From the entrance at the top of the steps, I see my cab pulling out to the gates. I shout.

  “Taxi!” is all I can think of to say. I can’t trust my Italian to do any better. But he doesn’t hear. I shout again. It looks like he’s still not going to stop. But then he does.

  I hear a commotion behind me as I rush down the stone stairs and into the back of the cab.

  “Aeroporto,” I tell the startled driver. “Quickly. Please.”

  I hear the clop of heels on the flagstones behind me as he pulls out of the gates, but I don’t look round.

  How can I have been such an idiot?

  As the cab sweeps up from the beach and into the hills, the taxi driver sings La Donna Mobile.

  I feel empty inside and I can’t look at my idiot face in the mirror.

  As we get up into the hills, tall evergreen trees line the road. Soon they close in and the road becomes dark, lit only by the taxi’s headlamps. The driver sings loud, his voice rising to the climax of Nessun Dorma.

  “Vincerò, Vincerò, VinCEEEEE-RÒ!” and I catch his broad, beaming smile in the mirror as he sings the triumphant orchestral finalé. I’m fighting to hold back tears.

  I didn’t need to come halfway around the world, I could have stayed in Vegas and made a fool of myself. Maybe just gone out to the nearest bar, got shit-faced drunk, stripped off and jumped up on a mechanical bull. I could have made a selfie video with my tits swinging one way and my tongue lolling the other, then hit, ‘send all’ to the numbers of all my disastrous dates.

  Lights come up behind us on the narrow, wriggling road, flashing and flooding the inside of the car. The driver shouts, beckoning with his hand for the car to pass. The lights flash again. And again.

  The driver turns and sticks his middle finger up.

  My heart skips as I see a tight twist in the road. He knows the route well though, and he nudges the wheel at the exact moment. The lights behind us flash again.

  Even if I can’t understand the driver’s words, his gestures are clear enough. “There’s room! Pass, already!”

  With a long honk, the car swings out. It’s black, at least in the darkness, and it’s hardly high enough to see in the window as it rockets by.

  I never heard the word the driver says next, but there’s no mistaking what it means.

  Red brake lights flash on the black car in front. The driver jams on his brakes and I’m thrown forward against the front seat.

  We skid to a halt with a smoking squeal of tires.

  This is a classic kidnapping setup. I figure that they’ve picked the wrong target, though. The driver is more likely to a valuable kidnap prize than I am. But what do they do in these lawless hills with a mistaken identity kidnapping?

  I don’t expect they’re like sport fishermen. There’s not much chance they’ll just throw me back.

  Hard heels clip smartly on the road. Through the darkness, a huge figure strides to the rear door, next to me, and yanks it open.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lucas

  I hold out my hand, offering to help her out of the taxi. She shrinks back across the seat.

  I slide in beside her.

  She reaches around for the door handle.

  “Wait! What are you doing? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  Her cheeks are red. Her voice is tight. She’s obviously furious. And she’s so beautiful, I could fuck her right now.

  “I shouldn’t have come. It was an awful, stupid mistake.” Her eyes narrow. “Now. Let me go.”

  “But why? What’s wrong?”

  She whips back around to glare in my face. “Oh, I’m so stupid. So naive. Of course, all of you sophisticated Mediterraneans would think nothing of open relationships, multiple partners. Why would anyone even think of discussing it?”

  The door on the other side of the cab opens.

  Alex leans in, “Oh,” looking at Poppy, “Now I see.”

  Poppy’s eyes narrow. “See what?”

  Alex’s smile is like a hunter’s.

  “I see why poor Lucas is so obsessed by you.”

  “But, don’t tell me,” Poppy is on fire, “you would be prepared to share him.”

  “Poppy,” I tell her, “This is Alex. My aunt, Alessandra.”

  Alex’s eyes are flicking all over Poppy.

  She smiles her evil smile.

  “Poppy, I don’t share anyone. Ever. But if you’re not Lucas’s, then I’ll take you for myself.”

