Blue Collar Romeo

by Jenny Gardiner

  “I’m glad you understand.” He nodded. “Because the rest of my family doesn’t seem to grasp it so much.”

  “Yeah, well, now that I’m honorary family and all, leave it to me to smooth over the ruffled feathers. At our next family gathering.”

  “They’ll get over it.” He laughed. “I know my mamma already understands. I worked so hard on the woodwork when we built our new corporate headquarters, finally she could see the fruits of my labor.”

  “So tell me about this passion of yours,” she said, placing her hand on his. “I’d like to hear all about it.”

  He reached for her elbow and guided her, his hand at her back, toward an alcove with a small love seat. He motioned for her to sit down, then took the spot next to her.

  “I want to be sure I’m not boring you too much,” he said with a grin. “This way if you start to nod off, you won’t have far to fall.”

  Gisele waved her hand at him. “Nonsense. I can’t wait to hear about it.”

  “So my eldest brother Sandro, who became our surrogate father after Papà passed, had ambitious plans to build a grand headquarters for Cantine dei Marchesi Romeo wines, one that would attract tourists, a destination venue. As the plans progressed, it became even more grandiose, and the final outcome was a collaboration with the premier architects and building specialists the world over, who helped to create this gorgeous building. It’s environmentally friendly, designed to blend in harmony with the landscape. Whenever possible, we used natural local resources in the building and decorating of it. It’s truly a work of art in the Tuscan countryside, and the inside, mamma mia, it’s breathtaking.” He kissed his fingertips in emphasis.

  Gisele had leaned forward to listen more closely. She could barely concentrate on his words, transfixed as she was with his looks, not to mention the feel of his hard legs practically pressed up next to hers. This man was so interesting, and so, well, sensual, the way his hands moved as he spoke as if they were speaking a whole different language. She tried to picture those strong, rough hands roaming her body and found herself stifling a groan.

  “I’d love to see your contributions to the project,” she said.

  “Really?” he said. “If you’re serious, my laptop is back at the palace. Maybe I can bring it over to your apartment and show you some images.”

  Gisele arched her brow. If this was anything like bringing his “etchings” to show her... well, she’d be totally on board. And maybe she could show him some of her own “etchings.” After all, it had been far too long since she’d been up close and personal with a man.

  She reached into her small clutch and found a breath mint, which she discreetly slipped into her mouth.

  “I’d say now’s as good a time as any.” She winked, stood up, and held out her hand. It was time to see some of those images. Or better yet, make some of their own.

  Chapter Two

  Tomasso Romeo was most definitely not interested in another relationship with a woman. He didn’t have the time, he didn’t have the interest, and he certainly didn’t have the emotional energy. His crazy ex-girlfriend Liliana Brunetti had sucked the give-a-shit right out of him, and he was gun-shy. It was hard to say when he finally realized how very whacked she was, but by then the damage to his psyche had been done.

  It could have been when she set up fake Facebook accounts to stalk him online after he unfriended her because she’d started bad-mouthing him on his wall, where she claimed he had a penis the size of an inchworm. It might have been when she showed up at a restaurant to spy on him—even though he was there with his cousin Isabella, who had been in Florence visiting a friend and called him last minute to meet up for drinks. Didn’t help matters that she started calling Isabella—the Princess Royal of Monaforte, mind you—a dirty whore for sleeping with her man. Yeah. He wasn’t sleeping with his royal cousin.

  No, actually, he could pinpoint precisely when he realized he was dealing with a woman who would drive him to the brink of insanity if he didn’t shake her like a baby rattle, prontissimo. It was when he tried to break up with her and she told him he wasn’t allowed. He wasn’t allowed. As if there were some contractual obligation to stay with a lunatic of a woman he wasn’t even committed to! He’d met her on an online dating site and she was beautiful, no doubt about it. But, he learned the hard way, beauty does not equate to mental or emotional stability. They’d only dated for a month or so when he’d started trying to extricate himself from her clutches, once she demanded they see each other every single bloody damned day, though it took several long, frustrating months until he finally succeeded.

