Lured: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

  The look he gave her was skeptical, but he left the bedroom and headed downstairs.

  She gritted her teeth as she hobbled into the bathroom. All right. Time to fix this puppy. She flicked the light on and almost screamed at the sight of the Swamp Thing in the mirror. No, wait. That’s just me. Shannon peered at the mud-streaked monster that was her. Not quite the Swamp Thing, but unfortunately, she resembled one of its not-too-distant relatives.

  A hot bath would serve the dual purpose of cleaning her up and relaxing her injured muscles. She was running the water for the bath when a loud knock sounded on the bedroom door. “It’s Brandon.”

  She rolled her eyes. Oh, jeez. She certainly hoped it was Brandon as opposed to some random person she had not yet met. She shouted back. “I’m in the bathroom. Can you please leave my bag inside the room?”

  “Sure.”

  She heard the sound of a door opening and then closing. Moving slowly and carefully, she peeked out of the bathroom. Her backpack sat in a muddy, forlorn heap by the bedroom door. She would have to clean up the mess her belongings had made in Maggie’s squeaky-clean house, but it would have to wait until she was better. Sighing, she slid into the warm water and closed her eyes. The pain in her back and knee eased into a dull throb and slowly, the tension seeped out of her shoulders.

  How could she have mixed up Montepulciano and Montalcino—beyond the fact that both the names of the Tuscan towns were much too long and shared far too many similar letters?

  Italy. She sighed. She would not have had that particular issue if she had traveled with a reputable tour group, as her mother had suggested, instead of going at it alone, which was her nature. She could not bring herself to regret it, though. She could move at her own pace and stop where she chose.

  And it looks like I’m stuck here tonight.

  Brandon’s distant-sounding shout warned her that he was coming in. Something about a table—she could not make out all the details through the closed bathroom door—and silence eventually followed him out.

  She lingered in the bath until the water cooled before standing slowly and wrapping a fluffy towel around her body. A quick peek out of the bathroom confirmed that the bedroom was empty, but there was a tray on the table. She hobbled over, and her faint smile widened into a grin. A hot pack. A cold pack. A bowl of mushroom soup. A large roast beef sandwich. A small bottle of Tylenol next to a large glass of water, and a cup of hot tea.

  She hadn’t thought about dinner, but apparently, he had. Shannon sniffed at the tea. Chamomile, with a hint of lavender. She glanced at the note on the tray, which said, “Shout if you need anything. I’m just outside.”

  Thanks to his thoughtfulness, she didn’t need anything else. With a hot pack against her back and bandages wrapped around her knee, she settled down to a hot, filling meal and the soothing sound of falling rain.

  Chapter 2

  Brandon Smith was, by nature, an early riser, notwithstanding his smart-alecky comments on not waking before noon. The dew-soaked Tuscan countryside, magical in the wispy light of dawn, beckoned him but he did not want to leave the house lest Shannon wake and find him gone.

  The reading nook in the hallway offered a great place to hang out while waiting for his unexpected guest to wake up. He was a quarter of the way through a legal journal when he thought he heard sounds from Shannon’s room. He set his book aside and tapped on her door. “Hey, Shannon?”

  “Yeah.” She sounded sleepy. “I’m just getting started.”

  “Want some breakfast?”

  She hesitated for a beat before saying, “Yes,” through the closed door.

  “Anything you don’t eat?”

  “Celery, cilantro, and parsley.”

  “Really? You must have a great time in Italian restaurants telling chefs what not to put in your food.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  The surprisingly low and sexy sound of her chuckle stirred his gut.

  He turned away. Nope, down, boy. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Besides, damsels in distress are not my style.

  He went down the stairs and walked through the living room into the kitchen. Sunlight poured in through the large open windows to flood Maggie’s kitchen with light. He looked around, appreciating his sister’s expensive taste. The room looked like an authentic Tuscan kitchen, down to the exposed brickwork on the walls, but the appliances were state-of-the-art, including stainless steel convection ovens and stove tops. They were also practically brand new since Maggie’s culinary skills topped out at burning water and Drew, her husband’s, to microwaving store-bought pizza.

