The Italian's Seduction

by Karen Van Der Zee

  He watched as Valentina shook her long hair loose and Charli gathered it up and pulled it back from her face. Her arms lifted, her breasts moving softly under the T-shirt, a sliver of midriff became visible. Smooth, soft skin. Nice full breasts.

  His body reacted involuntarily and he gritted his teeth. Well, he was a man, and this woman he’d invited into his house was all feminine deliciousness with her soft curves and bouncy curls. Not that she made a point of showing herself off in front of him, as did many of the women he came into contact with. Still, she was here in his house, walking, talking sex appeal, whether she intended to be or not.

  The women in his life were usually not charmed by the fact that he had a teenage sister who needed his love and attention. Strangely, this woman seemed to be quite charmed with Valentina while trying to keep him at a distance.

  He watched as Charli studied Valentina’s hair, then glanced down at the magazine, apparently studying hairstyles. Valentina looked happy and they were laughing, but he could not hear what they were discussing, and he felt unaccountably left out.

  “Shouldn’t you be writing that book report?” he asked Valentina in Italian, sounding rather harsh. They both glanced up at him in surprise and Charli let go of Valentina’s hair. The happiness faded from his sister’s face.

  She snapped at him, saying she’d done it already and he didn’t have to worry about her reading. She was quite capable of handling her summer assignments on her own.

  He stalked out, went back into his office, feeling like a heel.

  Thursday. The studio di notaio was still closed. Charli stared at the door, feeling helpless. She’d walked into town for the exercise and to see if by some miracle the real-estate lawyer’s office had opened. The daughter had been expected to return today, but there was no sign of her. Charli felt a twinge of guilt. Surely the woman’s first priority was her ailing father, not the work waiting for her at the office.

  Charli had walked into town every day since the day after she’d arrived, when she’d returned the rental car. By now she had more or less figured out the center of the old town, which wasn’t nearly so confusing now that she’d found some points of reference—her apartment with its flaking green door, and the Duomo, the old church from the eleventh century that dominated the center, the seafront promenade, and the studio di notaio.

  The Castellini villa, with its graceful white arches and violet bougainvillea tumbling in glorious profusion over the walls that enclosed the garden, lay just outside the town, hugging a rocky hillside. The paved road for traffic circled around the hill, but for pedestrians a steep path, half stone stairs, half footpath, climbed up the hill and gave access to a number of luxurious villas hiding in the greenery. If nothing else, she’d have well-exercised leg and butt muscles by the time she finally got into her apartment.

  So far she had made the best of the situation. She’d worked on her laptop, spent time with Valentina and edited her book report, teaching her the finer points of the English language, which were the only ones needing work. At least it made her feel she was giving something back. The villa’s beautiful pool was certainly a plus, and she and Valentina would usually take a swim and lounge around for a couple of hours each day. She’d also spent time in the kitchen with Mimma learning to cook Italian dishes. The truth was that it was altogether a pretty good experience to be in the home of a real-life Italian family, eating the food and learning about things Italian.

  However, regarding the man of the house, she was less sure she enjoyed her experience. Whenever they were together the atmosphere was charged with a sexual energy that wreaked havoc with her peace of mind. Massimo was definitely not good for her peace of mind. She did not want to think about it. Problem was she was thinking about it way too much. Thinking about him way too much.

  Thinking about his wife.

  “He was married, you know,” Valentina had said a couple of days ago. “She died nine years ago in a car accident, the year before my parents died.”

  “That’s terrible,” Charli had said. “All this tragedy in such a short time.”

  “Yes.” Valentina’s voice had been soft. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem like it’s already that long ago.”

  “You must miss them a lot.”

  “I miss my parents. But I didn’t see Giulia very often. They lived in Rome and I lived here. And I was only eight or nine at the time.” Valentina stared into space. “She was very beautiful, I remember that.”

  Charli sighed, feeling not at all beautiful herself as she slogged up the stone path back to the villa, her body damp with perspiration. It was very hot and her sleeveless cotton top clung like a wet rag against her skin. She reached the gate, tired and out of breath from her climb.

  Valentina and Massimo were in the garden, examining an exotic flowering plant in a large terracotta pot. Valentina was talking and Massimo laughed, put his arm around her and kissed her cheek with affection. He loved his sister, there was no doubt about that, even though she apparently drove him to distraction with her teenage behavior.

  The big black wrought-iron gate creaked as she pushed it open and they looked up as she entered.

  “Hi,” she said, and Massimo’s dark gaze met hers, held it for a moment. Her heart fluttered. Again. Her blood warmed. Again. Why couldn’t she just keep this under control? So he was handsome and oozed sex appeal. So…all right, she was attracted to him. She might as well just admit it to herself. What woman wouldn’t be? It would not be normal if he left her cold, would it?

  But that didn’t mean she had to give in to it. That was the main thing. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was doing an all-out passionate seduction routine on her, trying to seduce her into his bed with his Latin charms. It was all much more insidious and subtle than that. More dangerous, because she had no way to fight it.

  Massimo watched as Valentina grabbed Charli’s hand and pulled her toward the house with her, saying she wanted to show her something. They disappeared inside.

