The Italian's Seduction

by Karen Van Der Zee

  “You are changing the subject.”

  She didn’t look at him. “So I am.”

  “So, what happened to you?”

  “I used to have long hair, too. Three months ago I cut it all off.” She picked up a raspberry with her fingers and put it in her mouth.

  He tried to visualize her with long hair but couldn’t. He liked her hair the way it was, a halo of soft bouncy curls that forever tempted him to touch, feel the softness around his fingers, against his mouth. He pushed away the treacherous thoughts.

  So she’d cut her hair, like Valentina had. A coincidence, maybe. He didn’t see the relevance. “And your big brother was angry?” he asked in an attempt at humor. She didn’t have a big brother.

  “No. Richard was. He was the man I was seeing then.”

  He felt a jab of hostility at the thought of another man with her. It was a ridiculous emotion he could not allow himself to dwell on. He wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  “He liked your long hair, obviously. I can sympathize.”

  “What bothered him most was that I didn’t ask for his approval first.” She gave him a meaningful look. “He had every right not to like my short hair, but he didn’t have the right to dictate what I could or could not do with my hair. Or what clothes to wear.”

  “He told you what clothes to wear?” Surely she was not serious. But by the look on her face he knew she was very serious indeed.

  “Oh, yes he did. When we went out to a party, he’d always tell me what he thought I’d look good in and what he wanted me to wear. Sometimes he’d even go shopping with me if I needed something dressy for an event.”

  She had to be making this up. He couldn’t imagine a worse nightmare than to go shopping for clothes with a woman.

  She gave him an evil look. “Don’t look at me like that! I know I was an idiot! He was very controlling and somehow I let myself be pushed around.” She bit her lip and looked away, but he caught the shine of tears in her eyes. It disturbed him to see it.

  He felt the light dawning. The things she had said during her outburst made sense to him now.

  “How long were you together?” he asked.

  He saw her swallow.

  “Almost two years.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I should have run after two weeks, but I was crazy in love with him and then I was in denial. Really pathetic, you know.”

  He couldn’t for the world see how that was possible. How a man, any man, had been able to control her, this woman who clearly had a mind of her own and wasn’t afraid to give voice to her thoughts.

  She gave a crooked little smile. “You look surprised,” she said.

  “I hadn’t thought of you as someone who lets herself be pushed around.”

  “Neither had I until it happened to me,” she said dryly. “Love is blind, as they say. He was a very charming guy and he had a certain way about him. I don’t know.” She hunched a shoulder in a gesture of embarrassment. “I just was so stupid not to see what was happening. But then nobody did, except Bree, my best friend. She kept telling me and telling me, but I wouldn’t see it. Nobody else saw it either because they were all half in love with him too. Drugged by his charm, like me.” She gave a little shudder. “I hate to think what would have happened had I married him.”

  “So what happened for you to recognize what was going on?”

  Her eyes darkened with anger. “Would you believe he had the gall to forbid me to come here to deal with the apartment? I was so excited about going to Italy, about the apartment, but he didn’t care about any of that. He didn’t want me to travel. Mostly he didn’t want me to travel without him. He was always talking about going to Europe, but of course it had to be on his terms. My going to Italy wasn’t on his terms so he wanted nothing to do with it. Besides, he couldn’t take the time off from work at the time and so he demanded I stay at home to cater to him.” She sighed, stuck out her lower lip and blew a curl off her forehead. “It was the last straw. I finally saw through him. Or admitted that I did, anyway.”

  She stopped suddenly, chewed her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that.”

  “Why not? Wasn’t it true?”

  “Oh, yes, but it’s not cool to talk about former relationships and criticize your ex-partner; I mean, after all, you made the choice to be with him, so what does that say about you?” She grimaced in self-deprecation. “Well, I know what it says about me that I spent two years of my life with Richard, and it’s not flattering. I’ll claim temporary insanity. And now I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She lifted her glass. “To freedom.”

  He was a little surprised she did not leave after the coffee, but agreed to a digestivo. He poured her a limoncello and had a grappa himself. Feeling restless, he came to his feet and suggested they check out the view from the edge of the terrace.

  “Look, how beautiful,” she said, pointing at what must be an enormous yacht all lit up and glittering like a jewel in the dark of the night. “It looks magical.”

  He watched her smile as she stared at the yacht, her face soft in the moonlight, and it took all his restraint not to reach out to her and touch her.

  What was it about her that made him so restless? Surely it was not just the physical need for a woman. She wasn’t gorgeous in any kind of glamorous way. She was not exotic or mysterious or sultry like some women he’d met in his travels.

  There was something about Charli that was more appealing than all of that. She was fresh and real. Her laugh was artless, her voice had a sing-song lilt that resonated with something inside him. A yearning for…what?

  She was like a fresh spring breeze blowing through the dank dungeons of his emotional life.

  There was nothing wrong with his emotional life. He liked it just the way it was.

  She glanced sideways at him as if she’d felt his regard. She stood very still, her eyes meeting his.

