Going Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 2) Read online

  Damn, that would be amazing.

  But it’s not going to happen. Our relationship is too fucked up. We might find our way to being friends—if he’s lucky.

  If he’s not so lucky, he might end up with a hard slap across the face. That is, if I don’t run away again.

  Nine

  Dylan

  “So, what have you been doing with yourself all this time?” I ask as I guide Lucy down the stairwell, trying like hell to get my mind off the parts of me that go erect when stimulated.

  As soon as I turn her way she slips a strand of hair behind her ear. That small act is enough to make my dick roar to life all over again. She’s a seductress who doesn’t even need to try.

  “I finished my Master’s degree in Art History a couple of years ago,” she tells me. “But then I changed my course of action.”

  “What did you change it to?”

  “I ended up in fashion design, actually,” she says timidly, like she’s afraid I’ll judge her.

  “Really?” I ask, admiration flooding through me. It’s no wonder she always looks so damn good. She’s got an eye for clothing, textiles, how to fit her body perfectly.

  She nods. “I’ve been working in the industry ever since I graduated, doing design work for theatre companies. Part of the reason I came here was to do what you’re doing; study Italian designers so I can go home and rip them off. Oops, I mean be inspired by their genius.” She laughs. “Eventually I want to set up my own clothing line. If I had my way, I’d open a little shop somewhere.”

  “That’s amazing, Loose,” I tell her, pulling the gate open at the end of the corridor. We step out into the late-day Roman sunshine. “I’d love to see some of your designs.”

  “Well, this is your lucky day. I’m wearing one,” she replies, gesturing down to the dress that I’ve grown very quickly to appreciate, the one that hugs her curves so well that I can imagine what it would feel like to stroke my fingers over each subtle nuance of her body.

  “Wow,” I say, admiring both the dress and what’s under it. “That’s incredible.”

  “Thanks,” she says, beaming. “I’m sort of excited to see what the next few weeks will bring. Though I’m starting to wish I’d spent some time studying Italian before I came. There’s only so much I can learn without understanding the language.”

  “You’ll pick it up quickly.” I leap in front of her and turn to face her, walking slowly backwards. “Repeat after me: vino bianco.”

  “Vino bianco,” she says, her lips moving in the most seductive way as they caress the consonants.

  “Very good. Now try ‘vorrei andare alla cattedrale.’”

  “Um, that’s a mouthful,” she says. My dick twitches at the very thought of her mouth.

  She starts to repeat the sentence. “Vorrei,” she says. “What does that mean?”

  “Let’s see if you can figure it out,” I tease, stopping and pressing my palm against the wall, blocking her way. “Vorrei passare una sera con la bella Lucia.”

  She raises an eyebrow playfully at me. “If you’re saying something dirty, I…”

  “Not dirty,” I assure her, turning away. “Not at all. You’ll know when I’m saying something dirty.”

  She chuckles. “I’m sure I will.”

  “Come on, bella Lucia, let’s go eat.”

  I’m officially a breast man.

  In a matter of minutes, Lucy has turned me into one. I was never one before, not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’m a red-blooded, heterosexual male. I like breasts. I like nipples. I like pursing my lips around them, hearing a woman moan while I make her squirm under my touch. And those moments before I slip down and get my mouth between a woman’s legs are heaven.

  But right now, no other woman exists. Even memories of others have faded, replaced by Lucy’s beautiful face, her sensual body, the sexy way she moves. She’s complex, interesting, intriguing. She’s everything.

  But all I’m thinking about right this second is what it might be like to have her sweet pink nipples in my mouth. All my hard-on is thinking about is whether or not those amazing full lips of hers might like to come over for a playdate sometime.

  Of course, that’s just sex. Just my body reacting to hers like it always did. She used to turn me on with the shy looks I’d catch her giving me. I remember how she used to keep her chin down, her eyes slipping over my body when she thought I wasn’t looking. She’d tuck a loose strand of hair behind an ear, and the second she knew I was looking she’d glance away, concealing her interest. She still does that. Still stares at me in the few moments when my eyes aren’t on her. She thinks I don’t notice, but I do. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she wants me.

