Her Italian Millionaire

by Carol Grace

“You requested a love song?”

  “For you,” he said.

  “I don't think you're the cynic you pretend to be.”

  He didn't bother to answer. He just looked at her across the table, like she was the sexiest woman he'd ever seen. Of course wearing an off-the-shoulder, form-fitting red dress of Isabella's, she could almost believe she was.

  After dinner they walked around the town square under a full moon in the cool night air. People were sitting on benches in the square. Marco took her hand and they walked up a dirt path above the town. Donkeys brayed in a nearby field and crickets chirped. It was the essence of village life, a never-ending, never-changing cycle. Villagers sat outside on the steps where their grandparents had sat and where their grandchildren would sit, and talked about the same things year after year.

  Anne Marie wanted to hold the sights and the smells in her heart and mind forever. Maybe on some dull, lonely, winter evening back in California she'd remember this night, this place and this man. This man who made her feel more alive than she'd ever felt.

  Yes, his claims of being something she knew he wasn't and his refusal to let her pay for anything bothered her. She wanted to keep walking; anything to put off going back to that little room where she'd have to decide whether to sleep with Marco or not. Whether to make love with Marco or not.

  When they paused to rest on the footpath, he ran his fingers over her bare shoulder.

  “You are so beautiful tonight, Ana Maria,” he said, his voice hoarse. Then he kissed her on her bare shoulder. A small flame of desire began to burn. His breath was warm on her naked skin and her heart hammered in her chest. The flame threatened to engulf her. She wanted to think she could make a rational decision about what to do next, but when he brushed her skin with his lips, she was helpless. Her knees buckled and he put his arm around her to steady her.

  “It's the dress,” she murmured.

  “It isn't the dress,” he said. “You look even more beautiful without the dress.”

  She slanted a glance in his direction, grateful he couldn't tell she was blushing...again. In the light of the full moon, with shadows shading his face, she couldn't tell what he was thinking - if he was laughing at her for being embarrassed or using the line he'd used before. Maybe she didn't really want to know.

  “Hasn't anyone ever told you you were beautiful before?” he asked, holding her at arm's distance and giving her an incredulous look. He looked sincere. He sounded sincere. But how could she be sure he didn't use the same line on every woman he gave the grand tour to?

  “I...not very often,” she said.

  “What was wrong with your husband, was he blind?”

  “Speaking of my husband... My son says he wants to come to Italy. He misses me.”

  “Isn't it too late for that?” Marco asked.

  “Much too late. Now, tell me about crushing the grapes.”

  “Are you sure you want to join in? Most people are content to watch the grapes being harvested rather than squishing them between their toes. But if you really want to then tomorrow morning we join in the grape stomp. It's a competition. The different teams see who can squeeze the most juice during a certain time period.”

  “How's your hand?” She took his hand in hers and gently ran her thumb over the palm.

  “Better,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “That helps.”

  They didn't speak for a long moment. The only sounds were the faint sound of voices carrying in the night air and music from the village below. Sometimes spoken Italian sounded like music, Anne Marie thought.

  “Where's your ring?” Marco asked, his voice suddenly serious. “Why aren't you wearing it?”

  “I didn't feel like it. It's back in the room. Why?”

  “We should get back.” He dropped her hand and led the way down the path back to the village and to the widow's house. She'd left the porch light on for them, but the rest of the house was dark.

  Anne Marie wondered why in the world Marco was so interested in the cheap ring she'd bought.

  At the front door, he put her behind him and pushed the door open with his knee. Anne Maria held her breath. It was dark and quiet inside the house. For a long moment, Marco stood staring into the darkness. Finally he reached for her hand and pulled her inside the house.

  At the door to their room, he did it again - pushed her back and threw the door open. She could feel the tension in the air. This time she was so scared she couldn't breathe. The picture of her ransacked hotel room flashed before her eyes. The clothes littered all over the room, the emptied suitcase, the feeling of being violated. There was a tight knot in her chest.

