A Taste of Romance

by Rhonda Laurel

  “That was amazing,” she panted.

  “I agree.” He kissed her neck. “I think you’ve broken me.”

  “What a shame. I wanted to do it again.”

  He smiled. “As you wish.”

  Three hours later, they were still entwined together beneath his plum satin sheets. Trina felt great. She’d fallen asleep twice. Each time she woke up she was elated to be in Marco’s arms. But this time he nudged her.

  “Are you awake?” He kissed her shoulder.

  “Just barely.” She turned around and nestled into his body.

  “Don’t go to sleep yet.” He got out of bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To run us a hot bubble bath.”

  “That sounds awesome.” She sighed. “I’ll go downstairs and get another bottle of champagne.” She got up and slipped on his shirt that had been discarded on the floor.

  “Don’t be too long.”

  Trina opened the bedroom door and headed downstairs. It had been a magical evening, and she didn’t want it to end. She’d gotten over her stage fright and got her mojo back, but more importantly, she and Marco had talked and succumbed to the attraction they’d both been feeling.

  She was so happy, she wanted to call Theresa and Charisma and finally tell them what had been going on here. When she talked to them on the phone, she hadn’t been ready to admit that she’d met someone who’d set her heart afire. Keeping a lid on her feelings had been another indication that this was something special. It had to have been the longest secret she’d ever kept.

  She went into the wine room and searched the rows on the far wall for the champagne.

  Ah, she’d found the bottle. The room was temperature-controlled, but she’d still chill it. Marco kept plenty of ice buckets in the pantry closet.

  She stepped back into the kitchen and closed the wine room door. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She got the feeling she wasn’t alone. She turned to see a regal-looking, gray-haired, elderly woman standing there with a rolling pin in her hand.

  “Whoa!” Trina screamed.

  “Tu chi sei?” The woman raised the rolling pin. “Cosa stai facendo a casa mia?”

  Trina recognized her from the family photo in the living room, and she and Marco had the same nose. Her mind raced. OK, chi meant who. Casa meant house. She looked down at Marco’s shirt, knowing she had nothing on underneath, and bit her lip. This was bad.

  “Mrs. Di Giovanni, I’m Trina Reed, a friend of Marco’s.” She sighed. OK. That didn’t garner a more friendly expression from the older woman. Maybe she didn’t speak English.

  Instead of putting her at ease, it seemed to set her off even more. The older woman wildly waved around the massive wooden baking utensil as she came closer and started talking so fast in Italian that Trina couldn’t keep up. But it was clear she meant business with that rolling pin. Trina scooted around the other side of the island, but the older woman was blocking the doorway to the kitchen, so fleeing wasn’t an option. Where the hell was Marco?

  “Marco!” she bellowed, hoping he’d hear her before she got whacked.

  * * *

  Marco turned off the faucet, happy with the mountain of bubbles from the lilac-scented bubble bath that had been in a linen closet for the longest time. It had been a long while since he’d entertained a woman.

  This had been the most amazing evening of his life, and the best was yet to come.

  Everything was perfect until he heard Trina screaming his name. It sent chills down his spine. He ran into the bedroom, pulled on his boxers, and sprinted downstairs to the kitchen. With each huge step he took, he could hear a familiar voice yelling in Italian. The voice got louder as he reached the bottom step. He stopped in his tracks. It was his mother. What on earth was she doing home?

  He would have remembered that tidbit the last time they spoke. But then again, it had been a while since they’d had a meaningful conversation. This was definitely not how he intended the evening to end. He had to get to in there and straighten this out.

  “Marco!” Trina shouted as he entered the kitchen. Trina, who was trying to conceal herself behind the big fruit bowl on the island, scurried over and took refuge behind him. “I don’t know what she’s saying. I tried to say hello, but maybe I got something mixed up.”

  “Mamma! Abbastanza!” Marco held up a hand to put some distance between his mother and Trina. “Cosa stai facendo a casa? What are you doing home?” he said purposefully in English so his mother would follow his lead.

