The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (56 page)

I shook my head. Every time,
every time
, he surprised the hell out of me.

“Then let’s get going,” I said, smiling up at him.

As I made my way down the gloomy stairs, I heard the lock click as he closed the door. I still felt sad that this was the only place he had to call home. But when I tried to imagine him in my tiny bungalow at Long Beach, somehow the picture didn’t fit. I shook the thought away, concentrating instead on the here and now.

“We could go straight to Genoa, using the Mont Blanc tunnel,” he said, pulling me from my maudlin thoughts again, “but I really like the idea of going up through the high pass. There’ll still be quite a bit of snow around—you up for that?”

Hmm, snowy roads, two wheels: I didn’t like the math. On the other hand, long tunnel and large trucks.

“I vote for the route over the Alps,” I said, sounding a lot braver than I felt.

Sebastian dropped our bag to the ground and picked me up, swinging me around. I laughed delightedly, happy that he was happy. When he finally put me down, he kissed me sweetly.

“God, you’re amazing, woman!”

“Wait, I should write that down,” I replied, making a grab for my notebook.

“No way! You might use that against me in court. Do I have the right to an attorney?”

“Get on the damn bike, Sebastian, before I change my mind.”

He grinned and stowed our overnight bag in one of the saddlebags. I was impressed how light we could both travel: something we had in common after all.

We had a quick breakfast of sweet rolls and coffee in a café overlooking the lake, then headed up into the mountains. I was very glad I had my horribly expensive ski gloves to wear, because we hadn’t gone far before I started seeing heaps of snow at the sides of the road. Some were as high as six or seven feet: I assumed they’d been piled up as snowplows cleared the road. A couple of miles later we really began to climb; the asphalt disappeared and we were riding on compressed snow. Sebastian dropped the speed as the hairpin bends began to live up to their name.

The bike wobbled dangerously, and Sebastian pulled to the side of the road. He twisted around and lifted up his visor.

“Baby, you’re going to tip us over if you do that, and I don’t know about you but it looks like a helluva long way down to me.”

“What … what did I do?” I said, nervously looking down the sheer drop.

“You’re trying to sit upright on the bike: don’t. You’ve got to lean into it or the balance goes for shit. Don’t try and do anything, just sit real tight and hang onto me.”

“Okay, good safety tip, Chief. Glad you mentioned it.”

His eyes crinkled in a smile, and he snapped the visor down again.

We took off slowly, zigzagging our way up the mountain. The views became more spectacular the higher we climbed, but commensurately more terrifying. My arms were wrapped around Sebastian’s waist with a death-grip that was probably crushing his ribs. I was thankful he couldn’t see my face because half the time my eyes were closed. So much for being fearless; so much for enjoying the view.

Twenty minutes later we reached the highest point of the pass, and Sebastian stopped again. He pulled off his helmet and grinned at me.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?”

Awkwardly, I clambered off the bike, tugging at my helmet and shaking my hair loose. Then I turned to look at the view.

“Wow,” I breathed.

Geneva was spread out below us, the lake mirror-like in the chilly sunshine. Disappearing into the valley, I saw the Z-bends that we’d just driven up. Even here, from the safety of the summit, they looked hair-raising; and I still had to make it down the other side. But it was beautiful, too: the air was crystal clear and the sky too blue to be real. I felt grateful to be here, enjoying this moment with this man. Second chances didn’t come any better.

“Thank you for this, Sebastian. Thank you for bringing me.”

I leaned against him and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, kissing me softly. I twisted in his arms so I was facing him, and gave his kiss the attention it deserved, expressing my gratitude wordlessly, pouring all my happiness into that one moment.

When I pulled away from him, my face felt flushed, along with other parts of my body. Sebastian’s expression told me that outdoor sex at the top of a mountain pass in the snow was suddenly on his ‘to do’ list.

I stroked his cheek.

“Save it, Chief. We’ve got a long way to go yet.”

He smiled reluctantly and waited while I snapped some photographs, then helped me climb back on the mean machine. We started the descent down through the Alps and toward a new country.

A short while later, Sebastian pointed at a sign that read ‘Italia’. I felt a thrill of excitement ripple through me: at last I was in the country where my dear papa had been born. The idea was fanciful, but in an odd way it felt like coming home.

The border guard gave our passports the briefest of examinations before waving us through with a cheerful smile. I really was in Wonderland.