  At last, a strongly worded letter from his attorney got that kook off his back once and for all, and now he was determined not to have anyone else clinging to him for the next, oh, decade or so. No, thank you. Chicks were officially off-limits. It helped that he was heading off to New York for a mentorship program in fine woodworking, and he would be too busy to deal with distractions like the opposite sex (not to mention sex itself) anyhow.

  His brother Lorenzo laughed at him, warning him he couldn’t go without a woman simply because he couldn’t be without sex. But he took that as a challenge and became determined to prove him wrong. In fact, he went as far as making a wager with him that he could keep it in his pants at least until he returned home to Tuscany from New York. A thousand of his own hard-earned Euros were on the line, not to mention his competitive spirit: he hated losing.

  That’s why it was a bit unfortunate to have encountered Gisele Hornsby at such an inopportune time. Under normal circumstances, he’d be completely smitten: a sassy, girl-next-door type, with long, soft blond curls he’d already fantasized about seeing fanned across his pillows after hours of making love, because, well, he might be able to suppress the urge, but the carnal desire, not so much.

  When he took one look into her bright blue eyes that afternoon as she tried to get his sister Valentina drunk so she could extract secrets from her, he felt an urgent need to pull her to him and settle his lips upon hers. At least that’s what the old Tomasso would have done in a heartbeat if given the chance. But the new, improved, sexless Tomasso, decided instead to play the good guy and make sure the women got back to the palace before they did something they’d regret in their drunken state. More like before he’d do something he regretted in his blue-balled state. Because in all honesty, Gisele was gorgeous, smart, a bit of a smart-ass—and he loved a good challenge—and on top of it all, she had a banging body, and he was always a fan of a nice rack and a hot ass.

  Christ, this Tomasso Romeo Chastity Challenge thing was going to kill him.

  That’s why he couldn’t quite understand how he’d agreed to bring his laptop to Gisele’s room to share pictures of his woodworking handiwork. He knew that nothing good came of late-night tête-à-têtes with hot women. But then again, this would be a great chance to test his restraint. His monk-like self-discipline was doomed to end up in self-gratification—which is never quite as good as the real thing—and would be on the chopping block if he wasn’t careful.

  After a sexually charged shuttle bus ride back to the palace in which his thigh pressed too comfortably to hers, and her soft, minty breath only made him fantasize about ways to get her breathing a little more anaerobically, Tomasso welcomed the break from Gisele to coach himself back to his new celibate-is-the-new-manwhore stage he’d found himself in. But once he tamped down the emerging hard-on that was still not on board with his innovative program quite yet, he firmed his resolve, grabbed his computer, and climbed the flight of stairs, navigating the labyrinthian, dark hallways of the palace, determined to be strong.

  Which was how he found himself knocking on palace apartment number 11 shortly before midnight, laptop tucked beneath his armpit, ready to be neighborly and decidedly not randy.

  Gisele opened the door and grabbed his wrist, quickly dragged him inside, then shut the door immediately.

  “What was that for?” he said, pulling his hand away from her grasp—
the less physical contact, the better. She seemed embarrassed to have him show up or something, which was uncalled for.

  “Sorry. I didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, what with you appearing up here like this. My brother would kill me if he thought I was entertaining a man at this hour, and, well, since he’s not back, I just thought it would be best to be a little careful is all.”

  “If you’d rather I leave—.” He held up his hands in surrender.

  “Oh, gosh, no,” she said. “I’m honestly excited to see your stuff.”

  Good God, if only he could see her stuff, he’d be pretty damned stoked too. But he needed to fulfill his pledge: he could refrain from making a shameless play at a gorgeous woman for once in his life. He mentally repeated his mantra: Monk-like restraint. Monk-like restraint.

  “And I’m excited to show it to you.”