  “È casa mia. Non ho bisogno di una ragione,” Mama Paloma replied in Italian.

  “Of course, you don’t need a reason to be in your home.” She’d deliberately replied in Italian. He loved her dearly, but her English was much better than she let on, and he was sure she knew exactly what Trina had said. He went over and gently took the rolling pin out of his mother’s hand. Trina was right behind him. “But you usually tell me about your travel plans. What if something had happened to you? Or the plane went down?”

  “Do be so dramatic.” Mama Paloma rolled her eyes. “I fly all the time.”

  Trina peeked around his shoulder and gave him a quizzical look.

  “Mama, this is Katrina Reed.” He reached behind him to gently pull on Trina’s hand, so she could come forward, but she wouldn’t budge. “Katrina, this is my mother, Paloma.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Di Giovanni. It’s so lovely to meet you,” Trina squeaked out.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Mama Paloma removed the fancy silk scarf from around her neck. “Now I see why my son has been too busy to call.”

  “I’ve been working a lot because Wesley and Rianne are on their honeymoon.”

  “You’ve never let working too hard distract you before. Matteo says you haven’t returned his calls either.”

  “Time has been getting away from me lately.”

  “I see.” She looked over at Trina. “Very busy playing house.”

  He felt Trina’s hand on his back before she cleared her throat. “I think I’ll retire for the evening.”

  “I’ll go slip on something.” Marco turned to follow her out.

  “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Di Giovanni,” Trina said.

  Mama Paloma shot her a look. “I can’t wait to see you with clothes on.”

  “Of course. Goodnight.” Trina’s cheeks began to burn as she scurried out of the room.

  “That was not nice.” He watched Trina leave.

  “Get dressed. I’ll make you something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I don’t care if you’re not hungry. I’m fixing you something to eat,” Mama Paloma huffed as she began to pull food out of the refrigerator. “Do we have any fresh bread? My kitchen is a mess.”

  Marco left the kitchen and headed upstairs. He caught Trina as she was entering the guest bedroom. “Hey. Where are you going?”

  “To my room.”

  He frowned. “I thought we’d be sleeping together tonight.”

  “I don’t think so. A few minutes ago, your mother was chasing me around the kitchen with a huge rolling pin. I can’t imagine what she’ll get if she saw we slept in the same bed.” She bit her lip. “I’m going to pack my things and head to Alex’s tonight.”

  “Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “Mama will calm down. There is no need to leave.”

  “I think I should.” She pushed on into the room and got her large suitcase out of the closet and opened it. She opened the drawers and began shoving her clothes in.

  “You can’t go. I won’t let you.”

  “Sorry, it’s better this way. I don’t think I’ll be able to look her in the eye.” She continued to shove clothes into her suitcase. “I don’t have on anything under this shirt. I just pray it didn’t come open when I was dashing around your kitchen. I will die if she saw my tattoo.”

  He bit back a smile. “She’d have to get a lot closer to you to see that tattoo.”

  “
This is not funny.” She squinted at him. “She probably thinks I’m some cheap floozy or something.”

  “No. You’re right.” He took her hand and kissed it. “This is not funny. But I can’t tell you how much it would hurt if you left me in the middle of the night after making love to me like that. It’s simply not fair.”

  “It’s not like I want to.” Her face relaxed.

  “But you’d still do it. You’ll have my hurt feelings on your conscience.” He trailed kisses from her hand up to her arm.

  “I can’t reply sternly when you’re kissing me.”

  “Good.” He kissed her neck. “Then my plan is working.”

  “What am I supposed to do tomorrow? Wear a bag over my head at breakfast?”

  “No, you are much too beautiful to cover one inch of that perfect face.” He pulled her into his arms. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I’ll stay, but we’re not sleeping together tonight. And if she acts like she doesn’t want me around, I’m leaving.”

