Delilah's Diary #2: La Vita Sexy by Jasinda Wilder

June 12
    The air was sharp and cold, the night dark around me, the city silent. I dragged my suitcase behind me, the tiny wheels bumping on the cobblestones, tipping the suitcase every other step.
    I was running like a coward. Running from Luca, running from my feelings and my fears and from myself. But mainly from Luca. He was too much, too sexy, too amazing.
    I had no idea where I was going, or what my plan was, other than to just go.
    Run. Run. Run.
    Every step made my heart hurt, made me feel more and more like a coward, a silly girl. But I couldn't make myself turn around and go back to him. He was sleeping so peacefully, and if I came back in, he'd hear me and wake up and want to know where I had gone, and I didn't know how to explain what was happening in my head, my heart.
    A footstep echoed behind me, a shuffle and a scrape. Whispers in Italian, low male laughter. More than one voice. I tried to ignore them, quickened my pace along the street. I didn't even know the name of the street I was on, or if buses ran at this time of night, or morning, or whatever three a.m. was.
    The laughter and the footsteps were closer, and I desperately wanted to turn and look to see who was following me. I didn't. I kept walking. Kept walking. Ignored the laughter, ignored the steps only a few feet behind me now.
    Shit. This was stupid. I should have stayed. I could have told Luca I didn't want to go home with him. He would have understood. I could have gone to Firenze with him and stayed somewhere alone, and spent time with him, in a less frightening situation.
    "Hey, bella . Where you goin'?" A foot kicked my suitcase aside, and I had to stop to right it.
    Three young men, dark hair, scruffy not-quite-beards, acne, skinny jeans, and evil, leering grins. One of them kicked my suitcase again, this time knocking it from my grasp. I left it where it lay and stood my ground in front of them. The one who'd kicked my suitcase slipped away from his friends and squatted by my suitcase. He opened it, pulled clothes out of it, and tossed them to the ground. He plucked a thong and held it up, sniffed it.
    "You wearin' one of these?" He licked his lips as he dangled the thong from a finger. "I think you are. You show me, sì ?"
    He flicked a glance at his two friends and they moved apart, trying to flank me. I backed up, trying to keep all three in view. The one with my panties rose lithely to his feet and stalked toward me. His eyes roved over my body; I had slipped on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and the shorts were suddenly much shorter than I'd remembered.
    The three closed in around me, now darting to tighten the noose. I felt hands clutch my arms from behind, hard, cruel fingers holding me tight. Other hands plucked at my shirt, lifting it...
    Before I could scream, I heard a foot scrape, then a rustling of clothes, and then Luca was there, jerking the one holding my thong off his feet, bashing him in the face with a quick, merciless fist. I was released and I scrambled backward, thumping into a wall. Luca was a whirlwind, dodging fists and ducking, slamming his own return blows, all of this silent, only the sounds of fists meeting flesh and grunts.
    Then the hoodlums were running away, and Luca dragged a wrist across his bleeding nose. He turned to face me, his eyes a blaze of confusion, pain, and anger.
    "What in hell were you thinking?" He stomped toward me, fists balled, shoulders tensed, his gait aggressive.
    I cringed instinctively, and he immediately softened.
    "I am sorry, I am not angry at you, only...confused." He stopped within arm's reach of me, but didn't touch me. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Touch you?"
    I shook my head. "I'm okay. They didn't do anything. But...if you hadn't come when you did..."
    The reality of what had almost happened hit me then, and I trembled, swayed, and fell. Luca caught me and sank to the ground with me in his arms.
    "Why did you leave?" His voice was soft, his eyes betraying genuine worry and