The thought of his ancestral home being used by students of design and history, who would love and value it, somehow didn't bother him nearly as much as Richie's decadent plans. Reluctantly, he would go back to putting the finishing touches on Richie's media room and recording studio, and the new ensuite bathrooms that were more numerous than statues, as well as the new pool and cabana.
He tried to be objective, as though he really were putting these ideas forward to a client. They had to be clever, tasteful and convincing, but he was second-guessing every decision, every detail. If he were the slightest bit glib or heavy-handed with his designs, Richie would sense something was up. He couldn't suggest something that would be offensive if this scheme really went ahead.
Guillermo had to give the guy credit, he really did care. Richie wanted what he wanted, but he didn't mean to destroy the villa in the process. He wanted something first rate. Guillermo liked him and wanted to do right by him. But at the same time, when Guillermo wore his architect's hat, it galled him that he was holding back. He couldn't be his usual bold and creative self. He wasn't able to serve his client's needs to the best of his ability, because of his devotion to his ancestral home and traditions, and because in his heart this renovation would never happen. Could never happen. He was torn in so many directions, it was a wonder he could design a thing.
"I can't do this," he muttered. He grabbed clumps of his hair, shaking his head, his jaw clenched tight.
Clio stopped typing, hands in the air. "What?"
"I am a bidonista, deceiving Richie this way. He doesn't deserve it."
"I know. I feel guilty, too. But what choice do we have? We can't withdraw from the sale agreement until every alternative is locked in place. And he forced your hand."
He loved it when she said 'we.' It gave him hope. Warmth swirled in his groin, and his heart squeezed. She didn't know what that did to him, or what vague ill-formed hopes floated at the back of his mind. "To tell the truth, I'm also a bit worried that he'll sue. For breaching the terms of the contract when we unveil this. That's all we need. Lawyer's bills and damages."
Clio sighed. "If only he would stumble upon some other villa, and fall in love with it instead. Then he'd go away of his own accord and leave us alone."
He stared at her, the bottom half of her face hidden, only her lovely aquamarine eyes and freckled nose floating over the screen. She'd spoken dreamily, barely aware of what she had suggested. A bubble of hopefulness buoyed him, lifting his chest, like a burst of pure oxygen. An amazed smile stretched his mouth. Her fox-red brows rose in question. "What now?"
He blinked. Blinked again, his mind racing. Saliva swamped his mouth, and he swallowed. Was it possible? Why hadn't he thought of this before? "You are brilliant, Bella!" He stood up, rounded the table and hauled her up, crushing her in his arms, lifting her off the floor and spinning. He laughed.
The air rushed out of her lungs with a faint cry of astonishment. "Wha–?"
He badly wanted to kiss her, but set her down and away from him. He picked up his phone and scrolled to Andreas Fitucci's number, clicking while Clio stood, her expression bewildered.
"Senior d' Aldobrandin. What can I do for you?"
"Andreas. I've been thinking. What other properties have you shown Richie, or might you have shown him, if he hadn't settled on ours?"
"Uh, but, aren't we–"
"Just hypothetically. I'm curious about the competition, if you know what I mean?"
Clio's eyes widened.
"Well there were several. Most of which he didn't like at all. But I had a few options that might have done, with a little fixing up."
"Aha. Perfetto. Could I… Ah, could you send them to me? Photos, floor plans, any information you have on file?" His pulse raced with excitement, ideas and images already forming in his mind's eye. His pulse thundered, driving adrenaline racing through his veins like a drug, making him feel more awake, more alive. It was like when he rode or ran, the risk, the speed, the thrill was exhilarating.
"Er. I, uh…"
"I'll explain everything later. Right now it's just an idea in my head. Don't worry. You'll do just fine."
"I'm afraid to ask, but… tutti bene. I'll send you an email."
"Grazie.” He hung up and beamed at Clio. "Clio! I've been underestimating my own talents, Bella. Listen to this. What if we found another property that, with a little help from me, could temp Richie away? Something so fabulous he'd thank me for it?"
