by Willa Okati
FOREVER TODAY
Willa Okati
www.loose-id.com
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Forever Today
Willa Okati
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © June 2008 by Willa Okati
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59632-712-2
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Georgia A. Woods
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Prologue
“Mr. Sullivan? So sorry to make you wait.”
Rick turned from his study of the vineyard toward the source of the firm, no-nonsense female voice. He had to squint and shade his eyes with his hand, the Italian sun too bright for him after spending a couple of years in Newfoundland interviewing eccentrics and old fishermen. Sometimes he wondered what he’d been thinking to go directly from one extreme to the other.
Maybe I’m as crazy as people call me from time to time, he thought with a mostly philosophical shrug.
A small woman ‑‑ Rick doubted she’d come up to the middle of his chest ‑‑ strode toward him, the shadow from a broad hat mostly obscuring her face. She wore her hair pulled tightly together in a practical braid with a plain rubber band, and had dressed in canvas trousers and a shapeless blouse. If it hadn’t been for the distinctly soprano note to her voice, he’d have been hard put to decide on a gender.
“I’m Rick,” he called, wishing his eyes would hurry up and adjust so he didn’t have to meet the representative of Dominici Vineyards with his face screwed up. “I haven’t been waiting long. Don’t worry about it.”
The woman stripped off sturdy work gloves as she approached, revealing petite hands with no rings. As she drew close enough for him to notice the last detail, he finally got a look at her face and was surprised at how young she was. Pretty, too, although he’d been fourteen when he’d figured out pretty women were great to look at but that was as far as it went for him. Give him a firmly muscled chest and a hard male jaw any day.
From the way the woman looked at him, quirking an eyebrow, Rick suspected she’d seen right through his quick assessment. Fortunately for him, she let it slide. “A pleasure, Mr. Rick. I am Antonetta, Antonetta Dominici.”
Rick blinked. “Dominici, as in ‑‑”
“Yes, my relatives own the vineyard. So to speak, I am only of the Dominicis on the shady side. Why did you come out here without a decent hat? Did you even wear sunscreen?” Antonetta clicked her tongue in dismay.
Strike one for his side. “Sorry. I got carried away,” he said by way of explanation and apology, waving at the vineyard. “I’ve seen pictures before, but they don’t really compare, do they?”
That softened her mood. “The finest photographer in the world could never really capture this,” she agreed, squaring her hands on her hips and looking past him, swelling with pride. “Five hundred years of history, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Please, just Rick is fine.” Rick turned, glad for another chance to get a good look. The Dominici Vineyards were everything anyone ever dreamed about when they thought of vineyards and the Italian countryside ‑‑ acres of heavy green vines almost to the horizon, the smell of wine and tilled earth thick in the air, the sound of rough-hewn chatter mixed with cursing, and the sun shining over everything, unforgivingly harsh but pure. And the history!
He’d hardly believed his luck when the family had granted him permission to wander around the vineyard grounds and even agreed to be interviewed. He could stay as long as he wanted in the nearby village and research to his heart’s content.
At times like these he could forget about the UK and St. Augustine, and that was mostly what made Rick happier than anything. Well, no, not happy ‑‑ sometimes he wondered if he knew how to achieve that state of mind. But he could relax and focus, so it was good enough to get by with.
He could almost see himself staying in Italy as long as the Dominicis offered to let him.
“A quick tour,” Antonetta decided, slapping her gloves thoughtfully together before putting them back on. “A short walk only, a little way in so you can see why you should have dressed appropriately, then to the house so we can get you fitted out, and then ‑‑”
Rick stopped her as respectfully as he could. “I’d like to just take this first afternoon to make some notes on what I see, if that’s not a problem. A big part of the guides I write is all about discovery,” he said, referring to the series of travel journals that hadn’t made him terribly rich and only famous in certain circles, but which let him travel as much as he wanted, with someplace new to go just around the corner, any time he decided he wanted to head out. “Besides, you can have the fun of telling me exactly how wrong my first impressions are.”
Antonetta laughed, her nose crinkling. “Suit yourself, Rick. I’ll return to the house then, and you can meet me there.”
He had to ask. “Do you do this for all the nosy visitors out here?” he asked, adding a teasing spin to the question. “Appoint yourself babysitter so they don’t get lost in the vines?”
“One day a month we all work with the grapes. We get our hands dirty, some dirtier than others, to remind us of what we owe to the land and to those who sweat while they harvest. It keeps us humble, Rick.”
Antonetta turned sharply and pointed herself back toward the Dominicis’ sprawling, dun-colored mansion, amazingly jumbled in style from having been constructed and added to over the centuries. Despite the size, it wasn’t otherwise impressive from the outside.
Rick found himself liking the family already. Unconventional was good. Unconventional worked well for him and made his travel guides “pop.” “I’ll meet you soon,” he called after her. She waved above her head in acknowledgment and then, done, she strode away.