  If only he could show it to her. The mere thought erected a tentpole in his pants. Curse those autonomic reflexes. He tried to will his burgeoning cock into submission, thinking about anything that would tamp down his evidently uncontrollable sexual urges. What about that raccoon he saw flattened on the road the other day? Ugh, no. Raccoons have those peculiar masks over their eyes, and that immediately reminded him of the totally hot stripper who was naked but for a mask strapped to her face at Luca’s stag party last week. That thought only made things worse. Hmmm, how about thinking of how pissed Lorenzo would be when he had to pony up once he lost the bet. Firm resolve is what he needed. He could do it. Now to get his Johnson on board with that.

  Gisele settled into the overstuffed leather sofa in the living room and patted the empty spot next to her. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Comfortable would be lifting the hem of that hot dress of hers and slipping aside the black lace panties he’d fantasized were beneath it and sliding his cock into her warm body.

  Fuck. This is going to be harder than I expected. Just as absence makes the heart grow fonder, abstinence seemed to make the cock grow harder.

  “Why don’t I set it up here on the kitchen counter?”

  “Thanks, but I’m super comfy on this sofa.” She rubbed the leather. “I can’t believe how buttery soft it feels. I’m such a tactile person. I love natural things like down comforters or leather furniture that envelope me in comfort.”

  Which got him to thinking: if he had her naked on her hands and knees and took her from behind, he could envelop her in his body. He wondered if that would be tactile enough for her.

  “Uh,” he said, worrying that gibberish was all that was going to slip from his lips at this point. Gisele had stretched out her long, shapely legs, resting her feet with those sexy-as-hell sandals on the glass coffee table.

  “C’mon over. Don’t be a stranger.” She curled her finger to motion him over. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  But could he promise he wouldn’t bite? Or lick. Or nibble. Or suck.

  Willpower, man.

  “Sure,” he said, as he walked to the sofa like a man headed to the gallows and settled himself down next to her. He’d removed his tie and suit jacket back in his apartment, unbuttoning his shirt at the collar and rolling up his sleeves. Perhaps it would have been wiser to don a parka, maybe a pair of ski pants. He opened his laptop and booted it up.

  “Oh, look how pretty it is out there.” Gisele pointed to the wall of windows; beyond them a gentle snow had started to fall, the dappled flakes making the cityscape seem like an Impressionist painting. “I can’t believe how amazing this apartment is.”

  “Not a bad place to spend some time, is it?” He smiled.

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been to some incredible places in my life, but this takes the cake.” She lifted a finger. “Speaking of cake, I picked up some dessert at a small patisserie when we were in town today. Would you like a some?”

  Dessert was a brilliant idea: anything to occupy his hands and mouth right now would be a welcome diversion.

  “I’d love that. In fact, why don’t you stay put and I’ll serve us since you’re comfortable already.” Keeping his distance would let him control himself a bit better. “Just direct me to the goods and I’ve got you covered.” Although what he’d like to cover her with was his bare flesh, but that was so not in the cards.

  He brought out two glasses of water and a plate with several French macarons with chocolate ganache filling, and placed them on the coffee table, right next to her slender, strong legs. He closed his eyes until he could redirect his attention from the dessert he wanted to the dessert he was stuck with. When Gisele took a bite of the colorful confection, she groaned, which so distracted Tomasso as he chomped down on his, he squeezed the chocolate ganache right out of the center of his macaron onto his white button-down.

  “Oh, goodness, look at you,” Gisele said, staring at the brown icing staining his chest. “Here, let me get that off you so I can treat this before the stain sets.”

  “No, no. It’s fine. Really.” He held up his hands, resisting.

  “But I insist,” she said as she reached to unbutton his shirt. “I have this great stuff that will take the stain right out. But it has to be treated immediately.” She continued to release the buttons from the placket, and despite himself, Tomasso was powerless to stop her.

