Page 36 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis (In The Heart of A Valentine #17)

Chapter

Twenty-Six

NAOMI

I was about to ask Christian something I’d never asked any man before.

A surprise getaway. My idea. My planning. My initiative.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Christian said, glancing up from the Wall Street Journal he was reading while eating his scrambled eggs. “Is everything okay?”

I set my phone down and reached for my coffee cup, buying myself a few more seconds. “Actually, I have something to ask you.”

His eyebrows rose. “I’m listening.”

“How would you feel about going away with me this weekend? Somewhere special. A surprise.”

Christian’s fork slid into his mouth and his brows dipped as he chewed and swallowed. “This weekend?”

“I know it’s short notice. If you can’t move your schedule around, I understand completely.”

“Naomi.” He set his fork down and reached for my hand. “Say when and I’m there.”

The anxiety on my shoulders lifted. “Really? Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’ll move whatever needs moving.” He bent and kissed the back of my hand. “Where are we going?”

“That’s the surprise part. You’ll find out when we get there.”

Christian smiled, warmly. “I love that you planned this. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow night. We have an appointment with the private jet at eight.”

“Then I’d better start making calls.”

The Gulfstream’s engines hummed steadily as we cruised at thirty-seven thousand feet.

Christian had fallen asleep an hour into the flight, his head resting against my shoulder while I ran my fingers over the waves on his head.

The cabin was dimly lit, most passengers on red-eye flights would be sleeping, but I watched him breathe evenly in the peaceful darkness.

The sharp lines of his face were softened when he slept, and the constant alertness he maintained as a successful attorney melted away.

“Good morning, passengers. This is Captain Jones with an update on our flight.”

Christian’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of the intercom.

“We’ve just entered Sicily airspace. The current temperature in Catania is 78 degrees Fahrenheit, the local time is 7:45 AM, and it’s shaping up to be a beautiful day for romance. We’ll be beginning our descent shortly.”

Christian sat up straight with wide surprised eyes. “Sicily?”

I bit my lip to keep from grinning too widely. “Surprise.”

“Naomi, are you serious?”

“You mentioned it was one place you’d go back to if you could. During our very first date, you said you spent a summer there during law school.”

Christian’s hands cupped my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. “You remembered that.”

“Yes. Contrary to popular belief, I love hearing you talk.”

He kissed me then, soft and deep, a kiss full of passion. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Wait until you see where we’re staying.”

“I love you.”

He kissed my mouth, and I melted against him. “I love you, too.”

The villa sat perched on a hillside overlooking the Ionian Sea. Bougainvillea cascaded over the entrance, and olive trees dotted the landscape as far as we could see.

“Madonna mia,” Christian whispered, stepping out of our rental car. “This is paradise.”

“The owner said it’s been in her family for six generations. We have the entire place to ourselves for two days.”

Our luggage was minimal; we’d packed light on purpose, wanting the freedom to explore without being weighed down by too many belongings. Christian grabbed both our bags while I handled the keys the property manager had left for us.

The interior was a blend of rustic elegance at its finest. French doors opened onto a terrace with a view of Mount Etna in the distance.

“The bed is huge,” Christian said from the bedroom with a grin in his voice.

“Is that your only concern?”

“My primary concern is making sure we use it properly.”

I laughed, joining him in the bedroom where he was testing the mattress by sitting on the edge. “We have two full days ahead of us, Mr. Valentine. Plenty of time for that and everything else.”

“What’s first on the agenda?”

“First, we explore. I want to see a local market, taste real Sicilian food, and watch you charm vendors with your terrible Italian.”

“My Italian is not terrible.”

“I didn’t get to hear much of it in Tuscany, so we’ll find out.”

At the Catania market, vendors called out prices in rapid-fire Sicilian dialect while tourists and locals alike navigated narrow aisles between stalls, selling everything from fresh swordfish to wheels of pecorino cheese.

