Translation: alcohol.
Gavin grabs a table for us toward the back of the small tavern as I excuse myself to head to the ladies’ room.
Except there is no ladies room. It’s unisex, like many establishments in Italy. This is another unique difference I’ve found between Italy and the States. Italy treats everyone the same and you don’t often find designated men and women restrooms in the public spaces.
This isn’t generally a big deal, except the toilets don’t have the extra seat cover you flip up and down. Instead, it’s just the bowl, which swallows up my butt when I plop my ass down on the seat. It freaks me out.
I’m running through a mental list of some of my other observations about Italian culture when I glance up into the mirror and see that I have a big smudge of chocolate gelato on the corner of my mouth. I’m horrified that Gavin has allowed me to walk around looking like this for the past two hours.
As I make my return, I notice Gavin has his phone in his hand and he’s typing away at a message. Marching my ass to the table, I stop in front of him, the toes of my sandals kicking his feet, his head jerking up in surprise.
I point to the spot on my lip that’s now chocolate free. “You’re an asshole, Gavin Lancaster. I can’t believe you let me walk around all day with chocolate on my lips!”
Using my index finger for emphasis, I poke at his solid chest with indignation. I’m not mad at him, of course, but it’s that he didn’t tell methat’sso irritating. It further pisses me off when he throws his head back in laughter, garnering the attention of a few people around us.
Goddamn Gavin and his great laugh. Some people have annoyingly stupid laughs that sound like nails down a chalk board or like a donkey braying. But not him. His laugh has a texture that is as smooth and soft as the leather purses we passed today in the market.
Somehow my finger has remained on his chest and my palm has flattened across his pec, reverberating with the vibration of his deep rumble. Gavin attaches his hand around my wrist and his touch is electrifying. His laughter dies suddenly, leaving only the sound of our aching souls whispering to each other as we stare into each other’s eyes.
“I’m not an asshole, Kady, and you know it. But I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything. I just thought it was kind of cute.”
“Pfft,” I snarl.
He tugs my arm as he opens his legs in a V so I stand between them, his strong thighs contouring my hips. We’re eye level, me standing in front of him and he seated in a chair. My face is inches from his and I can feel the warmth of his breath across my collarbone. My heart thuds wildly in my chest cavity as my brain sharply assesses the sudden directional change of our conversation.
Where I had been the aggressor earlier in the day, the instigator of our kiss, it’s clear that Gavin is now in charge. I’m his prey, caught in his trap, his to do with what he wants.
A shiver runs up my spine, ending sharply in my throat which has gone bone dry.
This push and pull of his is both exciting and confusing. One moment he’s keeping me at a safe distance, and the next he’s chasing me; toying with me. I wouldn’t mind a friends-with-benefits arrangement while I’m here. But he made it clear he didn’t want a hookup or a relationship.
So, what is he doing?
His sudden change and outward dominance gives me pause because I like having the upper hand when dealing with men. I like bad boys, but I also like it when they yield to my demands. Allowing me to do what I want with them. Showing them that their power comes from allowing me to assert control.
“I also think you’re kind of cute.”
The compliment catches me off guard, but leaves me with a fluttering sensation all over my body. I’ve been on the receiving end of many compliments in my life. Some guys are pretty damn good at it, and others aren’t. Gavin’s is heartfelt and sweet and I like it.
And while he’s silver-tongued, I also get the feeling that Gavin is the dominate in his sexual relationships. I can feel it in his grip. Restraint. Like he’s resisting the urge to push me down so that I’m kneeling before him between his legs, ready to succumb to his demands.
A thrill so tight it stings like a whip shooting through me and a smile overtakes my lips.
“I’m not taking it back just because you pay me a compliment,” I smirk. “I stand firm in my character assessment. So, you’ll need to give me something more than an apology if you want my forgiveness.”
My teeth carve a mark in my lower lip as his heated gaze caresses over it – soothing the ache – all while a larger ache builds between my legs.
“Oh yeah? And what exactly would earn your forgiveness?”
I enjoy the position he’s putting me in and where this is going. I’m now back in charge and hold the reins. The question is, what do I want from Gavin? I’m only here a few more days and there’s not much else he can give me that he hasn’t already offered. He’s also clearly stated that sex was off limits. So, what else do I want?
“Take me out to a club tonight.”
His eyes widen and they look like big brown saucers.
“A dance club?” he cringes.
I nod. “Yes, dancing.”
He stands so suddenly that if my wrist wasn’t wound in his grasp, I would have flown across the floor. My body boomerangs and ends up pressed against the hard planes of his abdominals. I crane my neck to look up at him.
“I don’t dance,” he affirms.
I grin salaciously. “That’s okay. You don’t have to. Just stand there and look sexy. I’ll do the dancing.”
And with that, the decision is made.
