Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series) (5 page)

Mind:
blown, with pieces caught in my hair, on my clothes, and in the rubber mats
under my feet. What the fuck just happened.

________

I
finish the ledger and slide it into a drawer, struggling to accept that this
night isn’t a dream. It has to be. “Of course you love it. All men love AC/DC.”

“That’s
because all men have good taste,” he throws back.

“I
disagree with that.” I grab a clean towel, dunk it in the sink, wring it out and
wipe the bar counter down as we talk. Many, many times, I steal looks at him,
watching him picking up those chairs with his muscles tensing each and every
delicious time.

“That’s
because you women don’t get the genius. Women hate AC/DC.”

His
smile is challenging, and it stirs up my competitive streak. “See, now that’s
bullshit.”

His
eyebrows fly up. “Is that so? Bullshit, you say?”

I
make a pffth sound and nod, moving the pile of napkins over so I can get under
them. “Total bullshit. We don’t like AC/DC because most of us mistakenly
believe that there was only one singer, not knowing that Bon Scott died in his
own vomit, thereby leaving the band to have to settle for the screaming
fuckhead who took over. It’s the screaming fuckhead we don’t like!”

“Because
who would like a screaming fuckhead.” He’s stealing glances at me, too, but I’m
too caught up in my argument to notice.

“Yeah!
When women – any woman I’ve ever made listen to them – when they
hear Live Wire, amazing. Dirty Deeds, priceless. It’s A Long Way To The Top?
Awesome. And they’re confused, thinking
,
hey this is pretty funny stuff.
But it’s AC/DC so they blow it off and discount
it, because they are forced to stick to their guns and think
men just love that screaming fuckhead and
Lord only knows why
.” I grab the condiment tray and almost spill out the
olives when I see his face. “What?”

He
puts down the chair he’s holding, and crooks a finger my way. “Come here.”

Oh,
shit. Am I in trouble? I walk around the bar to him, and as I meet his eyes
again I see that the only trouble I’m going to have is keeping him out of my
pants.
In other words, none.
He’s looking at me like
I’m meat and he hasn’t eaten for two years. I stop just short of climbing onto
him without further ado. “Yes?”

“You’re
too far away.” He pulls me in to him. “And you’re wrong about AC/DC.”

“I’m
not.” He smiles, and shakes his head briefly. I gaze up at him as he ebbs
closer.

“You
make a very compelling argument but you’re wrong.”

I
close my eyes and say on a whisper, “Back In Black is a screeching disaster.”

His
eyes dance. “You’re very, very wrong.”

He
kisses me, opening my mouth with his. The soft tip of his tongue touches mine
and we move on each other. My fingers languidly slip into his wavy hair. His
hands travel up my back and he firmly pulls me in as close as he can, our
bodies becoming smashed. He’s growing hard against me, the strength of him so
powerful. Our kiss moves faster, until we’re gasping and urgent. I want to
dissolve every moment we’ve ever been apart. I want to give myself to him.
Every cell. Every pulse.

“Wait.
Wait.” I say on a gasp, pulling away. “Not in front of the window. It’s my business
and I…”

“Of
course. You’re right.”

“So
move me out of sight already.”

He
laughs. “Oh.” Picking me up in a standing position, my feet slightly off the
ground. I feel the wall come up against my back as our mouths move on each
other and he sets me down. Reluctantly, he pulls away to look to the window,
check to see if we’re hidden. We
both glance over. All clear. He mutters against my lips, “If we can’t see it,
then it can’t see us.”

He
pushes me hard up against the wall. His hands fluidly move down my body and
back up to hold my breasts, cupping and massaging them while we kiss. With
tantalizing slowness, he nibbles down my neck. I close my eyes, losing myself
to the feelings, aching for him. Through the halter fabric he flicks my nipples
with his thumbs, bites me, tugs on my neck, pulling it between his lips. He’s
the man and I’m the woman. He wants me to know and I want nothing else. That’s
all I’ve ever wanted. My leg wraps around him to press against the bulge in his
pants. His fingers slip behind me, down inside the back of my jeans and under
the wisp of lacey fabric below. He presses hard into the flesh of my ass,
massaging me in time with kisses as he takes my mouth again in his.

Suddenly
he pulls back to look at me, eyes hooded. His hungry smile fades quickly. He
searches me. I stare back at him, my breaths shortened now. “What? What’s
wrong?”

