The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1)

by M A Clarke Scott

  "Nonsense. Nonsense. I want to see my little girl. Jovi tells me you're writing at last. I want to go over the outline and premise with you before you get too far into it."

  Guillermo's face twisted in disbelief, his eyes questioning.

  Clio stared at him, deadpanned, clenching her teeth. This was so mortifying. She couldn't explain how controlling, how domineering, Father was. She couldn't say anything to him. "I know how you like to check up on me, Father, but I'm doing fine. And I know how busy you are. Maybe I could just email the outline to you, if you want to look at it. I think it's good." As though Dr. Jovi hadn't already done so. Father just had to tinker. He had to come and put his own spin on her work, give it his stamp of approval.

  Guillermo's brows came down, fiercely shadowing his eyes, rendering them blue-black. His jaw jutted forward.

  "You don't look well, sweetheart. Have you been having headaches again?"

  "No, Father. I'm just a bit tired. I've been working hard. You'd be proud of me."

  Guillermo grinned and gave an exaggerated, mime-like nod.

  "Well. All the more reason to visit. But I'd like to feel assured that you're going in the right direction. You don't want to waste time now. Jovi seemed to indicate that you were distracted. To tell the truth, I'm a bit concerned. You'd better not be stargazing again. You can't afford to mess up so close to the end, Clio. Soon you'll be one of us."

  At this, Guillermo's jaw dropped open. He blinked, frowned, then stuck out his tongue at the back of her computer screen.

  Clio nearly lost it. She drew a deep breath, fighting for calm, glaring at Guillermo. She stroked her forehead with her fingertips. There was no point arguing with Father. Once he'd made up his mind, there was no negotiating. "When were you thinking of coming, then?"

  "In a few days. A week at most."

  Guillermo shook his head and bugged out his eyes in mock terror.

  She pressed her lips together to stop from laughing.

  "Is there someone there with you?"

  "What? No, of course not. Where are you now?"

  "Athens. I'll book my flight tonight and let you know."

  "Okay, then. If you insist. What about Mother?"

  "Mm. She's in Prague this month."

  "Ah."

  Father was silent for a minute or two, gazing down at his desk, shuffling papers. Then, without looking up, not that their eye contact was real anyway, he said, "Look Clio, I sense you're being evasive. We can't afford any more delays. Jovi's time is valuable. Space at the Accademia is limited. And after that automobile incident, I can't keep throwing good money after bad. It's time you wrapped this up and got on with your life. I had a call from Dr. Broughton about a junior position."

  Clio's chest squeezed, her breath thin and shallow. She could't look up to meet Guillermo's eyes.

  "What are you saying?"

  "I can't give you any more extensions. I have to pull the plug if you don't wrap this up."

  "But, Father, I'm doing fine now. I–" She looked up and nearly choked. Guillermo had stood up, and was silently gyrating with his shirt pulled up to reveal his gorgeous, lean abs, simultaneously stroking his belly and his butt, giving her the most ludicrous, lascivious bedroom eyes.

  She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. She coughed. "Ahem. No, Father, there's no–"

  Guillermo was stifling his own laughter, and she kept her eyes trained on Father's grim, blurry face.

  "You've got a month, Clio. You've got a month to submit. That's why I want to help with your outline. We can make certain you get to the finish line."

  "Father. It's my thesis. And my career. I don't want to go to Ohio anyway. I'd rather–"

  "Believe me, Clio. You can't shake a stick at Ohio. It's a good start for you. Success or failure will rest on your shoulders. Your Mother and I can't baby you anymore. It's high time you proved what you're made of."

  "Then let me."

  "Don't be peevish now. I'll see you soon."

  She looked up. Guillermo was gone. No, he was lying on the floor, playing dead, apparently. She held her breath. Strangely, though Father's calls typically made her quake, this time she felt a strange sort of distance, and although she was rankled, she wasn't nearly as annoyed as she would usually be.

  The moment Father ended the call, she shouted, "Guillermo. I almost peed my pants."

  In an instant he was revived, and dived back onto the sofa, enveloping her in his arms, and smothering her face and neck with noisy kisses until they both collapsed from laughter and tears.