Christian was in his element, chatting with a fishmonger about the morning’s catch while I watched him communicate like a fluent speaker. It was cute and funny because his Italian was rusty, but he was enthusiastic, and the vendor was laughing when Christian mentioned sea urchins.

“Due chili di pesce spada, per favore,” Christian said, pointing to a beautiful piece of swordfish.

“Ah, per la bella signora!” the fishmonger replied, winking at me while he wrapped the fish in brown paper.

I blushed as Christian paid for our purchase, adding it to the growing collection of ingredients we’d gathered. Fresh tomatoes, basil, and bread still warm from the oven.

“What did you tell him?” I asked as we moved to the next stall.

“I said I was buying dinner for the most beautiful woman in Sicily.”

“You’re shameless.”

“Accurate, not shameless.”

An elderly woman selling olives gestured for us to try her wares, speaking rapidly in Sicilian while offering us samples on small pieces of bread. The olives were unlike anything I’d ever tasted, briny and complex, with herbs and spices I couldn’t identify.

“Brava!” she exclaimed when she saw my reaction, pressing a container into my hands while refusing Christian’s money. “Per amore!” she said, making kissing sounds and gesturing between us.

“She says it’s for love,” Christian translated, his arm sliding around my waist.

“I gathered that much.”

By the time we finished shopping, we had enough food for a feast. Fresh fruit, local cheese, wine from a vineyard on the slopes of Mount Etna, and pastries that looked too beautiful to eat.

“Would you like to have a picnic?” Christian asked, hefting our bags.

“I’d love to.”

Being at The Valley of the Temples was like making an appearance in an episode on the History Channel. Ancient Greek columns, against the blue sunny sky, could be a snapshot in a magazine.

We spread our blanket in the shade of a tree, close enough to the Temple of Concordia to touch its foundation stones. Christian unpacked our feast while I stared at the ruins in wonder.

“How old are these?” I asked, running my fingers along the carved stone.

“Fifth century BCE. They were already ancient when Rome was just getting started.”

“It’s humbling. All these people who lived and loved and died, and we’re here admiring what they built.”

Christian paused in opening the wine to look at me. “You know what I love about traveling with you?”

“What?”

“You see the humanity in everything. Most people would take photos and move on, but you’re thinking about the actual people who walked here thousands of years ago.”

“Thousands of years from now, maybe someone will sit where we’re sitting and wonder about us.”

“What do you think they’ll wonder?”

I accepted the glass of wine he handed me. “Whether we were happy. Whether we loved each other enough.”

“And what would you tell them?”

“That, yes, we were ridiculously happy. And yes, we loved each other more than we knew how to handle.”

Christian’s eyes grew serious as he moved closer to me on the blanket. “Naomi, I?—”

“No serious conversations,” I interrupted, pressing my finger to his lips. “Just this. You and me. Right now.”

He kissed my finger, then my palm, and pulled me against his chest, so we were lying together on the blanket.

“Open up.”

He opened his mouth, and I put a small block of cheese on his tongue. He sucked my finger and ate the cheese, and I had to stifle a moan. We shared fresh figs and savored sips of wine, and I was the most relaxed I’d ever been.

“When I was here for the summer during law school, I got lost three times trying to find this place.”

“That must have been frustrating.”

“It was. But the farmers were nice. I asked them along the way and eventually found what I was looking for. I remember thinking I’d bring someone special here someday,” he said, drawing me in for a kiss. “Thank you for being my someone special.”

I didn’t know what to say. So often, Christian surprised me with his words. I blushed and laid my head on his shoulder.

The wine tasting at Villa Russo took place in a candlelit cellar, but what shocked me most was that it had been carved directly into volcanic rock. Our host, Salvatore, was a third-generation winemaker whose passion for his craft was infectious as he poured samples of wines I’d never heard of.

