"Please, Memmo."
"Ti voglio baciare." His hand left her breast to turn her face to the side so he could bend to devour her mouth, thrusting with his tongue to enter and possess her, mimicking the act he could not realize, their tongues dueling feverishly. They moved together, slithering and sliding and thrusting together in rhythm while she panted and her moans of delight got louder and more urgent, reverberating in his own throat. His legs trembled uncontrollably, and he struggled to brace them both, he was so hard, reeling with desire for her. "Ti desidero, Bella, Bella, Clio."
Gesu! He was going to pay for this.
And then she broke, shattering and dissolving in his hands like sunlight through a prism, her legs giving way as she collapsed completely against him with a long moaning cry of ecstasy. "Ah, Bella, Clio. Cara." He caught her hard to him, holding her upright, then slowly letting her sink down as he rotated her to face him. He picked her up in his arms, keeping their mouths fused in a soul deep kiss.
Abruptly, her mouth went limp and her head fell back. He realized she had passed out. Fainted? Fallen asleep? She was dead weight in his arms. He strode to the bed in three long strides and laid her gently down, stepping back to gaze at her in the golden light of the small bedside lamp. She didn't wake, but lay there, her head back, flushed lips slightly parted, her wild coppery hair tumbling around her like a halo of fire, frozen in the image of ecstatic release.
He released a long breath and swallowed. What the hell had just happened?
He scrunched his eyes closed, knowing that he would take the image of her to bed with him, along with her feel, smell, and sounds, and that she would likely keep him up all night tossing and turning in misery.
Chapter 18
Bands of steel were crushing Clio's head, and sharp knives pierced her eyeballs. She could see the fires of hell burning through her tightly closed lids. She lay a moment, gathering information, sorting through the thick fog in her head. Her mouth was woolen and dry and tasted of old socks. What had happened to her? Was she sick?
Another few minutes went by before bright flashes of memory began to insinuate themselves on her foggy mind's eye. Sensuous food, rivers of wine, a whirling dervish, opera music. Images of beautiful Bacchus, half naked, with Guillermo's laughing face, surrounded by his entourage of raving maenads, their heads wreathed in snakes, dancing in a state of ecstatic frenzy, bearded satyr's with erect penises tripping after him in a parade of wild abandon. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the erotic images.
Why would she dream of…
The strands of myth and memory slowly separated, and Clio began to feel an oppressive weight press in on her, and a sickening twist of nausea in her stomach that was more than the after-effects of too much wine. Bacchus indeed!
Oh, holy hell, what had she done?
Did they have sex? She sat up abruptly, looking frantically around her in the bed, hands to her breasts. Rumpled sheets, but thankfully she was alone, and fully dressed in her wrinkled clothes from last night. Sharp pain lanced her eyes and pounded at her head, and she fell back with her eyes closed, keening. Whew. At least she hadn't slept with him…
There was a soft knock on the door.
Clio froze. Who could that be? She couldn't face anyone. She had to get out of here and get home somehow. Quickly and invisibly would be preferred.
The door to her room opened a crack. "Clio?"
It was Bibi.
"Mmrnph."
"Are you awake? Can I come in?" Bianca asked, but came anyway without waiting for a reply. "I brought you a strong coffee. Thought maybe you'd…"
"Yes. Grazie," she murmured, pushing herself slowly and carefully into a sitting position. "Time'sit?" Her voice scratched.
"Almost noon." Bianca carried a tray toward her and set it on the side table, then perched on the side of the bed. "I guess you're not used to drinking much?"
Clio rolled her eyes, and they felt like the sockets were lined in acid. "You think?"
Bianca chuckled softly. "Here. Drink." She held the caffe steady as Clio rose to one elbow and drew it to her lips, sipping strong sweet black coffee that turned into liquid energy in her veins, chasing away some of the fog.
Clio waited a few moments, then sat up higher and took the cup from Bianca, drinking more.
"There you go." She was being so nice. They had hardly had time to get to know each other this weekend, until last night's fun and games.