  "Excuse me but… your papa is a cazzone."

  She sobered. "Guillermo. This isn't the least bit funny."

  Chapter 21

  Guillermo could hardly contain his agitation. It was partly desire, partly rage at her exasperating, pompous bully of a father. His fists clenched with the urge to rip something apart.

  He was pulsing, hard, overcome with an uncontrollable urge to ride or fight or fuck. His cock throbbed, pushing at his fly. This was dangerous. He couldn't let his crazy passion loose on Clio. It would terrify her.

  To let off steam, he broke from kissing her to tickling her ribs and underarms. She squeaked and bucked under him, only fanning the fire. His hands, trembling to take her full breasts and squeeze them, slid down her ribs to her hips. He dug his thumbs into the corners of her pelvic bone, in that spot he knew was wildly ticklish. She threw her head back, exposing her creamy long neck, screamed and kicked, laughing hysterically, and they rolled from the sofa onto the floor, knocking into the coffee table.

  They were breathing heavily, giggling and barking with laughter. He gritted his teeth, his eyes feasting on her gorgeous flaming hair, wild and messy now, radiating out from her face, which was flushed, her eyes sparkling, her lips parted, red, wet.

  He groaned and covered her mouth with his. She gasped in his mouth, and he thrust his tongue into her, hard, dragging the tip across the roof of her mouth, capturing her tongue and sucking, thrusting again, in his mind, fucking her the way he dreamed of doing. She stilled under him.

  He ground his groin into her soft stomach, slipped a leg between hers, and buried his face in the crook of her neck, moaning. They lay still, his pulse throbbing, his rigid cock pressing against her, pulsing, thud, thud and thud. Blood whooshed in his ears, in his head, in his cock, and he shook with the effort of being still. He must not behave like an animal. This was Clio. Clio. His angel.

  She squirmed under him. He felt her hips press up into him. "Don't do that, Clio," he ground out between clenched teeth. "I am already dying here. Don't make it worse."

  Her hands, resting lightly on his shoulder blades, slid down lightly, fluttering across his shirt with just enough friction to cause his skin to thrill at her touch. He shuddered. "Memmo," her voice was a feather light whisper. He heard her swallow.

  "Do you want me, Bella?"

  She exhaled. "I'm not insensate."

  He waited. Could she be relenting? Would she love him the way he wanted her to?

  "I'm afraid. You will take your pleasure, and then you will laugh at me. Or you will disappear and cower the way men do, afraid of the consequences of slaking your lust on a woman. And then what? Where will we be?"

  "I need you, Bella. You don't know how I need you."

  "We need each other, Memmo. For the villa. What would happen if–" She stopped.

  "Don't you trust me?"

  There was a long, long pause, and he felt her breathing still, and her heart pounding behind her ribs.

  "Clio?"

  "I want to Memmo. I don't know. I can't help thinking…"

  He pushed back, and their eyes met. Hers were shadowed with some dark thoughts, flickering with painful memories. "What? What happened to you, cara? Why are you so afraid of love?"

  She glanced away.

  He sat up, pulling her up, and they leaned back against the bottom of the sofa, shoulder to shoulder. He slipped his hand around hers, interlacing their fingers. "Tell me." />
  She sighed, long and pensively, and he waited.

  And he listened to a story of her youth. Guillermo could picture her, fifteen years old, tanned golden, freckled, her wild red hair flowing, her womanly curves blossoming under the Mediterranean sun, on the beautiful white beaches of Greece. Free to wander, explore, and befriend the local teens, and the other ones, on vacation like herself.

  But, she told him, it was a local boy that she became especially close to. Hektor, only a year older. Tall, slender, dark, strong, with sparkling dark eyes and a flashing white smile. So charming. She fell in love with his fiery nature, his sensuality, and his free and reckless ways. Clio told him that he, Guillermo, reminded her of this boy, and that made it harder. It made her want him, but even more afraid.

  He stroked his thumb in circles across the back of her hand while she talked, aware of her physically, so close, and yet with this barrier between them, keeping them apart.