We traveled onwards, and I felt almost sleepy on the back of Sebastian’s motorcycle. I wondered if it was actually possible to fall asleep in this position.

I was beginning to feel the need to stretch my legs when we passed a sign that announced, ‘Genova 20km’—and I saw the sea. It was calm and of the deepest ultramarine, fringed by delicate, white villas. Italy: the Mediterranean coast.

Sebastian took us along the shore road and it became apparent that Genoa’s seafaring tradition was not just historical. We passed dock after dock, lined with every kind of yacht, boat and ship I could imagine, from sleek motor-cruisers to enormous, ugly cargo vessels.

Modern Genoa seemed to be thriving, with housing creeping higher and higher up the sides of the mountain that loomed behind us.

Sebastian appeared to aim for the towering beacon of the Torre della Lanterna as we headed into Genoa’s bustling center. Skimming past the Piazza de Ferrari, we passed palatial buildings built at the time of the Renaissance, and up on the hill I could see a medieval castle. I drank in the history as we roared past.

I thought Sebastian would stop soon, but he cruised on and soon Genoa had fallen behind us. Jeez, was he going to try and get to Salerno tonight after all?

I was relieved when he finally pulled over, but when he didn’t cut the engine, my hope that we’d finished for the day evaporated.

“Just checking the directions, baby,” he shouted over the noise of the engine, and waved the map at me. “Not far now.”

I gave him a quick thumbs up, and we took off again, climbing back up the mountain that seemed to have grown directly out of the sea.

He stopped once more to check the map, then turned off the main road, and we bumped up a steep, unmade road. A sign next to a small, whitewashed villa welcomed us to ‘Casa Giovina’.

He stopped and let the engine idle.

“This is it. It only has one guest room, but it’s out of season … want to try it?”

Sebastian’s expression was wary. Perhaps he thought his simple tastes didn’t compare with the upscale hotel where I’d stayed in Geneva. We still had a lot to learn about each other—and I didn’t mind at all.

“It looks charming. Let’s go and see, but if the owners have a pretty daughter, we’re out of here.”

He rolled his eyes, and chose to take my words as a joke, which they were. I think. Sort of.

An elderly woman in the severe, black clothing of a widow opened the door.

“Posso
aiutarvi?”

“I hope you can help us,” I replied, in Italian. “We were wondering if you had a room for the night?”

I could see her eyeing Sebastian’s 6’2” of solid muscle and evaluating how much trouble he was going to be. I could have saved her wondering and just answered ‘a lot’.

“Are you married?”

As I stuttered out a surprised answer, a man in his fifties came stomping down the corridor.

“Mama! You can’t ask people questions like that! I apologize—my mother is very old-fashioned. Are you French?”

“No, American.”

“But you speak Italiano! Americans never speak our language.”

Sebastian decided it was time to demonstrate his own linguistic abilities, if a little less fluent than mine.

“We mean no disrespect to your mother—this beautiful woman is my fiancée,” he said pointing to me, “but if your mother would feel more comfortable, I will happily sleep in a separate room.”

Oh really? Two lies in one sentence, Sebastian: see you creeping into my room after dark.

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” said the owner, as his mother rolled her eyes to heaven and crossed herself twice. “Besides, we have only one room.”

A fact which Sebastian already knew
.

“Please, come in. Let me show you the room.”

The room was airy and simply furnished. A pine wardrobe stood in one corner, and a matching chair was the only piece of furniture besides the large, old-fashioned bed. A mosquito net hung in a pool of lace above it, making it look like a rustic boudoir. But the views out toward the ocean were spectacular.

I smiled happily at Sebastian, and he nodded his agreement.

“The bathroom is across the hall, signore; it is to share.”

He shrugged helplessly, as if to apologize for the smallness of his establishment, but I didn’t care. I imagined making love to Sebastian in that bed looking out over the Mediterranean.

“Breakfast is at 8
am
, signore, signorina. There is a ristorante just two kilometers up the road. It is very good—run by my brother.”

“That sounds great,” said Sebastian.

“Ah, signore, one more thing: if you would mind not riding your motorcycle after dark. My mother doesn’t sleep well, you understand, and she has the room next to yours.”

“That won’t be a problem,” I muttered, once he’d gone. “I’m not getting on that thing again tonight if you pay me.”

“Feeling a little tender, Ms. Venzi,” said Sebastian, grabbing me and rubbing my ass soothingly.