Clio stared at her, wondering if anyone but Guillermo had any idea what had happened last night after they retired to her room. Even she didn't remember how it ended. What did they think of her? Oh, how could she ever face him? The shame. It was horrible! Worse in some ways than anything that had happened to her as a young girl on the beach in Mykonos. She ought to have more self-control. She was no longer an innocent girl, to be throwing herself like a sleazy tramp on a man like that. Clio knew better.
She was terrified of this part of herself, the part that lost all sense of reality and time in the liquid heat of a sensual moment. She knew from experience that that kind of sensual abandon led only to shame and regret. After getting caught in Hektor's arms, her parents had dragged her home, half clothed, humiliated in front of her friends and neighbors, not even waiting for the privacy of a closed door before shouting at her.
How could you embarrass us like this Clio? After all the advantages you've been given. Is this what we've raised you for? Is this how you thank us for raising you and educating you? Are you nothing but a cheap slut that throws yourself away on every oversexed teenaged boy that dares to look at you? Have you no self-respect? Have you no shame? How will we live this down? What will people think of us?
And that was only the beginning of her shame. Afterwards, there were more lectures, insults, more dark glares, as though her actions were a betrayal of everything her family stood for, as though she was no longer worthy of belonging in their elite circle of society, as if it were about them. She was sure they would have disposed of her if they could. A complete loss of freedom in every aspect of her life, as though she were worthless and too stupid to live, and could never be trusted with free will again. And her body was the biggest traitor of all.
Now she had done it again. Or nearly. How could she so completely lose control? I'm a fool. She was utterly humiliated. If only she could disappear.
Bianca stood up and said, "A long hot shower's the thing. You'll feel like yourself again. Trust me. I know." She nodded sagely and slipped out, closing the door behind her.
Clio finished her coffee and took Bianca's advice, slowly showering, dressing and packing up her things, as though by stalling she could avoid the inevitable. But the sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could return to her life in Florence and never have to face charming, sexy, dangerous Guillermo Gabriel d' Aldobrandin ever, ever again.
Clio didn't know whether she was more afraid of him or herself. Well, it didn't matter. This time she knew better. She would never again allow herself to be used and discarded by a man like that.
An hour later, after Clio had slipped downstairs and outside to photograph the fountain with its three muses, and the statuary of the grotto and the formal gardens, she returned tentatively to the house by the kitchen door. Voices from the front hall told her where they were. Guillermo, exchanging quiet words with Martino, looked up when she entered.
"Ah, there you are, Bella."
The room seemed to tilt and spin as she dragged her feet forward, holding her camera bag in front of her like a shield. As though that could protect her from the judgement and scorn in his eyes. She felt utterly exposed. Her face flashed hot with fever.
She held her breath as her eyes met his, but she dropped her gaze to the marble tile pattern on the floor, swallowing hard. A cold sweat swamped her shrinking, crawling skin.
Expressionless, he looked away, turning to Marcella. He pulled her into his arms for a warm hug and kissed her cheeks. "I'll be in touch. Don't worry. We'll take care of you no matt
er what happens, cara."
He straightened and spoke to Clio without really looking at her. "The bags are already in the car. Are you ready to go?"
Her ribs squeezed, crushing her chest painfully, slowing her heartbeat to a sluggish thud, thud, thud.
She closed her eyes and drew a breath, swimming in a sea of mortification. Just put one foot in front of the other. You can get through this. Behave in a dignified fashion and you'll get through it. Maybe she'd dreamt half of what she remembered after all.
She cleared her throat, forcing a light tone. "Um-hmm. Yes. Sorry to sleep so late." She smiled shyly at Marcella and Martino, murmuring her thanks for their hospitality, even though, technically, they were staff and Guillermo was her host. Now that she'd faced him, she was impatient to leave.