  Poppy’s eyes widen. “You like girls as well as boys?”

  Alex smiles and shakes her head. “Never say never,” and she twinkles at Poppy again. “but, so far, only girls. So, anytime he doesn’t treat you right, you come to me.”

  “You should be careful. Lucas is a pretty scary crime boss, you know.”

  Alex smiles. “If you find you have time on your hands, maybe ask him about me.”

  She ducks lower to talk to us both, “But I can see you both have things on your minds. I’ll see you both for breakfast. If you’re up and you make it out of your room tomorrow morning.”

  The taxi driver sings surprisingly well. I think he may have had professional training at some time. Which is good, because all the way back to the hotel he insists on belting out an aria from La Traviata.

  I don’t mind. I have Poppy.

  Pulling her close, I can’t resist telling her the thrill that I got when I turned and saw her. She’s disoriented from her long journey. Seeing me with Alex must have given her a shock.

  I don’t really want to talk. I just want to kiss her. Hold her close. Feel the beat of her heart.

  And the last thing I want now is for us to be in company. But I know she must be hungry, even if she may not feel it. She needs to eat to recover. I could have room service but, like any hotel, that takes three times as long as ordering in the restaurant.

  The moment we step onto the marble floor of the bright foyer, elegant Lucia the receptionist looks up and beams at Poppy. She watches as we pass her desk on the way to the restaurant, and she blinks as she sniffs.

  Gianni, the maitre d’ steps briskly up. Fighting to hold back a smile, without me even asking, he tells me he’ll have a fresh table for us in a secluded part of the room in no time, and offers us cocktails on the house as we wait.

  How everybody in the hotel got the story so fast is beyond me, but it’s like they’re all watching the climax of a grand opera.

  We sit at the bar and sip Bellinis. I tell her about the wonderful food, not only here in the hotel, but all over Sicily. I talk about the beautiful birds and the wonderful views. The long, sandy beach and the sound of the waves in the suite at night.

  More than anything, I want to hear her. But I hold back.

  I’m worried about her business, and how long can she stay? When did she decide to come, how was the flight for her, what convinced her to fly here on the spur of the moment? And could she possibly be as glad to be here as I am to see her?

  But I know she’s tired from traveling, so I just keep up a happy stream of babble, because I don’t want to make her talk and make her tired. Not before she gets something to eat.

  I’m so fucking glad to have her here, I’m afraid I’ll overwhelm her.

  Gianni has a waiter pick up our cocktails to show us to the table. I step off the high stool and offer her my hand. As she stands, she leans to flutter a kiss on my cheek.

  She whispers, “Thank you.”

  Emotion floods me, and I have to blink as I rest my hand on her waist. She leans close and sighs.

  Our table is by a window on the cozy, far side of the restaurant. We have a private view of the moonlit tide lapping on the white beach.

  When Poppy sees the menu, she smiles and says that she’s not hungry. She doesn’t think she can eat much.

  I encourage her to try a small starter.

  She clears three healthy courses, finishing with a chocolate ice cream cassata. She looks drowsy and satisfied, taking selections from the cheese board with her coffee and grappa.

  After dinner, Gianni opens the side door for us. He tells me, “I will leave towel robes at the table by the door, in case you want them later.”

  I take her outside to walk on the beach, in the warm, salty air beneath the stars and the full moon.

  Her head rests on my arm as we walk along the crescent of the bay. Low trees, straw umbrella shades and beach shelters soon put the hotel out of sight and we’re alone in the world.

  She carries her shoes and pushes her toes into the cool, damp, silvery sand.

  “I can’t believe you came,” I tell her. “I am so glad you’re here.”

  “I decided I could take a couple of days.”

  “What made up your mind?”

  “Hearing you on the phone.” She squeezes close. “When I told my most difficult and demanding client that I was thinking of coming, I thought she would hit the roof. I was seriously worried she would pull out the contracts.”

  “Did she?”

  “You know what? She said, ‘I can hear in your voice and I can see in your eyes, it’s the real thing.’ and she offered to pay for my flight.”

