Читать книгу Stick Shift - Mary Leo - Страница 11

THE GIRL in the red scarf had so intrigued Vittorio that once the plane had landed in Rome he followed her to the car-rental counter. Fortunately, they were going to the same city, but the beguiling Madonna had turned out to be an elitist.

Her misfortune, Vittorio thought as he waved his goodbye. He was not the type of man to pursue a woman with her nose stuck up in the air when there were so many unspoiled women to choose from, like the girl serving him the cappuccino from behind the coffee bar. The girl with the beautiful, full breasts and round hips who leaned toward him just enough so he could peek down her open blouse.

“Just right,” Vittorio told her as she moved in even closer, smiling over at him when she put the cup, with the billows of steamed milk, down in front of him. “Like a pillow,” he teased and picked up the cup to take a sip. She giggled and her breasts bounced ever so slightly under the thin cotton of her floral blouse.

Vittorio appreciated the moment and was just about to start some heavy flirting when somebody tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” a voice said, tap-tap-tapping while he tried desperately to get his peek at what had to be the most perfect breasts in all of Italy.

“Go away. I am busy,” he said as he turned around, annoyed by the incessant pecking on his shoulder.

It was she, the elitist in the red scarf. Her hair had come undone from its clip and surrounded her face with its rich luster. Streaks of sunlight sparkled through the warm brown of thick silk.

Vittorio could only smile at his fortune. To be enveloped by two such beauties was indeed a great moment to be savored.

“Ah, it is you, signorina. Let me buy you a cappuccino,” he said, smiling.

“Thanks,” Lucy said, “but I thought you were driving to Napoli.”

“Yes, but first I drink coffee. Please, you will feel better after.” He turned to the beauty leaning on the counter. “Prego, un cappuccino.”

Lucy hesitated, but then agreed, rolled her suitcase in close, and secured her purse on her shoulder. The girl behind the counter continued to flirt with Vittorio as she made the cappuccino for Lucy.

The girl and Vittorio spoke to each other in Italian.

“Is this your lover?” she asked Vittorio.

“What kind of question—”

“Just making sure,” she said.

When she had finished making the cappuccino, she slammed it down in front of Lucy, spilling the coffee on the counter and on Lucy’s white jacket.

“Thanks a lot,” Lucy said and reached for a napkin.

Undaunted, the girl walked back to Vittorio and leaned in as far as she could. This time Vittorio got the full view.

“Oh, brother,” Lucy murmured and turned away.

“I get off work in an hour,” the girl purred.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Lucy said, as she picked up her things and walked away.

Vittorio called after her. “No. Wait.” He pulled some money out of his pocket, put it down on the counter, smiled and whispered, “Some other time, perhaps.”

“Some other time,” the coffee girl repeated, with fire in her eyes.

LUCY COULDN’T BELIEVE she had decided to hitch a ride from such a…a lush, a sleaze, a guy with absolutely no scruples. To flirt with one girl, while another waits for you, was just…well, it was disgusting. Downright disgusting!

But then it was the nature of the Italian man to flirt. Her very own father was a flirt. Somehow, her mother never cared. She would say, “Better that he looks at the menu than eat the food.”

Disgusting!

If the earth opened up at that very moment and swallowed the whole group of them, she would be happy. Jubilant! Filled with jubil.

As she walked through the airport, pondering her new descriptive phrase, envisioning a huge crack down the middle of Italy where thousands of smirking Italian men, dressed in trendy suits and black sandals lined up to jump into the abyss, she felt a tap, tap, tap on her shoulder and turned.

“Scusi, signorina. Please, my car, she waits,” he said, bowing.

Lucy stood there, staring at him while she did a mental rewind of the smile they’d exchanged on the plane.

“Then, let’s go,” she said.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and reached for her suitcase, but her stubborn streak wouldn’t let her give it up.

“Please,” he said. “Allow me.”

“Thanks, but I’m perfectly able to pull my own bag.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “But why, when I am willing to pull it for you?”

She couldn’t think of a quick response, so she gave him the suitcase, but it somehow didn’t seem right. She walked alongside him with her arms folded across her chest. Lucy believed in equality, women’s rights, NOW, and didn’t particularly like it when a man showed any degree of old-world chivalry. She wanted to give him a lecture on how things were in her world, but decided this was his world so she would let it go…for now.

They walked for what seemed like forever. After hopping on at least three trams, they finally found his car in the multi-story carpark. It was a bright-red, classic, convertible Alfa Romeo Spider about the size of a tight shoe.

Lucy wondered where inside this tiny flash on wheels was the luggage going to fit. He opened her door, of course, making sure she was comfortable before he crammed the luggage into the itty-bitty trunk.

When he got in and shut his door, Lucy realized just how close they were. She could actually hear him breathing.

Help!

Suddenly, she thought of Seth. Longed for Seth. Longed for his arms around her. His face next to hers. His body so close they were one. To be cuddling with him as they watched an old movie, or lingered over a spectacular sunset—even though they’d never watched an old movie or lingered over a sunset, she was sure they would once they were married.

“I’ve got to make a phone call,” she blurted and jumped out of the car. She didn’t care that Seth was on his workday-sleeping schedule and was probably tucked in for the night. She only cared about one thing…hearing his reassuring voice.

At first she couldn’t get through, then Seth’s phone began to ring.

“Hello,” he said into her ear. It felt great to hear his voice. Made her think everything was going to be fine. That this trip was worth the effort.

“Hi, Seth. Just wanted to tell you that I’m here,” she told him.

Just at that moment, the red sportscar roared to life. “I can’t hear you. You’ll have to shout,” Seth said. “Where are you?”

“In Rome.”

“I thought you were going to Naples.”

“I’m driving. Well, I’m not driving but…I met someone who—”

“You’re breaking up. All I got was something about you…meeting someone.”

“What? I can barely hear you.” She tried to shout louder over the revving engine, but the noise only grew worse.

She thought she could hear Seth as he yawned into the phone. “Everything’s under control here, so don’t worry. Just concentrate on work. Your mother phoned. She’s taking over the wedding. Ordering more flowers. Carnations. Red ones.” He yawned again. “Call me when you get to your room.”

“But you were supposed to handle all the last-minute stuff for me, not my mother. She’ll turn it into an Italian festival. I hate red carnations!”

“Don’t worry so much. It’ll be fine. I have to go to sleep now, or I won’t get my eight hours. You know I’m lousy without my eight.”

“Seth, I—”

“Bye,” he said before she could get another word out. Before she had a chance to tell him she loved him. Before he could tell her he loved her. Not that they had said it very often, twice to be exact, twice in the year and a half they had been dating, but it was an overused word anyway.

Wasn’t it?

The phone went dead.

For an instant Lucy thought she should call him back. Tell him it was some guy she met on the plane, some weird guy who eats his shoes and smells of garlic. She was getting a ride from a complete stranger who had an unhealthy fascination with garlic and leather. Someone who carries her luggage, opens her car door and flirts with every woman he sees.

Someone who makes her toes itch.

She wanted to tell Seth everything, wanted him to get angry, jealous, enraged, but instead she opened the car door and slid into the seat next to…oh my God, she still didn’t know his name.