Understanding dawned, her face opening with delight. "I'd say you were the brilliant one, Guillermo d' Aldobrandin."
He belly laughed. "You haven't seen anything yet." And then he couldn't help himself, he did kiss her. Most surprising of all, she kissed him back.
Clio clung to Guillermo like a limpet to a stone, her mouth on his, her body pressing urgently. She didn't know if it was this latest insight of his, added to his charm, his beauty, his steadfastness, his many talents, just the feather that tipped the scales of her mounting desire, or simply that the moment was right, and her will had finally dissolved. She hadn't been able to think of anything but this since the night Father had called, the night Memmo had unlocked her desire. The thought of being with him filled her with a fizzing joyful feeling, and she wanted more of it. She wanted him, and she wanted him now.
His arms, hesitant at first as though shocked by her response, came around her, gripping handfuls of her shirt, cupping her bottom with a groan, threading into her hair, pulling it loose from its ties as he returned her hungry kiss. Her body lit on fire at his rough touch, the way his hot mouth took possession of hers, the sound that came from his throat, as though he were in pain.
He pulled away slowly, his face tense, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Clio, what… I'm sorry, Bella…I, oh, ugh…"
He leaned back, released her and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking down. For a fleeting moment, she worried that she'd misjudged, that he didn't really want her, even though she knew he desired her, and had done so since they'd first met. Hadn't she been swatting his hands away, scorning his charming compliments, pushing space between them, for weeks? What was he doing now?
Her eyes followed his downward. They were still pressed hipbone to hipbone, close enough to feel each other's radiating heat. She could feel how hard he was. He throbbed against her. Or was that her own blood pulsing between her legs? They both breathed audibly. Her head swum.
He definitely was hot for her, so what…?
"Oh. Is it Marcella and Martino?" She released her death grip on him, slid down his body and glanced to the door, her heart fluttering with nerves. Cool air stole between their heated bodies, and she felt the tug of regret, like a lost opportunity, slipping away, a bright effervescent moment, like the memory of a lovely song that skips through your mind, but then stutters and skids away, and you can't even remember its name, you can't reach it. "Of course. We couldn't–" Her eyes dropped to his chest, her face flooding with heat, embarrassed at her lack of discretion.
"Clio…" Guillermo's voice was choked, and she looked up, met his eyes. "It's not that."
She frowned, puzzled. Why were they even talking?
"They are away. I gave them the weekend off."
Her eyebrows rose. It was true. She hadn't seen them all day. "Oh?"
"No. Not because I thought…" He swallowed. "I thought we'd be working. We have so much to do I thought that it would be safe. That I wouldn't be tempt… well, that at least I would be able to control myself. But I didn't expect you to…"
"I'm sorr…" Clio almost apologized, and then realized, she wasn't sorry. He did want her, but thought she would not want him. That she would push him away again. A mischievous smile stole across her lips, and she dropped her chin, glancing up at him. "You mean that we are alone in the villa?"
He stopped talking, his features arrested, quizzical. "Si."
Tilting her head up, she met his eyes, her smile widening naughtily.
"Clio?"
"Si?"
>
For an endless moment, Guillermo gazed down at her, his blue eyes darkening with understanding, lust flaring his nostrils.
"What do you have in mind?"
She stepped away from him, her pulse skipping, dropping her voice to a seductive whisper. "Well… I was thinking, since we are alone, and there is no one to see us… well, that, for example, if I were feeling a bit warm, and wanted to… undo a button or two on my shirt. That would be alright?" She lightly touched the buttons at the top of her shirt, toying with the top one, slowly slipping it free.
Guillermo's mouth opened, but he didn't speak. His eyes, though they were locked on her fingers, seemed clouded, almost to be seeing something else, something in his imagination. "Gesu, Clio." He swallowed, his Adam's apple sliding up and down his bronzed neck.
She stopped moving. Tilted her head to one side. Doubt fluttered through her heart, a little shadow of insecurity. "You don't want…?"