“This one,” he said, filling our glasses with a deep red wine, “comes from vines planted by my grandfather in nineteen fifty-two. The volcanic soil gives it a mineral quality you cannot find anywhere else in the world.”

I swirled the wine in my glass, breathing in its aroma. “It smells so rich.”

“It’s volcanic ash,” Christian said after taking a sip. “You can taste Mount Etna in every drop.”

“Ha ragione!” Salvatore beamed. “You have a good palate, signore. This man knows wine,” he said to me with approval.

We worked our way through six different wines, each one paired with local flavors. By the time we reached the dessert wine, sweet and golden and perfect with cannoli, I was even more relaxed and giggly.

“We should buy some of this,” I said, gesturing with my wine glass.

“I’m having a case of each shipped to St. Louis,” Christian said.

“Each? How many did you buy?”

“All of them.”

Salvatore laughed and clapped Christian on the back. “This one is a keeper, signora!”

“I’m starting to think so,” I agreed, leaning into Christian’s warmth.

Palermo’s medieval quarter came alive at night. Narrow cobblestone streets wound between buildings, creating a maze of shadows and pockets of light from streetlamps positioned every few feet.

We walked hand in hand, sharing a cup of pistachio gelato from a local vendor. Like the wine, the flavor was unlike anything I’d ever tasted, rich and nutty with a subtle sweetness.

“Would you like more?” Christian asked, offering me another spoonful.

“I can’t. I’m going to burst.”

“Come on. When’s the next time you’ll have authentic Sicilian pistachio gelato?”

“You’re terrible for my willpower.”

“Good. I like you with less willpower.”

I laughed. “What?”

“I’m just teasing you.”

“Hmm, sure you are.”

The gelato was cold on my tongue, but Christian’s eyes were warm as he watched me eat it. There was something intoxicating about the way sound bounced off the walls.

We ducked into a shadowy doorway when a group of tourists passed, and Christian pressed me against the wooden door, dropping his mouth on mine. Heat enveloped me, and my arms slid around his neck.

“I could kiss you in every doorway in Palermo,” he murmured against my lips.

“That would take all night.”

“I have all night.”

“We have a full day tomorrow.”

“I have tomorrow too.”

His hands framed my face, his gaze so heavy on me, my pussy started thumping. I jumped into his arms as he caught me by the thighs smoothly.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’m thinking I want to remember this exact moment forever. You, here, in Sicily, looking at me like I’m the only woman in the world.”

“That’s because you’re the only woman in my world, Naomi.”

I kissed his mouth, and he returned the kiss with uninhibited hunger.

“This is dangerous,” he murmured against my mouth.

“Why?” I moaned back.

“Because I could fuck you against this wall and that would be inappropriate.”

“I don’t care…”

“Naomi.”

“I want you.” I sucked in his tongue. “Now…”

He unzipped his pants and snatched my thong so hard it tore from my body.

“Oh!”

“See what you’ve made me do?” He murmured, pressing his heavy dick inside me.

“Sssssssssss, oooooh, baby,” I moaned.

“Mmhmm.”

Christian recaptured my mouth and stroked me slowly to start, his meticulous way of making sure I felt every inch of him thoroughly, which I did. My body came alive, my nerves dancing, tingling, and warm. My ears heated and my nipples became sensitive to touch as he moved against me.

“Oooooou…”

His speed increased, his strokes becoming ramming thrusts that multiplied the passion between us. The grip of my thighs in his hands tightened, and each time he entered, he spread me to accommodate his girth.

“Fuck, fuck!” I squealed, pulling from his mouth and biting down on his jaw and into his throat.

“Grrrrrrggggggh….”

“Yes! Yes! Harder, oh! Christian!”

I vibrated against the wall as he pummeled my pussy with no regard. It was euphoric, and even in the depths of our passion, I had a moment of serenity, where I took in our surroundings, my eyes lifting to the Heavens to see stars spilling across the night sky and felt loved like I never had before.