by Alexia Adams
It must have been enough reassurance because he lifted her and pressed her back against the cool tile wall as he entered her inch by glorious, amazing inch. When he was finally fully seated within her, he rested his forehead against hers.
“Ti amo, Bella. La mia bellissima moglie.” I love you, Bella. My beautiful wife.
“Matteo.” It was the only word her brain would form.
He moved slowly within her at first, his eyes never leaving hers. Tears ran down her face to mingle with the spray from the shower.
“Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?” His harsh voice was at odds with his tender words.
“Don’t. Ever. Stop.”
Her command broke his restraint and he plunged into her over and over again. Her ass slapping against the tile wall coincided with the grunts from Matteo. His body went rigid as he orgasmed, his shout of triumph echoing through the small room. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his neck and collarbone. He reached out an arm to shut off the now-cold water but made no other move to disconnect their bodies.
She was happy to stay like this forever.
“I’m sorry,” he said when his breathing returned to normal.
“For what? That was amazing.” She pushed the wet hair from his face and caressed his cheek.
“You didn’t come. I took my pleasure and didn’t give you yours.”
She forced his head up so she could see into his eyes.
“You gave me more than pleasure. You made me feel like the most important woman in the world to you. You made me feel powerful, beautiful, treasured. Everything a woman wants to feel in her man’s arms. Thank you.”
“You are all that. And more.” He kissed her, his mouth telling her beyond words what she meant to him. How could she ever let him go? Give up all this for a world of work? She was crazy. But the farm was her safe haven, her home, and deep down she needed to do, not just be. Matteo wanted to treat her like a princess, put her on a pedestal and worship her. She wanted to get down and dirty and get things done. Could they find a compromise?
And what about the accusations that hung over his head like a guillotine with a hair-trigger? Was she willing to gamble everything she’d accomplished on Matteo being able to prove his innocence?
Those concerns were for tomorrow. They still had a lot to do tonight.
He released her lips to trail kisses down her throat and onto her chest. As he took her nipple in his mouth and flicked the taut nib with his tongue, she put all thoughts of the future from her mind. This passion was everything.
“I’ll tell you what,” she gasped out as he slipped even lower and kissed her belly.
“Hmm?”
His tongue found her center and mimicked the movement his cock had made moments before. “When we’re done here, you can sing your goat-milking songs to me. That should make up for . . . ” What the hell did he need to rectify?
He raised his head and seemed satisfied that she could no longer form a coherent thought. “I’ll do one better. I’ll reenact what I’m singing. But, tesori?”
“Yes?” If both his hands weren’t holding her up, she’d be on the floor. Her legs no longer worked, her breathing was erratic, and her heart wanted to do a dance outside her body.
“We’re a long way from done here.”
Chapter Ten
Bella lay on top of him, their bodies still connected and sweaty from lovemaking. He’d made up for the first time when he’d come too soon by leisurely reacquainting himself with her body and erogenous zones. She’d orgasmed three times before he allowed himself to enter her and lose his mind again. When they’d recovered from that, they’d gone in search of sustenance and ended up making love in the kitchen. They needed another shower, but the water would be freezing. That, and he wasn’t sure either of their legs would work.
If he had to choose between living fifty years alone or dying right now, well, he’d go without a regret. There was no way Bella would choose Cristo or Kai. She was his and always would be.
She drew a figure of a heart on his chest with her index finger. “I’m worried about tomorrow.”
“About what the others will do when you pick me?”
“That’s not it. I’m worried about you going to the police headquarters. What if they lock you up? Maybe you shouldn’t go.”
“Then they’ll just come here. I won’t risk your business.”
“What if you went back to Tunisia? I doubt they’ll follow. They have no evidence, so they won’t be able to get an extradition order.”
“I’ve not done anything. I’m not running.” He swept her hair off her face and kissed her forehead.
“You wouldn’t be the first innocent man to rot in a jail cell to cover someone else’s deeds. Please, don’t go.”
“They won’t arrest me. Cristo and his lawyer will be there. As you said, they have no evidence.”
“Matteo . . . ”
He rolled so she lay next to him now and he could see her face. “Bella, I’m no longer a poor vegetable farmer of no consequence. I’m a rich, international businessman with a reputation for fair and honest dealings.”
“That’s Mario Barilla.”
“We are the same person.” He put as much confidence into his voice as possible. The fact remained that if he walked into that police station as Matteo Vanni, he was nothing. Bella was correct, all his companies were registered in his assumed name. “Trust me, it will be okay.”
She nodded although she still looked worried. “Tell me more about your life,” Bella said. “I’m surprised that a man who hated paperwork would willingly tie himself to a life of contracts, meetings, and negotiations. It’s almost like you’re someone else.”
“I am the man you married, just with a larger bank account now.” He lifted her hand to his lips and traced his tongue over the veins at her wrist, satisfied when there was a stutter in her breathing. “I’ve learned to appreciate the administrative side of things now that it’s about something that interests me. I guess artichokes and capsicums were never really my thing.”