He watched her go, shaking his head in wonder and silent admiration. A tough lady with deep ties to the land, he thought, already starting to compose his prologue in his head, hoping he wouldn’t forget anything.
“She is a dangerous woman,” one of the workers said behind him, his accent strong but his English perfect. “Better watch out with that one. She will twist your balls off if she even thinks you’re looking at her without proper respect.”
“Ah, she doesn’t have anything to worry about from me.” Rick sometimes thought his life would be easier if he did try to pass himself off as straight, but he’d never learned how. It was easier not to have to remember an act, given that presenting himself as honest and trustworthy was what netted him his best interviews. With his best casual, nice-to-meet-you grin in place, he turned to speak directly to the worker.
At first, all he saw was a pair of long, definitely well-shaped legs ‑‑ his canva
s trousers didn’t hide his assets ‑‑ protruding from underneath a particularly thick tangle of vines. A pair of shears thudded into a basket; the man pushed the basket out into the space between rows. He rolled to his knees and pushed up to his feet, shaking back his own black braid, woven loosely, damp with sweat. Bits of vine were tangled in the heavy strands so that he made Rick think instantly of Bacchus and Dionysus partying among the grapes. The shape of this man, firm and supple and graceful, brought young gods and humid, passionate nights immediately to mind.
Rick cleared his throat, trying to will away what wanted to develop into a hard-on. The last thing he needed to do was sprout wood in front of a stranger when the man had handy access to a pair of steel clippers. He knew better than to make a pass before he knew for sure how the object of his lust would react.
The grape-picker turned, wiping his forehead on his arm, releasing a strong smell of hard-working man and the dark muskiness of earth. “No? You’re not fond of the ladies, or of her in particular?” he asked, his grin wide and startlingly white.
Rick fought to keep from staring. If he’d thought the view from behind was spectacular, it almost didn’t compare to the riches on display before him now. From the bold, angular lines of the man’s face to the brightness of his smile, from the size of his hands to the springy strength in his sexy legs, everything about this worker went straight to his libido and kicked it in overdrive. Lust hit him hard in the belly and pushed insistently down.
He looked away, face hot, praying the worker hadn’t noticed anything unusual, wondering what he was supposed to say. No, I’m gay, and yes, I was perving on you just now, thanks. Don’t mind me ‑‑ he didn’t think that would go over too well.
Before he could come up with a decent response, the man laughed, the sort of laugh that a man could get drunk on if he let himself, deep and mellifluous with nothing held back. “I see. You’re shy. I will not keep you, then.” He picked up his basket and hooked it over his forearm, nodding amiably to Rick. “If you find some courage, come and speak to me again. I enjoy company among the grapes.”
Rick stole a bewildered glance at the worker, who’d already started to move on, his stride as proud as Antonetta’s, yet easy and careless in a way unique to him. He called after the worker, despite thinking it was a bad idea, asking, “What’s your name, friend?”
The worker paused, looking over his shoulder. “Adriano Dominici, of course,” he said, winking. “I meant what I said. If you decide you’d like company, come and find me.”
I might, was what Rick wanted to say. Instead, he shut his lips tightly and arranged them in a politely bland smile. He wasn’t worried about Adriano taking offense anymore. He recognized both a pose and a come-on when he saw them, and Adriano was all but flaunting his arse at him.
The thing was, Rick knew he knew better. The last thing he needed was to get involved in anything not purely platonic while working on a project. He’d end up with his thoughts scattered in a hundred different directions and his work would get shot all to hell.
No. He’d smile and nod while Adriano flirted with him, and he wouldn’t let any of it get under his skin. Rick hadn’t made it as far as he had in life ‑‑ after leaving St. Augustine ‑‑ by being a moron. He knew himself well enough to know that once he made a decision, he had what it took to stand firm.
Which was why he didn’t understand, at all, why after getting his lecture from Antonetta as well as a crash course in how to avoid getting sick in the boiling afternoon heat, Rick found himself returning to the vineyards in search of Adriano.
* * * * *
“I thought you might come back. It’s good to see I have not lost my way with the men.”
For all his intentions otherwise, if he hadn’t spoken, Rick might have walked right past Adriano and never known it. Searching for one specific man in acres of vines was about as difficult and time-consuming as it sounded. The sun was well on its way down by then, and he’d had zero luck, leaving him almost frustrated enough to quit. When he remembered how Adriano had spoken to him, wicked mirth infusing his tone, Rick knew he had no chance in hell of walking away now.
He sank to a crouch next to the row of grapes, cocking his head to peer under their leafy canopy at Adriano. As far as he could tell, Adriano wasn’t working so much as he was sprawled out resting, his hands behind his head and one knee raised, his foot planted in the soft earth. Rick hissed softly, a greater rush of hunger for Adriano simmering in his belly.
