a stream of questions that meant I hardly got a chance to eat my meal, although I managed to chug down some of the local wine. Then she reached up to run her hands over my regulation buzz cut, but it was the look of longing and sadness in Caro’s eyes that caught my attention.

Ten years ago she’d wanted children, but somehow it had never happened for her. I had no idea why, because she was fucking beautiful. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get me thinking.

The meal finished with small bowls of honey ice cream, although Caro was such a lightweight, I finished most of hers, too.

“Having fun, baby?”

She smiled back at me.

“Do you realize this is our first dinner-date?”

No way. “What about back in San Diego—that Sicilian place?”

“That doesn’t count,” she laughed. “You wouldn’t let me finish because you wanted to drag me back to the hotel.”

“Oh yeah, I definitely remember that!” I grinned, eyeing her speculatively.

“Besides, your friend, Brenda, was spying on us. I’m half expecting to see her now, tossing her hair over her shoulder and thrusting her boobs in your face like she used to.”

I was amused by the jealousy I heard in her voice. If this was a two-way thing, I guess I didn’t have to feel so bad.

“She thrust her boobs in my face?”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t notice,” she accused. “Anyway, if any boobs are to be thrust in your face, they’ll be mine. Right, Hunter?”