Page 21 of The Road to You
A half-laugh leaves me before I can stop it. “Sort of. I’m an athlete, so…” I don’t even know how to finish the sentence. I can see in her expression the realization of what I’ve lost. The horror, the sympathy. But not the pity, and I’m grateful for that.
“I get it,” she says softly. “Can’t you take more painkillers? Avoid getting to this point?”
This is the first time I haven’t heard the dreadful words, “I’m sorry,” coming from someone hearing my situation for the first time, and it’s a refreshing feeling.
I shake my head. “They’re strong. I don’t want to rely on them too much. And they mess with my job…antidoping and all that stuff.”
She nods slowly, then, without hesitation, she slides back under the covers and shifts closer. Before I can react, she tucks an arm under my head and pulls me against her, her fingers threading gently through my hair. The gesture is so natural that it throws me off guard.
I go completely still. I should pull away. I should make a joke. But instead, I let myself sink into her warmth, my arm wrapping around her waist. It feels so right, I can barely breathe. How is it possible I feel so safe with someone I barely know?
She presses a soft kiss to my temple. “Now sleep. And from now on, we take it slow,” she says, turning off the lamp.
Warmth unfurls beneath my ribs. The heavy weight I’ve been carrying for months lifts, just enough to let me breathe again. In the dim light coming from the window, I bask in the comfort of her arms wrapped around me.
I’ve slept with countless women, but I’ve never felt as intimate with anyone as I feel with Lena right now. There is noamount of sex that can compare to the connection I have in the arms of this woman.
I don’t want this night to end and reality to rise again with the fast-approaching sunrise.
9
LENA
Michele stubbornly refuses to let me drive all the way to our next stop. We booked an old stone-walled house nestled in the rolling hills of Tuscany. We made one quick stop to pick up groceries and a couple of swimsuits, but other than that, it’s been a straight shot here.
We don’t have a time limit on this place, so we are staying as long as it takes until I’m sure he is fine. And I don’t care how much he protests, he needs rest, and I can be more stubborn than him if I have to be.
The other night, when he woke up gasping through clenched teeth, his entire body seized by pain, I realized just how bad his injury really is. I’d seen the scar, but I hadn’t known the extent of his injury, not truly. Now, I do.
And I also know that this tiny, vintage car he insists on driving isn’t doing him any favors. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, it’s the quintessential Italian dream. But for him, being crammed in this thing for hours must be a nightmare.
Now, though, he looks completely at peace. He woke up with a smile on his face that matched mine, but I don’t know if it’sbecause we cuddled all night or if his leg is not bothering him as much.
Thinking about last night takes me back to the feeling of his skin against mine and our arms wrapped around each other. I wasn’t thinking too much about the implications, just that it might be a good way to relax him, but the more we stayed like that, the more the thought of how right it felt kept nagging me. Because his body tangled with mine was absolute perfection, and I shouldn’t think about him likethat, considering I still have someone at home I need to talk to. Because yes, Preston still refuses to take my calls. Prick.
I sway gently in the hammock, hidden beneath the shade of a tree, watching Michele as he sprawls out on a towel under the sun. His sunglasses shield his eyes, but the satisfied curve of his lips tells me he’s exactly where he wants to be.
I shouldn’t be staring, but I can’t help it. Not in view of such perfection.
He looks like he was carved from marble. Long, lean muscles sculpted by years of training, not just gym workouts, he is not the bulky type. I don’t know what kind of athlete he is, but his body tells a story of long hours of practicing and honing his skills to reach higher and higher peaks. I mean, if it’s his job, he must be good at it, or else he wouldn’t be making money at it.
The dips and ridges of his stomach, the firm lines of his arms, the way the tendons flex subtly under his tanned skin, every inch of him screams something greater than simple aesthetics.
A dusting of dark hair covers his chest, just enough to make him look rugged. Untamed. Dangerous in a way that makes my stomach flip. I swallow hard and force my eyes back to my e-reader, but the words blur together. My skin feels too warm, even in the shade. And my lower belly buzzes with a building need to approach him and straddle his hips. I should really focus on my book.
A lazy ripple breaks the surface of the water beside him as he trails his fingers through it. The pool—it’s not really a pool, more like an old stone basin once used for washing clothes—gleams under the sunlight, its surface disturbed only by the trickle of water spilling from a rusted iron pipe. I would like to be that water, grazed by his strong fingers making my skin ripple in pleasure.
I let out a slow breath. This is fine. Totally fine. I can keep my attraction under control. It’s not like he can see me staring. I’m feet away, and my sunglasses are foolproof.
“I see you checking me out,” Michele says, his voice laced with amusement.
Shit.Not as subtle as you thought, eh, Lena?
“I am not,” I lie instantly, flipping a page on my e-reader as if I’ve been enthralled by it this whole time. “I was looking at the water.” The excuse sounds lame even to my ears.
I don’t know if it’s the night spent tangled together, or the hot temperature of the Italian summer cooking my brain, but it seems I can’t keep my thoughts strictly platonic when it comes to Michele. He has a glorious body, he is funny, and certainly knows how to flirt, but it’s not like I haven’t known men like him before.Get a grip, Lena!
He smirks, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on one elbow. “Sure.”