  But I do know better, of course. I know her by now. She proved in June 2010 that she never wanted anything more from me than one passionate kiss.

  Since that night I’ve never gotten really close to any woman. I’ve had plenty of sex, of course. A man has his needs. I’ll date someone for a little while, use her to satisfy my cravings, then push her away. It’s how I roll, and cold though it may be, it works for me.

  The woman I dated briefly, Renata, she was a prime example. She’s attractive and flirtatious, and I figured out pretty quickly that I could have some easy sex with her for a few days. But she became attached, so I high-tailed it out of there faster than the Roadrunner when it meets up with Wile E. Coyote. I didn’t care much about her; she’s not someone I’d ever fall in love with. But the truth is, I’ve never been in love with anyone.

  I came close with Lucy a long time ago. I always wanted to be close to her. I wanted inside her mind, her soul, to know what makes her tick. I wanted her to trust me enough to open up, but I was too young, too stupid to know how to talk to a woman back then. I was too stupid to understand how much I had to open myself up in order to let a woman like her close to me.

  Maybe I still haven’t figured it out. But I’d be willing to try, if she’d give me a chance.

  The restaurant is literally a hundred feet from our building, and in a matter of seconds we’re sitting at an outdoor table. A hot Roman breeze has started up, blowing loose bits of hair around Lucy’s face. She laughs as she tries in vain to tame it, yanking it back into a renewed ponytail. I’ve missed the sound of her laughter. I’ve missed Happy Lucy, from the days when everything was hope and excitement about a future that neither of us could really foresee.

  “Would you rather go inside?” I ask. “The wind and your hair probably aren’t a fun combination.”

  “No. I like it out here.” She leans back in her chair, watching cars and vespas motor by down the narrow street. “This place is special, isn’t it?” she asks. “Rome, I mean.”

  “Special how?” I can’t help but smile as I watch her. She has this cute little look of excitement on her face that I haven’t seen in such a long time. “I’m not disagreeing, but I want to hear your take.”

  “Like, special in the way that the buildings speak to you.” The words come out with no irony, no apology. Like she just knows exactly what she’s saying, because she does. And so do I.

  I’m full-on grinning at her now, raising an eyebrow as I await further explanation. As her eyes meet mine she looks away in that old shy way, her chin tucking itself in, eyes looking at the world around her like Bambi studying a flower. She’s finally lost that air of haughtiness that she was putting on earlier, and I’m glad. I want her to be just the tiniest bit vulnerable. I want the traces of the old Loose to blend with the new.

  “Oh, I know it sounds insane,” she says. “I just feel like there’s something in this place that speaks volumes. These buildings are what, hundreds of years old?”

  “Some of them, yeah.”

  “Don’t you think they’ve seen things? Secret love affairs, deaths, births, the whole nine yards?”

  “No doubt. They do call it the Eternal City for a reason,” I reply. “There have been a lot of shenanigans gone down in this place.”

 
“And you?” she asks, raising her chin to level me with a gaze that tells me she’s getting serious. A waiter has come out to pour us each a glass of water, but he makes quick work of it and leaves. “What shenanigans have you gotten up to since you arrived? When did you get here, anyhow?”

  “I’ve been here five months,” I tell her. “As for shenanigans, I told you already, I did get myself entangled in something a little foolish. Or maybe I should say, with someone a little foolish. I shouldn’t have, but I guess I was lonely.”

  Her eyes peel away from mine and she looks at something across the street. “Ah, that,” she replies. “Renata, is it?”

  “Sorry,” I add. “I don’t have to talk about her.”

  “No, it’s fine,” she says, offering up a thin smile. “Who is she?”

  “A co-worker. It ended a couple of weeks back. Hell, it only lasted a few days, really. Turns out she’s a little…clingy.” Clingy like a suction cup on my soul.