“But how did you get into hotel ownership? You washed up on the beach with nothing. Seems a massive leap to me.”
“My first job in Tunisia was at a resort that catered to the European market. But once the tourists stopped coming, the property went into foreclosure. I banded together with some of the other staff and we managed to negotiate with the bank to keep it running until we had the money to buy it. We turned it around so that it relied less on foreign travelers and attracted Tunisians or other wealthy North Africans. I built up my portfolio as other resorts faced similar difficulties. I hold the majority of shares, but the staff all receive stock options once they’ve completed a probationary period, and a bonus based on year-end profits. That way they’re as invested as I am in making the place successful.”
“That’s impressive. And your artisan cooperative?”
“Four years ago, when redecorating my second resort in Tunisia, I came across a woman who sold ceramic pots in the market.”
“Like my Lavender Ladies.”
“Yes. But rather than a cottage industry, I wanted to sell the wares to a global market—a very rich, exclusive global market. The profits go to dig wells, set up and staff schools and health centers. Another sum is put into an investment to provide for the artisans later in life, or if, for some reason, they can no longer work.”
“That’s . . . amazing.” He never wanted her to stop looking at him like that.
“I can’t wait for you to see it yourself. In one village, 95 percent of the population were women, as all but the oldest and youngest males had left to get jobs or been forced into the army. They had to walk several kilometers to get water, which was often tainted, and eating only what they could grow, which wasn’t much. Farrah taught them to make plates from the local clay and to paint them using the natural resources they had. That was two years ago. Now most of the adult women are making items for us. The death rate has dropped dramatically,
and for the first time, everyone, including the artisans, is learning to read.”
“Is Farrah the woman you met at the market? I hear you on the phone to her almost every day.”
“Yes. She’s my business partner in this venture. I’d like for you to meet her. You’re both incredible women. I think you’ll get along.”
“Even though she’s in love you.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Why do you say that?”
“I can tell by the way you speak to her. I may not understand the words, but I know the tone of voice. There’s more than just a business relationship going on.”
He took a moment to consider his answer. “Farrah claims to love me.”
Bella’s gaze drifted to the far wall. “If this doesn’t work out with us—”
“Don’t think it. Farrah deserves more than a man who considers her a consolation prize. And I could never love her the way I love you.”
Rather than smile, Bella shrugged. “I told Cristo the same and he said it would be enough.”
Matteo’s stomach clenched at the images assaulting his mind: Cristo and Bella lying here like this, naked, satiated after three rounds of loving, discussing the future, a family.
Dio, how would he ever walk away if she asked him to?
“I love you, bellisima; we enjoy being together. We had a great marriage. I don’t understand why you would even consider giving that up for a lesser relationship with someone else.”
“We’re not having this conversation tonight. This was supposed to be a celebration of what we had, not a review of what we have now.” She crawled from the bed, grabbed her wrap from a hook on the wall, and left the room.
He caught up with her in the kitchen. She’d put the kettle in the sink and stood staring blindly out the window. The kettle was overflowing, but Bella ignored it. Shutting off the water, he wrapped his arms around her from the back. She held herself stiffly at first, but as he kissed the sensitive skin under her ear, she melted into his embrace.
To see her so anxious ripped a strip off his heart. “For me, it’s all the same.” He spoke past a lump in his throat. “People change and evolve throughout their lives, and their love adjusts. Our lives may have taken different paths for a while, but that doesn’t mean we can’t continue what we had.”
“What we had no longer exists, Matteo.”
“I refuse to believe that. What have the others offered that I can’t give you?”
“It’s not what they’re offering; it’s what you’re asking me to give up.”
He spun her around so he could see her face. “I’m asking you to give up eighteen-hour work days with little or no return. I’m asking you to give up living in a hovel with no hot water after dark. I’m asking you to give up a life full of struggles to live comfortably with a man who loves you more than he can say and needs you more than his next breath. You gave up your entire life—your fiancé, your family, your country, your fortune—to marry me. What I’m asking now is nothing compared to that.”
“I didn’t sacrifice a single thing eight years ago. I didn’t want any of the stuff I left behind. Yes, I’d have liked to have kept my family, but they made the decision to cut me off. But now—now I have something. I’ve made something of myself. I know to you, mister millionaire resort owner and savior of a thousand women, it may not look like much. But I love this land and I love my animals and I love going to bed at night exhausted from actually doing something. I didn’t want to be a society wife in New York and I don’t want to become one now. I need a purpose. I need this farm.”
“How can you love this place, Bella? It takes everything a person has, every last ounce of strength, and leaves them with nothing. Look at my papa. He lost the woman he loved and died with nothing, not even enough money to purchase a headstone. I can’t let that happen to you. I won’t let that happen to you.”
“Your father refused to move with the times. He was too sentimental and wanted to do things the way they’d been done for centuries. I can’t believe you want nothing to do with the farm. The man I married loved this land. That’s why I can’t reconcile our past with our present. For all you say, you’re not the man I wed.”