"Aa-ahh. I want. Yes, I want. You." His hand slid down and pressed his groin, and he squirmed, adjusting his twitching erection in his pants. "Bella."
"Benissimo." A jolt of heat shot through her at his gesture as images of his tanned, toned body flashed through her mind, sending fissures of fire through her veins, to her core, pooling between her legs. Suddenly she needed to be close to him, skin on skin. What had she been waiting for? She continued to unfasten her buttons, while he stood like a statue, wooden, stunned, his breath rasping, watching her every movement. He swallowed slowly, with difficulty.
She turned away, slipped her shirt off of her shoulders, glanced back at him, taunting. She felt like a sixties movie star, a coy but wild Jane Fonda to Robert Redford in Barefoot in the Park, their roles suddenly reversed. She dropped her eyes, feeling her face flush with heat. A nervous laugh bubbled to her lips at the thought. She, Clio, was trying to temp the reluctant, work-obsessed Guillermo into letting go. I've lost my mind. What am I doing?
She was having fun. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she felt free to have fun, to let go. Her improbable, astonishing partnership with Guillermo had opened a door for her, allowed her to see, to feel, that she had worth, that she could contribute something of herself that came naturally, and, amazingly, be appreciated for it. Be admired. For herself. For her mind of course, her clever contribution to solving his problem, but also for her body and soul. She could see it in his eyes. Bright haunting blue, shimmering beacons focusing on her like an obsessed artist on his work, leaving no doubt in her mind that he found her desirable, had forgotten his work entirely, that there was nothing shameful in this.
At the thought, a tremor shook her, and she felt a tingling sensation dash across her skin, her stomach suddenly twisting with nausea. A small voice whispered in her head, Oh, no, I'm afraid, I'm afraid. She took her lip between her teeth, uncertain.
His response was to lick his lips and groan, his eyes on her mouth. He was rigid and shaking, a sheen of sweat visible on his upper lip. His obvious desire made her feel brave and reckless. Not like someone else, but more truly herself, for the first time in her life– or at least since she was fifteen. She felt freed from a dark enclosure. A shadowed pressing place that had held her in so long it had almost become part of her.
But yet there was always this part, bright, fluttering, striving. As though she was stepping forward from dark wings onto centre stage to take her bow, the spotlights now shone on her, and the appreciative eyes of the audience were now on her, warming her. She had a bit of stage fright, but the allure was so compelling.
Biting her lip, she let her shirt fall open and turned to face him, lifting her hands to her hair, pulling it free of its tie, raking her fingers through the tangles to shake it out and pull it forward like a veil over her partially exposed breasts. Only his obvious delight tamped down her habitual reticence at letting her wild locks loose, thrusting her breasts toward his admiring gaze. She slid closer, letting her hips sway, keeping her eyes locked on his, which dropped to her breasts, then up, then down again, his expression pained.
With a stifled roar, he closed the distance between them, gripping her sides in his strong hands, pulling her towards him. He bent his head to her neck, devouring her ear, her jaw, her cheek with his hot mouth. Then, with one hand cradling the back of her neck, the other sliding down her spine to the small of her back, lifting her up and hard against his groin, he pulled her to him as his mouth came down over hers. She let her head fall back, her mouth opening to his probing tongue, meeting him half way.
Yes. This is what I want.
He kissed his way across her collarbones to her chest, kissing and licking the mounds of her breasts, muttering a stream of incomprehensible Italian words, his tone disbelieving, as his hands slid up to cup her breasts, his thumbs pausing to circle over her tightening nipples. His touch triggered her senses, her skin tingling and rising up to meet his grazing palms, a shiver traveling up her arms and down her back, as much a memory of the other night as a response to this moment. She clenched the muscles in her butt and legs, and a tremor shook her. "Memmo!" Her knees felt weak, and she fell against him, feeling his hardness press against her soft belly as his arms locked around her.
