Fling in Paris (13 page)

She smiled at him and nodded. “I’m fine.”

Dinner was served, and pretty soon the room was filled with the sounds of clinking silverware and lively conversation. Roberto answered questions about how things were going in France, and he in turn asked questions about the vineyard as well as inquiring about the health and well-being of various friends and acquaintances.

The conversation moved quickly to Sherry, and his family fired questions about her past and upbringing, about what had brought her to France, about how she’d met Roberto. At first she’d seemed slightly uncomfortable, but within no time she was relaxed and friendly, answering the questions and shooting some of her own right back. Her hazel eyes were sparkling, her laughter as free and flowing as the wine being passed around the table.

He’d been worried that his family might have been too much for her, but now that he saw she was getting along with them, and that they had readily accepted her, he sat back in his chair and sighed in relief.

It was true that he’d never brought a woman home with him before, but not for the reasons he’d given his brothers. The fact was he’d known that none of the women he’d brought to his bed in the past few years were good enough for his family. He’d been with Simone for nearly a year, and yet the thought of what would happen should she and his mother ever be left alone in the same room kept him from ever taking her along when he went to visit his family.

Bringing Sherry to meet his family had been on a hunch, but now that he’d seen for himself that it had paid off, that she was sliding her way inside his family’s hearts just by being herself, he was assured. He loved her, and she belonged in his life. The proof was right there, in front of him. And even though she’d taken it back, Sherry had professed her love to him before. He was certain he could get her to admit it again.

They were perfect for each other, and there was no way he was going to waste any more time.

Chapter 11

Sherry stretched out on her beach towel, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose and a peroni in her hand. Her toes curled in the powdery sand, and the sun soaked into her skin—heavenly. She could hear the waves crashing against the surf, and the shrieks of laughter coming from Roberto’s family as they played in the surf.

She’d hit it off with his family at dinner last night, and when they’d asked her to come to the beach with them, looking so hopeful, she couldn’t refuse. And now that she was here, she couldn’t regret it. Nick used to take her to the beach all the time, but he hadn’t done it in years, and she’d almost forgotten how much fun it was to play in the surf with kids.

Sal and Vinnie had brought their wives as well as their children, a group of darling boys and girls that had stolen her heart with their large, innocent eyes. They were still fairly young, and weren’t able to speak English fluently, but that hadn’t stopped them from dragging her into the sand with them. She’d spend the last hour getting buried in the sand, and before that they’d built a spectacular castle.

“You’re very good with children,” Roberto remarked, settling down beside her in the sand.

She turned to him. He looked good enough to eat as he lay there smiling at her, his tousled black hair falling in his eyes, muscular body showcased to perfection as he was only clad in a pair of green and white swim trunks. His skin was even more bronzed than it had been before, which was no surprise considering the number of hours they’d spent in the sun—she’d probably turned a shade or two darker herself.

“I’ve always wanted to have children,” she confessed. “Although if I ever do get around to having my own I’ll find out that I’m actually horrible with them—that’s just my luck.” She laughed awkwardly.

Roberto brushed a lock of curly hair away from her face, and Sherry’s breath caught at the tender look in his eye. “I’m sure that’s not true, bellisima. You will make a great mother someday, I have every confidence.”

He leaned over to grab something out of a nearby wicker basket, and she took the opportunity to admire how his pectorals rippled and flexed like liquid gold in the afternoon light. When he turned back, there was a bottle of coconut oil in his hand.

“Would you mind if I used this on you?” he asked. “It’s very good for the skin.”

“Sure.” Sherry smiled, then rolled over onto her stomach and undid the strings holding her purple bikini top together. Eyes closed, she felt more than heard Roberto shift so that he was leaning over her. She heard the slosh of fluid as he poured some coconut oil into his hands, then moaned as said hands started rubbing it into her back.

Roberto worked the oil into her skin, his hands gliding up and down her back, arms and legs. He’d meant this as a simple gesture of affection, but the feel of all that smooth, chocolaty skin beneath his fingers, plus the little sounds she was making as he gently massaged her skin, were driving his crazy. His cock strained beneath his fingertips, wanting release. But he couldn’t just fuck her on the beach—his nieces and nephews were twenty feet away, for God’s sake.

However, he knew very well that giving was just as good as receiving when it came to pleasure, and he could certainly give that to Sherry. With that in mind, he slid his hands under her torso and cupped her breasts.

“Roberto, what—” Sherry started, and then moaned as he rolled and pinched her nipples. His fingers were still coated in coconut oil, making the sensation even more wicked than usual. She felt his knees on either side of her hips and lifted them so that she could feel his engorged cock pressing through his swim trunks. “Someone’s horny.”

Roberto hissed as Sherry pressed her luscious ass against his cock, and he leaned into her, grinding himself against her cheeks. She felt way too good; he wanted to fuck her right now in front of God and everybody, and that just wouldn’t do.

“Oi, Roberto!” Sal called, and he quickly slipped his hands away from Sherry’s breasts. “You and your lady want to come and play beach ball with us?”

“Maybe later,” he called back, forcing a smile—it wasn’t Sal’s fault that Roberto couldn’t keep his hands to himself, even if he did want to shove that rainbow-colored ball up his ass for interrupting. “I want to spend some time relaxing right now.

Sal winked, having a good idea of what Roberto’s idea of relaxation entailed—they were brothers, after all—and turned away to gather up the rest of the family for the game. Thankful that his brother understood, Roberto stood up and dragged Sherry to her feet before tugging her further along the surf.

“Where are we going?” Sherry asked, sounding breathless—and Roberto knew it wasn’t from the pace he was setting.

