Passport to Him - Page 73

VOYEURS IN VENICE

We haven’t talked much morethan awkward small talk since Enzo’s confession of love. He was consistently gone on business meetings while I saw the sights by myself. Antonio trailing not far behind me. They got called away to a business meeting in Venice, so I decided to follow them. It was time for me to be back in Italy and figure out what I am doing and why.

Was it a mistake? Did he just say that in the moment?

I didn’t see him all day yesterday but told me to meet him for breakfast at the Café Florrian. My green maxi dress and black leather jacket contrasting the red plush velvet cushion below me as I sat at a booth near the window. I pull my hair back into a tight bun atop my head. Tilting my head back I am in awe of the gorgeous ceilings and walls covered in hand painted beautiful works of art. As I look back at the table in front of me, I catch eyes with a man across the restaurant. His eyes intently focused on me and around his surroundings. He was watching my every move. He swapped positions with Antonio a few hours ago. I have my own shadow. No doubt it was Enzo’s idea. I look out the window overlooking the San Marco Square, where Enzo and Antonio come into my view. Their tense jaws and seething looks a clear indication of another heated argument between them. These two men were at odds over whatever business he did the past few days. Antonio was not happy about it. Aside from finally seeing Enzo again since yesterday morning, the man look tired. His crisp white t-shirt and indigo blue jeans were a breath of fresh air from his usual linen suits. Antonio shoves Lorenzo in the shoulder, pushing him away from him. A flash of anger crosses his face that I have never seen before. Their exchange got more heated as Lorenzo got mere inches from Antonio’s face.

What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall to hear his heated words with Antonio.

He walks through the café and his scorned glacier eyes meet mine and immediately soften. He bends down and kisses my cheek gingerly.

“Things okay?” I ask, my eyebrow raising skeptically.

Sitting down on the plush read seat beside me, “Si, just a disagreement,” he says, taking his hand in mine and placing a soft kiss across my knuckles.

The older gentleman waiter wearing a full black tuxedo jacket and tails sets down two a large silver tray on the table in front of us. A pot of hot water, coffee, milk, two cups and a carafe of cold water were placed beside a small tray of fruit and biscotti. It smelled divine.

“Grazie,” I whisper.

“Prego,” he says, a nod of appreciation in my direction.

The waiter left as I grabbed the white linen napkin and placed it softly in my lap. Enzo fills my cup with hot water, coffee and finishes it off with more milk than a normal person should probably have with their coffee.

He remembers how I like my coffee.

“You know how I like my coffee?”

“It’s not hard to remember you drown your caffe in milk, amore,” a small chuckle from his lips.

Taking a sip of the hot drink and relish in its deliciousness, “It feels illegal to drink coffee this good,” I say.

He pours a cup of straight coffee into his cup, taking a deep inhale of it before taking a sip.

“I am thankful you are so understanding of having to leave Santorini. I was not expecting business so suddenly,” he says, setting the cup down on the table in front of him.

“Grazie,” I whisper.

As I watch his eyes avoiding me, I begin to suspect that either he regretted telling me he fell in love with me, or he truly had business doing who knows what with who.

“Maybe I could come with you. I would love to see your office,” my ulterior motives in the back of my head.

Without missing a beat, “Maybe someday,” Enzo says, his eyes never meeting mine.

A deep unsatisfied breath releases from my lips. My mind a jumbled mess of what ifs. My heart a disaster zone of confusion. His fingers graze against my thigh and instantly my lady bits are the only one I am listening too.

“Princessa,” he whispers, his breath against my neck as I nuzzle away from his lips.

He calls me Princessa every time he’s hard for me. I love it.

“Enzo, you can’t call me that,” I whisper back, my lips grazing across his bearded cheek.

“Does it do things to you?” he asks, a teasing smirk gracing his full lips.

“You know it does,” I whisper.

“Are you ready to check off another thing off you list?” Enzo asks, his questioning glance in my direction.

“What did you have in mind?” Eyeing him and his playboy smirk carefully.

* * *

The black leatherwas cold against my skin. The only light in the room is the one directly over my shoulder shining over the top of us.

Sitting in a darkened tattoo parlor was not even in my wildest kinks.

My arm rested against his, his hands carefully holding a tattoo gun like it was naturally fitting there. The wooded smell of his cologne more powerful being so up close to me. He carefully tattoos the inside of my forearm. The pain feels like a pricking bee sting.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Does your friend know were here?” I ask.

“I own his building, I can come whenever I want,” he snarks.

Under my breath, “Of course you do.”

He scoffed and gave me a teasing gaze through furrowed brows of amusement.

One more smirk and I would shove this man’s beard between my legs.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, hesitant to know the answer.

“Si,” Enzo says, his concentration solely on the tattoo he was giving me on my forearm.

“What does your neck tattoo mean? Or is it just a neck tattoo to look badass and intimidating?”

“To be badass and intimidating.”

Tags: Brittany McMahan Erotic
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