by Tacie Graves
Table of Contents
Making Mina: Compromising Positions
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About the Author
Making Mina: Compromising Positions
By Tacie Graves
Copyright © 2013. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Blue skies dotted with clouds that looked like cotton candy made a canopy above her, rolling green hills--Nature’s idea of wall to wall carpeting--stretched out around her, and brightly colored boats bobbed like jewels on the water before her. Waves beat against the shore in counterpoint to the beating of her heart. The sun kissed her skin leaving it warm and lightly gold. The scent of the ocean rekindled some ancient connection in her, echoing a time when the ocean guaranteed survival with food, and work, and trade. A simpler time. Not easier--oh, she’d never believe it was easier--but it was simpler.
It was so different from Miami. Miami had sun and beaches, but the city masked the pulse of the land. It never slept. Neon lights and music had long since replaced the rhythm of the ocean. But there was something about Portofino--the old fishing village rubbing shoulders with the bright lights of the restaurants and cafés--that managed to keep both the old and new alive.
Everywhere Mina looked her art historian eyes found another treasure. There were frescos on shop walls, and churches that took her breath away. Tiny carvings decorated the simplest things. Art was part of life here. It was paradise.
Well, it should have been paradise. And it would have been… if it weren’t for the shouting.
Mina shifted on her lounger and tried to block out the sounds coming from the villa behind her, but it was no use. They’d been shouting for three days, and every day she got closer to throwing in the towel and hopping the first flight she could catch back to Miami.
“It will not last forever.”
The voice startled her out of her reverie. First, it was speaking English--thank God!--and second, it sounded like it was laughing.
Mina took her sunglasses off and looked at her new companion. Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of dark eyes, and a slash of white teeth grinned at her. He looked a little older than her, but his expression belonged on a naughty ten year old boy.
“I don’t know about that,” she sighed and the man laughed again.
“Trust me,” he said. “I have listened to them fight my whole life. Mamma will give in soon enough.” He sounded almost jealous. “She always does.”
Mina sat up straight on the lounger, and grabbed a towel from the stack beside her. Mamma? That would mean…
The stranger squatted down beside her, dark eyes level with hers. The laughter was still there, but it now had curiosity as a companion. Mina felt her cheeks redden as his gaze took in her too tiny bathing suit and her pile of paperwork. She must look like Debbie Does Her Doctorate.
“You said Mamma,” she said, trying to get things back on a more even footing. “I assume that makes you…”
“The younger brother,” he nodded. “Giovanni.” He stood up, the move graceful even from such an awkward position, and picked up her cover-up. He shook imaginary dust from it and held it out with a gallant air. “And you must be the mysterious Mina. It is a great pleasure to finally meet you.”
The Mysterious Mina? She choked back a laugh. She was about as mysterious as non-dairy creamer. Less, if you thought about it--nobody knows what’s in non-dairy creamer.
She stood and allowed him to help her shrug into the short robe, juggling papers from one hand to another, trying not to lose any in the gentle breeze. Giovanni’s hands were light on her shoulders and she couldn’t help but notice how different he was from his brother. Oh he was tall and dark and handsome, but where Marco had hard edges that exuded strength and a raw sexuality that made her heart beat faster just thinking about it, Giovanni radiated a cheerful, fun-loving nature. There was something innately cheerful about him, and Mina smiled.
“I’m hardly mysterious. I’m here at your brother’s invitation to manage the cataloging and display of your family’s collection of Etruscan art.” Mina had repeated that phrase so many times over the past few days it sounded like a recording.
The twinkle reappeared.
“Ah, yes. The collection. I must admit that Marco’s decision to finally have it displayed is something of a mystery in itself.” Giovanni looked at her, curiosity shameless in his eyes. He cocked his head slightly to one side and raised one shoulder in a Gallic shrug. “He has denied requests from local institutions for years. I’m sure you’ve noticed his rather, hmmm… shall I say possessive nature concerning things he values?” Mina nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes, preferring to focus on gathering her papers and tucking them into their file. “The collezione has been a passion of his for years. “
Mina nodded. “He is very passionate.” Giovanni’s eyes widened a fraction and she swallowed. “About the collection. He’s been very passionate about the collection.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t help it. Her relationship with Marco was so new, so different, that she was still very insecure about it, and the collection… well, Mamma Genovese had made it very clear that she didn’t approve of Mina being in charge of anything, especially not the treasured collezione. At least that’s what it seemed like. Mina couldn’t be certain because Mamma also made it clear she wouldn’t be speaking English any time soon, either. If Marco’s brother tried to undermine her as well--well, that didn’t bear thinking about.
She leaned over the lounger to grab her bag--a leather monstrosity she carried with her everywhere--and tried not to think about how much skin she was showing. Professional, she thought to herself. Try to look professional.
The blue bikini and strappy sandals that Marco had so approved of this morning were looking like more and more of a mistake. Her white terry cloth cover-up barely lived up to its name, and she could feel Giovanni’s gaze as it traveled up her legs to where it ended suggestively, allowing glimpses of her cobalt covered bum.
