Second Position Page 2

  “I’m sorry, you were on your way to eat?”

  I nod, my cheeks still burning. “I haven’t had anything since yesterday, I was too worried to eat.”

  “Then I’ll take you to lunch,” Raphael announces. “I know a great little spot across the city.”

  “I can’t walk far,” I say, disappointed. “My ankle’s still not great.”

  Raphael’s eyes flash with amusement. “Then it’s a good thing I have Lola.” He turns to point across the street, where a red Vespa scooter is parked up against a lamppost.

  “That’s yours?” I blink. I’ve seen them all over the city, weaving in and out of traffic with ease. “I don’t know...”

  I pause, torn. Just an hour ago, I was pledging not to let myself get distracted from dancing ever again, and now here he is: the ultimate distraction.

  Raphael misinterprets my hesitation for fear.

  “I even brought a spare helmet.” He holds out his hand to me. “You’ll be safe, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you again.”

  His eyes meet mine, full of sincere promise – and something more. A light of adventure, one that sparks an answering flame in my own chest. He reaches out to brush a lock of hair back from my cheek, and my doubts melt away under the soft heat of his touch.

  There’s nothing else you could do today, I reason with myself. You’d just be sitting around in the dorms, feeling cooped up and frustrated.

  You’re not breaking any rules this time.

  Raphael is still waiting, his hand outstretched to me. His eyes ask a question.

  I feel a shiver of excitement. Heat and curiosity, restlessness in my veins.

  I take his hand, and decide. “Let’s go.”

  4.

  Raphael fastens the helmet over my head, and then we climb on the scooter. I slide my arms around his waist from behind, and suddenly, I’m hit with the overwhelming sensation of being so close to him: feeling the hard, muscular planes of his back, cradling his body intimately between my thighs.

  He pulls away from the curb, weaving through the morning traffic on the narrow street. It feels precarious at first, the two of us balanced on the narrow frame, and my heart leaps into my throat with every bob and lean as we take our first corner. Cars fly past, noisy and rushed, passing only inches away from us – inches from disaster.

  “Relax,” Raphael calls back to me. I gulp, still gripping him tight. I can see the old buildings as we pass, and groups of tourists traipsing in line, children playing on the corner, pedestrians waiting for the lights. As the city speeds by, my panic gradually fades.

  “The Forum is just up ahead,” Raphael tells me. “Have you been?”

  “Yes, but only for a moment.” I look up at the crumbling ruins as we approach. Mademoiselle and the tour guide whisked us in and out so fast, there was barely any time to register it, but now, gliding by from the street, I can see the carved frame of the building that’s been standing for a thousand years. “It’s amazing, everything is still here,” I breathe, seeing other architectural sites sitting all along the block in between modern walkways and sidewalks. “In America, they would have all been torn down by now, and moved to some museum. There would be a parking lot paved over in its place!”

  “It’s what makes Rome so special, I think,” Raphael replies, slowing to pause at a red light. “History is all around us, the past and the future, all at once. You have to know where you’ve come from to decide who you’re going to be.”

  “I’ve never thought about it like that.” I look around with fresh eyes as we start to move again, trying to imagine the lives that have been led here, for hundreds of years. All the people who’ve traveled along this street, with their own goals and secrets and dreams.

  And desires…

  Raphael drives on, taking a winding road along the riverbanks, until we’re in a green, leafy neighborhood, with tall apartment buildings nestled up alongside older architecture. He slows down, finding a parking spot on a narrow street, then carefully backs up into the space.

  He helps me off the bike, and lifts the helmet from my head. “How was that?” he checks, with an amused grin. “Not too scary?”

  “No,” I agree, but my legs do feel a little shaky now that I’m back on solid ground.

  “Here, let me help you.” Raphael quickly takes my arm. “You don’t want to put too much stress on your ankle.”

  “Thank you,” I reply shyly, slipping my hand through his arm. I can’t help but feel the curve of his bicep, taut beneath the soft fabric of his shirt.

