Page 53 of Italy Can Bite Me

“A little to the left.”

She adjusts the tripod, that sundress riding up her thighs, and my hands flex with the need to grab her hips. To yank her back against me and show her exactly how unbrotherly my thoughts are.

“The composition has to be perfect.”

Perfetto. Like the way her ass fills out that dress. Like how her nipples would feel under my tongue.Cristo, I need to get my shit together.

Every pose has been crafted to look as platonic as humanly possible. Hand-holding that could pass a Pope’s inspection. Side hugs with enough room between us for Jesus and the seven apostles.

“How’s this?” She positions herself next to me, careful not to actually touch me. Her hand hovers over my chest as though she’s afraid I might combust.

Which, fair enough. My body temperature has been running about twenty degrees above normal since that rickshaw kiss. And if I touch her, I’m scared I won’t be able to control what unfolds.

CLICK.

I’ve snapped thousands of photos of people lost in the thrall of Italy. There’s a world of difference between posed shots and genuine moments—the ones where people forget the camera’s there.

Mamma taught me that. She never staged a shot, only captured unfiltered life. Those photos of her and Papa are reminders of that—their love, raw and real, preserved forever. They’re also a brutal reminder of what I’ve lost.

“Set the timer,” Katie orders. “Then hover your arm near my waist while we stare at the fountain.”

Damn.Her strawberry fragrance consumes me. I’m going to need a dozen cold showers to scrub her scent away, and even then, I’ll be stroking myself raw to get her out of my system.

CLICK.

She rushes to check the screen. “Will this make Jared jealous?”

His name hits me like a sucker punch, reminding me exactly what this is. And what this isn’t. I’m the stand-in. The prop. The guy teaching another man’s woman how to make him burn with desire. The thought makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

Whenever she says his name, something deep inside me snarls. Because he gets to have her—really have her—while I’m here playing pretend. My body screams at me to corner her like an animal and kiss her until she forgets that anyone else exists.

She’s not yours. She’ll never be yours.

“No.” My voice comes out harsh. “That wouldn’t make a dead man jealous.”

Frustration flashes in her green gaze. “Then show me what would.”

Dio mi aiuti. I’m about to do something monumentally stupid.

“I’ll have to actually touch you.”

Her tongue darts out, wetting those lips I’m not allowed to sample. “Okay.”

I set the camera to burst mode(I can relate), hands trembling. “Now don’t think. Just feel.”

I act on impulse, grabbing her ass under her dress and lifting her against me. My hands grasp her firmly, and hell, she’s wearing sensible cotton panties just as I thought. The confirmation only intensifies my urge to rip them off with my teeth and taste her.

The surprised gasp she lets out shoots straight to my cock, making me throb so hard I see spots.

I lift her higher until she’s peering down at me, her hair falling around us like a golden curtain. Her arms wrap around my neck and Cristo, the look in her eyes. She wants to devour me whole. I think she’d let me devour her right back.

Her breasts press into my chest with each breath, and I’m dying to cross that line.But I can’t. Iwon’t. Because she belongs to him even if he doesn’t deserve her.

Katie stills in my arms, uncertain. I see the moment guilt creeps into her face. She’s loyal to a man who threw her away, and it pulls at me—makes me yearn more for her. I’m driven to understand this woman who loves so deeply and gives of herself so completely.

A tiny moan escapes her lips as my fingers dig into the soft flesh of her thighs, and what’s left of my control shatters.

“Tell me you want my mouth on yours, principessa.”

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