Men. She sighed.
“May I offer my assistance?” Mina felt fabric graze her calf as he stepped closer, and she shook her head. “Oh no, I’ve got it.” She gave the bag a tug and it finally popped free, setting her a little off balance. Giovanni caught her by the elbow and steadied her, his boyish smile beaming with pleasure that he’d saved her from a possible fall, and Mina laughed at the of the situation. So much for professional.
“I guess I should have just let you help in the first place.” She stepped back, and Giovanni’s hand slowly released her. The proximity should have bothered her, but she felt no threat from his presence. He made sure she was settled on her feet, and then spoke.
“Helping is nice,” he said, “but being a little bit of a hero is better.” He grinned down at her. “I like being a hero. Maybe I should follow you around and make sure you stay out of trouble. That would make me an even bigger hero.” He puffed out his chest a little, and Mina thought he looked just like Ivy’s cat Luci when he’d brought in a newly dead mouse and dropped it on her lap, expecting heaps of praise for his efforts.
Mina slid her sunglasses back on and contemplated the man in front of her. She hadn’t seen many friendly faces since she’d arrived in Italy, and honestly she’d been so worried about everything that she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed easy, everyday conversations. At the museum, she and Ivy were always up to something, teasing and poking each other until they’d break down into gales of laughter. It wasn’t that she didn’t like talking to Marco--she did--but most of her conversations with him wer
e heavy with hidden meanings, and sexual tension. She wouldn’t give them up for anything, but laughter was rarely what was on her mind when she was with him. His brother, though… his brother was fun.
She took a moment and tilted her head back, looking at Giovanni over dark rims she allowed to slide down her nose a little. “I don’t know about hero…” She let the words fade away and a little smile curled her lips.
A flash of surprise crossed Giovanni’s face and then quickly disappeared as he realized she was playing along.
“You wound me.” Giovanni waved his arm dramatically and then pressed his fist against his chest. “That such a cruel tongue should belong to such a beautiful woman.” He sighed deeply and raised his eyes to the heavens. “I should have known that no innocent flower could bewitch my brother so.” He dropped his fist and stepped forward, taking her hand in his. “I can only hope that you simply reserve your sweetness for him, and not that you truly feel such disdain for poor Giovanni.”
Mina laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the conversation, the silliness breaking through the shadows that had been following her since her arrival at Villa Genovese.
“I’m sure poor Giovanni can take care of himself,” she said, smiling as she pulled her hand free. “Somehow I doubt that your ego is quite that fragile.”
He gave her a very serious look. “Never doubt the fragility of the Italian male ego,” he said wagging a finger at her. “It is well documented that its injury can lead to grave misunderstandings, terrible tempers and even worse poetry.” He paused and Mina laughed again. “In this case, though, I suppose you can be forgiven.”
Mina opened her mouth to ask what made this case different, but he shook his head and held up a finger to silence her.
“And there, you see?” He gestured broadly. “Listen.”
Mina looked around confused. “See what? I don’t hear anything.”
The devilish smile returned to Giovanni’s face.
“Exactly,” he said, taking her bag and turning her towards the house. “The shouting. It has stopped.” He looked down at her, the kindness in his eyes genuine, and his voice gentle. “I told you it wouldn’t last forever.”
Chapter Two
Another day another 76 euro cents…
Mina dragged an expensive silver-backed hairbrush through her curls and sighed at the staticky mess it made of her hair. It was like everything since she got to Italy--beautiful, expensive, and utterly frustrating.
That wasn’t absolutely accurate. It wasn’t as if things were meant to fail, she just hadn’t been able to make them work. So, at least part of that had to be her, right?
She never thought she’d miss Miami. Or her little office. Or Ivy’s constant nagging. But… she did. Now that the sheer stupefaction of being swept off her feet and flown to Italy had worn off, she couldn’t ignore it.
She was well and truly homesick.
Two more days, though, and she and Marco would be heading back. Yesterday the last of Mamma Genovese’s objections had been overruled, with Giovanni coming to Mina’s rescue--more than once pleasantly enough--and today Mina had finally been able to complete her arrangements for the collezione. Ruffled feathers had been smoothed, papers had been signed, and if her bottom was a little bruised from the numerous pinches and pats she’d received from every man in the Genovese compound, well that was a small price to pay.
All she had to do was get through tonight.
And all Hercules had to do was 12 little errands for his boss. Another vicious swipe of the brush and she gave up the struggle to smooth her hair. It wasn’t fair. The weather had been wonderful the whole time she’d been in Italy, but the absence of Miami’s constant humidity wreaked a special kind of havoc on her curls, and tonight--of all nights--she wanted to look her best. The Villa Genovese was en fête and the family was opening its doors to welcome friends and business associates alike. Unfortunately, they were Marco’s friends and business associates, and once again she was just arm candy there to make a man look good.
Like he needs help to look any better. Mina let out an unladylike snort. Unlike me.