  He’s being a gentleman, I scold myself. And you’re feeling him up like a piece of meat.

  An incredibly toned, defined piece of meat...

  “Annalise?”

  I snap my head up to find Raphael watching me with a curious smile. “I asked, is a sandwich okay with you? This place does the best in the city. They’re simple, but...”

  “Oh, no! I mean, yes, simple is great,” I say hurriedly. “I’m not really into fancy food.” I pause, remembering my freak-out the other day over the gelato. I don’t want to say anything, but I know I can’t let it happen again.

  I gather all my courage, and slowly add. “The thing is, I’m in training, so I can’t really eat all that much.”

  “You’re on a diet?” Raphael frowns, looking me up and down. “But you’re perfect.”

  I blush, a warm glow spreading through me at his words. “I’m not,” I sigh. “Not even close. It’s different for a ballerina,” I add. “We have to stay skinny, it’s not a choice. Not if we want to succeed.”

  Raphael pauses, and I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake, confessing my secret battle with my weight. Then he gives me a smile that wipes all my doubts away: open and understanding, like he knows what I’m trying to say. “That’s a shame,” he tells me. “Food is one of the great pleasures in life.” His smile turns smoldering, and he leans in to murmur in my ear. “We’ll just have to compensate with some of the others.”

  I shiver. In an instant, my mind flashes with passionate, X-rated images. Pleasures I’ve only ever fantasized about – and now with Raphael in a starring role.

  The sound of a car horn blares through the haze. I blink, my cheeks flushing, and find Raphael watching me with an amused look on his face, like he can read my mind.

  “Let’s eat!” I say brightly. My stomach is tied up in knots, but for the first time in my life, food is the safest option right now, so I limp towards the café. Raphael chuckles behind me, then follows.

  We buy lunch and then drive a short way, up a winding road into the hills above the city. Here, there’s a grassy park sprawling over the hillside, dotted with trees and benches to admire the incredible views of Rome.

  Raphael parks and helps me walk to a small wooded area, sheltered from view of the road. He spreads his jacket on the ground in front of an old oak tree for me to sit on. I carefully lower myself down, still worried about my ankle. But my worry quickly fades as I drink in the landscape, marveling at the foreign grid of city life spread out under a blue, cloudless sky.

  “I’ll be right back.” Raphael returns to the scooter for our bags. I wonder how he found this place, and if he comes here often. I realize suddenly that I barely know anything about him. We only met each other a few days ago, but already I’m totally swept up in a raging storm of hormones and desire.

  I want to know him. I want to know everything about him.

  “Over there is the Coliseum,” Raphael returns, pointing out the landmarks far below. “And the old Roman road.”

  “You must have been all over the city.”

  “Not as much as I’d like.” Raphael gives a rueful smile. “You live somewhere a while, you take it for granted.”

  “I guess,” I smile. “I’ve never done most of the touristy things in New York. I’ve never even been up the Empire State building!”

  Raphael begins to unpack our lunch. A dozen small containers emerge from the bag, plus plastic cutlery and napk
ins.

  “That smells amazing.” The scent of garlic and herbs make my mouth water, and I watch as Raphael breaks off a small piece of bread, and sweeps it through a small dish of oil and dark liquid.

  “Here, try it.”

  Instead of passing me the bread, he reaches out and gently pushes the morsel between my lips. I savor the deep, herby taste of the oil and the sharp acidic bite of vinegar.

  “Now try the artichoke,” Raphael insists as he peels open another carton. “And the olives, oh, and you have to taste the salamis, Guiseppe cures all the meat himself.”

  His face is lit up with so much enthusiasm, I have to laugh. I let him fill my plate with tiny portions of half a dozen things, then pick up a fork and begin to eat.

  I have no words.

  “Good, right?” Raphael gives me a knowing grin, and then sets about eating his own lunch, devouring a huge salami sandwich dripping with melted cheese. The look on his face is pure pleasure, and for a moment, I’m transported, wondering what it would be like to inspire that expression; make him sigh with satisfaction with just my hands, and lips, and tongue.

