“My dad’s just the same,” Maddie nodded. “He reuses everything, wastes very little.” She tilted her head to one side. “Then again, he kind of had to be like that. Your Yaya could have gone the other way and become spoiled by what she had.”
“True. But I think childhood indelibly shapes the person you become.” He paused a moment, thinking of how true that was. Being pushed out of his mother’s life at four years of age had left him with a cold stone in the centre of his being that nothing had ever managed to shake free. “The lessons Yaya learned never left her. She always used to say, knowing what true hunger is like makes you desperate never to feel it again. She doesn’t like to talk about her childhood much but I know it was traumatic, difficult.”
“So she’s…”
“Still alive? Si,” a smile curved his lips. “She’s frail and growing old in a way I never thought she would – she’s one of those women that just seems youthful despite her years – but she’s still Yaya.”
“She sounds like a fascinating woman.”
“That’s one word for her.”
“You have another?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He took the lid off the tomatoes and sloshed in some white wine and a sprinkle of salt, then turned to Maddie. “She’s a contradiction, in some ways. It’s only since Gianfelice died that I’ve seen that.”
“What do you mean?”
Good question. He was voicing an opinion he hadn’t owned to himself yet. “She’s incredibly strong and fiercely independent, but she deferred to Gianfelice in all things. Even when it cost her greatly, she allowed him to make their decisions. I wonder at that, given what I know of her now.”
Maddie was very still. He couldn’t help but notice the way her body had stiffened, her expression shifting from one of idle interest to one of…what? It was impossible to say. “I suppose relationships are hard to read from the outside.”
Her words were stiff, they didn’t invite any further inquiry.
“They were happy,” he clarified, feeling a little uneasy at the confidences he’d shared, given the fact he didn’t make a habit of discussing his family with anyone, generally.
“But you think she muted herself for him?”
“Yes.”
Maddie nodded slowly. “That happens, doesn’t it?”
Did it? Nico shifted his shoulders. “I have very limited experience in relationships.” And the one time he’d actually opened himself up to one, he’d learned what a foolish idea that had been.
“Really?”
“Mmmm. Too busy with world domination.” He wiggled his brows, making light of it rather than going into the sordid, sad truth, and she laughed softly – he was glad to see it, glad to see the little lines of tension around her eyes ease.
“Do you have any stock?”
“Um, I think there’s some in the freezer? The landlady keeps dropping things off. I think she’s trying to fatten me up.”
He pulled the freezer open and discovered the stock she’d mentioned. It was a large block. “I’m going to need another pot,” he teased, turning around and deliberately taking his time reaching for a saucepan from the top of cupboard.
She was unashamedly ogling him so he dumped the stock as quickly as he could, put the heat on the stove and then delivered a challenging glance to her as he stripped his shirt. “It was a little wet,” he offered with mock apology.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Are you?”
“Nope.” She grinned. “Not even a little bit.”
His laugh was a husky sound. Their eyes met and he felt it – a promise passed between them, a simmering, sensual heat that would be answered, and soon.
He rushed the melting of the stock, and when it was only halfway done, added it to the tomatoes – trying not to think of what Yaya would say about such an ill-advised corner-cutting – then turned the heat on the tomatoes right down.
“That’s going to take around a half hour to simmer and soften.”
“Thirty minutes?” She lifted her brows and pushed off the bench, coming towards him. “Goodness. What should we do while we wait?”
“Do you have any board games? Monopoly?” He prompted, reaching for her shirt and pushing it over her head. Madre di Dio, she wasn’t wearing a bra. How had he failed to notice that before now?
“Scrabble’s more my thing.”
“I’m not surprised.” He pulled her towards him so her breasts flattened against his chest, her softness to his hair-roughened hardness. “How about twister?”
“No board, but I think we could get inventive.”
“Me too. Where’s your bedroom?”
Chapter 5
THE SOUP WAS DELICIOUS. After they’d made love, and God, it had been even more mind-blowing than the first time they’d come together, he’d gone back to the kitchen. And he’d sung while he cooked, so she learned something else about him. Not only did he know his way around a recipe, he liked rock songs from the nineties. There was a Metallica one first, then some Nirvana, then some Radiohead. She smiled as she listened, pretty sure he didn’t even realise he was singing.
She set the table on the terrace. It was still raining, but this space was undercover and it was a beautiful, balmy temperature. The air smelled of electricity, making her think of books she’d read about exotic, tropical places where summer storms like this were de rigeur.
When he presented the soup with a ‘voila’, she stared at it. Because it looked…
“Kind of disgusting, I know,” he supplied, before she could say it.
And it did.
“What is it?”
“Bread, torn up and added towards the end of cooking.” To that, he’d added some finely grated parmesan, roughly torn basil, a glug of olive oil and some salt and pepper. So far as appearances went, it was certainly… “Rustic,” she supplied after a moment.
He grinned. “That’s putting a PR spin on it.”
She took a spoonful and made a moaning noise. “Oh my God, Nico, it’s so good.”
She immediately took another scoop, and another, and then placed her spoon down when she realised he was watching her.
“What?” Self-consciously, she wiped her fingers over her chin.
