Chapter 13

I grab myclothes off the line in the backyard, noting the dark clouds rolling in. A big fat raindrop bounces off my cheek, announcing the impending storm. The violent wind whips up, practically knocking me over. I grab my basket and run into the house before I get blown across the yard. Ominous thunder rumbles in the distance while I run around the house closing all the open windows. A gust of wind blows the kitchen door open, causing it to crack against the wall. A scream rips from my throat as a brown streak darts into the house before I can bolt the door. I hope that was Razzo and not some other wild animal.

Lightning flashes, thunder answering a heartbeat later, causing the house to shake. Please, God, don't let this old place crumble to the ground. The rain rushes in on the wind, pouring down in sheets. I light a candle in case the power goes out and place it on the coffee table, snuggling into the couch. I try to distract myself from the thunderstorm raging outside by checking my email on my phone. My finger scrolls through junk emails, looking for one in particular from my boss, Allen Krantz. It's weird that he hasn't responded to my request to work remotely this summer.

A sizzling sound has me glancing over at the candle. It flickers and then snuffs out. I get up and head into the kitchen to grab the lighter. A loud clap of thunder rumbles the house, making me jump. I love a good summer storm, but being alone in this big house is making me a touch nervous. Snatching the lighter, I race back into the family room, relighting the candle. It fizzles out as soon as I sit back down. Dammit. I lean over the candle and wince when a drop of water plops on my head. A leak in the roof? Great. Another thing to add to the list for Nonna.

I'm heading back into the kitchen to grab a pot when a loud whip-like crack hits the windows and the lights go out. Screaming, I run for the kitchen stairs so I can hide in my bedroom under my covers. I may be thirty-six, but the dark still scares the shit out of me. Lightning flashes and illuminates the stairwell. My pulse kicks up a notch while I picture an ax murderer meeting me on the stairs. I stumble in the pitch black until I realize I have the flashlight feature on my phone. Lighting up my bedroom, I quickly scoot under the covers. Raindrops plop around me through the Swiss-cheese roof. Another flash of lightning lights up the room.

"One one-thousand, tw—"

Thunder booms, making the house shake again. Razzo meows pitifully next to the bed. I peek out from under the covers, and he's looking at me with sad, scared eyes. I lift the quilt.

"Come on, Razzo."

He leaps under the covers and settles behind my knees. A million fleas are probably jumping off into my bed right now, but I don't care. Razzo and I are riding out this storm together. A text message flashes across my phone.

Lorenzo Rossi:Summer, are you okay? The lights went out at the villa but have turned back on. Are yours on?

Me:Lights are out here. The roof is leaking.

I wait a few minutes, but give up when he doesn't respond. He's probably just worried about the house and wants to make sure a lightning strike doesn't burn it down. Oh God, now that scenario is running through my brain. I'm going over all the closest exits when a banging sound downstairs has me tossing the covers off. Did a window fly open, or is someone at my door? Maybe I imagined the noise because I don't hear it again. Probably a tree branch slamming against a window. No sane person would be out in this storm. A raindrop hits me right on the eyebrow and drips down into my eye. "Gah!"

Footsteps pound up the stairs, a beam of light slicing the darkness. Screaming, I look around for something to clock the intruder in the head with. I grab Razzo, who howls in protest.

"Don't kill me!"

"Summer, calm down. It's me, Ren." He sets his lantern on my bedside table. I shine my phone light in his face, holding onto the cranky, squirmy cat with the other hand.

"Dio Santo! Can you get that light out of my eyes?"

I put my phone down. "Sorry, I thought you were an ax murderer. What are you doing here?"

"Is that Razzo?" His handsome features splitting into a grin. I let go of the cat, who proceeds to hightail it out of the room. "I never would have predicted you two would become friends."

"We're not."

"A pair of grouchy companions snuggling together like two peas in a pod." Lorenzo chuckles. "Who would have thought?"

"No one, because we're not." I pull the sheet up to my chin. Raindrops cling to his wet, dark hair and bead against his black raincoat. "Look, I'm glad you came over to talk about how I have the same demeanor as the grumpy stray house cat, but you can run along now. I'm fine." I shoo him away with my hand.