  How does he taste?

  I snap out of it, blushing and unsettled. I’ve never had these kinds of thoughts before, so lustful and consumed with desire. Never felt a shiver of longing just from watching a man eat: the line of sinew on his wrist as he lifts the food to his mouth, the touch of his tongue as he licks a drop of oil from his lips.

  It’s a foreign urge in me, slowly rising. A force that scares and thrills me in equal measure.

  This is desire, and I have no idea what to do with it.

  5.

  Raphael finishes the last of his food and leans back with a satisfied sigh.

  “You look like you need a nap,” I comment, eager to lighten my thoughts away from their X-rated subjects.

  “But of course,” Raphael laughs. “Italy wouldn’t survive without our afternoon riposo, our nap.”

  He stretches out beside me on the grass. His shirt rides up, revealing inches of caramel-tanned stomach, and a trail of dark hair snaking to the waistband of his jeans.

  I follow the line, my breath coming fast. I can’t look away.

  Down, girl.

  “Come, relax with me.” Raphael smiles, as if he can tell exactly what I’m thinking. He holds out a hand, beckoning me.

  I awkwardly slide lower on the ground and lay next to him, but I’m anything but relaxed as I stare up at the canopy of green leaves dancing above us. My heart beats faster, I’m aware of every tiny movement and motion of his body, so close that I could just reach out and—

  His fingers overlap mine on the ground between us. The smallest touch, but suddenly, it’s the only thing I can think about.

  My stomach in knots, I gently intertwine my fingers with his.

  I feel like I’m fifteen, on my first date with a boy ever. But the feelings drumming through my bloodstream are anything but innocent. That kiss… That kiss at the party awakened something inside me, and now that craving beats stronger with every breath.

  I turn my head, and find Raphael gazing at me, just inches away. His eyes, blazing dark and hot. His lips, parted, moving closer…

  I close my eyes and fall into the kiss as his mouth finds mine. God, it’s incredible. Smooth and soft, slow and deep. The world melts away as he eases my lips apart and gently probes into my mouth, stroking against my tongue in a devastatingly erotic dance.

  Fire ignites in my blood. I reach up, looping my hands around his neck and drawing him closer. In an instant, his body is covering mine: the hard length of him pressing me into the grass, chest to chest, hip to hip.

  I moan against him, and Raphael breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along my jaw and down my throat to taste and tease my bare skin. I shudder, the flames licking higher. His hands tighten around my waist, pulling me even closer. I go eagerly, loving the feel of him, the way our bodies fit together as his lips whisper along the V-neck of my T-shirt.

  My breasts feel swollen, straining against my cotton bra. There’s a damp ache between my thighs that only becomes sharper as Raphael nestles between them and I feel him, hard and thick through the fabric of my jeans.

  God, I need him. I don’t even know how, but my body is ringing with a foreign rush, something glittering in my bloodstream, urging me on. I throw back my head, gasping for air as Raphael’s hand slides against my breast and I come undone. He strokes again, his fingers closing around my tender nipple to squeeze and toy as he licks against my neck. Pleasure ripples through me, the inferno burning even hotter.

  Through my haze, I hear a dog barking. The sound of children playing. Reality slams back over me.

  What am I doing?

  I break away, breathing heavily, and tug my T-shirt down. “So tell me about your dancing!” I exclaim, sitting up. I look around, but we’re hidden here by the trees; nobody has seen our steamy make-out session.

  Raphael looks amused, but he doesn’t complain. He sits up too as I keep babbling questions. “How many of you are there? Where do you perform?”

  I feel my cheeks burning up. I can’t believe I was just rolling around out in the open here like that.

  Or that you loved every minute of it.

  “There are about a dozen of us, but it changes with the season,” Raphael explains gently, propping himself on one elbow to look at me. “Some of the crew are students, so during vacations they go back home. Others get work, or have to travel. It’s not a fixed company,” he explains, “with rules or membership. If you love to dance, then you’re one of us.”

