independent.”
“My mother watches Desperate Housewives. ” To be honest, he wasn’t too sure about that show as a standard for American women. But Elena was American, and she wanted to be married.
“That’s a TV show.”
“Television shows are made popular by the way they exaggerate real life.”
“Marco, that makes no sense.”
“You are simply saying that because you don’t agree with my theory.”
“Okay, if you’re right about TV echoing life, how do you feel about movies?”
“I think that, to a certain extent they reflect the view of what they are representing. You know, I’m not saying that movies and television programs are real life, simply that they mirror an attitude of the culture that produced them.”
She was so bubbly with her passion for discussing this. He liked it because he could tell that she wasn’t planning what she would say to him. She wasn’t keeping this conversation all about him, the way she had during dinner. This was something real. An indication of the woman who was Virginia.
He still didn’t know her last name, but he would before morning. He hoped to spend this night uncovering all of her secrets.
He would know everything about her body, of course—he was already intimately acquainted with the sounds she made when her body was suffused with pleasure. Now he wanted to know what made her mad. What made Virginia cry? What made her laugh and smile? He needed that knowledge and he would be ruthless about getting it.
“Did you see the movie Talladega Nights? ” she asked him.
“Yes. It was quite funny, with that Will Ferrell.”
“Um…by rights I should assume you are like the French driver in the movie.”
It took him a moment to figure out that she was trying to say he might be gay. He saw the sparkle in her eyes. She was teasing him. He knew he shouldn’t feel good about that fact, but he did.
He closed the distance between them, tired of not holding her in his arms. The last month had been too long. He’d focused on racing and on the promo events that went with the Formula One season, but every night he’d had passion-filled dreams of Virginia and he wanted to make them a reality.
“I think I’ve proven that I’m more interested in women than men,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “But perhaps you need another demonstration?”
She put her hands on his face and rose up to kiss him with the gentle passion he associated only with Virgina.
“I have no doubts that you are interested in women. I was trying to make a point,” she said.
“Instead, you proved that Americans think Frenchmen are gay. It matters not to me. I’m Italian, and interested in only one woman tonight.”
“Me?”
“You,” he said, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her down the hallway and into the bedroom.
He put her on her feet next to the bed. As he stroked one finger down the side of her neck and traced the soft fabric neckline of her dress, shivers spread down her body. His fingers were warm against her skin and she wasn’t really listening to what he was saying.
She simply watched his lips to see if he was going to kiss her. That was what she really wanted and needed. She had missed him. And though she’d had other relationships before Marco that one night in his arms had far exceeded what she’d expected. He’d marked her indelibly and she’d been unable to forget his touch.
“I’m almost afraid to believe that you are really here.”
“I am here,” she said. Truly, she was afraid to believe that he’d taken her back into his arms so easily.
He leaned down, his lips brushing over hers. They were so soft, yet so commanding. And as he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and laved it with his tongue, she stopped thinking and just gave herself over to the feelings that were swamping her.
When she was standing naked in front of him, he traced the scar under her breast. “Do you realize that this is one of the only things I know about your
“My mother watches Desperate Housewives. ” To be honest, he wasn’t too sure about that show as a standard for American women. But Elena was American, and she wanted to be married.
“That’s a TV show.”
“Television shows are made popular by the way they exaggerate real life.”
“Marco, that makes no sense.”
“You are simply saying that because you don’t agree with my theory.”
“Okay, if you’re right about TV echoing life, how do you feel about movies?”
“I think that, to a certain extent they reflect the view of what they are representing. You know, I’m not saying that movies and television programs are real life, simply that they mirror an attitude of the culture that produced them.”
She was so bubbly with her passion for discussing this. He liked it because he could tell that she wasn’t planning what she would say to him. She wasn’t keeping this conversation all about him, the way she had during dinner. This was something real. An indication of the woman who was Virginia.
He still didn’t know her last name, but he would before morning. He hoped to spend this night uncovering all of her secrets.
He would know everything about her body, of course—he was already intimately acquainted with the sounds she made when her body was suffused with pleasure. Now he wanted to know what made her mad. What made Virginia cry? What made her laugh and smile? He needed that knowledge and he would be ruthless about getting it.
“Did you see the movie Talladega Nights? ” she asked him.
“Yes. It was quite funny, with that Will Ferrell.”
“Um…by rights I should assume you are like the French driver in the movie.”
It took him a moment to figure out that she was trying to say he might be gay. He saw the sparkle in her eyes. She was teasing him. He knew he shouldn’t feel good about that fact, but he did.
He closed the distance between them, tired of not holding her in his arms. The last month had been too long. He’d focused on racing and on the promo events that went with the Formula One season, but every night he’d had passion-filled dreams of Virginia and he wanted to make them a reality.
“I think I’ve proven that I’m more interested in women than men,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “But perhaps you need another demonstration?”
She put her hands on his face and rose up to kiss him with the gentle passion he associated only with Virgina.
“I have no doubts that you are interested in women. I was trying to make a point,” she said.
“Instead, you proved that Americans think Frenchmen are gay. It matters not to me. I’m Italian, and interested in only one woman tonight.”
“Me?”
“You,” he said, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her down the hallway and into the bedroom.
He put her on her feet next to the bed. As he stroked one finger down the side of her neck and traced the soft fabric neckline of her dress, shivers spread down her body. His fingers were warm against her skin and she wasn’t really listening to what he was saying.
She simply watched his lips to see if he was going to kiss her. That was what she really wanted and needed. She had missed him. And though she’d had other relationships before Marco that one night in his arms had far exceeded what she’d expected. He’d marked her indelibly and she’d been unable to forget his touch.
“I’m almost afraid to believe that you are really here.”
“I am here,” she said. Truly, she was afraid to believe that he’d taken her back into his arms so easily.
He leaned down, his lips brushing over hers. They were so soft, yet so commanding. And as he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and laved it with his tongue, she stopped thinking and just gave herself over to the feelings that were swamping her.
When she was standing naked in front of him, he traced the scar under her breast. “Do you realize that this is one of the only things I know about your
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