“I wouldn’t want to give it up completely, Sebastian, that’s the truth. But I could agree to a maximum amount of time I spent away in a year, maybe.”

A better answer than the one I’d expected. “Okay, I guess.”

I stood up and stretched, gazing around the restaurant for the bathrooms. I wanted to take a leak, but I was on a mission, too.

“Where are you going?”

“Restroom. I’m hoping they have vending machines that sell rubbers.”

She smiled. “We still have one left.”

Just one. Fuck that!

“Yeah, but that’s not nearly enough for what I have in mind … unless you want to do what we talked about earlier?”

She shook her head determinedly.

“That’s another discussion for another time, Sebastian. When you’ve finished this next tour: we’ll talk about it then, I promise.”

I guess that was the best offer I was going to get—for now.

The waiter pointed me in the direction of the bathrooms, but it was a BS mission.

“Fucking useless!” I fumed as I walked back to our table. “They didn’t have any in the restrooms and I checked with the waiter—all the nearby supermarkets and pharmacies are closed on Sunday evenings.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, although not sounding concerned. “Well, never mind. We’ll just have to get creative.”

“Yeah, okay,” I sighed. Why did women always want ‘creative’? I didn’t have a problem with it, but what was wrong with good, hard fucking and watching a woman come apart under me … watching Caro come apart under me?

She raised an eyebrow. “I hope you’re not getting bored with me already!”

I had to laugh at that. “You’re like a freakin’ drug to me, Caro. I can’t get enough of you. And I really like wake-up sex.”

She smiled, her quiet laugh heating my blood unintentionally. “We’ll figure something out. Don’t sweat it, Hunter.”

Nope. Wasn’t working. Still want to fuck hard.

But then again, we still had that one condom left—and I was intending to make the most of it as soon as possible.

The second Caro put her fork down and pushed her plate away, I was on my feet and hunting down the waiter to pay for our food. Then we were out in the parking lot and on the bike.

I accelerated hard, racing back to our cabin. I could feel Caro gripping me tightly, which turned me on even more.

I was so intent on getting back and getting naked, that my reactions were fucked. I groaned when I saw two Italian Polizia waving me down. Fuck, I thought I could get away with it on this road. Guess they were bored and trying to fill their quotas.

I pulled over to the side of the road and dismounted, pulling off my helmet and walking toward them.

“Sei Francese?” asked the first policeman, looking at the bike’s license plates.

“Americano.”

The policemen looked surprised.

“È questa la tua moto?”

“Si.”

“You have papers for this motorcycle?”

“Yes, in my wallet.”

I started to reach into my jacket when the younger officer immediately went for his gun.

“What the fuck?”

I raised my hands quickly, and the dumb fucker pushed me down to my knees, reaching for his handcuffs.

Caroline ran towards us with her hands out.

“No, per favore! He was just trying to show you his papers.”

“Signora, he was driving at 120km an hour; the speed limit here is 90km an hour,” said the older guy.

“Please, let him show you,” she said, her voice polite but firm. “I’ll get his wallet!”

She moved slowly so they could see exactly what she was doing. That was my girl—always cool in an emergency. She reached into my inside pocket and carefully lifted out my wallet.

“What am I looking for?” she whispered, urgently.

“The Certificat d’immatriculation—the papers in gray. Caro, I…”

“Just don’t speak, Sebastian,” she hissed. “Let me handle this.”

Probably a good idea.

She handed over the document that proved I was the bike’s owner, watching as the two officers looked at the papers even though it was obvious neither of them could read French.

“Are you authorized to ride this motorcycle, signora?” asked the older guy.

“No, but…”

“Then we’ll arrange to have it removed,” he said.

Shit! My CO was not going to be happy about having to bail me out of jail a couple of weeks before we deployed. But I hadn’t figured on Caro, either.

“Please don’t arrest him!” she begged. “He’s only on leave for two more weeks, then he’s going back to Afghanistan.”

The two men looked at each other and I kept my mouth clamped shut. There was a chance that the military/police solidarity that existed back home also held true in Europe. It hadn’t so far, in my experience, but Caro was my lucky mascot. When she showed them my military ID, the older officer looked more sympathetic.

“My son-in-law is serving out there,” he said, shaking his head. “Very well, we will let you go, but this one time only. Obey the speed limits.”

He signaled for me to stand up, and the younger officer put his gun away. Thank fuck for that!

“Thank you so much,” Caro said quickly, throwing me an angry look that I didn’t understand.

“Make him obey the speed limits, signora,” said the older officer, wagging his finger at her.

“I will. Thank you!” she gasped out.

“I will pray for you both,” he said.

We watched as they wandered back to their car, relaxed and at ease.

“You were great, Caro,” I grinned at her.

She slapped my arm hard. “No more speeding!”

“I don’t know … I’ve got my own Caro-shaped ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

“Yes, well, do that again, and you might be finding out what Italian jails are like,” she snapped.

“You wouldn’t let that happen to me, baby.”

“Don’t bet on it, Marine! I’ve got enough gray hairs without you giving me anymore.”

I pulled her in for a hug.

“Nope, can’t see any,” I said, kissing her hair.

She pushed me away—I guess I wasn’t entirely forgiven yet.

“Another two weeks with you and I’ll have to color my grays,” she snorted.

I laughed, which was probably another mistake.

“It’s not funny!”

“God, you’re beautiful, Caro!”

She climbed onto the bike, and I drove back to the campsite like a Sunday-afternoon granny-driver—nothing she could complain about there.

While I locked up our helmets, Caro stomped off to the cabin. I was confident that she’d chill out, or hopefully want to work off the calories we’d just eaten. But when I walked into the room, she looked like she was ransacking the place, every drawer hanging open. Yeah, that didn’t look too good.

If I knew my girl—which I did—she was building up a good head of steam. I suspected that when I was in firing range she’d launch her attack. I stood back and watched her for a moment.

“I can’t open the fucking wine!” she snarled, her eyes shooting darts at me.

Wow, she really was pissed.

“What’s the matter, Caro?” I asked warily.

“I just told you!” she yelled. “I can’t open the wine!”

I used my Swiss Army knife to pry out the cork, frowning at the furious energy that was radiating from Caro.

“I think some of the cork fell in,” I said mildly, placing the wine on the table.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

“Caro…”

“What, Sebastian?” she grit out. “You could have got arrested back there? That was so stupid and reckless!”

Is that this was all about? “Nothing happened…” I started to point out.

“It could have!” she yelled. “And if you take chances like that out in…”

Finally, I understood what was upsetting her. That little speeding stunt had made her think that I was reckless. It was only partly true.

“Hey, come here,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”

I pulled her into a hug, but her body was still unresponsive and stiff as a plank of wood.

“Caro, tonight was just dumb, I admit that, okay. I’m just enjoying being … free, here and now, with you. Don’t cry.”