  “There,” she said after loosening the final button. “If you’ll let me slip this off.” She pulled first one sleeve down, then the other, leaving a bare-chested Tomasso with what had officially become the girl of his dreams practically drooling over the sight of him. It turned him on more than he could have ever imagined.

  He was so fucked.

  Chapter Three

  Holy mackerel! There was no way she could resist this guy sitting deliciously half-naked in front of her. One glance at his very bare and very strong broad shoulders and upper torso, sprinkled with the right amount of hair to run curious fingers through, and she knew she had to have a piece of him. She hadn’t even dared let her gaze drop farther down his body yet. Too bad that ganache didn’t spill right there, or she’d have probably up and licked it off him, no questions asked. Which perhaps would be a little too sexually aggressive, considering they’d only met ten hours earlier.

  “I’ll just be a sec.”

  She went back to her toiletry bag in the bathroom and grabbed a stain stick, put a washcloth beneath the shirt to absorb the fluid, and began to dab. It took a few minutes, but before she knew it, the smear of chocolate had dissipated so much she could barely see it.

  As she returned to the living room, she couldn’t help but notice that Tomasso’s lap seemed a bit fuller than it had been a few minutes ago.

  Ohmigod. He wants me as much as I want him. This could get interesting.

  She draped his shirt over the back of a bar stool in the kitchen. “We should let that dry for a bit. If you’re cold I can get you something of my brother’s to borrow.”

  She tried to come up with some quick-thinking excuse about how all of his shirts must be in the laundry because there wasn’t a one to be found. No way was she going to cover up such perfect scenery if she could help it.

  “I guess I’ll be okay.”

  Much to her chagrin, as soon as he heard her approach, he quickly moved the computer to his lap, covering up the evidence of his arousal, and began scrolling through images. Hmmm. On second thought, maybe he wasn’t here for those “etchings” after all but had truly planned to show her his stuff. Gisele hoped this was merely his version of foreplay.

  She plunked down next to him and offered him another cookie. He lifted his water glass and chugged a gulp down. “Now at least you don’t have to worry about food stains,” she said. “I mean, next spill, you can just lick it off.”

  He choked on his water, and she reflexively reached to pat his back, which felt oh so good, her hand pressed to his skin.

  Did she just say that? She was eternally grateful she hadn’t offered to lick it herself. Which, obviously would be her instinctual reaction. Her brother was always g
rousing about her lack of impulse control.

  “I guess,” he said in a resigned-sounding voice.

  Gisele decided she needed to back off or she might scare the guy.

  “Ooh, so these are things you’ve made?”

  He perked up immediately. “Yes, as I was saying earlier, these are some of the things I worked on at the Romeo headquarters.”

  He regaled her with a slideshow of various wood panels of relief carvings depicting the grape harvest, boar hunting, and other typically Tuscan scenes.

  “I have to tell you, I thought you were going to show me like a set of stairs you built or something.” She pointed at the screen. “But this stuff, these are amazing works of art. You’ve carved all these intricate scenes and animals and mythical creatures, and all using local wood. This is unbelievable. You’re truly an artist.”

  Tomasso beamed. “It’s what I love to do.”

  “But your family frowns upon it?”

  He grimaced. “It’s complicated. The thing is everyone in my family has always been expected to do the family business.”

  “Which is wine.”

  He nodded. “That’s almost an understatement. We’re the largest producer of wine in Tuscany and our wines have been the favorites of kings, diplomats, and even your average wine snobs for hundreds and hundreds of years. I’m not sure if anyone has ever defied the family mandate to do their own thing.” He continued to scroll through the images, pointing out particular favorites as he went. “My mamma is very proud of me and she’s now encouraging me to ‘follow my bliss’—her words—but my brothers aren’t particularly thrilled with me. They want me to bear part of the burden of Romeo wines.”

  Gisele removed the ponytail holder from her braid and freed her hair, running her fingers through it to get the kinks out. She leaned in closer to look at his photographs, her blond hair draping over his hard stomach. She could hear his sharp intake of breath.