  “Seriously?”

  “She said, ‘Of course,’ and she would never be making the fuss she does over her daughter’s wedding if she weren’t a true romantic. I didn’t take her up on it, of course.”

  “Why ‘of course’? It seems generous.”

  She stops and looks into my eyes. “You will take whatever you want, won’t you.” It’s not a question. “I wouldn’t take money from a client. Not without at least understanding that I was in their debt. There's always a price, Lucas.”

  Her face shines. “Moonlight on the beach really goes with your complexion.”

  She turns in my arm and I pull her close. A gentle kiss feels like coming home.

  She says, “Is it, Lucas? Is it the real thing?”

  I pull her close. “The moment I saw you in the bridal store, I didn’t know that I was in love with you, but I knew straight away that you were important to me. I wanted to be with you, to have you near to me. Forever.”

  “You knew then?”

  “I knew that much, Poppy. It’s the real thing. I’m in love with you. I know now. Whatever you want for your future, that’s what I want, and it’s what I’m going to give you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Poppy

  He folds me into his arms and bends his head to kiss me.

  Either his dark, manly scents and tastes are magnified here, or my perception is heightened. Who knows? Maybe both.

  “When I saw you with her, with Alex, I felt like a bomb went off right under me. Like I had fooled myself into believing in this whole thing. That it was just ‘what it was’ and I needed to get over myself and why would I even come all this way without telling you I was coming and I was such a dope.”

  He holds me tight. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

  I grab his beautiful suit coat. “Of course it fucking matters, Lucas. Everything matters.” My skin is hot. The coolness in the air only heightens the rising rage.

  I tear a kiss from his strong lips. Stretching up on my toes, my body presses against his as I seize another. This time, long. Hard. Deep. And filthy. “You only see what matters to you.”

  My hips roll my pussy, scrape up and down against the rock in his pants.

  He grips my hair. “I only see you. And right now, you’re all that matters to me.”

  “Yes, Lucas. Right now.”

  I rip down his zipper. Shoving his boxers down, I grab his hot cock.

  “I need more than right now. You said you needed more, too, Lucas.”

  “I do.”

  “Give it to me.”

  I pull up my dress.

  “Here? Here on the beach? Now”

  I scrape his back and rub my mound against him. His naked cock is hot through the wet sheer of my panties. I put a hand on his shoulder and jump, wrapping my legs around him. His cock is trapped between us.

  I lock his mouth with mine, pushing my tongue in, letting his tongue push back into me.

  I lift my ass. Grab his cock. It’s impossibly thick. My body says ‘no! It’s too big!’

  But fuck it. I’m going to fuck him. I look into his eyes. His lips tighten as I pull the crown of his throbbing pole down to spring into my opening.

  I rise, feeling him in position. Then a deep breath, and I slam all my weight down

  I shout. The stretch is a raw, sharp rip. I rise up and drop down again, slamming as hard as I can to get him all the way inside. My walls grip and slide on the thickness of his ridges and pulses.

  I hammer onto him, determined to get him far enough, high enough inside me to reach the ache, the clenching need, the howl of discovery and joy and pain.

  I ride him like a whore, desperate to milk him, to squeeze out all that he has. I want all of him. I want him to be mine. Mine and no-one else’s. Mine alone.

  My thighs spread wider as I find the angles, the moves to pull him farther inside.

  I kiss him savagely, tasting the spicy air, the salt and the heat of his flesh. I grip him by his neck. Tug hard on my nipples. The sound of the waves is all there is besides his breath and his groans and my panting and pleas.

  His hands clutch and squeeze my ass. When I bang my hips into him with all the force I can, when I snarl into his eyes, when I tell him, “Give it to me, Lucas. Give me all of it. Give me everything you’ve got,” then he pulls back and canons into me.

  “Yes,” I groan, “Harder.”

  He crouches lower, letting me slide my ass along his thighs.

  I widen and clench as we slap together. Wet. Wild. Wicked.