“Not really. It’s more the feeling that I’m still in motion.”

“I know something that will cure that,” he said, wickedly.

“Would that have anything to do with taking off our clothes and making mad, passionate love on that bed?” I said, frowning at him.

“It might have,” he said, eyeing me warily.

“Oh, all right then. I’ll try anything once.”

His double take was almost comical. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, that’s a yes. But you’ll have to hurry, Chief—the ristorante probably closes before midnight.”

He glanced at his wristwatch, completely confused. “It’s only five o’clock?”

“Like I said—you’ll have to hurry.”

Understanding brought a smile to his beautiful lips.

“Well, in that case, woman, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Finally,
he was on the same page as me.

“By the way,” I said, before he got too caught up in the moment and knowing from experience that he could only concentrate on one thing at a time, “your
fiancée?
”

He grinned. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Hmm, well, I like
my
idea better—the one where we commit as many sins as possible in the shortest amount of time.”

And, to make my point, I unzipped his jacket and ran my hand down his chest, before tracing a finger around the waistband of his jeans.

I was interrupted in my further exploration by a knock at the door.

Looking irritated, Sebastian pulled it open.

“Ah, mi scusi, signore, signorina. I have just telephoned my brother: he is closing at 7.30
pm
tonight. If you wish to eat there, it would be best if you leave now.”

“Thanks,” said Sebastian shortly, and the little man darted away, not knowing how close he’d just gotten to a
very
pissed off Marine.

I couldn’t help laughing at his expression. “Rain check, Chief?”

He sighed, “Looks like.”

“Never mind. Come on, let’s get you fed and then I can have my wicked way with you.”

“How wicked?”

“Not that wicked, so stop drooling. Just moderately naughty—it’s been a long day.”

CHAPTER 6

Hand in hand, we climbed up the steep lane to the ristorante. I couldn’t imagine how a place that was so out of the way could attract much business, but when we poked our heads through the door, I saw that my assumption was very wrong.

It was thronged with families, and children of all ages were sitting at the long, trestle tables like little adults.

The happy noise tailed off when they saw us, and an unsubtle whispering began. I heard the word ‘Americani’ several times before a man in a white shirt and black pants, whom I assumed was the owner, came hurrying over.

We agreed that yes, we were the Americans and yes, it was an astonishing thing that we both spoke Italian and yes, we’d have whatever was on offer. No, we weren’t fussy, and yes, we were happy to have the locally made Dolcetto red wine.

We were seated at the corner end of one of the trestles, wedged in next to a family of seven. At first, our neighbors seemed a little shy, but then Sebastian shrugged out of his jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his t-shirt. A little girl in the party, a dark haired ragamuffin of about five, noticed his tattoo and asked her mother about the ‘picture’.

Her mother tried to hush her, but Sebastian smiled and explained to her that it was because he was a sailor and a soldier, and the ‘picture’ reminded him of his work.

“Is that because you forgot?” asked the child, clearly puzzled.

The whole room burst into laughter. I joined in, but seeing how at ease he was with the little girl made me sad for things that might have been.

It was clear the child was completely smitten with him, because she asked her mother if he was an angel, then reached up to stroke his short-cropped hair.

The meal finished with a small bowl each of gelato di miele honey ice cream, a local specialty. Sebastian ate most of mine, as I’d already eaten enough. He really was a bottomless pit when it came to food.

By the end of the evening we were practically family, and all on first-name terms. It had been a wonderful evening, full of laughter and quiet enjoyment, as I saw Sebastian chatting to his new, little friend. But I also couldn’t help noticing that Sebastian had drunk almost a whole bottle of wine by himself, although it didn’t seem to have had much effect. On the other hand, I was feeling a little lightheaded after two glasses.

“Having fun, baby?”

“Do you realize this is our first dinner-date?”

He frowned. “What about back in San Diego—that Sicilian place?”

“That doesn’t count: you wouldn’t let me finish our meal because you wanted to drag me back to the hotel.”

“Oh yeah, I definitely remember that!”

“Besides, your
friend
, Brenda, was spying on us. I’m half expecting to see her now, tossing her hair over her shoulder and thrusting her boobs in your face like she used to.”

His expression was amused. “She thrust her boobs in my face?”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t notice. Anyway, if any boobs are to be thrust in your face, they’ll be mine. Right, Hunter?”

