An Innocent Abroad: A Jazz Age Romance Read online

  “I don’t have a bathing suit,” she said.

  “We don’t need bathing suits.” He stripped off his shirt, and her heart seemed to lodge in her throat. His torso was as beautiful as she had imagined. Sleek, muscled, sculpted, and tanned.

  He turned away as he stripped off his trousers, then he cast a look over his shoulder, a look full of laughter and mischief, and dived over the boat’s edge.

  Her face caught fire. Stefano had stripped naked before her, with the same ease and assurance he did everything.

  But how could she possibly do the same?

  Until she’d dressed before Frances today, she’d never been naked in front of anyone, not even her school friends.

  Stefano surfaced a short distance away, pushing his dark, wet hair back from his face. “The water is warm,” he called out, as though the temperature were the only thing keeping her hesitating on the deck. He rolled onto his back, floating in the water, closing his eyes to bask in the sunshine.

  The ache inside her intensified. She wanted to swim naked in this water. Wanted the caress of sea and sun on her skin. This was the moment when she needed to decide if she was going to take what she wanted and be the person she wanted to be, or whether she was going to play it safe and be the person her mother wanted her to be.

  She slipped off her T-strap shoes, kicking them away, then slid the sleeves of the borrowed dress down her arms to reveal the soft camisole she wore beneath. The silk slipped down her body to pool at her feet. Out in the water, Stefano lazily turned over to watch. Even across the distance, she could see the admiration in his dark gaze.

  His look fired her courage.

  Isobel undid her garters and slowly rolled down her silk stockings, and felt rather than saw the intensifying heat in his gaze.

  Once the stockings lay beside the dress, Isobel lifted the camisole above her head, and her nipples peaked as the sultry air hit them. Stefano stopped floating to tread water as he watched her, no longer at ease, his whole attention focussed on her.

  Her pause as she rested her hands on her hips was barely perceptible. The thin silk step-in panties she wore were the last barrier between them. Before she could think twice about it, she slid them down her legs and stepped free of the pile of clothing at her feet.

  The sun prickled her bare skin. The sensuous touch of air and heat on parts of her body that had never known them stung her skin to life. She breathed in deeply and dived neatly over the side, into the welcoming warmth and concealment of the water.

  When she surfaced, Stefano was less than a metre away, still treading water. Slowly, he moved towards her, until he was within arm’s length. But he didn’t come any closer, nor did he touch her.

  He waited, leaving it to her to make the move from which there would be no turning back. A heady sense of power rushed through her. He wanted her. But the power was all hers.

  She flipped away from him, diving down into the water, to surface a few metres away, laughing at the sudden flare of his eyes and the reeling sensation it sent through her. She had never teased a man before. It was fun.

  He stroked through the water towards her and she slipped away again, making him chase after her. She was a strong swimmer, loved the water, and by the time he caught her they were both breathless. He tackled her, playfully wrapping his arms about her to prevent her from escaping once again, bringing her hard up against him. Their laughter died, replaced by rapid breathing and instant sizzling awareness.

  Her breasts pressed against his hard chest as his arms circled her waist. His erection brushed against her thigh, hardening.

  “I want to touch it,” she said, and he nodded.

  Tentatively, she palmed him, awed at the unexpected strength beneath soft skin. Then slowly she stroked up and down his full length.

  Stefano smiled, a slow, heated smile, and his eyes were half-hooded. He guided her hand, wrapping her fingers around him, showing her how to stroke up and down his erection.

  He moaned. “I need to get you back to the boat. Race you back.”

  He swam well, his strong arms propelling him through the water. But impatience leant her speed and it was an even race. They reached the boat together and she climbed the rope ladder to the deck, burningly aware of her nakedness as she rose out of the water, droplets sleeting from her skin. She stepped onto the deck and waited for him, her heart knocking against her ribs, unsure of herself again.