  What a shame. What a waste. Brandon did not consider himself an expert in the kitchen but he knew his way around; it was the only solution for a man who wanted good food but did not want to eat out every night.

  Well, a wife who knew how to cook might have been another possible solution.

  Almost tried that. Didn’t work.

  Plus I was the better cook.

  He pushed Cynthia out of his mind and turned his attention to breakfast. Given a well-stocked refrigerator and pantry, he could concoct a decent meal with little notice. Fortunately, Maggie had filled the refrigerator, pantry, and spice racks with every possible thing he could want, and several things he did not want but appreciated regardless. It was her way of saying, “I love you.”

  Brandon prepared breakfast for two, and scarfed down several bites of his own before taking a tray up for Shannon. He kicked his shoe against the door. “I’ve got food. You decent in there?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” The door opened for him, and he carried the tray to the table, carefully setting it down next to the tray he had delivered for her dinner. No leftovers, he thought, with relish. He turned to face her. “How did you—?” His thought evaporated as he stared at Shannon. “Wow, you clean up well.” Where was the mud-streaked female-ish creature he had brought home last night, and who was this young woman who had taken her place? Her tangled ponytail had brushed out into long, wavy brown locks, and beneath the mud, she sported a clean, fresh look that carried well without makeup. Thanks to his sister and her cadre of supermodel friends, he was inured to the lure of extreme beauty, but Shannon’s natural prettiness somehow played a quick rhythm on his heart. It’s probably just been too long—a year since Cynthia, It was the longest he had been without a regular sexual and romantic partner. His ugly breakup with Cynthia at the altar had done a number on him. Burnt—hell, no—Scalded, he had retreated to lick his wounds. As far as he knew, he was still licking them, and they still hurt.

  “Thank you.” Shannon laughed as she swept a stray lock of hair away from her face. “I know I shocked myself when I saw my reflection in the mirror last night. Thank you for dinner last night, by the way.”

  “Couldn’t let you starve. How are your back and your knee?”

  “Just strained, in both cases, and it aches more today than it did yesterday, but there’s no major damage.”

  “I wish I could say the same of your bike.”

  She winced. “How bad is it?”

  “Needs professional help. The alignment’s completely off.”

  “Do you have a wrench or something to help fix it?”

  “Do you know how to patch tires too?”

  “Oh.” Frowning slightly, she followed his gestured instructions to sit and eat. He sat across from her without invitation. She nibbled on her omelet. The tart bite of fresh tomatoes blended with the subtly bitter taste of spinach and the smooth aftertaste of mushrooms, filling her mouth with flavor. “Oh, this is good.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Do you have a chef slaving away in a hidden dungeon?”

  He laughed. “I learned how to cook. It was that, or live off take-out.”

  “Nothing wrong with take-out. I lived off pizza, pasta, and take-out Chinese food, during my four years of medical school.”

  “That describes my undergrad years. Got old real fast. I
decided to learn how to cook, and it paid off. Got me into law school.”

  Shannon’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Many law school applicants have 170+ LSAT scores, but how many have 170+ scores and can cook?”

  She sliced her omelet. “What did you do? Bribe the law professors with five-course dinners?”

  “No, but I invited the people who wrote my references over for a home-cooked meal. I dazzled their palates with my cooking and their minds with my acumen and wit.”

  Shannon choked back a snort of laughter before taking another generous bite of her omelet. “I wish I’d had that foresight. The scramble to get into medical school was downright nasty and resulted in all sort of casualties along the way.”

  “Yeah, well, you doctors have easier access to all those pointy things.”

  “Scalpels? It’s considered bad medical etiquette to stick them into people before they sign consent forms.”

