An Innocent Abroad: A Jazz Age Romance by Romy Sommer Page B

lounging on the deck of the
barge.
    “What
are they waiting for?” She called to Stefano.
    “For
the steam packet that brings tourists from Naples and Sorrento.”
    She
bit her lip and he smiled reassurance. “It’s early yet in the day for the
tourists.”
    She
searched for the mouth of the sea cave and when she spotted it, nothing more
than a dark slash at the base of a cliff, her heart stuttered. “How do we get
in there?”
    He
grinned. “You’ll see.”
    Stefano
anchored his motor boat and came to stand beside her in the prow. On the
platform, one of the men climbed into a row boat and headed for them.
    “The
row boat will take us inside the grotto.” He helped her down into the narrow rowing
boat as it came alongside them. The boat had no benches, only cushions for them
to sit on.
    “Will
this boat through that little hole?” she asked, eying the low entrance of the
cave with trepidation.
    “It
will.” Stefano climbed into the boat behind her, rocking it as he settled in.
    “ Grazie ,
Franco,” he said to their rower, who grinned back at him, doffing his cap.
    The
tiny boat rocked treacherously as they approached the narrow cave entrance.
“Lie back now,” Stefano ordered.
    Obediently,
Isobel lay down, back into Stefano’s waiting arms, her body encased between his
long, muscular thighs. Her head rested on his chest, rising and falling with
each breath he took. For a moment she closed her eyes, relaxing back into the
safety and warmth of his embrace.
    Her
eyes fluttered open as the heavy rock overhang shut out the light. A wave
swelled beneath them, lifting the little boat high enough that she could reach
up and touch the rock above their heads.
    Then
suddenly they were inside the cavern, and Isobel gasped. The cave roof arched
up into a high dome, light dancing patterns across the rocky surface. She
understood now why this was known as the Blue Grotto. The walls and roof
shimmered with colour, reflecting the brilliant turquoise of the water which
seemed illuminated by enchantment.
    “The
Emperor Tiberius used this grotto as his private swimming pool.” Stefano’s
whisper rose into the vast echo of the vaulted dome.
    Now
they were inside, and the roof was higher, she could have sat up. But she
didn’t. She lay cushioned against Stefano’s chest, enjoying the unfamiliar
hardness of his body, and watched the strange exotic light play over the cavern
roof.
    Franco
kept his back turned to them, looking around the cave with a rapt attention
that seemed improbable in someone who saw this sight every day.
    The
waves slapped a mesmerising rhythm against the sides of their little boat as it
rocked gently. Against her lower back she felt the stirring of Stefano’s body
and it took her a moment to realise that it was arousal.
    “It’s
beautiful,” she whispered.
    “Yes,
it is.” His voice was low and husky in her ear, sending shivers through her,
and she knew he wasn’t talking about the grotto.
    His
arm snaked over her stomach, holding her close and he rubbed himself against
the curve of her bottom. He seemed to grow harder and longer, and he shifted to
accommodate his swelling manhood. She longed to reach out and touch, to learn.
    A
slow ache throbbed between her legs.
    Instead,
she raised herself up on her elbow and trailed a hand over the side of the boat.
Her hand gleamed silver, the water warm and sensual as silk against her skin.
She wondered how it would feel to strip off her clothes and slip into that
water, to swim as the Emperors had. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the salty
sea scent, the stillness, and imagined herself in the water. Naked. With
nothing between her skin and the caress of the water. Her breath quickened.
    Stefano
stroked his hand over her stomach, slowly and steadily sliding over her hip and
upwards, towards her breast, his touch fuelling an ache as her nipples pulled
taut against the loose silk of her camisole.
    Was
this slight friction between their bodies, through