He laughed. “Anything you say, boss. Looking forward to it.”

“But then I was thinking,” I went on, “if this is our first date, I probably shouldn’t sleep with you. I don’t want you thinking I’m easy.”

Sebastian gazed at me appraisingly, then pulled out his phone and started scrolling through the numbers.

“Who are you calling?”

“Well, my date just told me she wouldn’t sleep with me, so I thought I’d see if I had Brenda’s number on speed dial.”

Ouch.
He was much better at this game than I was.

“Fine, fine. I’ll sleep with you. But if my reputation is in ruins, it’s all your fault.”

Sebastian grinned at me, then stood up to pay the bill.

I realized we hadn’t discussed how we were going to split up the costs for this vacation. Maybe if he paid for one night and I paid for the next—that would be fair.

We left the ristorante with the good wishes and prayers of our new friends, the little girl blowing kisses to her ‘Angelo’.

But the angel proved he had a devilish streak because the moment we left the ristorante, he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me hard, holding my waist with one hand, and running his other hand up between my thighs.

He pressed his body up into me and I could feel his arousal by my hip. I was seriously considering taking him there and then, when the ristorante started emptying, and we were very nearly caught in flagrante delicto.

The women looked envious, and the men called out several coarse suggestions. I was very glad the darkness hid my embarrassment.

“Shall we try and make it back to our room this time?”

“Good idea,” muttered Sebastian. “I don’t think I could take a third interruption in one evening.”

The moon lit our path as we strolled back down the hill. The air was mild, much warmer than in chilly Geneva, but, of course, we were at sea level on this side of the Alps. I marveled again that in just a few days, we would be in the town where my father had been born. I don’t know why that filled me with expectation, but I was looking forward to walking where he’d walked, looking at the views that he’d have seen, maybe even talking to people he’d known. Italy was changing, but there were still places where the old folks lived and died in the villages where they’d been born.

When we got back to Casa Giovina, the villa was in near darkness. One, small lamp glowed in the hallway, and we crept up the stairs as if we were naughty teenagers.

I grabbed my toiletry bag before Sebastian could distract me and dashed into the bathroom, scrubbing the wine stains from my teeth, and then massaged a little moisturizer into my face with hope, rather than expectation, that it would erase any wrinkles.

When I returned to our room, Sebastian was already barefoot and shirtless. I dropped my toiletry bag from nerveless fingers, and he laughed at me.

“Seems like
your
eyeballs are the ones in danger of falling out, Ms. Venzi.”

“That is true, so hurry up and get your ass back in my bed.”

“Yes, boss!”

I stripped off my clothes, tossing them onto the chair, and threw myself into bed. Instead of it being the fairytale boudoir with the lacy net curtains that I’d imagined, the bed creaked alarmingly with every movement. I was horribly aware that the owner’s mother was in the room next to ours
and didn’t sleep well
. I stifled a giggle: it was not our night.

Sebastian returned, looking all hot and predatory. I was getting aroused just looking at him. But the thought of our noisy bed was making it hard not to laugh.

“What?” said Sebastian, annoyed that his entrance hadn’t had quite the effect he’d anticipated.

“Nothing,” I said, snorting back a giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

I shook my head, holding a hand over my mouth.

Huffily, he pulled down his pants and kicked them off, then slid his briefs down his slim hips. For practically the first time, there was no hint of an erection. My laughter obviously had a dampening effect.

He threw the sheets back on his side of the bed, looking sulky, then sat down and started to slide over to me.

The bed creaked loudly and his eyebrows shot up. I laughed out loud.

“Sorry! I think we got the you’re-not-married-so-you-damn-well-won’t-be-getting-any bed. It’s got a built-in anti-screwing alarm.”

Sebastian smirked at me. “You think a noisy bed is going to stop me?”

“The old lady is right next door! She ‘doesn’t sleep well’—remember?”

“I can’t help that. Besides, it’ll bring back happy memories for her.”

“Huh, you think you’re that good?”

Uh-oh, wrong question.

He gave me a dark smile, and then his head disappeared under the sheets. I really wasn’t laughing now. I tried to stifle a groan as a powerful sensation, beginning at my toes, raced up through my entire body. I pulled a pillow over my face and moaned into the soft mound of feathers.

“Oh, God!”

“Yes, baby?” said Sebastian, his amused voice muffled by the sheets.