  “Ah, covering your ass. Happens everywhere. Keeps lawyers in business. And speaking of which, are you sure you’re all right? The clinic is open right now.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re so eager to get me to the hospital, I wonder if you really were driving on the wrong side of the road last night.”

  “Not a chance. I’ve been driving in Italy for years. I know right from left. Cognitively it’s less of a challenge than say…east versus west?”

  Shannon giggled. The sound rang like silver bells. “I’m usually better with direction. I’m not sure what happened yesterday. Montepulciano. Montalcino. How do the locals keep them straight?”

  “Without too much difficulty, actually. So, you said you’re expected in Montalcino?”

  She shook her head. “Not anymore. I had a one-night reservation at a B&B. I was supposed to head northwest to Siena today, continuing on my bike tour.”

  He frowned. “You’re on a bike tour?”

  “Why is that so hard to imagine?”

  “Because those bike tours are usually a dozen cyclists deep, led by a retired Tour de France competitor-turned-tour guide, and accompanied by two large vans that look like retired SWAT vehicles.”

  “I didn’t want that kind of tour, so I did my own.”

  “Your own?”

  “How hard is it to rent a bike and travel through the Tuscan countryside?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one sporting injuries and a wrecked bike.”

  She scowled at him, but the motion quickly vanished into an ironic smile.

  “Wait. Do that again.”

  “Do what?”

  “The frown.” His eyebrows drew together as he studied the frown on her face. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

  “Unlikely. I think I would have remembered you. And why would you remember a frown instead of a smile? Are you some kind of masochist?”

  “Lawyer. Masochist. It doesn’t even compute.” He shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. I usually have a good recollection of faces and names.” He shifted to sit on the window seat, enjoying the sunlight pouring in through the window. “So what are you going to do about your tour?”

  “I don’t know. Cycling’s not an option anymore, but my flight back to the States isn’t till next Saturday.”

  “So, you’ve a week to kill. Is this your first visit to Italy?”

  She nodded. “And my last in a while. I’m venturing out on my own professionally; I left the hospital and bought a partnership in an urgent care clinic.”

  “You like doing your own thing, don’t you?”

  “You noticed?” She grinned. “Yeah, I like setting my own direction.”

  “Even while on vacation.”

  “Brand new experiences. You said you’re housesitting for your sister.”

  He nodded. “Literally. She stocked the pantry for me, and I don’t have to go anywhere or do anything for a week.”

  Her gaze flashed past his shoulder to the view beyond the window. “At least you’ll be surrounded by gorgeous views while doing nothing.”

  “I sense sarcasm.”

  “You sensed right.” She nodded. “It doesn’t quite fit the overanxious overachiever lawyer image I was building up of you.”

  “I save the anxiety and the achievement for work, and the partnership I’ve been working my ass off for. Besides, I’ve traveled through this area multiple times. It’s almost like home.”

  “Been there. Seen it all.” She sounded wistful. “You’re lucky.”

  “How so?”

  “This is my first visit outside the U.S.”

  “And you immediately decided to do your own bike tour? Did you know that your Italian sucks? Actually, it’s nonexistent.”

  “Oh, and you’re fluent, of course.” Shannon’s tone was sardonic but she wore a smile.

  He grinned. “Of course, although I still have an accent. Maggie’s Italian is indistinguishable from a native’s—right down to the curse words.”

  “You’re fond of your sister.”

  “She’s not too bratty.”

  Shannon laughed, and the sound drew a matching smile to his lips. “Goodness, you’re just overflowing with compliments for women.”

  Brandon shrugged. “A woman who has to be flattered into believing in herself doesn’t know her own worth.”

  She stared at him, her fork pausing on her way to her mouth.

  “What?” he asked, disconcerted by her silence.

  “It’s…a little scary how frank you are, and how insightful.”

  “I bill by the minute. I don’t have much time for bullshit.”