  His libido had been bored and unstirred lately. His work had taken him far and wide and he’d been unusually busy this last year. He simply hadn’t had the inclination to spend his energy on women. But now the gods had handed him this sexy blond thing on a silver platter, so to speak. An obvious offer of temptation. And who was he to turn down an opportunity when it presented itself? She certainly stirred his fancy. Clearly, it was time for a little dallying. She was trying to avoid him, but it was clear she wasn’t immune to him. Nor was he to her, and he might as well stop denying it.

  “You have a boyfriend in America?” Valentina asked over dessert that night.

  Massimo glowered at his sister. “Valentina!”

  Charli gave an easy smile. “No, I don’t. I just ended a two-year relationship.”

  “You did not have to answer,” Massimo told her with a frown.

  “I don’t mind.” She spooned up some ice cream. It was delicious, as had been everything else, including the wine. “Fortunately I am not heartbroken or on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so no harm done.”

  Valentina looked demurely down at her gelato, but Charli had the feeling she felt a sense of triumph over her older brother. Testing, testing. Well, if this was as bad as it got, he was a lucky man.

  She finished her wine and Massimo refilled her glass automatically. She’d already had quite a bit, but never mind. It was a very nice wine, in her humble opinion, and she was feeling relaxed and content, more relaxed than she’d been all week.

  Her dessert finished—apparently ice cream didn’t make you fat—Valentina went off to see something on TV, and Mimma brought two tiny cups of caffè.

  Usually, after dinner on the terrace, Charli tried to escape soon after the espresso, except this evening something compelled her to accept the offer of a digestivo, and Mimma’s delicious limoncello in its frosty bottle tempted her.

  “Thank you,” she said as she took the tiny glass Massimo handed her. She gave a sigh of contentment as she sipped the lemony sweetn
ess. It felt so blissfully nice here on the terrace with the sea breeze stirring the balmy air, the scent of jasmine all around and her body warm and sated with good food and wine. She wanted to stay right here and enjoy the evening.

  She did not want to listen to that little voice inside her, whispering words of warning. She took her glass and strolled to the stone wall and looked out over the town. It was easy to locate the lights of the Duomo, and somewhere nearby was the old palazzo that held her apartment. Parts of that building dated back to Norman times, she’d learned, remnants of an ancient fortification that had been rebuilt, restored and added on to at various times over many centuries.

  Massimo came to stand next to her. She took another sip from the limoncello. “I’m beginning to recognize where things are,” she said for something to say. “I can see the Duomo.”

  “Have you been inside yet?”

  “Yes. It’s amazing. So old, it’s hard to believe it’s still there. My apartment building—it’s to the right of there, isn’t it?”

  He took her empty glass from her hand and put it on the stone wall. “Yes. You can’t really see it, though.”

  She sighed. “I wish I could just get in.”

  A moment of silence. She felt the tension in the air.

  “Why are you so eager to leave?” he asked, his voice low.

  He seemed too close suddenly. It was impossible to ignore the vibrations between them, the flutterings of her heart and the tingling of her blood. I need to get away from you, she answered silently.

  “I…er, I don’t like to take advantage of your hospitality.”

  “Is that what it is?” He looked into her eyes, his gaze dark and unreadable.

  She said nothing, fighting the soft humming of arousal, knowing it was useless.

  He reached out and gently twirled a curl by her ear. She took a step back, resting a hand on the wall to steady herself. “Please, don’t do that.”

  He slipped his hand in his pocket and leaned a hip against the wall. He observed her for a long, silent moment, the air electric between them.

  “Charli,” he said softly, “are you afraid of what is happening between us?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MASSIMO’S softly spoken words were heavy with meaning. Charli felt her heart lurch with trepidation.

  “Nothing is happening between us,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

  He placed a hand over hers and fire shot through her. She yanked it away. He laughed softly.

  “Nothing at all?” His voice was deep and amused.

  And then, before she had a chance to find a fitting answer, she felt his hands cradling her face and he was kissing her—a mere brushing of his lips over hers, teasing, tantalizing, but with a sensuality that melted away her strength and made her legs tremble. She should pull away, not allow him to just do this as if he had every right, but she stood there, incapable of moving.

  A moment later he withdrew his mouth. “Was I wrong?” he asked softly. His hands still cradled her face and his dark gaze held hers. The truth hovered between them—he wasn’t wrong, not wrong at all.

  She stood rooted to the ground, her heart thudding against her ribs, and then he kissed her again. Not so softly this time, but with a passion that intoxicated her, made her forget everything. Everything but the feel of his mouth, the taste of him, the warmth of his body as he slipped his arms around her and held her against him. Clearly, under that cool, calm exterior, passion lurked, and she had no defense.

  Her mouth opened to his and their tongues moved in a dance of desire. She leaned in to him, wanting more, feeling as if she was drowning in a sea of sensations. Feeling his body against her, warm and hard and wanting.

  He released her and stepped back. Her knees nearly gave way and for a moment a pregnant silence throbbed between them.

  “Forgive me my passionate Italian nature,” he said, his tone oddly formal. He turned and stalked his way across the terrace back into the house.