“I just didn’t anticipate how much I’d enjoy cooking for you. Nor watching you eat.”
“Don’t watch me eat,” she complained. “It’s embarrassing. You eat.”
“I will,” he picked up his spoon. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. You are beautiful, always.”
She dropped her head forward, shaking it a little. She didn’t like compliments. They made her skin crawl. Another hangover from Michael’s handiwork.
“I’m impressed. The soup is really, really good.”
“I know.” It was her turn to watch. He ate several spoons full then lifted his gaze to her. “You like the cottage?”
“I love it.”
“But you’ve just rented it for the summer?”
She nodded.
“You’re not moving here?”
“No.” She stilled. Staying longer term hadn’t even occurred to her. She supposed because it felt a lot like giving up – as though by walking out on London completely she’d be handing all the power to Michael and letting him win, by shoving her right out of her life. “It’s just a break.”
“A long break.”
“Yeah. Sometimes you need to reset, right?”
He frowned. “Right.”
“Isn’t that what you do, every summer?”
“Why do you say that?”
“To come here year after year, surely that’s for a reason? To get away from the pace of your every day life and reconnect with something a bit more natural, slower in speed?”
He frowned.
“I’m just guessing,” she supplied. “I imagine your work life is pretty frenetic. Your social life too, probably.”
He lifted a brow. “You mean my love life?”
Heat infused her cheeks. �
�I guess so.”
“The tabloids generally exaggerate all elements of my life.”
“I haven’t read anything about you,” she said immediately. “I’m just going by your…skills.”
He burst out laughing. “Thanks.”
Embarrassment spilled through her. “Like you don’t already know.”
He shook his head.
“What?”
“You’re just…”
“What?” But doubt surged inside of her. She’d said something wrong, something stupid. He thought she was stupid. Oh boy. She wished the world would swallow her up.
“Refreshing.”
He said ‘refreshing’ but she felt like he meant gauche. “Thanks?”
“It’s a compliment,” he assured her, a frown briefly marring his features before he continued to eat his soup.
“But you do this a lot?” She prompted. “Tabloid exaggeration not withstanding?”
“Not really.”
She arched a brow. “You don’t need to obfuscate to protect my feelings. This is just a fling, remember?”
He laughed. “Refreshing,” he said again, and this time, a hint of a smile touched her lips.
“So?” She took another mouthful of soup. It was truly one of the nicest things she’d ever eaten. Or perhaps it was sharing it with this man, here in Italy, the rain drizzling around them, the night warm, the air thick with summer and magic.
“I enjoy the company of women,” he shrugged his shoulders. “I prefer short affairs to relationships, so I’m always open about that from the start.”
She expelled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. It was reassuring to hear him discuss this in such clinical terms. Like there was nothing new here for him, nothing unexpected. They were on a track he ran often. She was nothing special. Nothing special, just like Michael said… God, get out of my head, she thought with a stifled groan.
“And the women you date are happy with that?”
“If they’re not, I don’t get involved with them.”
“That’s clinical.”
“Yeah.” He lifted his shoulders, but there was something a little jaded around his eyes. “I’ve learned it’s better to be open and honest. Always.”
“Was there a time when you weren’t?”
His expression shifted. “No. But I’ve been on the receiving end of dishonesty once or twice. Enough to know I’d never knowingly inflict that on anyone else.”
A frisson ran down Maddie’s spine as it occurred to her that by concealing her connection to him she wasn’t being completely honest. It sounded like he had every reason to be angry about that, to resent her for it.
She hated that, but she wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of her having what she wanted, what she deserved: a fun fling with the sexiest man she’d ever known. To hell with the future, to hell with everything. She was sick of worrying, sick of stressing. She just wanted to feel, and no one had ever made her feel quite like Nico Montebello did.
Nico grinned as he peeled the skin off a banana, his eyes on the beach. The storm of a few nights ago had washed right out to sea, leaving Ondechiara sparkling and vibrant. His beach was pristine. Rolling waves glistened in the morning’s sun, the sand shone white like crystals and the sky was the most striking shade of blue, almost as stunning as Maddie’s eyes.
His smile grew broader.
It had been a couple of days since he’d seen her, since that night in La Villetta when he’d made love to her slowly, thoroughly, enjoying her piece by piece until she’d fallen asleep. He’d left her like that, perfect, heavenly, angelic, but he’d written a note and propped it on the pillow beside her.
Dinner, Friday night. I’ll pick you up.
Short, simple, to the point. Of course, it was only Wednesday and he was already craving her in a way that had caught him completely off guard, but even that was good. Good because he felt alive and excited in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Since Gianfelice had died? No. Since Claudette.
The thought brought a metallic taste to his mouth. Her deception was one he’d never forget – but at least it had taught him a valuable lesson. He’d never again allow himself to be as gullible as he had been with her. He’d bought every single one of her lies hook, line and sinker. It was only by sheer accident that he’d woken up and discovered the truth.
For a moment, he imagined what his life would have been like if he hadn’t. If Gabe hadn’t presented him with the incontrovertible proof that Nico was being played.