"Do thunderstorms always make you this cranky? I came to check on you. I did a quick search downstairs, and it appears the living room has several leaks. I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to stay here." He removes his raincoat, and I can't help but appreciate how good he looks in a black t-shirt that looks tailored just for him.

"Oh ho, no you don't, mister. I'm not leaving this house so you can call it dilapidated or unfit to live in and take it back. I'm staying right here." I cross my arms and two raindrops bounce off my cheek and forehead. "I might drown in the process, but I'm not leaving."

Sighing, Lorenzo runs his hands through his wet hair. I zero in on the sliver of hard muscle exposed underneath his shirt when it lifts with the movement. "You're acting ridiculous."

"Really? Are you telling me you no longer wish to turn this house into a bed-and-breakfast?"

"I'm telling you to quit being stubborn and come stay at the villa tonight to stay warm and dry. We have a generator and our roof isn't leaking. You can return to this dump in the morning."

I rear my head back in indignation. "This house is not a dump!" Two more raindrops drip on my head. Lorenzo's eyebrow lifts. "I can't leave Razzo."

"You don't even like the cat," he huffs.

"Well, we've bonded tonight. He's scared, and I refuse to leave him alone during this hellacious storm."

"Mannaggia," he grumbles under his breath. Thunder claps loudly, causing me to jump. "Move over, randagia."

"What?"

"Pretty sure I spoke English. Spostati, move over." He grabs the blanket off the end of the bed. Hesitating, my eyes rove over him, head to toe, before I scooch over. My self-defense instructor, Marcos, is screaming in my head this is all kinds of wrong, and that I'm putting myself in a compromising situation. What are you thinking, Summer? I'm not thinking, Marcos, so zip it. You'd understand if you saw how gorgeous Lorenzo is.

He toes off his boots and stretches out on the bed next to me.

"You smell like summer rain and your shirt is damp," I say, nervous by his proximity. Marcos is screaming in my head for me to knee him in the balls and run, but I don't want to.

Without warning, he sits up and pulls his t-shirt off. My mouth drops open while I take in all his tanned, glorious muscles.

"I didn't mean…shirt…take off…" My brain can't keep up with what my eyes are drinking in.

He pauses and quirks an eyebrow. "Razzo got your tongue, randagia?"

"Hm, huh?" My eyes flash to his before quickly resuming their perusal of the ridges in his abdomen. It's like I've never seen a man with muscles before. I'm itching to run my finger over his pecs and follow the dusting of hair that leads down into his pants. On top of the mouth-watering physique, I'm mesmerized by his heady smell, rain mixed with his own signature scent.

"Should I take off my pants too?"

"Yes, you most definitely should," I say, biting down on my lower lip. A brief clip of him doing a striptease plays in my head. Marcos is rolling his eyes and throwing his hands in the air. I know, Marcos, I know. I'm an idiot.

Lorenzo chuckles. "Are you sure? I'm not wearing any calzoncini."

I shake my head to clear the porn video broadcasting in my brain. "Wait. Did you just ask me for a calzone? Right now?"

He snorts and shakes his head. "Summer, you asked me to take off my pants. I'm not wearing boxer briefs…calzoncini."

I have the hottest guy in Italy in bed with me, shirtless, with his fingers on the buttons of his jeans. It's been verified he's not wearing underwear, and I ask him if he wants a calzone? What the fuck, Summer?

"Wait, wait, I can't think with you all shirtless and muscly and smelling like rain. I meant, please do keep your pants on and your shirt." I pick up his t-shirt and throw it on his chest. I currently hate responsible me.

I roll over, turning my back on Lorenzo, and sandwich my hands under my head, so I don't do anything stupid with them, like skim my fingertips along his silky skin.

"You can go. I'll be fine here."

"Did you know you have several leaks in here?"

"I'm aware. Thanks."

He adjusts his pillow. "How can you sleep in this bed? It's too soft."

"I can't sleep if you keep yapping."

He chuckles next to me, and it makes my insides gooey. Is it weird Lorenzo is lying in bed next to me? Yes, one thousand percent it is. But it's also kind of nice having him here. He's much warmer than Razzo, he doesn't carry fleas, and he smells better too. He's also incredibly sexy and wet from the rain, and he did come to check on me, so it would be mean to send him back out into the storm.