He dropped his arms and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. A couple of hours ago he’d had Bella bent over the table, her breasts in the cheesecake as he took her from behind. Now they were arguing over a bit of dirt. He should have let things lie until tomorrow. But every single second they had this wall between them was too much.
“Bella, I was raised being told this farm was all I’d ever have. That the land was the best I could do. Then a crazy American woman crashed into me and I dared to dream of bigger things. When you gave up everything for me, I swore to myself that you would never regret your decision.”
“I haven’t, Matteo. Even in my deepest depression after you disappeared, I never once thought of returning to America.”
He nodded, his throat too tight for words. He swigged a glass of water until he could speak again. “When I woke in Tunisia, I had no idea who I was, but I think in my heart I knew that you were waiting for me. But I was also no longer shackled by the idea that my future was tied to anything. I was able to create something, build something I’m damn proud of. Something I can leave for my children to continue, knowing that in some small way, I’ve left the world a better place than I found it. I can’t do that here. This farm will always be a reminder of pain and loss. My mother was right to leave. This place will eat you whole if you stay.”
“Your mother wasn’t right. If she’d stayed, if she’d supported her husband and loved her son, they could have made a go of it. Like I have. Like we can if we work together. You know, that first year after you left, I would sit on the ground and filter the dirt between my fingers and think, ‘Matteo touched this earth.’ My tears, my sweat, are part of this now. I can’t just walk away. The farm gave me something to live for when I had nothing. I won’t abandon it.”
“And Kai and Cristo will let you stay?”
“Kai wants me to return to America with him and help raise his daughter. But Cristo has promised that I can stay here and run my businesses.”
Matteo stifled a groan. Why couldn’t he offer the same? The land had been in his family for generations; he should be the one tied to it. But the thought of spending the rest of his life as a farmer, even with Bella at his side . . . Could he leave if it meant no Bella?
“So, what are you going to decide tomorrow? As your husband, I have a right to know first.”
She plunked down on the chair next to his. “I have no idea.”
“Then don’t decide tomorrow. This is too important a decision to make based on a few days. Take a month. I’ll stay here another two weeks and live the life of a sheep farmer with you. Then you come with me for two weeks and see what my life has to offer. After that, we can decide together what we want, what compromises we are willing to make.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Sounds reasonable.”
He’d press his advantage while he still had it. “One more thing. For this month, we are truly husband and wife. We share a bed, we share our bodies, we share our hearts and our work. I promise to give my best if you will.”
Bella’s eyes searched his for a moment. “I promise, Matteo.”
He’d bought a month. And two weeks to prove she would enjoy the lifestyle he could now give her.
Provided he wasn’t thrown in jail tomorrow and charged with a triple murder.
Chapter Eleven
“You sure about this?” Cristo asked as they parked near the dock. “It’s still the same crowd, and to them you’re guilty, evidence or not. I’ve no idea what you hope to gain by coming here.”
“I’m hoping to trigger a memory, anything to help me figure out what happened to me. I remember going to sleep next to Bella on our second wedding anniversary and then waking in a Tunisian hospital. One entire week of my life is a complete mystery.” The band of tension around his chest tighten
ed.
Cristo nodded but pointed at their suits. “We should have come after visiting the questore. We’re going to stand out like a calamari in a boatload of sardines.”
“I know, but I want to give this a shot before we see the police. I won’t be able to refute what they’re saying if I don’t know what happened.” Matteo got out of Cristo’s BMW SUV and took a deep breath of the salty sea air. And coughed. The air smelled so bad he could taste it, like rotting fish served with diesel sauce. But it triggered no memories. As a farmer, he hadn’t spent a lot of time at the local docks. Now he remembered why.
Most of the boats were out fishing; only a few remained in port. As they walked to the end of the battered concrete pier, several men came and stood on their boat decks, fierce scowls on their faces, their arms crossed and legs spread. Definitely not the type of guys you’d ask questions.
Bang! A rifle blast filled the air. Matteo stopped and glanced over at Cristo, who also froze. “You okay?” he asked.
“So far. We done here?”
“Yeah, I got nothing.” Not even the gunshot had triggered a memory. No way in hell would he risk another crack to his skull. The missing week might remain a mystery forever.
He and Cristo slowly turned to find three men blocking their way back to land. One was holding a recently fired shotgun.
Cristo looked significantly at Matteo’s clenched fists. “No fighting. I do not want to get blood on my new Savile Row suit,” he said from the corner of his mouth.
“We’re not here for trouble,” Matteo began. “Just looking for some information.”
“You’re not welcome here, Vanni,” one of the men said. “And if your pretty little wife wants to keep her businesses running, you’d better not come back.”
Matteo opened his mouth, but Cristo grabbed his arm, hard, before he could respond to the threat. “Leave it,” Cristo whispered. “Retaliating is only going to make things worse for you and Bella. That’s the questore’s nephew. You can bet he’ll be on the phone in a second if you make any threats.”