  “So, you mentioned that it’s over?” she asks. I’m not sure if I detect a hint of strain in her voice.

  “Yes, completely,” I tell her, studying her face for a reaction. “I’m as single as ever. But of course, you and the famous Giancarlo, or Signor Squidgypants, or whatever his name is…”

  “Hmmm?” she replies. She looks confused for a moment, then a light seems to go on, like she’s remembering what she told me earlier. “Oh yeah, Giancarlo. Oh, you know. It’s nothing serious. Just a date I’m supposed to go on.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised he’s snatched you up already. You’re so…” Shit. I was about to tell her how sexy she is. How desirable. Stop talking, I tell myself. Don’t let yourself get close to her. Shields up.

  “I’m what?” she asks, leaning towards me. I feel like she’s teasing me now. Of course she is. She knows what I’m thinking. She knows I want her. Lucy’s no idiot.

  “You’re an attractive woman,” I say in a restrained tone as my eyes veer to the soft white cleavage above her dress’s neckline. Attractive isn’t the word for it. More like holy shit, if I were any more of a pig I’d tear that dress off of you right now, press your back to this table and fuck you senseless. That’s so far beyond attractive that there isn’t even a word for it. Boner-inducing, maybe.

  “Thanks, Dill Pickle,” she replies, staring into my eyes, which have slyly moved back to meet hers.

  A smile creeps over my lips and I lean towards her, setting my elbows on the table to mirror her pose. “Dill Pickle. Wow, I haven’t heard that one in a long time.”

  “I haven’t said it in a long time.” She’s gotten very good at confronting me with those incredible eyes of hers. Sexy Lucy is pulling me in right now, and I’m letting her.

  Maybe after everything, it’s good that nothing happened with us seven years ago.

  Maybe we were waiting for this moment.

  Ten

  Lucy

  It feels like no time has passed since we were sitting together on that beach in California. Staring into one another’s eyes, just like we’re doing now. Only this time, it’s even better.

  I want him as badly as I did then. Maybe more, if that’s even possible.

  I want to throw caution to the wind and ask him to come back to my place with me. I want to make love at long last with Dylan Emerson, not just once but over and over again. I want to drag my fingertips over his eight-pack, sweep my tongue over his muscular chest. I want to know if he likes having his neck kissed. I want to hear him moan deep as I wrap my lips around his dick.

  These totally insane thoughts are flying through my mind as I stare at him. Every word he utters is sex. Every movement of his hands, every twitch of his lips into that seductive smile of his. Every little thing he does makes me want him more.

  But then I remember that we’re just supposed to be friends. Nothing more.

  Stupid rules.

  “How’s your food?” he asks after I’ve taken a few greedy mouthfuls to distract myself from the unending stream of lustful thoughts. I’d hardly realized how hungry I was, and damn, this pasta is good.

  In response to Dylan’s question, I let out a little moan of pleasure, and he laughs. When I’ve swallowed, I reply, “Really damn good. Is all Italian food this delicious?”

  “Most of it,” he says, nodding.

  “I’m starting to think Italy is just perfection,” I tell him, looking around us at our surroundings. “This place is another universe. The smells, the sights. I feel like a naive, wide-eyed tourist.”

  “Well, it’s what you are,” he says. “So am I, really. Even though I’ve been here for a while I feel like someone’s hit refresh on the Rome page. I’d forgotten what an amazing city it was. I guess my mind was immersed in my work.”

  “Oh? So what’s changed?” I’m staring at him, trying to deduce his meaning. I feel like I’ve been doing that all along. Always trying to figure him out, like I want to keep one step ahead, in case he says something that stings.

  “You, Loose,” he replies. “You’re here, and you just seem taken with Rome. Your energy is infectious.” He presses his elbows to the table and leans forward. “I’d forgotten how amazing you are too, you know.”

