Page 120 of Italy Can Bite Me

“Yes, bella. How can I help?”

“Could you take our picture?” She holds out her phone, batting those long lashes. “We’re havingsuchtrouble getting the right angle of the fountain.”

Clueless Jared is already searching the area for the most picturesque spot, grinning like the picture will prove he’s got it all. Meanwhile, I’m trying to calculate how many coins it would take to throw in the fountain to wish him away forever.

I take the phone, my jaw tight, and step closer to her. “I know what you’re doing.”

Katie tilts her head, all wide-eyed innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re messing with me. You want me to be jealous.”

“Why would you be jealous,” she whispers devilishly, “of my fiancé‘s hands all over me?”

And then she’s gone, sauntering over to Jared. My molars crush together as I watch her place his hands on her waist, tilting her head, attempting to re-create the same sexy pose we did in Florence.

Except Jared is about as seductive as a sack of potatoes.

He’s stiff as a board, hands hovering like he’s trying to pet a porcupine without getting pricked. Katie’s trying, bless her scheming heart, but the guy couldn’t smolder if you lit him on fire. I snap a few pictures, but… it’s not happening. You can’t make spaghetti sultry.

From what Katie shared about him, I figured I wassuperiorein the bedroom. But witnessing this wet noodle firsthand? I’m the pussymaestro.

When she returns for her phone, I am prepared.

“Guess what I was just daydreaming about?” She steps closer, her emerald irises sparkling with devious intent. “That first photoshoot in Florence. How your hands felt sliding up my thighs. How I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning… how wet I was for you.”

I am not prepared.

My dick throbs like a metronome keeping time with my racing heart.

“And now”—her voice, pure sex wrapped in honey—“you’ll spend all day wondering if being near you, remembering your touch, is enough to soak my panties.”

Dio Santo.

My breath seizes, the heat flooding my veins like lava. Before I can recover, she pulls back with a triumphant grin, daring me to respond.

Then she walks away, her hips swaying because she knows exactly how she’s affecting me. Forcing my mind to remember every curve, every sound, every goddamn whispered plea.

That calculating, absolutely maddening woman.

***

IfuckinghateJared.

I’ve never wanted to strangle someone with their own dinosaur tie before, but watching Jared ignore Katie for the umpteenth time today has me contemplating new hobbies.

The Colosseum dominates the landscape, a grand tribute to the battles fought here, while I’m losing my own war against the urge to commit tourist-cide. The warmth of the day amplifies the air, thick with centuries of dust and glory even as the tang of my own fury rages.

My tour group is now a walking gift shop, thanks to the relentless vendors prowling the Colosseum line like seagulls over a sandwich. Normally I’d roll my eyes at souvenir swords and overpriced magnets, but the excitement in their voices makes me bite my tongue—for now.

Katie, with her oversized, plastic battle helmet, is staging an impromptu gladiator performance in the heart of the arena. The seniors have formed a makeshift amphitheater around her and Chester and are now whooping and cheering like the world’s most geriatric fight club.

And what a performance it is.

Jared, thestronzo, is so absorbed in his headset tour across the arena that he’s missing the woman captivating us all.

“Behold my mighty blade!” She lifts her tacky sword to the sky. “Forged in the fires of… uh… that really hot place with all the fire!”

“Mount Vesuvius?” Chester says, brandishing a kid-sized trident made of foam.

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