  “Fuck me, Lucas. Fuck me as hard as you fucking can.” As I’m losing control of my voice, I bite his ear, grab his neck with my teeth, barely able to say, “Don’t. Fucking. Stop.”

  I burst, imploding. Spin and soar inside. I drive my wet lips hard, all the way down, to beat against the bone of his pelvis. His hard thighs clench under my ass.

  I shout his name as I start to flip and crest again.

  He holds my hips as he drops to his knees. I put my hands back, into the cool, wet sand. Wet fingers of the lacy tails of the waves foam over my hands.

  The new angle of his cock, pitching higher, revives me. Rolling his hips and pulling me onto him as he does, his cock drills higher, farther forward. He sparks me up higher, faster.

  As I lean back, blood rushes to my chest and my head. I’m gushing in places that never gushed before. My head shakes as I catch the killer’s glint in his eyes.

  He pulls up my thighs, holding my legs against the soaked and disheveled mess of his suit and his shirt. Gripping my hips, he holds me up to split me deeper on his rigid rail.

  Waves creep and stretch up my arms as I lean down onto my elbows.

  I pump my hips on him, but I’m losing strength.

  A light flashes in his eyes. He powers up and pummels me, raw, ruthless. Raging. I fall back to my shoulders. Waves slide into my hair, then drag, suck, rinse away. Like the earth tilts and rolls for us, the tide rocks in and out, cooling and soaking my hair and my upper body as he plows into me.

  His thighs tighten as my ass slaps against them. His eyes glow hot and his strokes are deeper. Harder.

  My head thrashes from side to side. I reach for him, but he’s too far for my hands to find him. Anyway, I need my arm to bite on. And I need my hand to twist and yank my breasts my and nipples.

  I know he’s going to come. I feel him thicken and swell. I want to say, ‘Wait,’ but I’m already on teetering on the precipice.

  He pounds me into the wet sand. As my head and shoulders shove deeper, the sea creeps higher, up to my ears. Washing over my hands and my forearms.

  His rhythm rises and hardens and I’m off, tumbling and rocketing, falling, collapsing and expanding, all at once. I hear my voice shout his name, like it’s someone else. And how fucking dare they? He’s mine.

  He’s mine!

  He’s mine and I’m going to keep him!

  Tightening my ass and my thighs and my stomach and my pussy walls and keeping him deep and filling me up, I break like a sea wall and blow like a mountain top when the volcano beneath erupts.

  I’m wrung out. Gasping. Sore, spent and helpless.

  He flips me over. Face down on my flapping arms. Face down in rising and receding pools of salty seawater.

  “No!”

  His hands haul my ass up.

  He snarls. “Remember the safe word?”

  I fumble, aimless in my memory. It’s there, somewhere. Yes. I found it.

  I whimper. “Yes.”

  His thumb teases my ass. My pussy lips are swollen and sore as he impales me again.

  He drives all the way in, ripping me apart in a whole new direction. “Do you want to use it?”

  I have to try and think. Use what? “No.”

  His hips punch him mercilessly into me. “Can’t hear you!”

  “NO!” I’m shouting a no that means ‘yes.’ A ‘No! Don’t stop!’

  Face down with my cheek in the sea, through the searing stretch, I’m laughing and moaning at the same time.

  He leans over me. Fucks me.

  “Do it,” I growl. “Fuck me! Fuck me like a dog. Like a bull! You fucking animal!”

  The feeling is overwhelming, like I’m being used and used up, possessed and needed, slayed and loved. Opened and seen. And adored in every possible way. The worst ways and the best.

  I lose count as one shameless, guilty, animal orgasm splashes into the next. I’m coming so hard I’m almost sobbing when he blasts me full with the pulsing heat of his carnal juice.

  He shouts, “God, I fucking love you, Poppy.”

  I feel like I’ve arrived and I’m finally where I should be.

  Here on a Mediterranean beach, maybe for the first time in my life, I feel like I completely belong. Not to the place. But here, to him.