  He climbed the last rungs of the ladder and stepped onto the deck, standing straight, shoulders thrown back, and she saw him fully for the first time.

  He was beautiful, all smooth planes and hard edges. His erection stood tall and hard against his stomach.

  No one had ever explained to her the mechanics of how this worked, of how a man and a woman made love, but she had heard enough whispers to know it involved that erect penis sliding inside her. She couldn’t imagine it. He seemed so big.

  She couldn’t drag her eyes away. She swallowed.

  “I’ll go gently,” he said, his voice soft.

  She believed him. He wouldn’t hurt her. Stefano had always treated her as if she were precious, and important. That wouldn’t change now.

  Like magnets, unable to do anything but obey the laws of attraction, they moved together. This time when their bodies met there were no barriers, neither water nor air, nor any of the internal barriers Isobel had been taught were right and proper for a young lady to keep between her and a man.

  He wanted her and she wanted him. There was nothing else.

  With his hands in her hair, he pulled her close, then his lips were on hers, hard and demanding, and she liked it, the rough passion of this kiss.

  She wrapped her arms about his waist, holding on to him for support, and he groaned, deepening his kiss. His tongue relentlessly invaded her mouth, as he slid his hands down over her shoulders, down the bare skin of her arms. His rough palms settled at her hips, drawing her hard against him. This time she did not shiver beneath his touch; her whole body was on fire.

  He lifted her, as effortlessly as though she were a feather, and breaking apart their kiss, lay her down on the deck. Their gazes held, unable to break apart. Very gently, he pushed her thighs apart and kneeled between her legs. Every inch of her was now exposed to him, every secret revealed, and yet she was not afraid.

  Stefano laid a hand on her thigh, and where he touched her, sparks flashed beneath her skin. Slowly, reverently, he slid a hand up her leg, over her hip, across her stomach.

  Isobel ached, the need between her legs growing to an agonising pitch, as his hand swept upward to her breasts, skimming lightly over nipples hardened to tight points. He bunched her breast in his palm, rolled a nipple between his fingers, and she moaned as streaks of pleasure shot through her.

  Then he leaned forward, flattening the palm of his other hand on the deck beside her, carrying his weight as his body hovered above hers, so close and yet too far away. She wanted to wrap her arms about him and pull him closer, to feel his skin and muscle and solid strength against her body.

  “Touch me,” he said, his voice a growl against her cheek as he leaned in, brushing his lips over her jaw and down the tender skin of her throat. “Touch me, as you want me to touch you.”

  She stretched out a hand to his taut abdomen, running her palm over his muscles, over the bunched up power beneath his hot skin. Growing braver, she moved her hand lower, circling the base of his erection, cupping him with her palm as he had shown her in the water.

  She squeezed a little as she stroked him up and down, felt him buck in her hand, and he moaned with pleasure.

  “Oh yes. That’s so good.” He lowered his mouth to her straining nipples. His mouth was warm and soft, suckling her, pulling on her, growing more insistent. She cried out against the shock waves rolling through her, driving straight to the juncture of her thighs, wet now with need.

  His hands rover over her body, just as hers were doing, moving gradually lower until they reached the slick cleft between h
er legs. His fingers slid between her inner lips, stroking, teasing.

  So absorbed was she in the roiling sensations that she did not protest when he slid his fingers between her legs, through the soft curls that were all the modesty she had left. The excruciating pleasure of the movement was so intense she thrust her hips forward against his hand, wanting more.

  Her fingers tightened around his shaft, stroking him as he stroked her, delighting in the velvety soft skin beneath her fingers, until he reached up and removed her fingers from around him and shifted out of her grasp.

  “Am I doing it wrong?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “You’re perfect. Too perfect. This will all be over too soon if you keep doing that.”

  He eased himself down her body, and then placed his mouth on her opening.

  She shut her eyes. He wasn’t really…?

  Oh. He was.

  He kissed the swollen nub between her legs, then sucked it into his mouth, and pure pleasure shot through her.