“There’s
something familiar about you.”

No! Not now! You can’t recognize me now!

I
shake my head. “I’d remember you.”

“You
sure?”

“Yeah.
Totally sure.
Very sure.
Kiss
me again.”

He
grins. “Fair enough.” Rock-hard, he pushes against me again, his lips so close
to mine I can feel the heat of his breath as he hungrily tells me, “I’d like to
do more than just kiss you. I want to rip off these clothes and take you right
here against this wall.” I watch him through a haze of need as he comes in and
kisses me hard, opening my lips with his to find my tongue again and suck on
it. Grinding me mindless, rocking my body up and down, all I want is for him to
do that. The delicious burning ache is so intense and so, so good.

I bend my neck as he kisses my earlobe.
“I want you, Annie.” The heat of his breath sizzles me, but the words are what
really knock me over. I’ve wanted to hear this ever since the first day I saw
him. He’d been thumbing through one of his textbooks on the way to class when
the shade disappeared and the sun bounced bright off the white page. He’d
looked up to the sky and the light caught the blue in his eyes so beautifully
that my mouth had dropped open. I’d been sitting under the tree he walked
under, enjoying the same shade and doing my usual disappearing act. I just
stared at him. Of course he didn’t see me. I thought he was going to leave, but
instead he backed up into the shade right in front of me to finish what he was
reading, giving me full license to gaze at his profile, memorizing his angled
chin, the strength of his neck, his arm taught under the grasp of the stack of
books he balanced. When he closed the top one, I watched him walk all the way
into the building, thinking, if I married that man, I would be the happiest
woman who ever lived. I just knew. It felt like I had always loved him.

“I
want you too, Brendan,” I say, so quietly I’m not sure if he can hear me. By
the look in his eyes, he did. He wrestles the arms out of his jacket, chucking
it to the ground. I struggle with the buttons of his shirt while he helps me,
and as bit by bit, his chest is revealed, I just stare in awe.

“You’re
making me blush,” he jokes.

“Yeah
right.” Lust whips through me as my fingertips trace the two delicious lines
leading down to the
promised land
. He’s so grown up
now. I bend to kiss his broadened chest, tasting him. He groans and bends into
me. My hands rest on the belt of his jeans as I kiss my way across his chest. I
lock eyes with him as I unzip his jeans.

He
watches, his breath short. But then again something changes in his eyes. “Your
eyes… they’re beautiful.”

“Thank
you.”

“Are
you sure we haven’t met?”

No! Please. I don’t want to stop kissing
you.
My body rages war with my sense of integrity. Please don’t take this
chance away from me. I don’t want to stop. Looking away to hide my giveaway
blues, I mumble, “Maybe we’ve had sex before and you just don’t remember.”

He
chuckles. “If we had sex, I don’t think you’d have forgotten.”

Instinctively,
I counter, “Yeah well, I didn’t think I was so forgettable either.” Kicking
myself, I add, “If we
had
met, I
mean. So, we haven’t.” I slide my hand into his jeans and grab his cock with
confidence, stroking it. “Do you want me to stop?” I am evil.

He
makes the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard. “No. Don’t stop.”

I
unzip, slide his jeans down to the floor. “Are you sure? Now’s your chance to
walk away a free man.” I’m feeling like the worst person ever born, but the
second I see his cock, my pussy screams at me to keep going. I have to taste
it. I have to. I bend and take it into my mouth, shutting everything else out.

He
grabs onto my head like he can’t help it. His head falls back and he moans as I
take all of him into my mouth. I cup the soft fragileness of his sack, toying
with it gently. The blood pulsing more and more into his cock is intoxicating.
I drive him insane, licking and stroking him, alternating the speed so that
when he teeters on the brink of collapse, so close to cumming, I switch gears,
slowing down before I build up again, over and over. He yells out, leaning
forward and holding onto the wall behind me so he doesn’t fall. I grab his ass
with my free hand pulling him back and forth hungrily. I touch the soft space
under his sack and he practically yelps. “Oh God! Stop! I won’t be able to hold
back. Stop.” Panting, he pushes me back with my mouth open and hungry for him.
“Wow. Someone’s had lessons. You’re really good.”

