Corsica Gate

by Robena Grant

  As he keyed the lock, he glanced down. She saw the raw passion in those velvety dark eyes, and for a moment, allowed herself to get lost in their promise. Still giddy from that smoldering glance, Dia realized they were inside, in a hallway, and the front door had closed. Shapes of furniture, and the general layout of the place via the open shutters and the moonlight streaming across the living area, loomed in front of her.

  “It’s—”

  “I’ll leave the lights off,” Carlo said.

  They moved at the same time, coming together in the most natural way. Her purse slid off her shoulder, landing with a thud somewhere near her feet. Silently they undressed each other, lips locked, and tongues exploring. She stripped off his shirt and ran a hand over the hot skin of his chest. Her top landed somewhere near her purse. Her bra, quickly unclasped, went flying, and her breasts, released to the cool air, enjoyed their freedom. Her world, her control, unraveled like a dropped ball of string.

  “Carlo,” she said, her voice husky, and ran her hands over his chest and abdomen.

  His mouth dipped as he cupped her breast and teased a nipple with his tongue. “Bellisima,” he murmured.

  His breath was warm on her breast, the moisture from his tongue doing crazy things to her skin. Every part of her body tingled. Every inch of her skin felt electrified. She could barely breathe, and could not speak.

  “Bellisima.” His hands dipped beneath her yoga pants and cupped her cheeks. “Che bella, do you want to talk?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  A hard knot formed in her throat. Nobody but her father had ever called her bellisima. She so did not want to think of her father at a time like this. And she certainly did not want to talk. She pushed all thoughts away and stroked Carlo’s back, running her fingernails up and down his spine, all the while moving closer to him. So close she felt his hard need, his readiness to take her. Dia wanted him with a passion that came as a huge surprise. He removed his hands from her butt, the waistband snapping against her overheated skin.

  Dia gasped. He raised his head and smiled. Then he captured her lower lip with his teeth and gently drew it out and away from her. She leaned in, not wanting him to leave, not wanting to miss one second of the incredible sensation, as he nibbled, sucked, and teased. She wanted him here…now…against the cold pale walls of his hallway. Sex, just physical pleasure, it didn’t have to mean anything else. He ran a finger across her upper lip.

  “Carlo,” she said again, shaken to the core, her body trembling with need.

  His mouth found hers, capturing her sound, her breath, and her knees weakened. He drew her closer with both hands. The kiss deepened and she closed her eyes, floating, high, high, and higher. He lifted her hips, and she drew up her legs, wrapping them around his waist, feeling the roughness of his shorts, the bareness of his chest against her breasts. He walked her to the bedroom and toppled her onto the bed.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She looked up at him. “Yes.” She stretched her eyes wide and, as he came into full focus, she found he’d relieved her of her yoga pants. Panic hit. She hadn’t showered this morning, and—“Do you…should we…shower?”

  Her tiny bikini underpants disappeared over his shoulder, and his boxer shorts followed them. “Perfetto,” he whispered, his fingers exploring and stroking. “I like you as you are.”

  His mouth captured hers again in a kiss so filled with passion that she gave herself up to him, and to the moment. Loving his Italian endearments, gorgeous body, skin hot to touch, scent musky and manly, she ran her tongue over his chest. Salty.

  She pressed against his hand that now cupped her, her pleasure building and willing her to move. And then he slipped a finger inside her wetness. Within seconds, she’d shattered, music and stars and lights blasting from behind her closed eyelids. Her breath came fast as her muscles contracted, not wanting him to move. He slowly removed his hand and kissed her breasts. He’d known her body. What she wanted, what she needed. It had been far too long since she’d known a man’s pleasuring. But she wanted more.

  “I’m ah—” she said, about to apologize for coming so soon.

  “Bellisima,” he murmured and slid up her body, his hardness settling heavy between her thighs, as he nibbled at her jaw.

  Her body, still hummed from the orgasm, and she pulled him closer. If this was Italian lovemaking she wanted more. She felt gorgeous. Wanton. Female. “I want more, Carlo. I want you…now, inside me.” She took him in her hand, loving the hard silken feel of him, the heat of him.