  She stood paralyzed, watching him disappear from her sight.

  Sanity returned on a wave of fear. This was not what she wanted. She did not want to fall in love. Not now, not with this man who was altogether too domineering. She had the sudden urge to flee, run, race away from Massimo Castellini and his magical kisses.

  It was hard enough to think she needed the help of this man to solve her housing problem. Now she had to do battle with sexual attraction as well.

  She went inside, moving as if in a trance. Got ready for bed. Stared at the ceiling.

  Images of Richard, at the beginning of their relationship. His charming grin. Memories of treasured moments. How deluded had she been? Then the painful end when denial fled and she’d seen the truth: she’d allowed Richard to walk all over her.

  From somewhere came a wave of emotion—a mixture of pain and anger and regret. She curled up into a ball, closed her eyes, trying hard not to cry.

  I’m going to do better next time, she thought. I’m going to be strong. I’m not going to fall in love with Massimo Castellini.

  “Charli, this is unbelievably cool!” Bree’s voice rang bright and clear over Charli’s newly acquired cellphone. She’d found Charli’s e-mails unsatisfactory, she’d said, and was calling to hear more details. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were making it up!”

  Charli sat on her bed, yogi style, and grimaced, the phone pressed to her ear. “It’s not cool, Bree. What am I going to do?”

  “About what?”

  “About Massimo. He’s messing with my hormones, not to speak of my common sense.” And here she was, Friday afternoon, and still not in her own apartment. Now she had a whole weekend to cope with. She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to deal with all this stuff, Bree! I don’t want to feel what I am feeling.”

  “What are you feeling?”

  “Oh, God, do I have to explain that to you? I feel like a teenager when he walks in the room. I feel like I’m going to go up in flames when he touches me. It’s like I have no control over my reactions!”

  “It sounds deliciously passionate.” Bree gave a sigh full of yearning.

  “It’s insanity! What am I going to do?”

  “Excuse me if I sound simplistic, but how about doing what comes naturally?”

  “Like sleep with him?”

  “Sounds good to me. You never know what might develop.”

  “That’s the thing, Bree! I don’t want anything to develop! You, of all people should know how very much I do not want to be in another relationship right now. Free at last and you’re having me sleep with an Italian more or less the moment I set foot on European soil.”

  “Who’s talking about a relationship? The way to deal with a rich, glamorous Italian who has the hots for you is to have a glorious summer fling.”

  “I don’t want a summer fling. I don’t want any kind of fling.”

  Bree laughed. “And I think that it’s exactly what you do need! Therapy, so to speak.”

  “Therapy?” Charli rolled her eyes.

  “To heal the wounds that Control Freak Ricky inflicted on your soul.”

  Charli groaned. “The best therapy for that is not to get involved with a man again.”

  “Ever? You mean you’re planning a life without a man in it?” Bree’s tone did not hide her opinion on the matter and it wasn’t good.

  “For a while.”

  Bree gave a long-suffering sigh. “The good things always come to those who don’t value them,” she said theatrically. “You suppose if I came to visit I might be able to snare him? Does he like redheads?”

  “His wife was a redhead.” Valentina had shown her pictures of the gorgeous Giulia.

  “Was?”

  “She died. Nine years ago. His sister told me. And, as far as she knows, he hasn’t had a serious long-term relationship since. She says he doesn’t want to get married again.”

  “Mmm…well, maybe I change my mind about a fling with him.”

  “Why is that?”
>
  “Men pining after a dead wife are a bore and you’re forever being compared to this angel of perfection and of course you can never live up to expectations. On the other hand, knowing he isn’t interested in marriage makes it easier to have a fling. Fewer possibilities for complications.”

  Charli made a face and with her index finger traced the design of a peacock on the silk bedcover. She’d never had a fling in her life. Why waste time and emotion on something that was going to lead nowhere? Life was too short not to take love seriously. Maybe she was just old-fashioned, but there it was. She’d truly thought she’d been in love with Richard, which had turned out to be a mistake, but she had learned from it. Now she was just going to take a break from love and get her pride and confidence back in working order and not fall for the first Casanova who gave her smoldering looks and kissed her silly without her permission.

  “I only want the real deal, you know that,” she said, and Bree gave another one of her long-suffering sighs.

  “I know, I know. Then again, who says this Massimo isn’t the real deal?”

  Charli felt herself tense and poked at the eye of the silk peacock. “He’s not. I know he’s not.”

  You will have romantic moments, which you can enjoy in three beaches, where you can not only enjoy your time, but as well admire sun-set with the person of your love-interest.

  Charli sighed as she read the assignment of one of her foreign students on her laptop screen. Not even in her work could she get away from love and romance. She’d felt on edge all day and Bree’s phone call had not helped. She was irritable and had the constant urge to snap at somebody. But the only people around were Mimma and Valentina and snapping at them would not be cool, so she’d retreated to her room.

  She was trying to do some work in an effort to find calm and composure before facing Massimo at dinner time, but the gods were against her. Out of cyberspace came this piece of writing about romantic moments and watching the sunset.