Rome WIth Dad's Best Friend Read online

  CONTENTS

  Rome with Dad’s Best Friend

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  About the Author

  ROME WITH DAD’S BEST FRIEND

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 205

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2020 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  ROME WITH DAD’S BEST FRIEND

  Marco

  It’s a beautiful day in Rome and I’ve just come from another successful meeting when I spot her.

  A real woman. A gorgeous woman, with childbearing hips, long blonde hair, and wide blue eyes.

  All curves in all the right places. Like a real woman who grew up on her mamma’s lasagna, not one of those stick-thin insects that are always trying to get my attention.

  But something about her seems familiar.

  She IS someone I know.

  The last time I saw her, she was a girl and now she’s a woman. My old best friend’s daughter.

  She may be my old friend’s daughter but she’s the only woman I want. And I’m a man who gets what he wants and the I want to make her mine. Forever…

  Hannah

  I thought it would be fun to travel to Rome before starting college, but now I’m lost. Hopelessly lost.

  When I look up and catch the handsome older man watching me. I can’t help my eyes from roaming over his rich black suit, tailored to him to perfection.

  When he calls my name my heart leaps. I know this man. I’ve seen photos of him in my home...with my dad. But his pictures don’t do him justice.

  I may be a virgin but I know what I want, and I want him. But could this handsome older man see me as more than his old best friend’s daughter?

  And what happens when my time here in Rome comes to an end.

  *Rome with Dad’s Best Friend is an insta-everything, OTT standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Marco

  I make my way down a cobbled street in Rome, nodding as I pass by local merchants, lifting a hand in silent refusal as a couple of them attempt to sell me their wares. This area is at least a little out of the way of the normal tourist haunts, but it’s still possible to be approached here. It’s the way of selling in Rome. I don’t particularly mind it, even though I’m not interested in anything today.

  I cut a sharp enough figure in my tailored black suit that I must look like a man with money. I like that. When I do business, I want my partners to know that I’m powerful. That they’re dealing with someone who knows his industry well. Someone who’s seen success. It puts us on the right footing from the beginning.

  The meeting this morning went well, and I’m in good spirits, even if I don’t show it on the outside. I made a lot of money in the deal, and with a long-term partnership on the cards, I stand to make a good deal more. That’s why I eventually stop, allowing an old woman to flag me down and gab rapidly about the freshness of her fruit and vegetables and press a Verona peach into my hand. I reach into my pocket and pull out a few jingling coins to pass to her, biting into the juicy, cool flesh of the peach as I continue to walk down the street.

  I’m dusting my hands against one another, dislodging the faint lingering stickiness of a few errant drops of juice, when I look up and see another beautiful peach. Juicy, round, and pert just the kind of peach I like. Encased in white jeans, that cling to her shape and also happen to reveal that the owner of this peach is wearing white underwear. It moves and jiggles delightfully as she walks, sandaled feet taking a few more hesitant steps before she pauses.

  I slow my own steps, admiring the view. After all, it’s a beautiful day why not? My eyes travel slowly up the rest of her body as she stops, her head swinging from side to side and taking with it a fine mane of blonde hair. She’s curvy in all of the right places, like a real woman who grew up on her mother’s lasagna, not one of those stick-thin insects that are always trying to get my attention.

  I saunter to a stop a short distance from her, pretending to check my phone as I watch her through my sunglasses. She sparkles in the sun, playing off her pale skin – with coloring like that, she must be a tourist.

  She turns then, a puzzled look on her face. She’s holding a phone in her hand, and even from here, I can see the map on the screen as she titles it down into my field of view. She’s lost. I let myself smirk a little, raising my eyes to her face.

  And I stop. A jolt runs through me. She looks like someone I used to know, a long while ago. Something like the wife of an old friend, but not quite. Different. More beautiful, if anything. I keep staring at her until our eyes meet, and even though I don’t think she can see my eyes behind the dark sunglasses, it’s that connection that makes me realize it.

  She IS someone I used to know. A long, long time ago. Because the last time I saw her, she was only a child – and now she’s a woman. A gorgeous woman, with childbearing hips and a wide chest, blue eyes that are the same shade as the surface of the lake where I grew up, blonde hair water-falling down her back that frames her face perfectly.

  I know her. And even though I realize that at the same moment I want to make her mine.

  I take a step towards her, trying to find my words. Where has my voice gone? I clear my throat and catch her attention again.

  “Hannah?” I say. “Hannah Greene?”