An
unwanted memory of Christiano slinks out from the recesses of my mind. On a
whisper, I say, “Am I?” Before now, I’ve never gone down on anyone other than
Christiano. If I’m good, it’s because he loved me enough to show me what having
a good lover can do to you. He changed my life in so many ways. He made me feel
beautiful even when I was a mess.

My
heart beats fast. I’m closing down. Unable to get rid of the realization that
if
Christiano knew what I was doing
,
he would die
. I stand and close my eyes, laying my hands
flat against the wall. I’m losing track of what’s going on. The worlds are
blending, Tuscany and San Francisco. Why did he have to remind me of
Christiano? I was so good at forgetting about him tonight, until now. But it’s
not easy to make four and a half years disappear.

Stomach:
Making noises no one should ever have to hear

________

“
Mi
scusi.
Cibo? Umm… negozio…ummm…” Standing in the sunlight with the pale cement
sidewalk throwing a glare into my eyes, I frantically thumb through the
English/Italian translation book

The
old Italian man sitting with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of red in the
other, leans forward as though to hear me better. It’s not my volume that’s the
problem. He’s got his ear cocked in my direction. Feeling terribly helpless and
dumb, so I thumb faster. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to find it.”

I
hear footsteps and a voice come up behind me. “What are you looking for?”

Slouched
over the book, I look over. My eyes almost fall out of my head. A man with black hair, almond-shaped
eyes, and olive, sun-kissed
skin,
is smiling at me. He
looks maybe forty. I’m only twenty-three, but he’s so handsome, all I can think
is,
wow.

Standing
straighter, I manage a smile back and self-consciously smooth down my black,
clipped rat’s nest. “I’m looking for the grocery store. Or whatever you call
it, I’m not sure. I need food.”

He
says something in Italian to the older guy, and his voice is really easy on the
ears. They seem to know each other. I can’t be sure, though, but they appear to
be familiar. If I knew what they were saying, maybe I’d know. People in Tuscany
prefer if you speak Italian and I speak none. In Verona, they were nicer, but
in Verona I was still thinking of Brendan and Corinne. So I ran. Again.

Their
exchange complete, the handsome stranger offers, “I can show you.”

I
look down at the cement and catch site of my black tights tucked into dirty
sneakers. I feel so dingy and dark compared to this man. He’s everything you’d
expect of casual elegance. He’s got two buttons open on his white cotton shirt
and I sneak a glance at his chest. Just one little glance can’t hurt.

“Um…
that’s very nice of. Grazie.”

He
motions with his hand,
this way
.
Together, we walk in silence for
awhile
. I’m really
not good at talking to new people. Adjusting the strap of my purse out of
habit, I hold the translation book to my chest like a shield. But I came here
to change, so I force myself to speak first. It feels like someone is pressing razors
into my eyeballs, it’s so hard. I cough, straining to overcome the dryness in
my throat. “Um…Do you live here?”

He
nods. “Did you just arrive?”

“How
did you know?” I stare at the sun’s halo-like light around the edges of his
hair.

“You don’t know where are the stores,” he
points out with a jog of his index finger. “I’m not… erm…come si dice?”

I
know that
come si dice
means
how do you say it,
so I smile.
“Psychic?”

He
nods and repeats as though to memorize the word, “Psychic. Si. Psychic.
Psychic.”

I
love his voice. I also love his Roman nose. I find it very appealing that
there’s nothing feminine about it. What I want to do is tell him he’s gorgeous,
but that would be really bold. If Corinne were here, she’d tell him. She’d
probably fuck him right here in the street, too.
In broad
daylight.
With that old lady in an apron and slippers
watching.
It’s lame, but the second I imagine it, I realize the fact of
the matter is, I would LOVE to do something wild like that, so I guess I’m a
hypocrite. That’s why I liked her so much; she did things I wanted to do but
never could. Like fucking Brendan for example. There I go thinking about it
again.

Struggling
to change my thoughts to the present, I say, “Your English is very good.”

“I
studied since childhood.” He glances to
me and chuckles
.
“…
a
long time ago.”

Did
he say that because he thinks I’m a kid? I’m a woman. I want him to know that.

“I’m
Annie.”

He
bows. Actually bows! “Christiano.”

As
he rises, I blurt out, “I’m not as young as I look.”

His
eyebrows go up, eyes dancing. “No?”