  While she waited outside the room, Marco went in and closed the door behind him. She could only imagine what he was doing. Checking under the bed, behind the door, in the closet? For what? Who or what was he looking for?

  When he finally opened the door, the lights were on and the room looked exactly as they'd left it - homey, warm and welcoming. She breathed a huge sigh of relief and collapsed on the edge of the bed.

  “Don't tell me you expected it to be ransacked again?” she said, her voice slightly shaky. “You worry too much.”

  “Do I?” he asked, turning to give her a cool glance. “Maybe you don't worry enough. Get the ring.”

  She went to the bathroom and took the ring from her cosmetic bag. She came out and held it out in the palm of her hand for him to see. He nodded, his lips pressed together in a straight line. Where was the good-natured, teasing Marco she'd sat across from at dinner? Where was the romantic Marco who'd kissed her on the shoulder and told her she was beautiful with or without clothes? No wonder he'd never been married. Who could put up with this hot/cold personality.

  “Now put it in a safe place,” he said, “so no one can find it.”

  “Not even you?”

  “Not even me.”

  “This is ridiculous. I paid practically nothing for this. If I lose it or someone takes it, I'll buy another one.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes. I'm not going to hide it. I'm going to wear it. Look.” She slipped it on her finger. “Now I'm going to bed. I mean, I'm going to sleep...in the chair.”

  “No, you're not.”

  “If you don't take the bed, I'll leave.” Brave words. Where on earth would she go?

  His mouth twisted in a grimace. “All right. You win. Then you get the bathroom first. It's down the hall.”

  After a quick shower she came padding barefoot back to the room in Isabella's white cotton dressing gown. Marco had put a blanket and a pillow on the chair and had stripped down to the jeans that rode low on his hips. She swallowed hard and looked away. She knew he was wearing no underwear. She was, but just a wisp of silk here and a bit of lace there.

  “Sure you don't want to change your mind?”

  “Positive.” She took a deep breath and looked at the landscape pictures on the walls. Anywhere but at his broad chest. Anywhere but at his hips, anywhere but at the bulge in his jeans. He took a towel and left the room. She intended to be asleep in the chair by the time he came back. Or if she wasn't, she'd pretend.

  The chair wasn't that uncomfortable, she decided. Not with the pillows. She stretched her feet out onto a small footstool and wrapped herself in the blanket. When she heard the doorknob turn, she closed her eyes.

  “Ana Maria?”

  Her eyes flew open. It was not Marco standing there in his low-slung jeans, his hair damp from the shower, and it wasn't Dan, her ex-husband who was purportedly on his way to Italy. It was Giovanni, in slim tapered slacks, a beautiful designer jacket and smooth leather shoes.

  She braced her arms on the arm rests. Her pulse quickened.

  “What...what are you doing here?” she asked sitting up straight in her chair. “How did you know, I mean where did you come from?”

  He laughed softly as if she'd said something witty. “I couldn't let you go like that. I had to be sure I didn't lose you.” He closed the gap between
them and took her hand to kiss her fingers. “This ring,” he said, his lips and eyes on her new ring. “You didn't have it the last time I saw you.”

  “No, that's right.” It was dark when he'd seen her. How could he have noticed?

  He tugged at it, but it didn't move.

  “What...why?” she asked, impulsively making a fist and digging her nails into her palm.

  There were footsteps in the hall. Giovanni pressed his finger to her lips.

  “Shhh,” he said. “You have not seen me.” He crossed the room in a flash and disappeared out the double doors to the balcony. Then she heard a dull thud. The door opened and Marco came in. He looked around the room, his body tense, his eyes narrowed.

  “Who was here?”

  “No one.”

  Marco went to the balcony and spent a good five minutes there. When he came back he closed and locked the doors behind him. Then he locked the door to the hallway and placed a chair under the knob. He turned and glared at her.

  “Where's the ring?” he demanded.