He locked his jaw, anger cresting inside of him for a moment before he brought his thoughts back to Maddie. She had secrets of her own, of that he was certain, but it didn’t matter. Secrets were only dangerous when you came to rely on someone. To trust them. And Nico wasn’t looking for anything more than a bit of fun: Sex. Laughs. Food. Wine.
Bliss.
And at the end of the summer, he’d walk away without a backwards glance.
“You’re okay with this?”
Nico thumbed his finger towards the motorbike and a thrill of anticipation lifted inside Maddie.
“It would be another first for me,” she said slowly, her head tilted to one side. She’d left her hair loose, flowing in long blonde waves around her face and in deference to the balmy summer’s evening, she’d chosen a flowing maxi skirt and a skimpy singlet top. The collection of bangles she’d added at the last minute took up a good two inches on either arm, and they jangled when she moved her hands, which she tended to do a lot in conversation.
“I can call a car—,”
“No, no,” she demurred. “That’s fine. I feel like living dangerously.”
He moved closer, wrapping an arm around her back and drawing her close. “I’ll drive carefully, I promise. You’re safe, remember?”
Maddie wasn’t sure it would matter. Her heart was slamming into her ribs in a way that was unlikely to alter whether they walked, drove or skied to dinner. Her racing pulse began and ended with her proximity to Nico. It had been too long. She’d woken up craving him the morning after they’d slept together. His note had brought a smile to her face but it had been little solace to a body that had begun to reverberate at a frequency only he could answer.
She’d tried to focus on her book, but the words had been as stubbornly resistant to fall from her fingertips as they had been any other day for the past few weeks. So she’d walked, and she’d swum, and she’d eaten leftover soup and thought of him, remembering every detail of how he’d prepared it, of how comfortable he’d seemed in the kitchen, how completely at ease. And she found herself smiling, because he’d been so uber-masculine even as he’d insisted he wanted to feed her.
Michael had never made more than toast for Maddie, and even then, only in the beginning. It hadn’t taken long before she’d become responsible for all the domestic chores. You’re home through the day, Madeleine. It just makes sense.
And he was right. She was home. But she was supposed to be working from home, not doing his laundry or bleaching his bathroom, nor planning elaborate meals that slowly yet surely failed to earn his praise and which eventually received only his criticism.
“Here.” He’d moved towards the bike – it was big and a gleaming black with shiny silver details – and was holding a helmet in his hand.
She lifted one brow. “Protection?”
He grinned. “Always.”
He slid the helmet onto her head, clipping it into place and checking it was snug before nodding with satisfaction, before pulling his own in place. Her stomach rolled. He swung a leg over the bike with ease, then turned to her.
“Jump on.”
She nodded, moving to the back of the bike. He was a good foot taller than she was. For Maddie, it was slightly less graceful but she couldn’t really focus on that with Nico Montebello squeezed between her thighs.
“Hold on tight.” His voice was muffled by his helmet, and hers, but she got the gist. Her hands clamped around his waist, her fingernails digging into h
is chest, just a little. The engine roared to life beneath her, like some kind of wild animal, and an answering rush of feral, primal need thundered through her body.
“Where are we going?” But her words were swallowed by her helmet and the engine. There was nothing for it but to hold on and wait. She clung to his body – his warm, hard body – as the bike sped down the narrow road that connected La Villetta to the town of Ondechiara. He drove the streets as though he’d created them, leaning the bike into tight corners, his manner was confident and skilled, so within a few minutes, Maddie forgot she’d always been half-way terrified of motorcycles and started to enjoy herself. There was something incredibly elemental about the feeling of the bike rumbling beneath her and the wind ripping past her. Even the excessive noise was like an echo chamber so somehow, despite the volume, all she could hear was the thundering of her own pulse in her ears.
He drove the motorbike through the town and towards the water. Here there were shops and cafés, bistros and restaurants – she remembered her joy exploring this seafront when she’d first arrived. Beautiful little stores brimming with artisanal items, restaurants that smelled amazing, even from the distance of the footpath. It was a perfect holiday town, and yet it wasn’t swarming with tourists.
Nico kept driving, until the bike ran out of road and instead landed on the sand. She held on tighter, but there was no cause for alarm. It was patently obvious this was a drive he’d done often before. A little way along the beach, Maddie saw a glow coming from a series of caves. She craned forward, trying to get a better look. But it wasn’t until he’d slowed the bike to a stop that she saw the caves were restaurants, dainty lights hanging from the edges, tables set up right to the edge of the cave, so that at high tide, the water must surely come close to diners’ feet.
He slowed the bike to a stop and removed his helmet. She did the same, holding it in her lap for a second, before realising he couldn’t easily get off the bike until she did. She wriggled off one side and straightened her skirt then finger combed her hair. A second later, he was standing in front of her, his eyes appraising her with undisguised interest, taking in everything from her tousled hair to pink cheeks, to a body that she was sure must show obvious signs of arousal. She couldn’t help it – desire had been stirred to life inside of her and she didn’t know how to shut that off.
Just This One Summer: A billionaire forbidden love romance... (The Montebellos Book 2) Page 6