He kissed her again and again, muttering endearments. There was no question, love sounded tremendously better in Italian, and she ate it up, ready to let go. She felt him tense up. He steadied her, lifting his head, panting. "Clio. Do you know what you're doing? Have you been drinking too much wine or something? Because I can't…" His voice broke. "I can't stop this time."
She smiled up at him. "I'm not drunk. Except on you. I can't resist you anymore. I know exactly what I'm doing. And I don't want you to stop."
That was all the reassurance he needed. Suddenly he'd torn off his own shirt and hers and tossed them away. He pulled her down onto the rug, and they were rolling over and over, his hard thigh pressing the hot need between her legs, his delicious weight on top of her. She traced the lean muscles of his stomach, his rippling ribs, combing her fingers through the dark hair that dusted his chest.
He paused, gasping. "Do you want… should we go upstairs? Find a more comfortable–?"
"No. Let's not. This feels naughtier." Who is this crazy, uninhibited woman? I don't recognize myself. But, in fact, Clio did. Guillermo had seen through her shell, and loved what he saw, and given her permission to be herself, to be real. And she wanted that so badly.
She stroked a hand across the old carpet beneath them. It was worn thin with the years, and would offer no comfort, but she loved this room, the wood paneling, the book-lined walls, the painted vault of the ceiling far above. If Clio had dreamt of a perfect place to make love to Guillermo for the first time, she couldn't have come up with a better plan. Old libraries had been both her great passion, and her prison. But this room was her favorite in the villa, and Guillermo's too.
He laughed and gently peeled the rest of her clothes from her limbs, sliding sensuous kisses over her arms, her ribs, her naked breasts. He caressed and kissed her thighs with a sigh, murmuring words of love and admiration that made Clio feel like a heavenly queen. She helped him unfasten his pants and kick them off, and caught her breath as his Latin beauty was finally fully exposed, his erection springing free. Tawny sun-kissed skin. Firm, lean legs, his hair tickling hers as their legs slid together, feet tangling, stroking. His skillful, sensitive fingertips traced her curves and dips, touched every place, every point, with a confidence and knowledge that she knew came of much experience, but she put it from her mind, knowing only that it was she who was the beneficiary tonight, and reveling in it.
She tried to return the favor, tried not to feel self-conscious and clumsy, skimming her cool hands over his wide shoulders and sinewy back, sliding down to caress the amazing firm curve of his ass as he pressed his thick silky erection against her, the pressure and suspense building inside her, thrumming. He slipped a hand between their bodies, sliding his long fingers over her mound, into her groove, circling and pressing her so gently, and dipping
into her wet, welcoming centre. A shuddering sigh escaped her, and his luscious mouth captured it, kissing her with such devotion, such attention and sensual immersion, Clio was certain that was enough, that she would orgasm again just from the sensation of his delicious tongue stroking her mouth, his fingers inside her wet core. His kisses made all prior kisses fade from her memory, becoming ash.
Raising his hand, he slipped his wet fingers into his mouth, his eyes closing, his dark lashes brushing sensually against his cheeks. Then he slid down, sprinkling kisses along her neck, nipples, ribs and belly. If he kisses me like that, again, I'll disintegrate. I'll surely die.
But it was a good kind of death, and she realized she wanted it. She wanted him, and she wasn't afraid anymore.
Her body trembled uncontrollably, the burn intense now, and her need for release mounted urgently, drawing hungry moans and desperate whimpers from her throat. He knew better than she did, as she knew he would, this body of hers.
"Sei tutto ciò che voglio. Hai conquistato il mio cuore."
Her heart swelled with delight, hoping that were true, and pushed away the thought of all those other women he had known. He could have anyone, yet he was here with her. But once he'd taken her, would the draw be so strong? "Perhaps for this moment," she mumbled, thinking that he would not say such things in a calmer moment, but nevertheless they were lovely to hear. He made her feel special, desirable, beautiful. She felt beloved. Anything he chose to say to her, to do to her, she would welcome, and think herself blessed.
The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1) Page 21