“No.”
Then I roll my eyes. “I am however, just as dorky as I look. I’m working on
it.”

The
amusement leaves him. “I know this word. It does not apply to you.” He holds my
eyes until he’s sure I heard him. Reluctantly, I nod. This seems to satisfy
him. “Come. This way.”

Thrown
by his everything, it takes me a second to follow him. With him a few steps
ahead of me, I check out his body and like what I see very, very much. He looks
over his shoulder. My eyes fly up too late. He saw me looking for sure. I stare
off to the left at nothing in particular, but it’s obvious I’m trying to cover.

“There
is the store.”

“Okay.
Great. Thank you. I mean, Grazie. I’ll see you. Bye.”

I
look over and see the door nestled in between a series of shops, the buildings
all touching, almost as one. They’re tall, the color of sand and look like
they’ve been here for centuries. They probably have, now that I think about it.

“Un piacere, Annie.” I think he just said
it was a pleasure
, or maybe
I want to give you pleasure
. I know the
word pleasure was used.

“Thank
you.”

Speechless,
I stare in amazement as he bows once more, rises and gives me one last smile,
then turns and walks away. Whoa. Come back? Scuffling off, I swear to myself
for not having bought something prettier to wear already. Why am I still wearing
black, black, and
more black
? Sigh.

I
pick up various bottles of marinara sauce with unknown ingredients, thinking
hating yourself is so fucking exhausting
.
And man does it make you hungry.
Searching through the compact aisles, I grab the fixings for bare-bones pasta,
just the basics. I’m dying to try something new, but that would take wasting
money if I didn’t get it right.

I
need to get a job soon. Maybe if I’d chosen a place that spoke my language, it
would have been easier. To make matters worse, I’m terribly lonely. Bending
down to grab a bag of bow tie pasta, I think to myself,
so basically nothing has changed
.

“No.
You cannot do this. It is not right.”

I
look up to see Christiano standing above me. “Oh, hi! You came back!”

He
takes the bottle of sauce out of my hands and puts it on the wrong shelf. “Let
me make you a real Italian meal.”

I
look at the bottle sitting out of place among various olive oils, and back to
him. “Really?”

“Come.”
He takes the bow tie pasta from me, too, and puts that next to the rejected
sauce, also where it’s not supposed to go. I glance down quickly to the bottom
shelf where I just got it from, back up to where it is now, thinking how odd it
is that he did that.
Oddly rebellious.
I love it.

He
steps aside and says it again. “Come.”

It’s
so assertive, that I walk past him toward the door immediately. The teenager
behind the register is still reading his magazine and doesn’t look up. I glance
to him, and then look over my shoulder, catching Christiano looking at my ass.
Only he doesn’t fall all over himself like I did when I was caught. Instead, he
just looks at me. No smile. No shyness.

“You’re
going to cook for me?” I manage, nervously.

He
nods and we walk out into the sunlight. I blink it away until I get used to it.
Again we walk in silence, but my nervousness isn’t going anywhere. I don’t know
this guy. What am I doing?

“Um…Where
are we going?” I’m hoping he says a restaurant where there are lot of
people…and safety.

“We
are going to my kitchen. In my home.” He puts his hands in the pockets of his
tan slacks, looking ahead of us. “It is just out of town. We’ll drive. Come.”

There’s
that word again.

Coming
to a halt, I stare at him like he’s nuts. “I’m not going to just drive off with
a complete stranger! I know I look young, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He
turns on his heel, the sound loud thanks to my nerves being on end. Saying no
can be scary, like you don’t want to hurt a person’s feelings, but come on! I’m
not a fucking idiot. So, I stare at him, firmly holding my ground, my lips a
thin line.

He
thinks for a moment, and then realizes what’s going on. “You are worried I will
hurt you.” The words said out loud are a little hard to hear. It’s a fucked up
world that I even have to think of such a thing, but I do.

“Well,
yeah. Can you blame me?”

He
stares at me. I’m expecting him to say
forget
it, nice meeting you. Goodbye.
But he laughs instead. He belly laughs and
it’s big and free and infectious. It makes me want to join in, but I have no
idea why he’s laughing. I hold back, in case the joke is on me.

“Come
back.” He waves his hand in the direction we just came from and starts walking.
Curious, I follow him. At the first little shop, he walks in, beckoning me to
follow. “Come!”

