Lauren Henderson

“Luca promptly paralyzes me by leaning down, pulling the helmet strap tight, and fastening the buckle under my chin. His aftershave smells like seawater, cool aquamarine, fresh and light; his breath on my face is warm and touched lightly with wine.
Ecco,” he says softly. His fingertips touch my skin. “It must be tight.”
He wheels away from me and swings one long leg over the seat, putting the key in the ignition. Over his shoulder he says:
“You must hold on to my waist. And when I lean, you must lean with me. Okay?”
He’s waiting for me to get on. I mustn’t hesitate, or I’ll look as if I’m scared; I hike my skirt up and climb onto the back. The little scooter’s revving up, rattling noisily and cheerfully, like the cat purring on the wall; Luca looks back and says, “Aspetta.
Quickly, he shrugs off his jacket and hands it to me. It’s leather, butter-soft, like fabric in my hands.
“Put it on. It is not cold, but there is wind when we drive,” he says.”

Lauren Henderson, Flirting in Italian
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Flirting in Italian (Flirting in Italian #1) Flirting in Italian by Lauren Henderson
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