  Clio recounted that she and Hektor walked the hills around the village, played, frolicked on the beach. And he awoke in her a passionate nature that had lain dormant. Day by day that summer, they had grown more intimate, more bold, exploring each other's bodies, awakening the hungry, carnal beast of lust.

  The remainder of the day, the sun arcing across the room, the noises of Firenza outside the window, went by unnoticed. Guillermo's awareness of her body and his own was heightened. His desire for her only grew more intense as she spoke, yet he knew he could not act on it. She was trusting him with her secrets, sharing her fear. He couldn't do anything to threaten her, to break that fragile trust. His heart hammered steadily against his ribs, loud in his ears like the crash of the surf on the shores of Mykonos, as if he were there with her, so that he held his breath and strained to hear her soft voice over the thunder of the waves.

  Clio knew they were young for it, both she and Hektor still virginal, but their connection was strong and their blood hot. It seemed inevitable that eventually they would take the last step. And they did. And it was beautiful, if clumsy. It would have made a beautiful memory. But her father had ruined it, like the ancient ruins he studied to death, smashing it into rubble and dust.

  Clio began to shake, and Guillermo slipped his hand from her grip and put it around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side, stroking her hair gently, murmuring soothing sounds as she talked.

  Her father had been searching for her. It was late, later than usual she supposed, and he had got a little worried, even though it was normal for her to be out with her friends in the long summer nights. How he knew to look there, at that particular private cove, she never found out. But he did. And though they heard him approach, saw his huge bulging shadow bearing down on them, they could not disentangle themselves and get their clothes on quickly enough. He'd seen everything in the blaze of his flashlight.

  He was livid, hauling Hektor off of her by his hair, slapping him so hard he flew back onto the damp sand with a crunch, and dragging the crying Clio home, half dressed, fully, utterly humiliated.

  Guillermo rubbed her shoulder and stroked her arm, trying to warm her and settle her tremors. His throat ached, and he swallowed against the tightness. Now he understood. He was relieved on the one hand, furious with her father on the other, but those feelings could wait. Now he wondered only what he could do to comfort her.

  Tears crept steadily down her cheeks, and she dipped her chin, hiding her face behind the curtain of her tumbled curls. He lifted her, pulling her into his lap. He pushed her hair back from her face and wiped her damp cheeks, kissing the top of her head and her brow. "Bella, mi cara. Grazie."

  She continued. In the aftermath, Clio was virtually confined to their house for two weeks. Whenever she ventured out, under close supervision, her face flaming with shame, she searched the town for Hektor, but found only the smirks and laughing eyes of her so-called friends and other townspeople. Once, she thought she caught a glimpse of him, but if it were him, he'd quickly disappeared around the corner of a building. She never saw him again, even though it was a very small village. Then she was shipped back to boarding school. Forever chastened.

  "Ah, mi Clio." Guillermo wrapped his arms around her tightly, and held her until she seemed calmer. His chest filled with gratitude that she trusted him, that she confided in him at last. It meant something. "La ringrazio per avermi avvertito, e la ringrazio per la fiducia."

  She filled her lungs and exhaled loud and long, with a shudder, as though in purging her secret, she had also purged her shame.

  "It was wrong of him," he said. "Horribly wrong. You were young and exploring your sensuality. This is normal and good. There is no shame in that. I'm so sorry, cara." He kissed her hair again, and she sighed.

  He paused, thinking. "Do you trust me, Clio?"

  She whimpered and nodded faintly.

  "Let me show you something. Let me help you." He slid her off of his lap, rotating her so she sat on the floor between his legs, leaning back against his chest. He kept his arms wrapped loosely around her. "Do you remember that second night at Villa Cielo Incantato? When we all got drunk?"

  She drew in a sharp breath and stilled.

  He brushed his hands lightly up and down her arms. "You felt ashamed, si? Because you let down your guard, forgot yourself, and you allowed yourself to feel."

  She nodded, and he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, feeling its softness brushing his face. He lifted it away from her shoulder, baring it, and dropped his face to the crook of her neck, breathing against her.

  "Mmm. We never spoke about it afterwards. You were so frantic the next morning. Let me tell you how I felt that night. What you did to me."

