AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I backed up, not wanting to embarrass the young woman, yet unable to take my eyes off her.
For the first time since arriving home, I was happy to be there.
Very happy.
Molto felice.
Chapter Five - Alessio
Shards of sunshine pierced my eyelids like slivers of broken glass. I moaned, resting my forearm over my face to block the light. Too much wine last night left me with a monstrous hangover. My head throbbed, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I kicked away the tangle of sheets trapping me in bed and lurched to the bathroom.
“Mio Dio.”One hand against the wall behind the toilet to keep me upright, elbow locked, I emptied my bladder and tried to figure out what time it was. “La strega.”
That witch, that goddess, thatAmerican, kept me awake until just before dawn. Two—or was it three?—bottles of wine failed to diminish whatever spell she’d cast over me. I’d stood rooted behind the hedge for minutes—hours? days?—absorbing the sight and sound of the woman until every inch of her was imprinted on my brain.
The lilt of her unrestrained laughter.
Her off-key singing.
Peach-pink areolas surrounding tight buds a darker shade of pink.
The plump swell of each breast.
The strong columns of her legs and the shadowy cleft between them.
The indent of her waist that flared to generously proportioned hips and ass.
Toned, muscled arms she’d stretched overhead as if beckoning the clouds and sun to her side.
She’d frolicked in the water with such unstrained pleasure, it had been impossible to look away. The temptation to join her–not just to satisfy the carnal longing she inspired, but to imbibe whatever elixir rendered the ability to experience such pure joy—was overwhelming. I resisted the pull, tightening my muscles to keep from running to her, a tiny remnant of sanity cautioning that such an action was unacceptable.
Nothing about the encounter made sense. I’d made love to many beautiful women, but none of them affected me like thisAmericana.
When she climbed out of the pool, wrapping a fluffy yellow towel around her torso, I returned to the villa. After slicing my thumb while cutting up tomatoes and then burning the risotto, I gave up on supper. I sprawled in a lounger by the pool, drinking and fantasizing until midnight. I tried to distract myself by working on the calculations I was preparing for Roberto Esposito, but sat in the dark, drinking, until I stumbled to bed, singing an even worse rendition of “That’s Amore” than the young woman.
“Alessio, amore mio.Su, su.” Eva’s cheerful voice bounded up the staircase as she urged me to get up. “Devo portare la signorina Madden al mercato.”
She managed her housekeeping duties at the villa each morning before tending to other business, and this afternoon she apparently planned to take our guest—Miss Madden—to the market in Lucca.
I belted a robe around my naked form and strode to the stop of the stairs, faking a casual attitude at odds with the spark of excitement in my chest.
“La porterò in città.” I explained I would accompany our guest into town since I’d missed the opportunity to introduce myself the night before.
She cocked her head and eyed me suspiciously, her long gray braid swinging over one shoulder. “Flavio ha detto che è adorabile.”
Flavio was correct. Our guest was lovely.
“Vai, vecchia pazza!” I waved her away and then blew her a kiss.
I’d grown up with Flavio and Eva. They were like a favorite uncle and aunt. Their presence was the only thing that had mollified my resentment at being forced to endure three months in the countryside.
An icy shower reduced most of my headache, and I tossed back a couple tablets to take care of the rest. I shaved, combed my hair, and dressed casually in cropped trousers, a white t-shirt, and canvas sneakers. I knew American women expected a degree of sophistication from Italian men, so I knotted a sweater around my shoulders.
I ignored the inner voice that mocked me for going to such lengths for a woman I didn’t know and had spied upon while rubbing my cock through painfully tight trousers. I didn’t need to inspect my bedsheets for additional evidence of my obsession; it was obvious my nocturnal activities included self-satisfaction.
The bottle of wine I’d intended to deliver last night sat in the center of the table, along with a basket containing baked goods Eva had evidently prepared that morning: a loaf of crusty bread;cantuccini toscani, almond biscotti to non-Italians; and half a dozen of my childhood favorites,bomboloni—deep-fried doughnuts filled with custard cream. I stole one of the pastries to silence my rumbling stomach and jogged out of the villa, slowing down as I neared the farmhouse so I didn’t appear an overeager schoolboy.
I knocked, waiting impatiently for a close-up ofSignorinaMadden.