  A sharp breath escaped his mouth. “Soon…soon.”

  When he eased away, she felt the draft between them and almost cried out. Then she realized he’d reached for a condom. He couldn’t sheath himself fast enough, as far as she was concerned. Back again, and positioned above her, he stroked her entry, teasing. He sank into her slowly, filling her, his gaze searching her face. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” Dia pressed both hands on his buttocks to pull him closer, to take all of him. She reveled in his thrusts, long, hard, and deep, his need growing with each stroke. She’d thought this was for him. Her gift to him, but everything went warm around her, her hips pumped, her vision got rosy, and the heat expanded in waves. She gripped him with her inner muscles, moving with him until her breath caught and then almost unable to take any more stimulation, she let go and felt like she’d burst into tiny fragments of pure pleasure.

  She pulsed all around him, wet and swollen. His thrusts deepened and quickened. He groaned with his release, collapsing against her, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths still coming fast but gradually slowing, their heartbeats pounding against the other’s chest.

  “Oh my…oh my,” she said.

  After a few moments, he whispered words she couldn’t recognize. She’d always loved the sound of the Italian language but had never associated it with lovemaking before. She pulled in another half-breath half-gasp, as her body shook again. Darn. She stroked a hand up and down his spine, listening for the return of his normal breathing.

  Her body finally quieted, and she opened her eyes, waiting for him to come down—to meet her—to hear what he had to say.

  Carlo raised himself up onto his elbows. He was still inside her, softer now. And he smiled gently. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. That was beyond awesome.” She shuddered again. It wasn’t like she’d never had an orgasm before, just not this many at one time.

  “It was.” He eased away a bit, but still kept an arm around her. “You are an amazing woman.”

  Dia wanted him again. Shock at the intensity of her feelings washed over her. Sex had always been good, but she’d never craved it, and she’d certainly never wanted to possess anyone before. Now, one good lovemaking session, and she was filled with desire. Her face heated at her thoughts. Thank goodness for darkened rooms.

  “I’ll be right back.” Carlo eased to the edge of the bed.

  She watched him walk to the bathroom, his shape distinctive in the dim light. She knew him better since their intimacy. Her hand instinctively reached out for him…her Roman god. She swallowed hard at the lump that formed in the back of her throat. Tuesday.

  I leave for Italy in two days.

  This was no time to get all teary-eyed. Dia blinked hard, and sat up against the pillows. She couldn’t let him know how deeply she felt, but how would she survive two weeks of separation when she couldn’t bear him leaving the bed for two minutes?

  Chapter Twelve

  Dia walked into Mama’s bedroom at noon on Monday. Frank had said she had a headache. The blinds were closed, the room in semi-darkness. Light created a slash across the carpet from beneath the master bathroom door. Mama had shoved back the comforter, and covered only with a sheet, her dark hair splayed out over the pillow, she took up the entire middle of the bed.

  “How do you feel, Mama?” Dia asked gently.

  Mama lifted a washcloth from her forehead. “I’m good. I’m sorry for what I did
yesterday. I know you said no interfere. Everything okay with you?”

  Dia smiled. She and Carlo had made love again during the night and again this morning. Everything was more than okay. “Yeah. Perfect. I stayed the night with Carlo.”

  Mama’s head jerked up. “Ahhh.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the washcloth dropping to the floor. It seemed all mention of a headache had disappeared. She shoved her feet into fluffy slippers and grabbed her robe, belting it tight. “We make tea.”

  “Okay. Sure. Sounds good.” Dia followed her downstairs.

  Frank saw them coming. He hopped up off the sofa, grabbing for his baseball cap and car keys. “Got a few errands to run…you need anything?”

  “No. It is good. You go.” Mama waved him away.

  Frank hesitated a moment, his eyes registering a change in the climate, and maybe he even thought about staying. Then he ducked his head and left. Dia figured it was the happiest Mama had been since yesterday. She felt guilty for not having told the truth last night. Poor Frank. No wonder he’d made a hasty escape.