“Somewhere more private.”

He rounded a corner, then sighed in relief as they came upon a secluded area, hidden from the public eye by a well-placed sand dune and some palm fronds. It had been a long time since he’d last been here—he used to bring girls here during his younger days—and he’d been worried that he wouldn’t be able to find it.

“So you have a secret hideout,” Sherry said, sounding amused.

“You could say that,” he agreed before kicking his foot out and tripping her. Squealing, she latched onto his arm and they both tumbled into the sand. They grappled playfully for a few moments, but pretty soon they were breathing heavily again, running their hands all over each other’s body in ways that had nothing to do with wrestling.

With a quick tug at the stings holding up the flimsy triangle of cloth, he bared her pussy and then entered her in one quick, smooth stroke. Her legs latched onto his waist, drawing him close as her back arched and her breasts pressed into his chest.

“Fuck yeah,” Sherry groaned as Roberto pounded his cock into her. “Just like that. Oh, just like that.” His fingers curled into her ass cheeks, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, and she could feel the sand abrading her skin. None of that mattered though, as long as he was fucking her. God, she was going to die if he didn’t keep fucking her.

“Harder, please!” she gasped, scoring his back with her nails as she positioned her hips, trying to increase the friction.

“Like this?” he growled, slamming him cock even harder inside her, loving the way her tight little pussy clamped down on it, creating the wonderful friction they both craved so desperately.

“Yes, yes, oh yes!” He swooped down and captured her cry in his mouth as she came, her inner walls flexing around his cock, milking it, and he came at the same time.

He really was never going to be able to get enough of her.

“Sherry, will you marry me?”

Sherry blinked, certain she hadn’t heard him right—they were both still coming out of their orgasmic daze, after all. “What?”

He levered himself up on his elbows to stare down at her, and her heart sank as she got a good look at his eyes—they were deadly serious. “You heard me. Will you marry me?”

Roberto did his best to keep his voice steady, even though he was trembling on the inside. He’d meant to wait until after he’d purchased a ring, but the moment had seemed so right, so perfect. She fit so perfectly together with his family, with him. Surely she realized that by now. She had to say yes.

Instead, she scrambled out from under him, tugging her bikini back on. “This is some kind of sick joke, right?”

“Excuse me?” he frowned, getting to his feet.

“You can’t possibly think that I would marry you.” Sherry’s tone was filled with scorn, but on the inside she was screaming in panic. God, oh God. She knew this whole thing was going to backfire. Somehow, someway, she’d managed to make him think he was falling in love with her—and she was married! In a few months, she was going back to Toronto to patch things up with Nick. And Roberto was asking her to marry him?

“And why the hell wouldn’t I?” Roberto took a step toward her, his cheeks flushed with color, his hands fisted at his sides. “You’re funny, smart, and sexy. My body burns every time I think of you. And my family adores you. You’re perfect.”

God, no. She was anything but perfect. “I can’t talk about this.” Sherry backed up, nearly tripping over her feet. “I can’t talk about this.”

The panic was rising up in her throat, choking her. Roberto took another step toward her, his expression livid. So Sherry did the only thing she could think of. She ran.

Roberto stood and watched her go. He wanted to run after her, to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her, but his legs had turned into stone, and remained rooted in the sand. It was probably for the best that he didn’t—fury gripped him so hard by the throat that he doubted he could form any words right now. It was best to give her some space. Let the two of them cool down.

Then they would talk, and he would make her see sense. Make her understand that she was the only woman for him. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Sherry cried the entire train ride back to France. The tears leaking out of her eyes seemed to come from her very soul, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t seem to stop them. It was like a giant wound was festering there and the more she tried to put it out of her mind, the more it hurt. She wished she could crawl out of her own skin, just so she could escape the pain.

By the time she arrived at the Gare du Nord, her eyes were swollen, her tear ducts dried out. She kept her head down as she exited the train, not wanting to see the looks of curiosity and sympathy from the other passengers who had listened to her bawl the entire fourteen hours.

Standing at the curb, she contemplated calling a cab, then fumbled her phone out of her purse and dialed Marie. “Please,” she rasped when her friend answered the phone—her throat was still constricted with tears. “I need you right now Marie. I’m at the train station.”

Like a good friend, Marie held off the thousand questions Sherry knew were probably swimming in her mind. “I’ll be right there, mon amie,” she promised, then hung up.

Numb, Sherry replaced the phone and sat down on a nearby bench to wait for her ride.

She didn’t even notice the fresh tears sliding down her cheeks.

Chapter 12

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Marie asked as she pressed a cup of hot chocolate into Sherry’s hands.

Sherry took a sip of the hot chocolate, even though she could barely taste the flavor. The warm liquid slid into her stomach, but did nothing to dislodge the cold lump of metal that seemed to have taken up residence there. Neither did the blanket Marie had wrapped around her before settling her on the colorful tie-dyed couch—which of course, Marie had done herself. In fact, every single aspect of her friend’s apartment was hand painted and decorated, but that was to be expected since Marie was an artist.

But even the uplifting colors and décor did nothing for Sherry’s mood. She still felt like she wanted to crawl into the sewer and stay there forever, never to be heard from again.

Sherry patted the cushion beside her, and tried her best to formulate the best way to explain this as Marie settled herself down beside Sherry. Finally, she settled for the simple truth.

“Roberto took me to meet his family in Italy, and then asked me to marry him.”

“Oh, ma cherie,” Marie wrapped her arm around Sherry’s shoulder, drawing her close. “I’m so sorry. You haven’t told him about Nick yet, have you?”