The Italian's Seduction

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The Italian's Seduction Page 13

by Karen Van Der Zee


  “Can you imagine,” Bree said, “being married to the same man for all that time and still like him, let alone sleep with him?”

  Actually, yes, Charli could well imagine it. One week of bliss with Massimo and she had no trouble imagining it at all, but it was a forbidden thought, so to speak.

  She didn’t really want to discuss happy thirty-year marriages, even though her own parents were the lucky ducks to have one. She glanced up at the moon, which hung full and ripe in the night sky.

  Thirty years was the future. Next year was the future. She didn’t do future these days. She was living purely in the present.

  “I don’t think about it,” she said, which wasn’t exactly the truth. She just wished it were the truth. It was difficult not to think and dream of the forbidden.

  “What about Massimo?” Bree asked. “Doesn’t he inspire dreams of thirty years of marital bliss? Or is this affair merely present-time lust? You’re not very revealing in those e-mails of yours, you know.”

  The subject of their discussion strolled on to the terrace with two glasses of wine. Charli watched him, enjoying the sight of him, the easy way he moved his body. He was the most beautiful man she had ever known. He placed the glasses on the rock wall and sat down next to Charli on the bench. He planted a soft, silent kiss on the corner of her mouth and looked at her with eyes full of smoldering desire. The man had plans. Charli closed her eyes against all that blatant seduction and concentrated on the conversation. No, she hadn’t told Bree much about her love-life with Massimo.

  Bree was her best friend, but the more intimate details of her relationship with Massimo belonged only between the two of them. She didn’t want to share them with anyone else. Not that she’d be able to do so with the man sitting right next to her, playing with her curls, trying to distract her from the conversation on purpose.

  “I don’t have much talent as a writer, you know.”

  Bree snorted in contempt. “Fess up, Charli! Is it true what they say about Italian men? That they’re great in bed?”

  “I have no idea.” She felt herself smile, looked at Massimo. “I haven’t tried them all.” He raised his brows in silent question.

  Bree groaned. “Okay, what about Massimo?”

  “I have no way to compare; he’s my first Italian.” Charli gave Massimo a wicked grin and he glowered at her, while trailing his finger along her collarbone.

  “You’re not going to tell me a thing, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  Massimo lowered his hand, let his fingertips dance gently over her breast, tickling her nipple. It responded instantly. The thin fabric of her bra and blouse was not much of a barrier.

  “Okay, fine,” Bree said, pseudo offended. “Don’t tell me anything about all that hot passion you must be having. Just tell me you’re having a good time.”

  Charli bit her lip. Massimo was exploring, his fingers working open the row of buttons on her blouse. “Yes, I’m having a very good time.”

  Good, Massimo mouthed in response to her last sentence. His hand worked the front clasp of her bra. In another moment she was going to be half-naked in the moonlight. Charli took in a slow breath.

  “You are so lucky,” Bree said with envy blooming in her voice. “Here I am, living in this crummy apartment, having a crummy job and not even a crummy man. And look at you—a sexy Italian lover, a fancy villa, months of adventure in sunny Italy.”

  But it was all temporary. In a matter of weeks she’d be on a plane back home. Charli looked away from Massimo. “Before you know it, Bree, you’ll be driving to the airport to pick me up.”

  “I know, I know. I’ll be glad to see you again.”

  Charli swallowed, pushing away thoughts of the future. This was the present—a warm summer night, Massimo, his hands touching her.

  The bra clasp opened. His hand was warm as he cupped her left breast. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her attention on the conversation without giving away what was going on. So she did what had to be done: she said goodbye to Bree and allowed Massimo to have his Italian way with her body.

  Dragging a dilapidated duffel bag, Mindy the renter arrived, droopy with fatigue and despair. Long coppery hair, sad brown eyes, like a cocker spaniel who’d lost his buddy.

  She had lost her buddy. Her once-loving man had taken off with a dental technician.

  It was soon clear that Mindy from Minnesota was focused on writing her doctoral thesis and not the type likely to invite twenty of her friends to come to Italy to drink and party, destroying Charli’s lovely place in the process.

  Which was the main thing. A lot of work had been done in record time, due to Massimo’s influence, and it all looked bright and clean and comfortable.

  “I think this will work fine,” Mindy said after Charli had shown her around the apartment. “It looks very nice,” she added with a sad smile that seemed to take a lot of effort.

  Charli had stocked the kitchen with food and wine as a welcome, but she soon realized she might as well have saved herself the trouble. Mindy didn’t eat dairy because it gave her a skin rash. She didn’t drink wine and she didn’t like seafood and coffee upset her stomach. How she was going to survive on the Italian coast was a mystery to Charli, but it was not her concern. Mindy seemed nice enough, in a depressed and absent sort of way, and Charli hoped that the cheery Italian surroundings might do her good.

  Which thought somehow meandered into the thought that she herself would be leaving behind cheery Italy in only a month, leaving behind Massimo. That a long lonely frozen winter loomed ahead in Philadelphia. Looking at Mindy, she almost got depressed herself.

  “Well, I think that’s all,” she said to Mindy, and offered the brightest smile she could muster.