Stepping out onto the gravel drive, she watched his strong, lean body move around his Alpha Romeo, his muscles bunching in his t-shirt and jeans as he opened the passenger door and waited for her. She slunk in and sank down, gripping her bag on her lap and her knees tightly together. As he strode confidently around the hood of the car and got into his side, pulling the door closed with a soft thunk, she couldn't help a shudder of appreciation for his gorgeous, sexy masculinity and a sizzle of remembered heat.
She should have known better. How could someone like her withstand the persistent company and attentions of a man like him? He was way out of her league. And exactly the kind of man she made a habit of avoiding. The kind of man that only wanted one thing, and would never appreciate her for her intellect, and her accomplishments. What would Father and Mother say if they knew what had happened? Another wave of mortification rippled through her. Thankfully she wasn't a fifteen year old girl anymore.
He waved and pulled out slowly, tires crunching over the gravel. "Are you alright with the top down?"
She nodded, dashing a quick glance at him and then locking her eyes on the road ahead. The wind noise would inhibit conversation. Good.
They drove for some time without talking. At length, the afternoon sun became oppressive and he pulled into a rest stop to close the roof, while she used the restroom and bought a couple of bottles of water. She, at least, was seriously dehydrated and still battling a tremendous headache. Once inside the quieter, cooler confines of the car, he broke the ice.
"I take it you're not feeling too well today," he ventured.
"I have a bit of a headache, yes," she admitted.
Another several minutes of silent road noise passed.
"Clio, I–"
She shot up a hand, palm out. "Don't. Please, don't. I would just rather not." She clutched her elbows, avoiding his gaze, trying to find comfort in the confines of the car, unable to escape his knowing eyes.
"Tutto bene." He kept his eyes straight ahead, his hands on the steering wheel. She clutched her bag on her lap, her chest tight, her breath shallow.
More time passed in silence.
"Clio, listen to me. I want you to know, I think you are so beautiful. Please don't hide yourself away from me. I'm so sorry I left you. I think you are the most sensual woman I have ever known. Last night, I–"
"Guillermo, pleeeease!"
"Clio, you are so incredibly hot, I thought I'd die for wanting you, but I couldn't take advantage."
She moaned and buried her burning face in her hands. She felt hot alright, as though she were on fire, burning with humiliation, sweat blooming between her breasts and shoulder blades.
"I'm trying to understand. I don't know why you hide yourself, why you run away from–"
"Running?" She jerked back, her blood pounding in her ears. "How can you, of all people, accuse me of running away?"
"What?"
"You are the expert on escaping, aren't you? You are always running away. What was last night anyway? You seduce everyone to join you in your dangerous, chaotic, mindless escape from reason and order and responsibility. You lead everyone on a crazy dance, Guillermo, yourself most of all."
He hesitated, just a beat. "You blame me for getting you drunk?"
"Yes. No. That's not the point. How could you even orchestrate such an evening with everything that had happened yesterday?"
Guillermo scowled. "You are afraid to live. That is your problem."
"No, you are afraid to live. You hide from everything that is real."
He gaped at her. He sputtered, unable to form words.
"Life is not all fun and games, Guillermo. It is embracing your destiny and… and rising up to deal with it. Being the best that you can be."
"Is that your belief? Really? Phhtt. Life is choosing, Clio. You decide what you want, how you want to live, who you are."
Clio turned her head to gaze unseeing out the passenger window, waiting for her pulse to slow, for her heated body to cool, for her tense muscles to release their ruthless grip on her. Her thoughts were jumbled, too tossed by emotion and passion to make sense of. The countryside rolled by, anger and frustration radiating off of Guillermo like the hot Tuscan sun off the pavement that unfurled before them in an endless strip.
At last, calmer, she said, "I know I offered to help you with research. To look into some programs for you, and whatnot."
He scowled, shot a glance at her that said, What the hell are you talking about?
"About the villa. I'm afraid I'll have to retract the offer. I don't know what I was thinking. I have to focus on writing my thesis now. I'm really out of time, and Dr. Jovi's patience is running thin." Her voice was cold. Formal. Distant.
