Page 81 of Italy Can Bite Me

A warm hand wraps around mine.

Matteo.

His dark eyes, the color of deep Italian espresso, hold me captive for a moment.Then, without a word, he starts pulling me through the crowd. I follow because those hands do magical things to my body, which—apparently—now operates with a Pavlovian response.

Are we heading to some hidden alcove? Some secret spot where he’ll do that thing with his tongue that makes me lose my mind and my panties(not necessarily in that order)?

Um. What?

The Hard Rock Cafe shop?

The windows are packed with neon signs, band T-shirts, and an overwhelming amount of merchandise emblazoned with the Hard Rock logo. Guitars hang like a row of storm clouds, silently grumbling above the heads of shoppers while goth jewelry, coffee mugs, and other touristy gifts litter every square inch of the store. The music in here is deafening, with screechy guitar solos blasting so loud I can feel it in my teeth. This is the loudest store, both literally and figuratively, I have ever been in.

“Matteo, what the hell are we doing here?”

He says nothing, walking us past a teenage employee in a ripped black T-shirt who has more facial piercings than face. There’s a culture clash of customers—some are ready to headbang to AC/DC, while others look like they floated in from a yacht party.

Um, why does it feel like we’re hitting up a Hot Topic at Mall of America?

I turn to him, trying to hide my WTF expression. “This isn’t very… Venetian.”

Matteo still doesn’t say anything. He releases my hand just long enough to grab a few shirts off a rack, then he pulls me deeper into the store. My brain is still processing when he yanks open a dressing room door and tugs me inside.

The moment Matteo shuts the door, the click of the lock echoes like a starting gun, and suddenly his hands and lips are on me.

Fast.

Rough.

Wild.

My back hits the wall, and his body presses into mine as if we’re two puzzle pieces not meant to fit, but wedefinitelydo. Intimately.

I try to think, but Matteo’s hands are all over my body. I sense his urgency, his need for me, and it’s exhilarating.

“You have no idea how hard it is to resist you, Katie.” His lips brush my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I gasp between hungry assaults on my neck.

“Matteo,” I whisper, not quite knowing if it’s a plea or a protest. My pulse is pounding in my ears. Muffled rock music bleeds through the dressing room walls because…we’re in a freaking store.

“We’re—” I gasp as his hands slide under my dress, his fingertips brushing bare skin. “We’re in public!”

He pauses, long enough to meet my gaze. “I don’t see anyone else, principessa. Just you and me.”

My brain’s catching up as he grips the waistband of my panties. With one swift motion, he tugs them down my legs.

I’m bare.

Exposed.

Loving it.

I want him and he knows. His fingers find me instantly, sliding between my thighs and pressing against my clit with maddening precision. “Cristo, you’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with approval.

“Oh God,” I moan louder than I should.

That—that right there—is exactly why I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s a Hard Rock store, for crying out loud. There’s probably a dad out there buying a Nirvana T-shirt for his kid while I’m here dripping all over my tour guide’s fingers.

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