  She got out of there fast, leaving behind good wishes, e-mail address, phone numbers, and taking with her the food Mindy didn’t want to spoil because she wasn’t going to eat it.

  Taking a taxi, Charli rushed back to the villa, to Massimo, who was in his office. He looked so good, so warm, so alive, so sexy, so…real. How could their affair ever end?

  He moved his chair away from the desk and drew her onto his knees. He stroked her cheek, lifted her chin to tilt her face up to him.

  “What’s wrong, cara?”

  She swallowed hard. If only she could tell him she didn’t want their affair to end when she left. That it made her sad and depressed to think of having to say goodbye to him forever. She didn’t want it to be over. But she couldn’t tell him that. It wasn’t the plan.

  “The renter, Mindy…she looked so sad, Massimo.”

  “Then it is good she came here. Surely she will be happy here in beautiful Italy.” His voice was full of assurance. And then his mouth touched hers, his lips warm and tender, and she put her arms around him, pushing all thoughts aside, feeling only the moment and Massimo’s touch, making magic with her.

  “What would you like?” he whispered in her ear.

  “To lock the door,” she said.

  “Good idea. And after that?”

  “What do you have available? Do you have a menu?”

  “No menu, but there’s a choice of two chef’s specials. We can do something slow and sweet and simmering or we can cook up something fast and hot and spicy.”

  “I like everything,” she said, “as long as it’s Italian.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he said.

  The day finally arrived when Valentina’s cast came off. Valentina was aghast at the look of her naked leg. It had shriveled to a stick. Dead skin was peeling off in sheets. She couldn’t bend her knee, she couldn’t bend her ankle—both frozen into immobility because of the cast. She was in tears. It hurt to try and walk and she still relied on the crutches to move. Massimo was all tender loving care, and it warmed Charli’s heart to see him tend to his sister, encouraging her patiently. Every day a physical therapist arrived to work with her and Valentina did her best, wanting to get back to school as soon as possible. Stairs remaine
d the problem and stairs she needed to conquer.

  “I’m planning a trip to South America next month,” Massimo told them several days later while they were having dinner on the terrace.

  Charli didn’t hear all the details of their talk, some of it in Italian when they forgot she was there. After all, this was not an issue that she was involved with. Massimo would be flying out a week after she’d left Italy.

  Another plan, another indication that their affair would come to an end in a matter of weeks. She did not want to think about it. Instead she wanted to look forward to going to Rome and staying with Massimo in his apartment there until she had to fly home. They’d go as soon as Valentina could go back to school. Rome would be wonderful.

  Charli forked in some gnocchi and gave herself a mental pep talk. She was strong. She was being realistic. She knew what she was doing. It made no sense to dwell on what could not be. Soon she’d be back in Philadelphia, in her own apartment and start over. She’d just do it.

  As if to affirm these thoughts, her cellphone pealed its cheery jingle and she went inside to answer it.

  A call from the high school where sometimes she would substitute for a teacher who was sick or otherwise not able to work. Bree had given them her number.

  One of their English teachers was going on maternity leave in January for two months. Was Charli interested in taking over her classes for that period?

  Of course she was! She loved that school and the people working there. And the money would help. She’d had a lot of expenses fixing up the apartment, although most of them had been covered by the money left in the account she had also inherited. Somehow she would manage to juggle her long-distance teaching job at the same time, since the hours were hers to choose. For two months she could do it. And it would keep her busy, which would certainly be a blessing. The last thing she needed was to sit around her Philadelphia apartment in the dead of winter, nursing a broken heart.

  Back at the table, she told Massimo and Valentina of the call. Valentina stared at her with an odd look on her face.

  “Did you have to take that job?” she asked.

  “Nobody put a gun to my head, no, but I like teaching.”

  “You could stay here, you know. You’re working on the computer all the time anyway.”

  Charli’s heart began a nervous rhythm. “I have to be back for my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary. It’s a big deal, you know. Besides, the apartment is rented out for the next six months.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact. It was a matter-of-fact business, her arrangement with Massimo. Wasn’t it?

  “Yes, I know,” Valentina said impatiently. “But after the party you could come back and stay in Rome with Massimo. We could still see each other, go shopping together.”

  Charli’s heart contracted as she watched Massimo’s face freeze over. “Valentina,” he said in a wintry tone, “Charli answered your question. This is not your business.”

  Charli’s chest tightened. Massimo’s cold expression frightened her. Where had this come from? Who was this man? Her hand trembled as she reached for her glass and took a deep swallow of wine.

  Valentina stared at her plate, her face bleak. “I don’t get it.”

  You don’t get what? Charli wanted to ask, but thought better about opening her mouth and saying anything at all. Besides, she had a pretty good idea what the answer was.

  Massimo too, decided no reply was necessary and ate his food.

  “You are crazy about each other!” Valentina burst out. “Charli, how can you just go away?” Her voice was full of pleading.

  I’m not just going away. I have no choice.

  “It’s the way it has to be. Life is complicated.” Her heart thumped miserably.

  Valentina stared at the flowers on the table, apparently considering her next strategy. Then she lifted her face and looked at Massimo, her eyes full of challenge.