  She doesn’t know me. Her eyes go wide in surprise, and she even looks a little scared. She thinks I’m a stranger. Of course, it would be odd for me to know her name, to come across her on this little street. It must look as though I’ve been following her.

  I pick my jaw up off the floor for long enough to regain my composure and reach up to pull off my sunglasses. And at that moment I pray that she will know who I am.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Hannah

  I’m lost – hopelessly lost.

  I don’t know how I managed to get so far out of the center of Rome. I read about this great restaurant that was buried out of the way in
a side-street, which is a local’s favorite and still one of the best-kept secrets in the city. They have their own traditional recipes handed down over generations, unaffected by commercialism or changes happening in modern cuisine, and the dishes are supposed to be divine.

  I just have no idea where that restaurant is.

  I’ve been following the map on my phone, but I guess I’m not really that great at reading it because I’ve managed to get myself turned around. I’m sure I should be standing outside the restaurant right now, but there’s nothing here, and the signal isn’t great right here for some reason. The map hasn’t updated in at least ten minutes, no matter how many times I try to refresh it to see my new position.

  I turn around in despair, wondering if there is anyone I can ask for help. My Italian isn’t great, but I can try. I look up and see a handsome older man in a rich black suit, tailored exquisitely to his body. I can’t help my eyes from roaming over him, the fitted jacket around his body, the trousers that show off bulging muscles in his thighs – he keeps himself in shape. And judging from what I can see of his face behind the sunglasses, he’s also very good-looking.

  I try to look past him and around, for someone who might help, but when my eyes pass back over him in a sweep in the other direction, he’s looking right at me. At least, his sunglasses are pointed in my direction. Who can say where he’s actually looking?

  “Hannah?” he says, making my heart leap into my throat. “Hannah Greene?”

  How does he know my name?

  My heart is hammering inside my chest. I don’t know whether to be afraid, or surprised, or happy to see someone who knows me. At least if he knows me, he can help.

  Unless, he’s been following me for a while with the intent of kidnapping me, or something.

  Not that I know why anyone would want to kidnap me. It’s not like my Dad could pay any kind of significant ransom.

  Then he takes off his sunglasses, and everything clicks.

  It’s been a long while since I’ve seen him in person. I was only a kid then, and he was younger too, so the memories are hazy and don’t exactly match up. But it’s not like I haven’t seen him at all, because I’ve seen photos. Whenever my Dad comes out to Italy on business, he always takes the time to reconnect with his old best friend.

  “Marco?” I say, the air leaving me in a whoosh. It’s one surprise on top of another, and for a moment I’m simply blown away. I knew that Marco lived in Italy, and I guess a small part of me probably knew at one point that he did business in Rome, but I never imagined that I would be bumping into him on my trip.

  “It is you,” Marco laughs. His voice is deep and rich, full of that exotic and sexy Italian accent, though his English is perfect. “For a second I thought I’d got it horribly wrong.”

  I laugh. “No, it’s me,” I say. “Before I recognized you I thought you might be about to kidnap me, though.”

  Laugher dances in his eyes. They’re a very striking green, something I had always noticed in the photographs. But if I’m honest, the pictures never did him enough justice. If they did, I would have been paying more attention.

  And he’s definitely a lot hotter than I remember. Back then I was so young I wasn’t even thinking about boys in that way. And even if I was, Marco was my Dad’s best friend – definitely relegated to the zone of disgusting adults. But now…

  Now we’re standing across from each other in a back street in Rome, and even though there must be twenty years between us, I can barely see it. Instead, I’m looking at a man who could easily be a movie star, a James Bond, or a leading man in some drama romance, suave and handsome and beautifully dressed.

  And something stirs deep inside me that I can’t ignore.

  “I would never,” he says, grinning wide, showing his mouth full of straight, white teeth. From what I remember of Marco, he isn’t the stereotypical Italian playboy with strings of bikini models on his arm and a hard-living lifestyle. My Dad always liked him because he was laid back, didn’t get into trouble, worked hard. I can see that it’s paid off. “What brings you to Rome?”

  I’m about to answer when I have to jump to the side, dodging a motorist on a Vespa who rams his horn repeatedly as he zooms past me. I catch my breath, realizing I was almost smashed into tomato sauce on the floor. If there’s one thing about Rome I’m struggling to get used to, it’s the roads – I can’t tell if there are any laws at all, or if Italians just take their lives into their hands every time they try to get to the other side of one.

  “We should get out of the way,” Marco says. He steps closer, putting out his arm as if to shield me from any further altercations, his hand hovering just an inch from my elbow. “What were you looking for?”

  I show him my cellphone screen. “This little restaurant. Do you know where it is?”