  Shannon’s smile wavered. “So, as not to take up any more of your time, do you have the number of a local cab company that could take me to Siena?”

  Damn. He had been enjoying the conversation and hadn’t intended to scare her off or to come across as impatient. “What’s going to become of your Italian tour?”

  “I can still tour from Siena. Perhaps hire a car and a driver, and visit a few nearby vineyards.”

  “I could take you to Siena. It’s not that far.”

  “You’ve been incredibly kind. I don’t want to impose any further.”

  If he protested any further, he’d look like an idiot. Besides, he had no reason to protest. He had a “do absolutely nothing” vacation to get started. “All right. What time should I call for the car?”

  “Uh…” She stared at him. “Whenever it’s convenient for you. I can be ready with little notice.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you just rest for a while longer? I’ll let you know as soon as I arrange for a ride.”

  Shannon nodded. “Right.” She bit down on her lower lip, a gesture that made her seem younger and more vulnerable than the woman he knew she was—one who had daringly taken on Italy without any Italian. The brief camaraderie passed into a stiff silence as he turned and walked out of the room.

  Shannon zipped up her backpack and braced her hand against her lower back before slowly straightening. The aches were more intense, not unusual for the day after the injury, but she would be fine within the week.

  Of course, within the week, she would be back in the United States.

  So much for my Italian vacation.

  She walked to the window and gazed out over vineyards and gardens spread upon rolling hills. It was nothing like the town of Westchester, and even less like New York City. She leaned out further, watching Brandon as he walked out of the house, barefoot, and simply dressed in a white shirt and blue denim jeans. He did not even look American. His dark hair was slightly too long for a corporate drone, and his sculptured features and deep-set eyes had a subtly European look to them. He could have passed off as Italian, and judging from the delighted greetings of the neighbors, he was welcomed as one.

  An elderly couple passing along the lane stopped to chat with Brandon. The stream of Italian moved too quickly for Shannon to latch on to any word, but friendship did not need translation. Neither did their bright s
miles nor the warmth in their eyes. The old woman looked up and waved at Shannon, her face beaming.

  Shannon waved back, and the woman said something to Brandon.

  His gaze darted up to Shannon before shifting back to the woman, and he murmured something to the old lady. In fact, he looked a little embarrassed. Shannon suppressed a smile; she was probably not the first woman he had brought to Maggie’s villa.

  After a few minutes, he wrapped up the conversation and returned to the villa. “Shannon?” he shouted up the stairs. His footsteps thudded on the wooden steps, and he appeared at her bedroom door moments later. “I see you’re packed. I just spoke to Maggie’s neighbors. They’re driving up to Siena later this evening after dinner and would be happy to give you a ride.”

  “That’s great. Thank you.”

  “Looks like you’ll be having lunch and dinner with me.”

  “If they’re as good as breakfast, it’s not a hardship.”

  “Are you up to handling the stairs?”

  “Um…”

  “How about not a moment sooner than you have to?” Brandon smiled. “I’ll bring lunch up for you in a half hour. If you’re looking for reading material, Maggie’s library is small but eclectic.”

  Lunch, as promised, was served in a half hour—a selection of premium cold cut meat, cheeses, and freshly baked bread, with tomato bisque and a mixed green salad on the side. Shannon drew a deep breath as she stared at the feast he had set out on the tray. “Tell me you didn’t actually bake the bread.”

  “Would I win extra points if I did?” Brandon grinned. “No, I didn’t bake it. It was a welcome home gift from the neighbors. There’s also a gallon of homemade vanilla ice cream for dessert, whenever you’re ready.”

  “So this is your idea of a vacation? Eat well, gain several dozen pounds?”

  He shrugged. “Maggie obsesses enough about weight for the two of us, so I try not to think too hard about it. I like experimenting with flavors, and I don’t get much chance to do so when I’m working. There aren’t enough hours in a day to run the rat race and cook a decent meal.”