  This couldn’t be bad, could it, or wrong, when it felt so divine?

  He worked her open with his tongue, licking and stroking until she cried out with pleasure. She lifted her hips, pushed harder against him, and he slid a finger into her, sending her wild with need even as her body fought against the intrusion.

  His finger moved in and out, invading her. Gradually she adjusted to the feel of him, to the sensual slide of his hand.

  His touch started a pulse throbbing through her, building in intensity, and then the world ceased to exist. She could see nothing, hear nothing, beyond the exquisite sensations overwhelming her.

  Only when the wave had passed, and her eyes fluttered open again, did he stop. He moved to lie beside her, wrapping her in his arms.

  “That was…” there were no words.

  He chuckled against her cheek. “That was your first orgasm.”

  “Is it always so… good?”

  “It should be.” He wrapped her in his arms, rolled her onto her side, and held her head against his chest. His erection pressed against her stomach, more insistent than ever. “And it can be even better, when I’m inside you.”

  And better for him too, she guessed.

  “Then can we try?” she asked, unable to resist the naughty giggle that bubbled up.

  “It will hurt a little your first time,” he warned.

  “Then we need to get it over with, so we can get to the second time.”

  He laughed again, and kissed her, and she could taste herself on his lips. His mouth was hot and wet.

  His hand once again probed between her legs, and this time he slid two finger inside her, widening, exploring, penetrating deeper, sliding faster over the sensitive folds of her skin.

  His erection pressed against her core. His fingers slid from her and she cried out her disappointment, the cry changing as he pushed the hard head of his erection into her. He tried to be gentle, but she tensed around the invasion, at once reluctant and willing.

  Slowly, slowly he buried himself in her and she felt the moment when he encountered her resistance, and the final barrier inside her gave way. Pain flashed through her, sharp, momentary. He stilled inside her, waited.

  “Hush,” he murmured. “The worst is over now. Relax.” He stroked her face. “Are you okay, cara?”

  She nodded. Muscles she hadn’t even known existed clenched around him in protest. She forced herself to relax as he instructed. Forced herself to breathe.

  But the pain was nothing compared to the sense of victory, of conquest that uncurled in her. Everything she had known, everything she was, shattered in that moment, setting her free. She was no longer a girl, but a woman. And she was his.

  For a long time he held still inside her, letting her body adjust to his. She breathed through the discomfort, enjoying the slide of his hand over her breasts until she had relaxed enough. Then he shifted inside her, and a little ripple of pleasure echoed through her bones, a pleasure that promised more to come.

  He had been so patient with her, though it seemed the tension in him was only barely held in check. She wanted him to enjoy this too, to enjoy her.

  Cautiously, she rocked her hips against him, feeling how the movement caused his erection to rub against her inner walls. His breath stuttered.

  “Take me,” she said.

  His gaze held hers, and the look in his eyes made her feel like a goddess, desirable, all-powerful, wicked. Raising himself above her, those strong, muscled arms braced on either side of her shoulders, he thrust into her again, a slow sensuous glide of skin against skin.

  He moved inside her, building a slow and steady pace, the friction starting waves of pleasure and pain up through her abdomen, slow at first, and growing faster with each thrust.

  She arched her back, instinctively forcing him deeper, harder, and he responded, plunging into her with a gathering wildness that drove them both towards the edge of reason. This time she knew what to expect when the explosion of feeling came. She forced her eyes to stay open so she could watch him as he came. His eyes were blacker than night, darker than sin, and so extraordinarily beautiful.

  Then she clung to him as his release crashed over him, and through her, his warm seed erupting into her, and she felt his pleasure as her own.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Time stood still as they lay together on the sun-washed deck, wrapped in each other’s arms, not talking, content to let their hands explore, to touch and discover. Infinitely gentle, Stefano kissed her bare breasts, circling the sensitive nipples with his tongue. The stir of his erection against her leg sent a swift shaft of desire piercing through her, even though she felt bruised and aching in places she hadn’t even known existed before today.