I heard him crawling back up the bed, the mattress articulating every movement, and he tugged the pillow from my face and grinned down. His long, skillful fingers continued to dip in and out of me, bringing me to the edge of orgasm. When he fastened his teeth over my left nipple, I fell, spiraling down and choking out his name.

“Still embarrassed by the bed?” he said, smiling at me wickedly.

The question was unfair: I wasn’t capable of speaking, let alone forming a rational answer.

The mattress creaked again as he slid off it to dig a condom out of his toiletry bag.

“You want to do this, baby?” he said, holding out the condom toward me.

He waited for all of two seconds before he gave up trying to get an answer. As if from a long way away, I heard the foil being ripped and the distinctive sound of a condom being tugged up an impressive erection.

“Roll over, baby, I want you from behind.”

When I didn’t move, Sebastian sucked my right nipple until he was guaranteed a reaction.

“Give me a minute,” I grumbled.

But the Chief had waited long enough. He picked me up bodily and tossed me face down on the bed, before hauling me onto my knees so my ass was pointing to the ceiling.

He stroked my cheeks and then I felt his hot tongue between the cleft of my buttocks.

Oh, that was new
.

I wiggled, not sure I was liking that. Hmm, okay, maybe.

But then he pulled away and I felt him position himself before sinking into me.

“Fuck, Caro!”

He groaned loudly. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was because he’d finally gotten around to fucking me from his favorite position, but he seemed to have less control than usual. He started pounding into me and I could feel him unraveling rapidly. The bed creaked in sympathy, the antique springs urging him on.

Oh, hell, no! Not another orgasm! I forced my face into the pillow and moaned into it. We were racing toward the finish, and I was afraid the bed was going to collapse before I did.

But then Sebastian shuddered into me and stilled, and I gasped out some wordless sounds.

“Oh fuck!” he hissed, pulling out of me roughly.

My body gave way, and I lay splayed on the bed, thoroughly fucked.

And then, through the thin wall that separated us from the owner’s mother, I heard the sound of someone clapping, and her reedy voice called out, “Bravo! Bravo!”

“What the fuck?” said Sebastian, still breathless.

I started to laugh. “I think … I think we just got a round of applause!”

“You’re fucking kidding me!”

I shook my head weakly. “That’s what it sounded like. I guess she was impressed by your performance.”

I heard the bed creak again as Sebastian sat up and called out loudly, “Grazie, signora!”

“Prego!” she replied.

He lay back on the bed, his hands behind his head. When I rolled onto my side to look at him, he seemed very pleased with himself.

“Something making you smile, Hunter?”

“Yeah! I never got a round of applause before.”

“Maybe she was applauding me.”

“Nah, she thinks I’m a stud, I can tell.”

He peeled off the used condom as if to emphasize his words.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have performance anxiety; that can put a man off his stride, so they say.”

He smirked at me, then his smile faded and he looked serious.

“Do you ever think about the first time we were together? You know, when…”

“Sebastian,” I said, softly. “You don’t have to remind me—it’s not something I’m likely to forget.”

“Sorry. It’s just … I thought about it a lot at the time and, seeing you again this past week, well, it’s brought it all back.”

“For me, too.”

He smiled and leaned over to run a long finger down my cheek, before lying back again.

“Do you know how amazing you were that night? You took care of me after my dad had beaten the shit out of me.” He closed his eyes. “I thought my heart was going to fucking stop when you undressed me and you took your clothes off. And then you touched me and my cock just exploded. I thought you’d laugh at me or something. It was so fucking humiliating.” He paused, remembering that awful and wonderful and dreadful night. “But you didn’t. You made me feel like a man. I remember every word that you said. You told me it was going to be okay, and I didn’t know how it could be, but somehow you made the world go away, like it was just you and me.”

I was silent, remembering how crushed he’d been that night, how broken, and how the act of making love had somehow healed him. I wondered, now, if it had been the same for me. It was certainly the moment when my life took a completely different road from the one I’d been on.

His admission touched me deeply. I’d forgotten how painfully honest he could be. Even though he’d been so young when I’d known him before, or maybe
because
he’d been so young, he’d never held back with me. I couldn’t help thinking that in some ways I’d had the best of him then, before life had made him bitter. Although his early life had been far from perfect, he’d been the sweetest, kindest person; the gentlest, most thoughtful and selfless lover—and a good friend.