  Then she looked away again, the silence filled with knowing.

  He put his empty glass on the wall and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Charli,” he said, “I want you to know that I asked you to come back here because of Valentina. Not for my own selfish amorous purposes.”

  “Of course,” she said, no inflection in her voice. He wasn’t sure if she was serious or not.

  “Which doesn’t mean that your presence here doesn’t appeal to my selfish amorous instincts.” He watched her, seeing her eyes darken.

  “Is that a warning?” Her voice was quiet, with a hint of threat.

  “No. Just a statement of fact.”

  “All right, consider me informed.”

  “I want you. You know that.”

  She said nothing, clearly feeling no need to respond. He had stated what she already knew, of course.

  “But what I also want is for you to be here for Valentina, so I suppose that if I don’t want you running out on us I’ll be required to behave like a gentleman.”

  She gave a little smile. “As opposed to what? A breast-beating Neanderthal?”

  “No,” he said softly and, against his own plan, he reached out and touched her hair. “As opposed to a lover who wants to make passionate love to you and give you pleasure.”

  She was silent and he moved his hand and caressed her cheek, which was soft and warm. “But I’ll behave myself. Because I wouldn’t want you to think I was controlling and manipulative and forcing you against your will.”

  Against her will—that was a laugh. She was putty in his hands and she knew it. Everything about her begged him to continue. She was trembling. And she was fighting it. It would be so easy.

  “You’re having fun?” she asked, her tone a mixture of anger and mockery.

  He withdrew his hand. “I’m not your Richard.”

  He had not known he was going to say that. There was anger in his voice, suddenly. He recognized it himself. He remembered the shine of tears in her eyes.

  She lifted her chin. “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, b
ut that’s what you think.”

  She took a step back, hands clenched by her side. “Don’t you dare tell me what I think!”

  “But it’s true. You think I’m like him and that’s why you are keeping me at a distance, isn’t it?”

  “What I’m saying is that I don’t want an affair,” she said. “I don’t want to be in love! I don’t want the complications and, you know what, Massimo? You should respect my wishes and leave me alone!”

  He looked at her face, saw the fear hiding behind the anger and felt a primitive impulse to protect and defend. He wanted to take her into his arms and tell her…tell her what? That she was safe with him? Surely he could make no such promises. He wanted no complications either, no woman to keep forever. He had no love to offer for the long run. The present was all he had to give, and she didn’t want it—at least her rational mind told her so, if not her body.

  He had no idea what to do and it was not a good feeling. He always knew what to do. In business he had no trouble making decisions, planning, ordering, executing, managing, taking charge.

  He did not know what to do with this woman. But touching her now would not be helpful. He shoved his hands once again into his trouser pockets and took a restorative breath, forcing himself to remain calm, to think rationally. Not an easy thing to do under the circumstances.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” he said, hoping somehow he’d be able to. Being a saint wasn’t one of his strengths.

  “Good!” She started across the terrace toward the door into the house.

  “One more thing,” he said and she turned to face him, crossing her arms in front of her chest in an instinctive gesture of defense. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  She didn’t even bother to respond and moved through the doors into the house.

  He sighed heavily and turned his gaze back to the view.

  Something odd caught his attention. There was a small light on in the old Roman watch-tower clinging to the cliffs. It was always shrouded in darkness. A relic of ancient times, it no longer served a practical purpose. The light moved around, searching. Who was there? Had some crazy tourists climbed the treacherous path in the darkness to spend the night in the watch-tower?

  What was there to find in that heap of dead stones? Romance? Adventure?

  There had been no life amid those ancient walls for a long time.

  Damn, damn! Charli dropped herself flat on her bed and pummeled the pillow. She couldn’t stand it. She’d made a mistake. She should never have come. One moment Massimo was nice and courteous, the next he was making her so furious.

  Furious. Was that really what she was?

  I don’t want to be in love. Her own words echoed in her head like a warning. She was furious with herself, furious because she didn’t want to be in love and she was afraid she was already halfway there. She pushed her face into the pillow and groaned. More than halfway.

  She couldn’t stand this, couldn’t stand thinking about it. She sat up.

  She should check up on Valentina. See if she needed anything else, something to drink, a pain pill maybe.

  Valentina lay in bed reading a fashion magazine, her leg propped up high on a stack of pillows.

  “I hate this,” she said. “I hate sleeping on my back.”

  “Are you hurting?”

  “No. It doesn’t hurt much at all. Weird, isn’t it?”

  “It seems like it, yes.”

  Valentina sighed and glanced down at the magazine, then back up at Charli. “I forgot to tell you—Massimo told me he was sorry he was angry with me for cutting my hair.”

  “Really? When was that? Just now?”

  “No, no, before I broke my leg. After you left that time you came here to get your things.”

  Days ago, when she’d lost it and spilled her own frustrations. “I see. I’m glad.” She grinned. “See, he’s not so hopeless after all.”

  Valentina rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.”

  Charli wished Valentina goodnight and went back to her room to get ready for the night.