  Ouch. That stung. It shouldn’t have, of course; it was a compliment, and a good one, at that. But if he thought I was amazing, why did he take off that night with…

  Nope. I promised myself I wouldn’t think about the past, and I’m not going to.

  “I’m not so amazing,” I tell him, gesturing to a woman who’s walking by, a red leather purse slung over one shoulder. “Now, that chick is amazing. Look at her clothes.” She’s wearing long, striped palazzo pants and a linen top that’s tied at the waist. In the States she’d draw stares for looking like a supermodel, but here she’s just another Italian woman walking home. “That’s sort of why I came here, the fashion, the style. It’s like Italians are just on another level from the rest of us. More highly evolved or something.”

  Dylan smiles and turns his gaze to take in people passing us by. “You’re trying to distract me by pointing at other women,” he says.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Let’s play your game and people-watch. You tell me what clothes look good and which are awful.”

  “Challenge accepted,” I reply.

  “What about that one?” He points to a woman who must be seventy, wearing a low-cut khaki jumpsuit and leather sandals.

  “Are you kidding?” I laugh. “She’s awesome. Not self-conscious in the least about her age. That’s how every woman should be, but we’re all tightly-wound idiots who worry that we’ll be judged. Hell, back home there are TV shows dedicated to teaching women to dress for their age, like there’s some kind of stupid rule about it.”

  “You don’t think there is?” He asks the question, but I don’t get the impression that he’s judgmental about it.

  I shake my head. “No. It’s all societal pressure that we thrust upon women to control them. It’s crazy, really. When I’m old I want to wear heels and colourful outfits and say fuck it to everything and everyone.”

  “You’ll be a spitfire,” he laughs, sitting back. “I can see it now.”

  “Maybe. I do find that I get less tolerant with age. Not that I’m so old yet.”

  “Less tolerant? Yeah, I sort of noticed that earlier when you looked like you might castrate me with your fingernails.”

  I chuckle as I swallow a sip of water. “Did I really? Oopsie. I guess I should apologize for that.”

  “It’s okay. I think you’ve figured out by now that I’m not actually the devil.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, pretending to study him for signs of pure evil. “No, maybe not. You’re going to have to work pretty hard to convince me once and for all, though.”

  “I’ll get right on that. So, speaking of devilish men, have you had any major relationships since I last saw you, Loose?”

  I look away for a moment. I’m not sure how much to tell him. Do I let him know
that I’ve been a little fucked up, afraid of commitment, and basically a stupid girl all my adult life?

  “I was dating someone a while back,” I tell him. It’s the truth. “A lawyer. For about two minutes I thought it might get serious.”

  “And then?”

  “He proved to me that he wasn’t worth it by being a total grade-A douche,” I say, smirking. “Which seems to be the story of my life. I get together with guys who aren’t good for me, knowing I’ll eventually end up breaking up with them. It’s my way of making sure my heart never gets broken by a guy who’s actually nice.”

  I’ve never laid it out that way before, but what I just said was true. On the rare occasions that I get involved with a man for more than one night, I tend to pull him in for a quick intimacy fix, then push him away at the first sign of trouble. I’m always relieved when I can rid myself of the burden of commitment.

  “I see,” says Dylan, studying me again. His amazing lips are twitching into the most gorgeous smile that I can hardly stand to look at him. To think I kissed those lips once. I remember perfectly how good it felt. I remember wondering what they’d feel like on my nipples. On my…

  Stop it.

  “What about you?” I ask, surprised that I’m able to pose such an intimate question without wincing. “Have you had any serious relationships?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes locked on mine. “Nope,” he says. “No one appealed to me enough. No one ever held a candle to…” Fortunately, he stops himself before giving away the name on his lips. No doubt he was about to bring up some goddess, and I’m not sure I want to hear about her. “What about that one?” he asks, pointing to a guy who looks like he must be an American tourist, walking along in plaid shorts, a striped shirt and flip flops.

  “Awful,” I say. “If I want to see guys who look like that I can just hang around Los Angeles.”