Page 73 of Italy Can Bite Me

“Just sex?” His laugh is harsh. “You think I don’t want it? Katie, I think about it—about you—every fucking second.”

“Then why fight it?”

“Because Ilikeyou, dammit!” The words explode from him. “Cristo, I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“Youlikeme?”

“Merda.” He rakes his hands through his wet hair. “Sì, I do. That’s why this can’t happen.”

I’m bewildered, holding his shirt to my body that’s throbbing with need. How can something so simple feel so complicated?

I watch him walk away.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MATTEO

“Sonofa—”Ismack the light switch, like it’s personally responsible for my current sexual purgatory. The fluorescent bulb flickers on in the cramped maid’s closet. I’m a ticking time bomb of pent-up frustration, and I’m going to have to defuse it myself in the shower.

It’s past midnight in this discount disaster of a hotel. The half-conscious clerk behind the front desk hasn’t budged since we arrived. I’d swear he was dead if it weren’t for the drool on his newspaper. That leaves me playing bellhop, handling every ridiculous request from “Can you make the Wi-Fi faster?” to “Why isn’t there a bidet in my room?”

Chester needed three pillows for his “jazz knee.” The Dawson sisters demanded fresh towels because theirs smelled like “black mold and broken promises.” Then Stan and Rose discovered what they hoped was marinara sauce on their sheets, though given the state of this place, I’m not convinced it wasn’t evidence of a murder. Sometimes good tour guides have to lie.

And then there was Howie’s request for “massage oil with warming properties,” accompanied by Deb’s distinctive cackle through his door. Hard pass. You’re on your own with that one, buddy.

Just like I’m on my own to try to will my brain to quit imagining Katie in that black bikini.

We’ve been avoiding each other since check-in. She grabbed her room key without sparing me a glance. I can’t blink without seeing her stretched out on that beach, the water lapping at her skin, her body arching into mine—

“Cazzo!” I should be focusing on real problems. Like how the mechanic still hasn’t given me a timeline on the bus repairs. Or how the bank is ghosting me about the loan. But no, my mind keeps circling back to waves crashing over us as I dove into her perfect tits as if they were the last two scoops of gelato in all of Italy. Those breathy little sounds she made when I sucked on her nipples. Cristo, those nipples—light pink and tiny, so firm and begging for my tongue. The feel of her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking me with those delicate fingers…

“Porca miseria!” I slam another box shut searching for soap.

My dick throbs painfully against my zipper, a brutal reminder of why I’m standing in this closet. I was too consumed by memories of our almost encounter on the beach to check my shower supplies. Now I’m shirtless and dripping, my skin still tingling from the hot water, and I’m left with this hard-on that won’t go away.

“No sapone in my room? Dio mio! This hotel is shit.”

The shelves groan under the weight of cleaning supplies and mini toiletries. A metal table dominates the center of the room, an island of chaos with assorted bottles and mismatched linens next to a shoddy stack of one-ply toilet paper rolls.One ply, really?

If Katie were here, she’d have this place alphabetized and labeled in ten minutes flat.

My chest tightens at the thought of her instrategizing mode.

But then I remember how she planned out today. Plotted to seduce and sabotage me into breaking my one rule. And fuck, I almost did. Almost gave in to that primal need to bury myself inside her.

The condom rustles in my back pocket where I’ve kept it since fishing it from her bikini—an impressive feat considering it was more skin than suit. Why didn’t I just give in? She wanted it. I wanted it.

I know exactly why. Because sex plus feelings equals relationships. Relationships eventually mean family. And family means soul-crushing loss. Better to wonder what could have been than risk inevitable pain… again.

I’ll have to avoid her for the next week. Make a plan and stick to it—isn’t that what Katie would do?

Katie. Katie. Katie.

Apparently I’m no longer in control of my dick or my brain.

The door creaks open, and I shove the condom deeper into my pocket, turning to find—

Merda.

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