Thunder shakes the house, and I jump again.

"Do thunderstorms scare you?" he asks quietly. His fingers softly drift through my hair. I freeze at first, but then relax because it feels amazing and I don't want him to stop.

"A little. Why are you being so nice to me?"

He sighs. "Tell me about your favorite thing so far in Italy."

"My favorite thing?" I ask drowsily, sedated by his magical fingers. "That's a toss-up between the pizza and gelato."

"We do have the best. I know of a secret place for pizza. I will have to take you there. I should warn you about the gelato, though. They are a tourist trap."

"A tourist trap?" I turn over and face him, frowning. "Please don't ruin gelato for me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He takes his index finger and presses it to the corner of my mouth and pushes up. "You're pretty when you smile."

I huff out a laugh and swipe his hand away, the butterflies beating wildly in my stomach. "Tell me about the gelato traps."

"Italy is trying to make it illegal to sell bad gelato. So here are the rules." He repositions the pillow under his head, bringing his serious face closer to mine. "Rule number one. Never go for the bright-colored gelato that looks like a puffo…um, a Smurf. Non va bene. Gelato should be earth tones. For example, pistachio gelato is brown, not green.

"Rule number two, never get the gelato that is swirled in mounds like a puffy cloud where you can see a pound of it sitting in the case. Gelato should be stored in flat metal containers with lids. And last, gelato should not have vegetable oil or unnatural flavors in its ingredients."

"So not only are you an olive aficionado, but a gelato one as well? I'm impressed." And incredibly turned on by his husky voice.

"Well, just looking out for you." He smiles and I want to bring his lips to mine.

"What else should I look out for?"

"Italian men."

I giggle. "Does that include you?"

"Most definitely me." His brows pinch. "But seriously, Summer. Italian men are very forward. Obnoxious even."

"You don't say?" I tease, arching an eyebrow. "Does that happen to include men who come over during a rainstorm and try to take off their clothes?"

"Yes, they are the worst. Stay far away from those guys." His teeth grab his bottom lip and he blows out a breath before giving me a lopsided smirk. "You make me do idiotic things."

"I make you? I'm pretty sure that was all you, buddy."

His eyes drift to my lips and back to my eyes. "You have the most beautiful eyes, Summer. Like liquid copper. And the cutest dusting of freckles."

"That's very forward of you, Mr. Rossi," I murmur.

"Sí, mi dispiace." He averts his gaze. "See? I told you. Stay clear of Italian men."

"You realize that's going to be quite challenging, living in Italy and all."

"Hmm." He brushes a lock of hair off my cheek. "Tell me what you like to do back home."

"I like to read, go to the movies, go for walks. Hang out and drink wine with my best friend Cara and her husband Damien. What about you?"

"Not much free time for me, I'm afraid. But I like to work out and read as well."

I imagine Lorenzo, shirtless, with a hot pair of reading glasses on, lifting a barbell in one hand, and reading a book in the other. Heaven have mercy, Marcos, my willpower isn't that strong. I snuggle in closer to the amazing heat his body is giving off. "What do you like to read?"

"Thrillers. You?"

"Romance." I smile lazily. "I especially love romances with hot Italian men."

"Hmm. Turn over." He shifts and I turn my back to him. He pulls me into him, and it feels so perfect being spooned by him, like he's my shelter in the storm. It's taking all my strength to keep my eyes open. I don't want to miss one minute of this.

"What's your favorite thing?" I mumble.

"Thunderstorms on a summer night next to a gorgeous woman."

"Smooth-talker…Someone warned me about guys like you."

He makes a deep humming noise and pulls the blanket over us.

"Summer, I think the storm is finally leaving." His voice sounds like a purr in my ear as sleep tries to pull me under. "I should go."

"Don't go, Razzo. Stay."

"Buona notte, il mia piccola gatta randagia." That rumbling timbre goes through me like the departing thunder and makes me want to slide my thighs apart.

It feels so nice to have him wrapped around me while I fall asleep.

When I wake in the morning, alone, I wonder if I dreamed the whole thing.