  A strange, alien trickle of warmth escaped between her legs.

  She reached out to touch his erection. It was only semi-hard now, growing fuller as she stroked. He pulled away, grinning, the devilish glint back in his eyes. “Not so soon, bella. In case someone asks to see them, you will need to do some sketches. For your … what do you call it … alibi?”

  He climbed down into the cabin to fetch her sketch pad and pencils. Isobel leaned back on her arms, stretching out her naked body, worshipping the sunlight. She felt so free, so alive, and so full of possibility.

  Not just a woman now, but something more. Like a new person.

  When he returned, he handed her a damp cloth so she could clean herself up, then she sat and took the book from him. He lay on his back beside her, his head pillowed on his arms, eyes closed, though she knew he was not asleep.

  “Tell me about yourself. Have you lived here all your life?” she asked, as her charcoal pencil began to scratch across the thick paper.

  He spoke without opening his eyes. “I grew up here, but I attended university in Rome, then I went to the naval academy at Livorno. That’s where I was when the war started.”

  For a moment, she stopped drawing to look at him. Of course he was old enough to have seen action. But she hadn’t even considered it until now. If he carried any scars from the experience, they were beneath the surface.

  She smiled a little, admiring the gorgeous, very masculine body stretched before her. “And then?”

  “When the war was over, I left the navy and travelled a little.” His tone was light, as if what he discussed was inconsequential. The stiffening in his shoulders was barely perceptible.

  “What is a little?”

  “Nearly three years.”

  She did the mental calculations. So he had not been home long. “Why did you come back?”

  “My father died, and it was time for me to take up my place as head of the family.”

  “Did you mind having to come home?”

  He was silent for a long time. “At first I did.” His mouth twisted in a smile. “All the time I was travelling, I was searching for something, only I didn’t know what it was. In coming home I found what I had been looking for.”

  “What was that?” Her voice was
hushed.

  He raised himself up on an elbow to look at her. “I found where I belong. This is my home, it’s my future. No matter what has happened, no matter what will happen, these are my people.”

  She nodded. She had felt that same sense of belonging, from the moment the carriage had left Naples and begun the twisting, heart-stopping journey on the narrow shelf of rock between sea and sky, she’d felt at home. But she didn’t have the luxury of being able to stay. These weren’t her people.

  Then she heard the echo of his last words. “Why do you say ‘no matter what’?”

  His face clouded. He stared out into the distance, across the still water to the mainland. “Change is coming. There is restlessness in the air. It’s time for us to make a new future for this country, but I am afraid of the direction that future will take.”

  “The fascisti?”

  Stefano nodded.

  “I saw what happened on the steps of the church the other night.” She bit her lip.

  “I am sorry you saw that.” He reached forward to brush a tress of her hair back behind her ear with a soothing caress. “We are a volatile people. But nearly all Positanese are related, so every fight is like a family quarrel. But that ...” He scowled, his bright eyes dimming for a moment. “Those men were outsiders. That is not who we are.” Then the irrepressible smile softened his grave expression. “But let’s not borrow tomorrow’s problems. This day is too precious to waste a moment.”

  He traced a pattern down the inside of her thigh with light fingers, setting her skin alight where he touched her.

  She swatted away his hand. “You’re distracting me.”

  “That is my intention.” He took the sketch pad and pencil from her nerveless fingers, glancing down at her drawing.

  She blushed. It was not a picture she could ever show to another living person. But it was a memory she would treasure all her life, long after this Italian idyll was over.

  “I like it,” he said simply, setting the book carefully aside, unembarrassed to see himself naked upon the page.

  They kissed, they tasted, they explored. This time their lovemaking was not slow and sensuous as it had been before, but wild and fervent. Knowing what to expect, Isobel opened herself up to him, and he took the invitation, plunging harder and faster, holding nothing back until they soared together.