“No, of course not. If they were, all the women of Europe would live in Italy.”
“That’s good. I like to feel I have something that is unique.”
“So do I, which is why I noticed you on the plane.”
“Shame we weren’t sitting together. I was squashed up against the window by a big, greedy, fat man.”
“Thirteen is not a lucky number.”
“No, but I’ve been rather lucky since, haven’t I?” She grinned at him with her characteristic arrogance and he seemed to fall, as they all did, into her strange, pale eyes.
They dined in a small restaurant on the waterfront, overlooking the sea and the castle of Sant’ Elmo. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He asked her about her life in England.
“My father is rich and spoils me rotten,” she said. “But I have a ghastly stepmother who raises pigs and rides horses. She has a big bottom and a big voice that she uses for bossing people about. My half brother and sisters are conventional and hearty, the result, I’m afraid, of an uninspiring union .”
He found her amusing and laughed at most of the things she said. She noticed, as he smoked over a cup of coffee, that he wore a simple gold wedding band on the third finger of his left hand. It didn’t bother her; in fact, it delighted her. She liked to think that she had the power to lure a man away from his wife.
They chose to walk back to the hotel so that Alba could see a little of Naples. It was a hot, sticky night. The air was still and heavy. Alba admired the narrow streets, the pretty pale houses with iron balconies and shutters, the ornate moldings that gave them character and charm. The city had come alive with music, laughter, cars, horns, and the aroma of good Italian food. The sharp, staccato voice of a mother berating her child soared above the rise and fall of engines, like the cry of a bird against the roar of the sea. Dark-skinned men stood talking in the alleyways, their eyes on the women who walked by. Although they didn’t wolf-whistle at her, she could feel their eyes undressing her, peeling her naked layer by layer. She knew she was protected by Alessandro and was thankful she wasn’t having to walk through the city alone. She rode London like a docile pony; Naples, on the other hand, was like an uncontrollable rodeo horse and it unnerved her.
They arrived at the hotel and Alessandro didn’t wait to be invited to her room. He followed her up in the lift and along the corridor. “You’re pretty sure of yourself,” she said. But her smile told him that he was right to be so.
“I want to make love to you,” he murmured. “After all, I’m only a man.”
“I suppose you are.” She sighed in sympathy and turned the key in the lock.
Before she had time to switch on the light, he had swung her around and was kissing her ardently on her surprised mouth. For the first time since their breakup she was sufficiently distracted to fend off comparisons with Fitz. She didn’t think about him at all. Alessandro, consumed with lust, pressed her against the wall and buried his face in her neck. She smelled his lemon cologne that had now mellowed with the natural scent of his skin, and felt his rough bristles against her flesh.
He ran his hands up her legs to her hips. His touch was strong and masterful, taking her breath with each stroke. He fell to his knees and lifted her dress to her waist so that he could kiss and lick her naked belly with his tongue. She was allowed no control. Every time she attempted to reclaim a little lost ground he withdrew her hands and buried his head further into her flesh, giving her such shivers of delight that she soon gave up the battle and succumbed.
They made love five times, finishing in a heap of exhaustion on the bed. They slept draped over one another, though the intimacy had gone. The excitement of the chase was over and Alba knew, even in her sleep, that she would have to dismiss him coldly in the morning.
She didn’t dream of Fitz. She didn’t dream of anything. But when she woke, she was sure that she was still within the realm of fantasy, for she didn’t recognize the room. Streams of light filtered in through the gaps in the shutters. The sound of the city outside penetrated the sleepy silence of her room, although it seemed very far away. She blinked and oriented herself. As usual, she had had too much to drink. Her head ached and her limbs felt as if they had been given the most strenuous workout. Then she remembered Alessandro and she smiled inwardly at the memory of the devilish Italian she had met at the airport. She turned, fully expecting to see him in her bed, but it was empty. She listened for a noise in the bathroom, but the door was ajar and the light was off. He was gone. Just as well, she thought. She hated it when they outstayed their welcome. She was a physical wreck. The last thing she needed was to make love again.