  It sounds so simple to me, nothing like the rigid structure of the ballet company. “And the choreography?” I ask, remembering the incredible routine he performed with the other girl, Francesca. “The moves you were performing, they were breathtaking. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Raphael looks pleased. “I come up with my routines. It’s always been a passion of mine,” he says, his accent making every word sound impossibly sexy. “I love finding new ways to express myself. So many dancers just stick to one style, but dance is universal, there is a whole world of inspiration to draw from.”

  I laugh. “I can just imagine what Gilbert would say if I went in and broke out some hip-hop moves in class. He’s our choreographer,” I add. “He’s pretty traditional.”

  “That’s a shame,” Raphael notes, reaching casually to brush back a lock of hair from my cheek. “Ballet can be just as expansive as any other style.”

  I shiver at his touch. “Not in my company.” I try to stay casual, as if he hasn’t just set my whole body ablaze. “Your group sounds so great. You’re lucky to have a place like that for you,” I add, “somewhere you can just focus on the dance, and not have to constantly be worrying about getting pushed out, or overtaken.”

  “I am lucky,” he nods. “But to tell you the truth...” Raphael pauses.

  “What?” I ask, curious about the shadow that drifts across his features.

  “I’ve been thinking about leaving,” Raphael admits, looking conflicted. “Trying to join a professional company, get work—real work—performing somewhere that isn’t a street corner.” He looks away, and I can tell the inner turmoil behind his words. “The others, they don’t take it so seriously as me,” he explains. “They love the dance, sure, but to them, it’s just a hobby, or a way to make some extra cash. Luca is training to take over his family’s restaurant,” he adds. “Francesca will leave next year to study in Florence. They have family to fall back on, but I... I have nothing but dance.”

  Pain shadows his face. I remember what he told me about his family not approving of his career. They disowned him, and now he’s alone. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m the only one who wants to make it something real, a career,” Raphael admits. “They’re my friends, my family now, but I don’t know if that can be enough.”

  “I understand,” I say softly. “Some people, they dance because they enjoy it. For fun. But others… we dance because we have
to. We want to be great. We need it.”

  Raphael’s eyes flash with recognition. A moment of understanding passes between us, the unspoken drive, the craving for more.

  To be the best.

  “Do you think I’m foolish?” he asks quietly, his conflict clear amid the dark, midnight depths of his eyes. “To want so much more? It’s one in a million, but I feel like if I don’t push harder, then all these years training will have been for nothing.”

  “You’re not foolish.” I shake my head fervently. “You have the talent to go so much further. When I saw you dancing in the square, I couldn’t believe it. You’re good enough to be on stage anywhere in the world!” I catch myself, hearing the adoration and breathlessness in my tone. What are you, some stuttering fangirl?

  But Raphael doesn’t seem to notice. He brightens, the shadows drifting away. “Thank you,” he murmurs, reaching across the grass to take my hand between his. This touch isn’t fevered like before, it feels more important than that. A bond. “That means a lot to me.”

  I swallow, trying to stay calm and casual, as if I’m used to holding hands like this, every graze of his fingertips like tiny sparks of stardust crackling along my skin. “Have you thought about what you’ll do?” I ask, my voice only wavering a little. “If you leave, I mean.”

  Raphael nods. “There’s a company I’ve heard about. The Collective, they call themselves. They’re all kinds of dancers, from all over the world. They work on music videos, stage productions, they’re the best around.”

  “So what’s stopping you?” I ask.

  He gives a wry grin. “Besides the fact they only accept a few new dancers every year?” He exhales, looking troubled again. “Luca is like a brother to me. He’s given me so much, the rest of the dancers too. I feel like leaving would be an insult, a betrayal to them.”

  “You can’t think about it like that,” I urge him. “They would understand, any dancer would. We have to fight for every break we get.”