  Mama bustled around the kitchen.

  “Sit down, Mama. I’ll make the tea.”

  “Is good…is good. Headache is gone.” She moved a few things around on the shelves of the refrigerator as she peered inside. “You like cookies? Amaretto. Some cannoli from the wedding—”

  “Cannoli…please, I didn’t get any.”

  Mama turned. “No?”

  Dia grabbed one from the plastic container as Mama lifted the lid. Taking a huge bite, she savored the taste as she walked to the table. With one foot she scooted the chair out, and then sat. “Mmmmm. This is wonderful.”

  “So…” Mama looked almost shy. “How is Carlo?”

  “Good. Good. He’s good.” Talking intimately about guys wasn’t something they’d ever done well, but then again she’d never slept with an Italian before. Not that she was about to talk about that. Mama had a good imagination, and she could easily fill in the parts that Dia left out. Thinking about Carlo set her body to tingling again. She clamped her thighs tight. Damn. She really was in bad shape.

  Mama plopped into a chair and leaned across the table, her eyes wide, her smile soft. “Tell me everything.”

  “Mama.” Dia rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say I had a fabulous night, and he’s amazing. I really like him. We’ll leave it at that. I have a trip to organize.”

  Mama raised a hand. “Wait. You still going away?”

  “Of course.” She popped the last piece of the cannoli into her mouth, licked each finger, and then catching sight of Mama’s frown grabbed a paper napkin. The frown unfortunately deepened, and Dia realized it had nothing to do with her manners but everything to do with Carlo.

  “Why?” Mama asked. Then breaking into rapid Italian, she raised her eyebrows and both arms and shook her hands. “Why you go? Carlo, he cares about you, he—”

  “I know, I know. And I care about him, but Mama, we’ve only known each other a week. My trip has nothing to do with him. Anyway, a woman doesn’t change all her plans to please a man, just because he cares about her.” She almost added, and is good in the sack. But she bit off those words in the nick of time.

  “Why not?”

  “Ma-maaaaa!” Dia moved forward, engaging her mother’s eyes. “Please. That would be stupid. If he cares enough about me, he’ll wait.”

  “Is risky.”

  Dia stopped herself from screaming. She swallowed hard, and then cleared her throat. “I’m only going for two weeks. I’ve planned this trip for months. It isn’t risky, seriously.”

  It wasn’t, was it? What kind of shallow person would Carlo be if he didn’t want to see her when she got home? This was about being wise, sensible, not allowing herself to be swept away just because she’d had mind-blowing sex with a man…three times in one night, but who was counting?

  The kettle whistled. Mama went to make the tea. Dia got out cups, saucers, sugar bowl, and creamer. No mugs allowed for tea; coffee yes, tea no. She took the cannoli from the container, placing them on a plate. Then she set a dessert fork and small plate on either side of the table. Mama’s way. Chicken wings she could eat with her fingers, but pastry? Forget about it.

  “I didn’t tell you, but Susan, Carlo’s sister, is going to meet me in Italy for the last week of the trip.”

  “Yes?” Mama frowned. “The mother, she agrees?”

  “Yes. I like the idea. It will be good for her, and it will be fun for me.”

  “You tell to Frank?”

  “Not yet. But if it’s a problem for Nico to accommodate both of us in Corsica, then we’ll stay in a hotel. I’m going to talk by phone later today, with Nico. And then I’ll call Susan with a last minute update.”

  “Okay. Carlo is gonna come over tonight?”

  “No.” Dia glanced away. “I told him I have to pack.”

  “He drive you to the airport?”

  Dia shook her head. “No. No, I didn’t want that. We said goodbye this morning.” She shrugged. “You know, less complicated. I have to leave the house really early, and I didn’t want any fuss. Besides, Anna had already arranged a car to pick me up.”

  “You could cancel.”

  “No, Ma. I want it this way.”

  Mama remained quiet, her back to the table as she bustled around for a few minutes. She carried the teapot over. The old brown pot had a new knitted tea cozy of red and white wool.