  “OK.” He nipped at her lower lip. “No worries, everything will be fine once everyone gets a good night’s sleep. Well, except me. I’m going to have a raging boner for the rest of the night.”

  “Marco!” his mother’s voice boomed throughout the house.

  “Put on some clothes before she slathers some Bengay on her hips and comes upstairs looking for you.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  “Grazie.” He smiled then went into his room and slipped on a shirt and a pair of jeans. He had the feeling this conversation was going to be worse than the time Mama tried to explain to him about the birds and the bees. But he decided to go down there to face the music with a pleasant attitude. After all, he’d just had the best sex of his life. He reached the kitchen. His mama had rearranged it back to the way she liked, and the dry pasta was on the counter.

  She held up a box. “I leave for a short time, and you eat this junk?”

  “I would have gotten rid of it before you returned had I known you were coming home.”

  “Your grandmother is turning over in her grave.”

  He smiled. “She loved me. I’m sure she would forgive me.”

  “Why haven’t you returned your brother’s calls?”

  His smile faded. “I didn’t want to talk to Matteo.”

  “You never do. Stubborn, just like your father.” She shook her head. “He’s your brother. Stop fighting. And you don’t look happy to see me.”

  “Mama. Of course, I am happy to have you home. It’s just a surprise. You normally tell me these things, and I enjoy collecting you from the airport.”

  “Mio dolce figlio.” She squeezed his face with her hand. “So sweet.”

  “Sweeter than Matteo?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “You and your brother are not in competition.” She shook her head. “I love you both the same.”

  “So, why are you home again?” He ran a hand through his hair. “In English, please. We have a guest. I don’t want Katrina to think we are talking about her.”

  “Ovviamente! We will be talking about her soon.” She rolled her eyes. “I am checking up on you. I asked if there were any new developments the last time I spoke. Why did Ingrid have to tell me about what’s going on in my own house?”

  Ingrid. He should have known. Ingrid probably called his mom the first day she met Trina.

  “So Ingrid told you about Katrina, and you still chased her around the kitchen like a crazy woman?”

  “What’s your point?” she huffed.

  “There was no need to worry. I’m fine. The winery is fine. It’s finally settled down.” He put his hands on his hips. “I thought you were going to fix me something to eat?”

  “I’m not sure I’m in the mood now.”

  “Are you sure? I know how much you love to cook for me.” He smiled. “And I got chocolate biscotti from the bakery.”

  “Which bakery?”

  “Tori’s, of course. They were fresh baked this morning.”

  “OK.” She tried to hide her delight. “Maybe one while I fix you something that will stick to your ribs. Did you lose weight?”

  “No.”

  “Do we have any shallots? I’m in the mood for panzanella.”

  “That’s more like it.” He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

  He retrieved a couple of dessert plates for the cookies while his mother got out her favorite saute pan and items she needed from the fridge. “How was your flight?”

  “I’d rather talk about the pretty young lady who just scurried up the steps.”

  “What about her?” He really didn’t want to go into his feelings for Trina with his mother. He was still sorting them out. But he knew there was something special brewing between them. “She’s a singer and a relative of Channing and Alex. She’s just visiting for a short time before she returns to Los Angeles for the debut of her album.”

  “She’s a singer?” She frowned. “Those showbiz types are self-absorbed divas.”

  “Katrina’s not like that.” He put the plate in front of her. “She’s down to earth and kind. She has a magnificent voice. She sang at the restaurant tonight and got thunderous applause.”

  “You certainly are taken with her.”

  He held up a hand. “I’m not ready to talk about it. One more thing. Let’s try to speak more English while Katrina is here. OK?”

  “You’re very accommodating to her.” She put the cookie down.

  “You raised me to be a good host. I want her to feel comfortable.”

  “OK. OK. Your brother said he called several times. Why are you being so stubborn?”

  “Mama. I am not stubborn. I have the family business to run. I just choose not to indulge your son’s whims.” He replied in a gentle tone. He knew that look on her face. When she felt strongly about something, there was no changing her mind. Just like a certain young lady he knew.