  She held up her hand. “Just where it was the last time you asked. You're certainly jumpy. What's wrong?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Nothing. Good night.” She closed her eyes. But the image of Giovanni stayed with her. How had he found her and why? If only he could have stayed long enough to answer a few questions. Whatever the answers were, it was clear he didn't want to run into Marco. Why not?

  If she opened her eyes what would she see? Was Marco undressing? Was he still glaring at her? Was he in bed? She couldn't stand the suspense another moment. She peeked out from under her eyelids. He was lying in the bed on his back, a sheet over his body, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, as if he felt her gaze on him.

  “Should I?”

  His answer was to reach for the light switch and plunge the room into darkness. His calm, regular breathing soon told her he'd fallen asleep.

  Ann Marie turned, she twisted, she rearranged the pillow and her blanket, but she couldn't sleep. The chair that had seemed fairly comfortable an hour ago had turned into an instrument of torture.

  She sat up straight and looked at the outline of Marco's sleeping body, envying him his ability to forget his worries, whatever they were, and sleep. Of course he was in a big, comfortable bed. On one side of the bed. There was plenty of room for her on the other side. Did she dare?

  He was a sound sleeper. She was such a light sleeper, she'd wake up before he did and return to her chair. He'd never know. She stood, tiptoed across the room, and gently lifted the corner of the blanket. He didn't move. She slid between the sheets. She held perfectly still, her arms stiff at her sides. He slept on. She exhaled slowly and let herself relax for the first time in hours. But the mattress sagged and she started to roll toward him.

  That wouldn't do. Not at all. She repositioned herself and gripped the edge of the bed with one hand, and tried to relax. Before she closed her eyes, she glanced at the door. All she needed was for Dan to burst in the door. But even if he'd hitched a ride on a supersonic plane, he couldn't be here by now. And if he did arrive, how would he ever find her? Yet Giovanni had found her.

  It might have been minutes or maybe hours later when in the middle of a dream about Dan, the Dan she'd married, the Dan whom she'd loved and who'd loved her, that she backed into a hard, male body. This is what she'd missed when Dan left. The closeness, the warmth, the togetherness.

  She sighed contentedly and squeezed her eyes tight and let herself drift back toward sleep. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell it was early. Doves cooed outside the window. Cool air drifted in through the window smelling of sage and other wild herbs.

  She was half asleep when she felt strong arms go around her and pull her body close to his. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, she drowsily nestled into him. She was at home in her bedroom, happily married and still in love with Dan. She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck. His hands reached under her nightgown and cupped her breasts. His thumbs caressed the swollen undersides and then teased the nipples, until she was breathing hard and wanting more. Much more. With her eyes still shut, she wiggled out of her nightgown and tossed it on the floor. The rough hair on his chest teased the skin on her back, his legs wound around hers, the strength of his erection nudged her toward reality.

  This was not Dan. And this was no dream.

  Her eyes flew open. She stiffened. “Wait. Where am I?”

  “You're in bed with me,” Marco said, his voice rough. “If you wanted the bed, why didn't you say so?”

  “I didn't. I wanted...”

  “Yes?” His voice held a smile and she shivered with anticipation. “What do you want, cara mia?”

  She meant to say she'd come to his bed to get some sleep. But that wasn't what she wanted anymore. She wanted to be seduced. By his voice, his deep sexy voice, his remarkable hands, and his lips. She wanted to make love to Marco. She wanted to make him feel the way she did, alive and aroused and ultimately fulfilled. She turned to face him, brushing against his naked body. His eyes were heavy, sleepy, and filled with desire. His head was propped on one hand, and he was looking at her with so much heat in his gaze her skin felt scorched.

  His eyes might look sleepy, but his magnificent body was wide awake. He moved to pin her to the mattress with his hands. She reveled in the strength of his hands on her shoulders. His face was so close, but not close enough. She remembered his question was still hanging in the air.

  “I want...I want...”

  “I know,” he said.

  He did know. He knew everything. He knew how to make her forgot to wonder how many women he'd made love to in how many hotel rooms. He made her forget that she knew almost nothing about him, including what he did for a living. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was her and him, at this moment in time. A moment he might forget, but she wouldn't.