  “If you’d ask her, she’d stay with you, Massimo, I know she would!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHARLI had done battle with herself on a few occasions lately, her less virtuous self tempted to pump Valentina for information about her brother in an effort to learn more about his marriage and what was going on in his head. Her better self had prevailed. There was something not quite honorable about taking advantage of Massimo’s sister in that way.

  Now, as Charli sat at the table with the two of them, Valentina’s passionate plea came as a surprise and her stomach lurched in trepidation. Massimo’s stony gaze met hers, then moved over to his sister.

  “Valentina!” His voice was steely as he went on speaking in Italian, saying something clearly lacking in warmth and joy.

  In response to his words, Valentina stiffened, her face mutinous. “You’re being so stupid, Massimo!” she said in English. “Just because Giulia died! I mean, it’s ages ago! And I didn’t even like her!”

  An ominous silence throbbed in the air. Even the candle flickered nervously.

  “I think you’ve said enough,” Massimo said with barely contained anger. “Eat your food and go to your room.”

  Valentina reached for her crutches and, without another word, hobbled away from the table, her food uneaten.

  Massimo lifted the wine bottle and filled their glasses. Charli watched him, trying to read his face. There was nothing there—a mask carved out of stone, like a marble statue.

  “She didn’t mean to make you angry, Massimo. She just doesn’t understand.”

  “Apparently not,” he said coolly.

  They finished the meal in silence and later, in bed, Massimo did not reach for her, did not touch her at all. Charli felt a terrible suspicion rise in her. He wasn’t only angry about what Valentina had said.

  She leaned on one elbow and looked down at his face, that beautiful face with its aristocratic nose, those dark eyes looking at her with an expression she couldn’t fathom.

  “Are you thinking I put her up to asking these questions?” she asked.

  “Did you?”

  She closed her eyes, feeling misery seep through her blood. “No, Massimo, I didn’t.”

  “Good.” He closed his eyes as if dismissing her.

  His cool response suddenly made her hot with anger. She sat up, fought the onslaught of emotion.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Massimo? Why is it so terrible to talk about these things? Why do you get so angry when we mention the future, or Giulia? If she loved you, wouldn’t she want you to be happy again? Why don’t you want to look at the future and think of happy things? Of love, and…a wife and babies and…and…” Her voice trailed away as she saw the look in his eyes, the naked misery there, the need, the wanting.

  Tears were sliding down her face. She wiped at them, but they kept on coming. “Massimo…what are you afraid of?”

  But he didn’t answer her. He just reached for her and kissed her silent. And she wound her arms around him, wanting to soothe the desolation she’d seen in his eyes, the misery in her own heart. How could she fight an unknown enemy?

  He made love to her in a desperate hungry way that tore at her heart.

  In the days that followed they did not discuss what had happened that evening, but Charli couldn’t forget the look of pain and longing on his face. What kind of woman would it take to make him want to look at the future again? If she couldn’t, then who could? It was not a happy thought, so she tried not to give it space.

  With Valentina’s walking getting better by the day, they made arrangements for the move to Rome. Charli visited Mindy at the apartment to see if everything was in order. It was. Mindy didn’t look any happier, but said she’d started her work and it was going well.

  Massimo’s apartment in Rome was an amazing place, all comfort and luxury in a building more than four centuries old, full of interesting artwork from all over the world. Charli wandered around looking at the paintings and sculptures, asking questions, listening with fascination to Massimo’s tales. Each piece had a story of how and where he ha
d obtained it.

  A party invitation for their first Saturday in Rome had her searching through her meager supply of clothes in a panic. If only she’d brought her little black and silver dress with her from Philadelphia. Richard had made her buy it for one of his company parties and it would have worked here, only it was hanging in her closet on the other side of the ocean.

  She needed a new dress. And where better to find one than in Italy?

  Shopping in the luxurious stores in Rome was an adventure, but the prices were a shocker. Not knowing what exactly she was looking for didn’t help. She wanted something elegant but not too formal. And not too elegant either, actually, because she just wasn’t the elegant type, was she? It would look funny on her, as if she were playing dress-up. So, where did that leave her? Not too elegant, not too formal, but festive enough for a dressy party. Or dressy enough for a festive party. Dressy, but not stuffy. Stylish. Yes, that was the word. Stylish.

  Girl, she said to herself, you are making yourself crazy.

  By day three she could give tours to the clothing stores in Rome and still she had no dress. Clearly, something was wrong with her. Surely there was a dress somewhere in Rome for her. Rome, Italy, for heaven’s sake!

  Charli knew what was wrong with her: she was nervous about the damn party. Nervous she was not sophisticated enough, smart enough. What a sorry state to be in. She should be ashamed of herself.

  Then in a small shop she finally found what she was looking for—a short, slinky little dress that matched her generally happy mood perfectly. It was playful and flirty in a stylish sort of way, if there was such a thing. The silky fabric felt sensuous against her skin and the sapphire color made her eyes look even bluer.

  It was perfect. All her confidence came rushing back.

  “What do you think?” she asked Massimo the night of the party. She twirled around in front of him to show off the dress and make the skirt swirl sexily around her thighs.

 

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