Farrah Rochon - Hot Christmas Nights - Tuscan Nights / Christmas Tango / Tied Up in Tinsel

“Yeah, so this is a lot better than ice cream,” he conceded. He followed Nyla to the counter that faced the street and sat on a bar stool that afforded them a view of the line of people entering the Vatican.

“And this isn’t even the best gelato I’ve had,” she said. “It’s pretty close, though.”

She ran her tongue along the rim of the cone, lapping up the rivulets from the already melting dessert.

Aiden couldn’t be sure, but it was a safe bet that he had never in his life gotten so hard so fast, at least not since he was twelve years old. He had to swerve the stool to the right just in case his sweater couldn’t fully conceal the erection that had sprung up at the sight of her tongue stroking that gelato.

“Mmm...” Nyla murmured, licking her lips. “There shouldn’t be something so sinfully good this close to the Vatican.” She held the cone out to him. “Want a taste?”

It was an innocent enough gesture, but in his current state of mind Aiden couldn’t help the barrage of erotic thoughts that suddenly crashed through him.

His eyes trained on Nyla, he leaned forward and took a taste of the sweet treat. “Mmm,” he said. “The best thing I’ve tasted in a long time.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Her lips parted, then quickly closed as her eyes shot to his. Aiden held his cone out to her.

Nyla stared at it as if the gelato were forbidden fruit. “I’ve...uh...I’ve tried that flavor already,” she said.

A grin tipped up the corner of Aiden’s lips. “Try it again,” he encouraged in a low voice.

She glanced at the gelato, then at him. Aiden saw her chest lift as she pulled in a steadying breath before she leaned over and licked in the same spot he had.

He swallowed back a moan, though just barely.

The situation in his pants reached nuclear meltdown proportions, a hot ache gripping him as he studied the drop of chocolate cream that clung to the bow of her bottom lip. It took every ounce of restraint in his body not to lean forward and lick it off.

“Is it as good as you remember?” he asked, his voice so husky he could barely hear it.

Nyla’s gaze lowered once again to his lips. “Even better.”

To hell with fighting this .

Aiden leaned forward, preparing to fulfill the fantasy that had been on his mind all day. But before he could connect his mouth to hers, Nyla reared back and twisted her stool toward the window.

She pointed across the street. “We’d better get going before that line gets any longer.”

Aiden shut his eyes against the onslaught of lust that coursed through him. He nearly suggested they skip the tour; it seemed sacrilegious to enter into a holy place with such unholy thoughts flooding his mind.

The wait to get into the Vatican was longer than the one for the Colosseum, which was expected at this time of the year, but seeing the famed painted ceiling of the Sistine Chapel made it worth the wait.

They shuffled their way inside St. Peter’s Basilica, which Nyla explained was the length of two football fields. She pointed toward the massive tomb where St. Peter was buried. “Do you see that dove in the stained glass window past the altar? Its wingspan is seven feet.”

“No way,” Aiden said.

“Yes. And those letters up there,” she said, pointing to the Latin writing that ran the entire length of the basilica. “They are six feet tall.”

Aiden slowly shook his head. “Pictures do not do this justice. I can’t even put it into words.” He turned in a slow circle, completely awestruck. “A day and a half isn’t enough. I’ll have to come back here before I leave for the States.”

“You must,” she said. “There’s no way we’re going to get through all of Rome in one day.” Nyla’s brow arched. “Speaking of returning to Rome...” She reached into the shoulder bag she carried and pulled out a handful of coins. She took his hand and turned it, dropping them in his upturned palm. “You’re going to need these for where we’re going next.”

Aiden joggled the coins. “An arcade?”

Her eyes lit with knowing humor, she took him by the arm and turned for the basilica’s exit. “You’ll see.”

They hopped into another cab and crossed the Tiber River. When Nyla mentioned they were nearing the Mausoleum of Augustus, Aiden demanded they stop. He’d written a book report on the life of the first emperor of Rome back in grade school; he never imagined that he’d ever have the chance to see the burial place of the man who started the Roman Empire in person.

His eyes glued to the crumbling facade of the ancient tomb, Aiden rattled off facts that had stayed with him all this time. “Did you know he and Antony were friends before Cleopatra came into the picture?”

“Women.” Nyla tsked. “Causing men strife for thousands of years.”

“Tell me about it.” Aiden snorted, then laughed when she playfully slapped him on the arm. “Augustus is the reason I’ve never eaten figs. After I read that his wife killed him with poisoned figs, I decided I could go through life never eating them.”

Nyla’s head flew back with her laugh.

They continued on foot, walking south on Via del Corso. Nyla spotted a scarf shop and scuttled ahead of him to see if it was open. He took the time to drink in how good she looked in the snug-fitting sweater dress and calf-high heeled boots. She’d paired it with a cream coat that reached the hem of the dress. She’d always been fashionable, even when she wasn’t trying.

“They’re closed,” she said with a shrug.

“Maybe next time,” Aiden said.

She nodded and smiled. A ridiculous thrill shot through him at how open she seemed to there even being a next time.

They continued on down the heavily traveled street. Even though he couldn’t see where it was coming from, the gurgling rush of water and the chatter of what had to be dozens of people grew louder with every step they took. They turned left at another ancient building with stone columns, and a minute later, Trevi Fountain came into view.

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