  "I…oh–"

  "Shhh. Don't speak. Just listen.You were so beautiful, Clio. I wanted you so badly. I was on fire for you. I thought I would shatter into a million fragments, with you swaying and gyrating in my arms." As he spoke, he continued exhaling hot moist breath through her blouse, against her neck and shoulder. His groin tightened at the memory of her that night, feeling the weight of her soft curving ass against him. Now, his hands slid down to rest against her hips on either side, resisting the urge to thrust up, but not able to stop the throb of blood that surged into his cock at the thought of it. "Do you remember what you did? What you did with my hands?"

  A small sound emerged from her throat, reluctant and fearful.

  "Do it again, Bella. Trust me, cara. I won't hurt you. I won't laugh at you. I promise." He slid one hand over her stomach and stopped there, waiting for her. "Close your eyes and remember. I will close my eyes. It is safe."

  She didn't move for so long, he thought she'd forgotten, or was too afraid. At last, her hand slid over his, then she guided his other hand up, across her stomach, her ribs to her breasts.

  "Mmm. Mi Bella. I am so hot for you. I love your breasts. I love your body. You are beautiful and sensual. I knew it the first night I saw you. I have burned for you ever since."

  She didn't speak, but left his hands there, cupping her breasts, her chest rising and falling against them. He gently kneaded them, rubbing them with his palms, feeling her nipples harden, and his cock respond.

  Her breathing became more rapid, and her head fell back against his shoulder. He pressed his face against the side of her head, moving his lips over her ear, letting her hear and feel his own excited breath, dipping his tongue into her ear, and pulling her lobe between his teeth.

  She lifted the pressure from his right hand until her palm barely grazed it, the skin on his knuckles tingling, the hairs rising, and then she gently guided his hand down, down, down until it rested over the vee between her legs. She wore a light cotton blouse, and thin summer capri pants, the fabric no barrier to their exchange of heat and friction. Once there, she stilled, leaving him to take the next step.

  He groaned and murmured words of praise and delight into her ear, rubbing her mound, and slipping his fingers between her legs. She was hot, and he could feel her seeping moisture through the fabri
c of her pants. "Mio Dio, Bella. You are hot. You are so sexy." She squirmed against his hand in response.

  A moment later, not satisfied with stroking her, he pushed her forward and laid her gently on the floor, cradling her head in his hand, feeling his way. He kept his eyes closed, and assumed she did the same. Then he knelt over her, straddling her. He would not remove any clothing. As much as he felt himself swollen and throbbing with wanting her, he would do nothing for himself tonight, other than give her pleasure. He thought only of Clio.

  Bending over her, Guillermo slid his lips and tongue down her cheek and neck, pulling aside the collar of her blouse to kiss and lick and suck at the delicate skin of her collar bone, feeling the gooseflesh rise over the soft mounds of her breasts. Then he smoothed the fabric down and opened his mouth, covering the crest of her breast, exhaling his heated breath over her. She arched her back, moaning, and thrust her breast closer. He pulled at her taut nipple, suckling her through the fabric until it was wet and translucent, biting her while massaging and pinching the other. When she was squirming under him, he switched breasts and did the same until her breathing hitched and quickened.

  He grunted, involuntarily thrusting against her, pressing his erection on her leg, clenching his jaw, trembling, waiting a moment to regain control while his heart pounded in his ears. He forced the images of him tearing off her clothes from his mind. This was for Clio, only Clio. Stronzo, this was taking all the self-mastery he had, and then some. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He wanted to fuck her so madly, he was wild with need.

  He slid his chest down between her legs, pulling the hem of her blouse out of her waistband, slipping his fingertips under the edge to gently stroke the silken quivering skin of her stomach. She shivered and moaned, and he pressed his face against her breasts and ground his erection into the floor.

  "Cazzo IO TI voglio così male, Clio," he murmured, panting. "You are so gorgeous, so hot, so fucking sexy. There is no one like you. I want you. I need you." Then he slid further down, and placed his open mouth over her core, biting down on her and growling, taking a deep breath and exhaling, slowly enveloping her in his moist hot breath until a keening sound rose up out of her.