I
look in the window and see pretty dresses, mostly summer style and all high
quality. I am particularly drawn to the green floor-length sundress on the
right. The pink in the middle reminds me of Corinne. And the white one on the
left is so unlike anything I’ve ever worn, with lace and mini-cut that I look
away and step inside. My eyes take a second to adjust to the quaint lighting to
see we’re in a dress shop, old school style. I walk in further to see him
talking to a beautiful Italian woman who’s hemming a red knee-length dress.

“Who
am I?”

She
looks at him like he’s crazy. With a thick accent, she asks him, also in
English, “Christiano, what is this about?”

“Who
am I, Sophia?” he asks again.

She
pushes her long curly hair back and stands. She is everything I am not –
beautiful, exotic, owning every bit of it and adding more. Italian woman work
it. They wear the jewelry. They have the hair. They jut the hips. They know how
to do it. I stare at her, openly envious and taking notes.

She
laughs, “You’re annoying, that’s what you are,” hitting his shoulder lightly,
her hand lingering there.

“You
see? Would a woman like this be teasing me this way, if I were dangerous?” he
asks me.

She
swings her attention my way for the first time. With one look, her chocolate,
sultry brown eyes rake over me and she turns to him with a question in her
eyes. I know I’m a mess, but it’s degrading nonetheless. Dammit.

He’s
still waiting for my answer.

Feeling
inferior more than appeased, I answer, “No. She wouldn’t.”

He
leaves her side and stops to stand directly in front of me. With dresses on
either side of us, and me wearing a witch’s wardrobe in the middle, he
unbelievably says, “Good. Let’s eat.”

I
wave to her, but she just stares. So I say nothing, turn on my heel and follow
him. Why does she have to be like that? She’s obviously the contest winner.

In
Christiano’s kitchen, there’s a middle island where he hums, slicing tomatoes,
basil, and garlic cloves into separate piles. There’s a large round table off
to the side that seats six, with a vase of red and orange wild flowers from his
garden in its center. The window that leads to that garden is right behind me,
and I can’t stop turning around to look, even though I can’t see much since the
sun went down. When I arrived it was dusk and the garden took my breath away.
It’s what I would call,
controlled
anarchy
. Wild flowers were everywhere contained in masses by stone borders
that were cut through by winding paths that lead to a fountain. So even though
I can’t see it anymore, it’s still in my memory’s imagination. Between looking
at the dark window and his home, I feel lucky to have such a wonderful view.

He
seems to be enjoying speaking solely in English and while he’s very good at it,
it comes slowly and there are questions. I help, answering things like, “No, we
say hot when we mean ‘spicy,’ too. It’s both. But spicy doesn’t have to mean
hot.”

He
nods, chopping away and sliding lingering pieces of tomato from the knife into
a sizzling cast-iron pan. “When did you arrive in Tuscany?”

“Yesterday.”

“Where
are you staying?”

I
feel a little goofy saying I’m staying in a hostel. Maybe if he were my age, it
wouldn’t bother me. “Heart of Tuscany Hostel,” I answer, biting my lip and
hoping he doesn’t think I’m too young for him. And I can’t stop staring at his
hands.

He
hands me a piece of tomato. Feeling daring, I open my mouth. He hesitates, and
places it slowly on my tongue. The sweet, juicy ripeness of the fruit makes me
close my eyes and moan. When I open them, I find he’s staring at me. Neither of
us looks away and it takes him a second to focus back on the meal.

Chewing
on more than the tomato, I lean on my elbows, watching him whip up the most
mouth-watering meal I’ve had since I left America.
And hell,
probably a long while before that, too.
I’m actually salivating, so I
lean over and dip my finger into the sauce. “Mmm.” The deliciousness closes my
eyes again and I’m savoring the delicate balance of herbs and salt. That’s the
key – balance. “So good.”

I
sigh and open my eyes. He’s looking at me again, but this time with open
desire. I must appear surprised by the way he glances away, not wanting to
scare me. But I saw that look. My whole body saw that look. I smooth down my
hair and walk to the window, pulse quickening. I was looking out for my safety
earlier, and I feel safe now. I do. But that he wants me in a healthy way, man
to woman, never occurred to me. Serial killer or rapist I could understand.

I
sneak a peek at him over my shoulder. He’s busy opening a bottle of red. “Would
you like wine, Annie?”