  She lay in bed, thinking about the evening and bits and pieces of the conversation floated through her mind like balloons in the sky.

  I hadn’t thought of you as someone who lets herself be pushed around.

  I’m not your Richard.

  Massimo told me he was sorry he was angry with me for cutting my hair.

  She’d watched Massimo tend to his sister with love and care, ready to do anything in his power to make her more comfortable, wanting her not to be so miserable.

  Was she overreacting? Was he not the authoritarian controlling type she was making him out to be in her mind?

  If you change your mind, you know where to find me.

  Charli stood in her little apartment kitchen and couldn’t believe what had been accomplished in a mere three weeks. Lovely new Italian tiles hugged the walls above a new countertop. New cabinets, a new stove and refrigerator gave the small place a fresh, clean look. The terracotta floor had been restored to its original warm red color. The other walls were freshly whitewashed, the woodwork painted.

  She was in love with this kitchen and it was hers.

  Massimo stood leaning in the doorway, watching her. “You’re happy with it?”

  “It’s wonderful.” She gave him a considering look. “And I have no illusions about why it was all done so quickly, efficiently and beautifully.”

  “It’s all about contacts, knowing the right people.”

  And Massimo had the contacts in this town and knew the right people. He had given her names, made calls for her. And possibly he’d made behind-the-scenes calls as well, she didn’t know, but the job had been done and done well and she was happy. And they’d already started work on the bathroom as well. Her inherited euro bank account would be depleted when she was done, but she’d have herself a great little place in Italy. She’d rent it out when possible, and spend time when she could.

  “Thank you,” she said, meaning it, smiling at him. Surely it wasn’t so terrible to accept this sort of practical help? She had to stop being oversensitive. Really, she was working on it.

  Fortunately Massimo spent most of the work week in his office in Rome, driving back to the villa for long weekends. He’d flown to New York once on business, and this past week he’d been in Morocco for a few days. Not having him around every single day gave her nervous system a rest, but to her annoyance her nights were often full of dreams of him.

  While he was away, she’d been keeping Valentina company. She wasn’t the easiest of patients, and was sometimes in tears feeling sorry for herself. She wanted to go back to school, to her friends, but the school’s old building with its many levels and stairs and spread-out campus was almost impossible to negotiate even with crutches.

  “May I see the rest of the place?” Massimo asked.

  It seemed strange to think he hadn’t been inside the apartment at all, so she gave him the tour, which took approximately ten minutes with her talking stretching the time. With Antonia’s help, she told him, she’d gotten rid of most of the old-fashioned furniture, and no, they were not antique treasures, she’d checked. But she had kept much of the linens—lovely linen sheets and tablecloths embroidered by loving hands and soft from much use and washing. And she’d found a couple of nice old things among the dishes and knick-knacks, and she’d let Antonia take whatever she wanted, which wasn’t much, because most of the things were the simple possessions of ordinary people, not of value, and mostly just old and worn.

  Okay, she was talking too much, about girlie things no less, but she’d had fun and in the end Antonia had been such a help and Charli had so enjoyed her company.

  They were back in the kitchen and she pointed at the open door. “And here’s the balcony. My introduction to Italian life.”

  He curved his mouth in a half-smile. “A noisy one, I’m sure.” And, as if to prove it, a dog began to bark furiously in the courtyard below.

  She s
tepped outside and he followed her and glanced around at the view of open windows and balconies with their potted plants and washing lines and the dog with his paw poking out through the railing.

  “Have a seat.” Charli indicated one of the wrought iron chairs flanking the round marble-topped table. “Would you care for a glass of frizzante?”

  She was the hostess now, and she liked the feeling of being in her own space, but in this space was Massimo and it made her oddly nervous.

  Being standoffish and staying out of his way was easier than playing the hostess, thanking him for his help and generally trying to be gracious. The dynamic was changing. He’d been the perfect gentleman, as he had promised, the past few weekends. Which was not to say that the atmosphere had been calm and serene between them.

  He’d be happy with a glass of frizzante, he said and lowered himself on to one of the chairs and stretched out his long legs.

  The Duomo bells chimed out the time—four quick ones for the hour and three slow ones for the quarter hours. Four-forty-five. She loved the sound of it, the ambience it created.

  She brought the bottles and glasses to the balcony and he unscrewed the caps of both the bottles. He had beautiful hands with strong lean fingers that moved quickly and competently. Her heart skittered a little as she watched him—and it was disturbing to notice how little it took for her to feel a reaction when she was with him. Every cell was always aware of him, alive with an energy that was impossible to ignore.

  She took her glass and drank from the cold, fizzy wine. In the apartment above, the baby began to cry, apparently just waking up from her nap. She listened for a moment as the mother comforted the baby, then became aware of Massimo watching her.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He gave an amused little smile. “You were listening to that baby and your maternal instincts were in full swing all over your face.”

  She gave a little shrug. “Well, what can I say? I’m blessed with female hormones.”

  “You want children?” It was a casual question.

  “Yes, when the time is right. I think I’d like a husband to be part of the scenario.”