There, that took care of that. Now they'd have no further need to see each other. That had been worrying her for quite a few kilometers. She couldn't have him calling or dropping in to ask for help, confused about their relationship.
He drew a slow, deep breath, and his voice matched hers, curt and hard-edged. "It doesn't matter now. Yesterday, Mad Richie called Andreas with an offer, and after Jacopo and I discussed it, we decided it was too generous to pass up. That's why Jacopo went back to town. The papers are being drawn up now. The sale will go ahead in thirty days." He paused, but she said nothing, just stared at his hard profile, aghast. "So you see, although I appreciated your offer of assistance, Clio, it won't be necessary after all." His smile was hard.
"How could you?" Her voice was tremulous. She blinked, shaking her head. "You're running away again. You're not the man I thought you were."
His dark eyebrows rose up, and his beautiful sensual lips twitched as he worked to suppress a smile. "You're not the woman I thought you were."
"Oohh!" She released a guttural roar. "You insufferable, obnoxious, detestable man." A hot flash shot through her body, making her suddenly sweat as her pulse kicked up again, pounding in her ears. She flung her water bottle at his head, and he flinched and ducked as it bounced off his deflecting elbow.
"Gesu! Calm down, woman." He laughed. He actually laughed.
"I hate you."
He pinched his mouth together and had the sense to say nothing while she fumed, her brain a disordered mass of thoughts and emotions. She withdrew inward, unable to focus on one thing, except to know that she didn't want to look at him, or hear him or touch him ever again.
For the remainder of the ride, other than shooting her a glance from time to time, he did not attempt further conversation. Once they entered the Firenze city confines, he had to concentrate on the mad crush of Sunday traffic. Then at last, thankfully, he pulled up in front of her apartment and cut the engine. He stepped out, going to the trunk.
She flung her door open and lunged onto the side of the road, desperate to get away from him. She marched toward her building, stalled, and spun to find him standing right behind her. She yanked her suitcase from his hand. "Thank you for showing me the villa."
Without warning, he gripped her head between his hands, covering her mouth with his. She tried to protest, pushing him away with her free hand while struggling to hang onto her bag with the other. Her head buzzed as blood shot through her veins, her heart pounding wildly. She twist
ed out of his grip with a gasp of protest.
He broke the kiss and pulled away, peering at her with a roguish grin on his face.
"Good bye!"
"Grazie, Clio. Mi hai incantata, Bella," he murmured. You have enchanted me.
She spun on her heel and left him standing on the sidewalk.
Guillermo sat at the table with his head in his hands, his face down. He found it almost impossible to meet the eyes of his siblings, who sat around the table with him at Andreas Fitucci's office. Why was he taking so long? He wanted to get this damned thing over with and go home. He wanted to crack open a cold beer and sit on his sofa watching Formula 1 racing or some other mindless numbing thing. He wanted to be alone.
"I'm glad you made it to town, Pia," Jacopo said. His tension was visible in every line of his face, in his hunched shoulders, in the way his Adam's apple bobbed each time he swallowed, as though his mouth was too dry.
Pia's face was pinched, her complexion grey-tinged. "It's all right, Jacopo. It will be all right. We will be all right." She laid a hand on his arm, briefly, then removed it, as though he were a too hot pot on the stove.
Jacopo nodded but did not seem convinced, repeatedly stroking his lips with the fingers of his left hand. The gesture was familiar. Guillermo remembered how Jacopo used to have a favorite blanket, and how he always stroked his lips with it when he was stressed or overtired. How Mama pleaded with him and argued with him to give it up when it became soiled, tattered, and when Jacopo was patently too old to need it anymore and it became an embarrassment. Now, Guillermo couldn't recall when or how he had finally let go of it, and adopted this mannerism in its place.
"I'm sorry, you know I am sorry. I would undo it if I could, but there is no way. It is too late. The debt just too large. I was never cut out for this, the estate management. You know that."
The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1) Page 15