  “Pretty,” Dia said, complimenting her mother on her handiwork even if the very thought of tea cozies made her teeth feel like she’d just chewed on tin foil. “When did you make it?”

  “Before the wedding. Keep the fingers busy and no stress. You look like you are in love,” Mama said softly. She wrapped her arms over her chest and rocked her upper body a few times. “I never see you like this. Is good.”

  “I know. Carlo is different. He is so romantic.”

  “Italian,” Mama said, and she nodded several times. She smiled as she poured the tea, and then slid a cup and saucer across the table.

  “Thanks.” You’d think she’d offered Mama a grandchild, or had suddenly re-embraced the Roman Catholic Church. She eyed Mama thoughtfully. Her mother could have said, “I told you so,” on that whole Italian man thingy. But she didn’t, which was awfully strange.

  “Don’t be stubborn,” Mama said. “Let him help if he wants. Men, they like to be helpful. Don’t…how you say—close off?”

  “I’m not closing myself off, Ma. It’s—” She looked down at her plate. She wasn’t doing the independent woman stuff. She wasn’t running away from her feelings, yet she wasn’t ready to admit the depth of them either. And she had no idea how she’d react if she saw Carlo again before she left. Ah, to hell with it. She picked up another cannoli and put it on her plate.

  “Maybe you next?”

  “What?”

  “A wedding.”

  Dia shook her head, then took a sip of tea.

  “His mother, she is…?” Mama raised her shoulders and then let them drop. “I like the father.”

  “Yeah. She’s into the whole social standing thing. Not like Jason’s mother. It’s different. Christina came from a wealthy family and then married a regular guy. She never got a cent from the folks—”

  “Until they died.” Mama nodded. “So maybe she is not so much different to us. She knows the struggle.”

  Dia held her mother’s gaze. “Don’t get your hopes up Ma. I’m not at all what Carlo’s parents want for him.”

  “Maybe he will fight for you, yes?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not ready to commit.”

  Mama never gave up. Darn. And double darn it because every tiny nerve ending snapped, buzzed, and called out yes! Her body wanted commitment, her mind resisted. She could not think about Carlo that way. She didn’t know him. Not really. She could not think about weddings, or falling in love, or teary-eyed farewells at the airport. She would not be swayed, and if it meant never hooking up with Carlo
again, then so be it. She had to take this trip. Find out what was truly important to her.

  ****

  Carlo figured he’d given Dia enough time to pack.

  He knew what she had to do. You could only pack so much the night before. There were always the last minute things the following morning. Knowing Dia, she’d be organized…with a check list. She’d have crossed off three quarters of it by now. The teacher in her was used to being organized. He noticed how efficient she’d been with the pre-wedding appointments for herself and her mother.

  He liked that about Dia. He liked everything about her. And after last night he knew. If he’d had any doubts earlier, they had vanished. The fact that Dia had seen what Susan needed, and had jumped in to organize everything so she could have some true happiness in her life. Well, David’s heart would have opened. Dia was nothing short of amazing. He trusted her completely with the care of his heartbroken sister, and he knew David would have trusted her to watch over his wife. Susan wasn’t a frail person, but she seemed frail because of what she’d endured these past years. He looked at his watch.

  Dia had said don’t call. Don’t come over. But hell, she had to eat dinner, didn’t she? So why couldn’t he join her? Would he be intruding? He thought about bypassing her and calling the house line instead of her cell. That way he’d talk to Rosetta. Rosetta would invite him. That was a sure thing. Nah. Not a good idea. At least not based on what had happened last time Rosetta interfered. He pressed Dia’s cell phone number.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Good, she didn’t sound tired. “Hi. It’s me. I know you said not to call, but I thought if you haven’t had dinner…”

  “Oh. We just finished.”

  “Dessert?” Geez, how pathetic.

  She laughed. “Okay. What do you have in mind?”

  “I could pick you up and take you down the road to Scoops. Get a hot fudge sundae. Or I can pick it up and bring it to the house and…”

  “No.”