“Are you sure this dress is okay?” On their arrival in Italy Marco had taken her shopping. He insisted that since his business required his attendance at several social events, and he required that she attend with him, it was only fitting that he assume the responsibility of providing appropriate evening wear. Somehow “evening wear” had expanded into almost an entirely new wardrobe, but Mina was so stunned by the beautiful Italian fashions that she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. So, in addition to the troublesome bikini from yesterday, he’d insisted on purchasing a long, halter-style dress in the same cobalt blue, so dark it was almost purple. Marco claimed it matched her eyes, and against it her skin looked luminescent. Intellectually, Mina knew it suited her better than anything she’d ever worn in her life. Unfortunately the plunging back offset the high-cut front and instead of feeling beautiful, she couldn’t stop fretting over the amount of skin she was exposing. Again.
She fussed and fretted, turning to get a better look at what felt like acres of exposed back. A shadow moved behind her and she shivered as fingers ghosted down her spine
“You look beautiful.” Marco dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder and she watched him in the mirror. His eyes were dark and his hands gripped her tightly, long fingers hot against her bare skin. They were the first thing she’d noticed about him and they still fascinated her. In an almost Pavlovian response, she felt her breathing hitch, desire for him coiling in her belly, and it frustrated her. This was not the time. She was annoyed, dammit!
“I don’t care about beautiful,” she grumbled, “I just want to make sure your mother doesn’t think I look like some sort of… floozy.”
The fingers stopped in their silent exploration and Marco met her eyes in the mirror.
“I am not familiar with this word, floozy, but from your tone I assume it is not a good thing?” He cocked an eyebrow at her and she let out a huff of air.
“No, it is not a good thing.” She frowned at her reflection, tugging at the edges of her dress again. “You know… a floozy. A bimbo.” She saw Marco smile behind her and turned on him, frustration flaring into anger and zeroing in on the nearest target. “A whore. Maybe you’re familiar with that concept.”
The smile on Marco’s face faded and his eyes hardened. Mina realized she’d pushed too hard and would have stepped back, but he still had a grip on her shoulders, unwilling to let her retreat. “Yes. I am familiar with that concept, as you put it. And no, regardless of how you might feel about your situation here, I do not think of you that way. In addition, my mother knows I respect her too much to bring such a creature to this house and she would never assume that you were a whore, no matter how you dressed.”
Regret washed over her. Marco was right; it was her insecurity that was coloring her feelings, not his actions, or his mother’s. Even if she obviously didn’t like her, Signora Genovese had never been anything but polite to her.
At least not in any language she could understand.
“I’m sorry.” She sighed deeply and raised a hand, resting it on Marco’s sleeve. “That was totally out of line. I’m nervous and it’s making me a bitch.”
Mina watched Marco’s face and was relieved to see some of the hardness fade from it. She could imagine the wheels turning behind his eyes and wondered just what he was thinking.
“You should not say such things about yourself,” he said. His voice was mild but Mina knew he was serious. No one got away with talking that way about someone he cared about. Not even if it was about themselves.
“I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true.” She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye, daring him to argue. “I realized this afternoon at the museum that I’d been letting things get to me. I mean, I knew coming here was going to be awkward, but I didn’t realize how much it was going to bother me.”
Hardness crept back to the edges of Marc
o’s face and Mina felt his hands still on her shoulders. “How much what was going to bother you?”
She couldn’t think of a way to explain--the homesickness, the fear that people thought the only reason she got the collection was because she was sleeping with him, the hurt she felt from being closed out by his mother… even how the time they spent together was limited by her work with the collection and his work’s demands. It all bothered her.
“Yesterday when I was talking to Giovanni…” Her voice trailed off and she couldn’t find the words to explain without sounding like a baby. “Oh just forget it,” she said, her eyes dropping from his. “It isn’t important.” She turned back to the mirror and reached up to straighten an earring. Marco was staring at her reflection, his eyes dark, the sharp edges of his cheekbones casting dramatic shadows on his face.
“It is important. You are not happy.” It wasn’t a question and Mina didn’t answer. It wouldn’t have made any difference. “I want you to be happy.”
Marco slid his hands down to rest on her hips possessively, and Mina felt the heat of his touch through the fabric.
“I can make you happy.” His voice dropped an octave, and Mina felt it resonate in her bones.
It was amazing, this response. Never in her life had anyone been able to make her feel--truly feel--the way Marco did. It was as if every nerve in her body was electrified; her skin, her eyes, her ears… they were all hardwired into some previously unknown sexuality that he had awakened with his kiss like some carnal Sleeping Beauty. She struggled for breath, not because he was holding her too tightly, but because it felt so right. It took her breath away.
Marco pressed himself against her, the studs of his shirt shockingly cold against her overheated skin, and she fought to regain control of the situation.
“I am very happy,” she said, but Marco wasn’t listening. His hands had moved, and he wrapped strong arms around her, one above her breasts and the other below, his breath warm and soft in her ear.