  His mouth came down on hers, slowly, tantalizingly. When their lips finally met she felt the heat and tasted the fierce desire that matched her own. She closed her eyes and matched his kisses one by one. Her tongue met his in a dance that mimicked the love-making to come. The tension built and their tongues merged and she was frantic to have more. To have his mouth move down her body, to have him kiss her everywhere...anywhere.

  But he broke the kiss and paused for a long moment. His eyes were glazed with desire.

  “This is what I wanted,” he said, his mouth so close to hers, she could almost taste his words; his voice low and raspy. “This is what I dreamed of - to make love to you in a bed. Since the first moment I saw you at the hotel. I wanted to rip off those American clothes of yours and make love to you. It was good yesterday - the sun and the grass and you under the trees. But today, in this room, in this bed, it will be even better.”

  “No bees,” she murmured.

  “No bees. Just you and me.”

  His mouth trailed hot kisses down her throat then, down to her breasts. He kissed them, tasted her nipples, sucked them until they quivered and her whole body pulsated.

  “Marco,” she whispered. Her voice shook. Her arms and legs trembled. Every nerve called out to him to come to her.

  He rolled on his side, bringing her with him. He put his hand between her legs and he smiled into her eyes when he felt the slick dampness there.

  “Yes, oh, yes,” she murmured as his fingers explored and stroked the petals that guarded her most secret, erotic place. The sensations built and built like waves against a shore until they crashed with a huge crescendo and she fell apart - physically, mentally and emotionally. She grabbed his shoulders and she held on for dear life. She sobbed uncontrollably.

  He wiped the tears from her face with his gentle, callused fingers. When she stopped crying, she managed a small smile.

  “Now,” she said. Now I'll show you what I wanted to do from the first moment I saw you. How I wanted to rip off your Italian clothes and see what was underneath. S
he couldn't say the words, but she could show him.

  “What?” Marco needed to make love to her. He needed to come into her slick, waiting body. He needed to be part of her. He needed her to make him whole.

  When she began trailing kisses down his body, he thought he could stay in control, but his whole body was so hard with wanting her, he ached inside and out.

  “E bastare,” he pleaded.

  “Sorry,” she said softly. “I don't speak Italian.”

  “That's enough. Stop,” he said, reaching for her.

  Her answer was to take his penis in her mouth. His whole body shuddered as he felt her wet mouth around his organ. He tried to sit up but fell back on the sheets, gasping for breath. His heart was pounding and his head had disconnected from his body.

  When she began stroking him with her tongue, it was enough to send him over the moon. He wanted to wait. He wanted to get her down on the mattress where he could... where they could... But if he didn't do it within the next millisecond, he was going to die, because this was more than any human could take.

  With a superhuman effort he rolled over and she opened her legs and he entered her, and with one gigantic thrust that must have shaken the whole second floor of the house, he exploded.

  She burst into tears again. She buried her face in his chest and she sobbed. He held her and in Italian whispered words of comfort, words of love and tenderness that he was glad she couldn't understand. He wouldn't want her to mistake what happened here for anything but what it was. Incredible, earth-shaking sex.

  He kissed away the tears. He held her tightly until she stopped shaking and his heart had settled down to somewhere near normal. Though he wondered in the back of his mind if he'd ever be normal again. Ever be able to enjoy casual sex with casual women again.

  Whatever happened, whatever he would have to give up, it was worth it. This morning, this bed, this woman. It was all worth it.

  After an eternity, after she was calm and peaceful, he got up to open the French doors to the balcony. He stood outside and let the morning air cool his overheated bare body. He felt Ana Maria's gaze on him, like a soft breeze, and he turned to see her standing there in the middle of the room. She was no longer naked, but wearing the silk nightgown with the tiny straps that begged to be slipped down her shoulders. Her nipples poked at the fabric. The look in her eyes was half shy, half bold and told him if he wanted to... if he needed to...if he wanted her...