Adriano laughed. “Did you come looking for me, Rick Sullivan?”
Rick lowered himself to the turned earth, crumbling a chunk between his fingers. “Maybe. Maybe not. Who’s to say I didn’t just want some sun? It’s a gorgeous day.”
“It was a hot day, and now it’s nearly over.”
“Then maybe I came out here just to watch the sunset.”
“Or perhaps you did not.” Adriano looked directly at him, the intensity behind his gaze taking Rick by surprise. “Why are you here, right here, now?”
Rick tried to crack a joke to break the tension suddenly building, the heat and the uncertainty combining to tighten his chest. “What, am I in somebody else’s spot? Is this seat taken? You should have said.”
Adriano studied him briefly, silently. He nodded after a moment, firmly decided. “I can see how it is going to be with you. Let us try that again, Rick Sullivan. Why are you here?”
All right, if that was how he wanted to play; Rick thought he could man up to the challenge. Even if Adriano did make him nervous, and even if this was a bad, bad idea, he was hot enough to make up for all that. “Maybe I wanted to see if you were still here.”
“Better, but not quite the truth, still. You have found me, which you could have done inside the house where it is neither hot nor dirty. Why did you want to find me here, in the vineyard?”
“I think you know.”
“Do I?” Adriano’s grin broadened. He stretched lazily, displaying the taut planes of his abdomen under his workman’s shirt, rippling from head to toe, reminding Rick less of a god and more of a large cat in a playful mood. Right, and he was the mouse, wasn’t he?
Rick tried a different approach. “First of all, I planned on saying hello.”
“A decent start. And then?”
“I might have wanted to make conversation.”
“About what?”
“I’m the one who researches for a living here,” Rick pointed out, not entirely in jest. He was starting to wonder if, no matter how hot he was, Adriano might be a jot or two too crazy to pursue any further. “How about letting me finish?”
“So you do have some fire in you,” Adriano murmured. “Please, feel free to ask me whatever you wish. But tell me, first, why should I not ask my own questions? Do you have a good answer to that?”
Rick moistened his lips. “Anyone ever tell you talking with you is nerve-wracking?”
“Often.” Adriano rolled to his hip, propping his head on one hand and openly checking Rick out. “Tell me, now, and I want the whole truth. Why did you come out here to meet with me? Be honest.”
Staring at Adriano, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make him look like an idiot, Rick considered his options as quickly as he could. In the end, he came down to only one way to move on. He could tell Adriano meant “be honest” the way almost no one ever did. Be honest with me, or we’re done here and it’s your loss.
Conceited bastard, wasn’t he? And yet…and yet…Rick knew he couldn’t walk away. Not any longer. He might end up burning to ashes by jumping in this fire, but there was no way he could turn his back or pretend this didn’t matter. He’d wonder for the rest of his life about what he might have missed out on beneath this Italian sunset.
Scraping together both courage and pride, Rick faced Adriano directly. “I wanted to see if it was just me who felt the spark when we met before. Who thought you were interested in more than just talking.” He tossed aside the chunk of dirt he was still crumbling away
at and dusted off his hands on his knees. “Mostly, I wanted to see if there was any way I could get you as hot as I am and then beg you until you fucked me out here where anyone could walk by and see us.”
Adriano inhaled sharply. For an awful moment, Rick thought he’d gone way too far or completely misunderstood or something even worse.
Then, Adriano beckoned to him, long finger curling toward himself. “I think that could be arranged,” he invited. “Come lie with me.”
Rick wondered if this was the craziest thing he’d ever done before deciding he didn’t care. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled under the vines. The air was surprisingly cooler in their shade, although Adriano was still hot as a furnace. He waited until Rick had closed all the space between them, awkwardly arranging his limbs and getting increasingly embarrassed.
“Why so bashful?”
“I’m British.”
Adriano laughed. “So I have noticed. But you do not need to be shy with me, Rick Sullivan. I think we will have a wonderful time together, you and I. No. I do not think; I know. Here.” He found Rick’s hand and moved it to his groin, molding Rick’s palm over the already solid hardness of his cock.
When Rick stared at him, unbelieving, Adriano’s smile curled, darker and more sensual, filled with promise. “Do you need a second invitation?”
Rick fought to stay caught up. He knew this would be his only chance to keep Adriano’s interest. God help him, he couldn’t bear the thought of the man walking away. He made his decision with a speed and surety he hadn’t known since he was sixteen and stupid and set his sights on a man twice his age who’d never feel the same way about him. He knew better, but for all that there was no way he could stop this from happening, even if he’d wanted to. “No,” he said, “I don’t,” and surged up to meet Adriano.
Adriano purred approvingly. He caught Rick’s chin in his fingers and drew Rick to him, closing firm, heated lips over his. He prodded with his tongue, firm and insistent, until Rick opened for him.