  “This will not stand. Talk to your brother.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Stubborn!” She came toward him and kissed him on the cheek.

  Marco took a seat and watched his mother whip together a meal like it was the middle of the afternoon, not going on midnight. This was nothing new to her. She cooked whenever the feeling hit her, which led to a lot of late-night dinners and chats.

  As she went on about the visit with her sisters, his mind wandered to what Trina was doing upstairs. He’d managed to persuade her to stay. He hoped she hadn’t changed her mind and would come down the steps with bags in hand. He’d take it on faith that his convincing argument and a little guilt had convinced her to stay. At least for a few more days. Their time was still winding down, now that his mama was home. What hope did he have of sifting through his budding feelings for Trina?

  He ate a few forkfuls of the panzanella to appease his mother, and it worked. She was happy to be home, and it was time for them both to get some sleep.

  “Don’t think we’re done,” Mama Paloma said as he walked her to her bedroom door. “We talk tomorrow about Katrina. I’m just too tired right now.”

  “Get some rest. We’ll fight tomorrow.”

  “Smartass,” she said.

  “Buona notte, Mamma.” He kissed her on the cheek.

  After his mother closed her door, it was time to check in on Trina. He doubled back into the kitchen to get some treats for her. He wasn’t sure what she’d eaten at the winery tonight. With tray in hand, Marco climbed the steps with fervor. This certainly wasn’t how he thought the night would end, but maybe he could salvage something.

  He knocked lightly on the door. “Katrina.”

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered as she opened the door.

  “I thought you’d like a late-night snack. We didn’t get around to dessert tonight.” He held up a tray with the cookies and a glass of dessert wine. “Well, not the dessert I’d had in mind.”

  “Where’s your mom?” She peeked out into the hall before
opening the door.

  “Retired for the evening. Downstairs, in her own room.”

  “Thanks for the snack.” She took the tray and sat it on the night table.

  “I’m glad you put your clothes away.”

  “Well, I promised. And after that guilt trip, I thought it was worth staying.”

  “Katrina.” He leaned against the door frame. “What can I say to get you to come to my bed?”

  “I don’t think anything short of a time machine will salvage this evening.” She smiled. “But it was a wonderful evening before being chased around the kitchen.”

  That smile was all he needed to see, but a goodnight kiss would be even better. It would have to sustain him when he went to a lonely bed tonight. He pulled her into his arms.

  “Your mom…” she whispered.

  “Is downstairs in her room. If I can’t have you in bed, I want a kiss to satisfy me until tomorrow.”

  He pressed his lips against hers. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and was elated when she opened for him. As they found an easy rhythm, waves of warmth flooded over to him. He wanted more, but he’d settle for a kiss.

  “Goodnight.”

  * * *

  Trina put the four bottles of wine into the fancy bag with the Paloma label on it, put a decorative bow on it, and swiped the credit card. Yep. Another satisfied customer. She liked the ladies from this tour group. They were funny and good-natured. And none of them commented about wanting to slather Marco with olive oil and do lascivious things to him. That was one of the downsides to doing the tours. Many women who caught a glimpse of him before the tour began to channel their inner sex kitten. He wasn’t a piece of meat, and frankly, she didn’t like hearing women talk about the man she’d grown incredibly fond of in that manner.

  She was especially proud of this sale. She’d convinced the customer from Idaho who was on vacation to buy two more bottles because of what Marco called her “passionate conviction” about the product. But it was simpler than that. The two additional wines gave the customer, who was an aspiring oenophile, the appearance of being in the know about good wine. Hopefully, she’d remember the tips Trina had given her about detecting the subtle note differences in the different types and she’d sure to be a hit back home. She included the wine lover’s cheat sheet pamphlet and the wine club order form to order from them in the future. It was a great way to remind customers that they could recapture their fond memories of their visit to California.