  “Ah, Luccio’s. Yes, I know it. I go there often. It’s just a couple of streets away.”

  I drop my hand down to my side, sighing as my shoulders slump. “I knew it. I got totally lost.”

  Marco laughs lightly. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll take you there. Then you can’t possibly get lost again. Deal?”

  I’m not sure what he’s getting out of his side of the bargain, but I nod and smile. “Deal,” I tell him, letting him turn to lead the way.

  As we face towards the entrance to the street, where I just came from, I notice a couple of girls at nearby storefronts turning quickly back to the wares in front of them. One doesn’t even bother to pretend, continuing to stare at Marco openly. He gets a lot of attention – I can see that.

  But as we continue down the street, it’s me his eyes turn to seek out, checking if I’m still with him – and he doesn’t spare a glance for any of them.

  Which is just great… but he probably still sees me as his friend’s child, a young girl, and not a woman. And if he’s not interested in these beautiful, leggy Italian girls with their bronzed skin and their short shorts, then why would he ever be interested in me?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Marco

  I lead Hannah through the short journey to Luccio’s, wishing that she’d managed to get herself even more lost. If it had been a twenty-minute walk even ten! But it’s only five minutes before I find myself standing outside the familiar vermillion awning that hangs over the front window, the name of the restaurant picked out in badly-faded letters after years of wear.

  I hesitate outside. “Well, here it is,” I tell her. “You must try the Bolognese. The best in Italy, I swear to you. Like nothing, you’ve eaten in the States. It will ruin you forever.”

  Hannah laughs, but there is something hesitant about her as well. “Thank you,” she says. She keeps looking between the door and me, back and forth. “For guiding me here, I mean. Um. You said you eat here a lot, right?”

  “Absolutely.” I nod in confirmation. “The best alternative to traveling back home and eating my Mamma’s food. Though, I still do that a couple of times a year as well.”

  “Have you eaten lunch yet?” Hannah asks. Then her cheeks color, and she begins to talk fast, waving her hands in the air. “Oh, I suppose you probably have. And if you haven’t, then you must have plans. I mean, you’re dressed in a suit, so I guess you’re probably working. And why wouldn’t you be? It’s a Tuesday, after all, and you’re not on vacation, only I am…”

  “Hannah,” I say, cutting off her rambling with a slow smile. “Are you asking me if I would like to eat lunch with you?”

  Hannah’s rosy cheeks darken even further. “Yes,” she says, mercifully falling silent.

  “Then I accept,” I say, gesturing towards the door. “After you.”

  “Oh!” she says, then turns after another flustered gesture, finally making her way towards the door. Her surprise at my acceptance is as adorable as her shyness. I would expect a girl with her looks to have become unbearably vain and over-confident, expecting any man to follow her around like a broken puppy. Hannah is nothing at all like that. I’m sure her father had
something to do with keeping her feet on the ground.

  I follow her into the dim interior of the restaurant, where small chairs and tables are clustered close together to fit in as many people as possible. Our waiter shows us to a place next to the window, where we can see outside as well as watch the activity inside. A table for two, me opposite Hannah. Something flares in the pit of my stomach. This feels almost like a date.

  Of course, I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. She’s my friend’s daughter. If he knew I had designs on her, he would be furious.

  But that doesn’t stop the way my body reacts to her. I want to grab her and spin her to sit down on my lap so that I can fill my hands with that juicy peach. Of course, I don’t. We’re in a public place, after all, and she might not like it.

  “So, returning to my earlier question,” I say, ignoring the menu that I know by heart and admiring Hannah instead. “What brings you to Rome?”

  “Just a vacation,” she says, smiling. “I wanted to do something independently before I start college, and traveling alone sounded fun. Plus, I’ve always wanted to see Rome.”

  “Your father should have called me,” I say in reproach. “I would have made sure that you had everything you need.”

  “I didn’t even remember you still lived here,” Hannah laughs. I can’t say it doesn’t sting just a little, but why should she? To her, I’m just her father’s old friend. “Anyway, it’s fine. It wouldn’t be much of an independent journey if I relied on someone else to organize everything.”

  The corners of my lips twitch into an amused smile. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “It’s kind of wild that we just met on the street, isn’t it?” Hannah asks. Her eyes are wide, earnest, and innocent. Full of the spark of life. I think I dimly remember that feeling.

  “The world is a smaller place than we like to think,” I smile. “But you’re right. It’s often bigger, too. We might have crossed paths a hundred times and not even realized it if we hadn’t both turned at that moment.”