AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I propped my elbow on the table, assessing Elle, assessing the risk of revealing last night’s unintended voyeurism. She was an unusual woman, and thisattrazionewas like nothing I’d ever experienced. I’d had several hours to consider the instantaneous pull toward her, yet she’d just met me. I didn’t want her to think I was a stereotypical Italian Lothario, but my instincts urged me to be honest and straightforward. My life was centered on the expansion of Venturi Wines, which meant I didn’t have time or energy to pursue a committed relationship. A passionate two-week fling with a stunningAmericanawas ideal. Not only would it help pass my time at the estate, it would permit me to create amazing memories for Elle to carry home with her.
“Before I insult you,SignorinaMadden, are you single? Unattached?”
The shine in her eyes dimmed momentarily, and she straightened in her chair. “Yes. Recently, I might add. I was to be married this past Friday.”
Stunned, I shot to my feet. “It is but Monday! How do you go from blissful bride to a single woman alone in Tuscany so quickly?”
“My fiancé abandoned me at the altar to run away with his dental hygienist. He didn’t even have the courage to face me in person.” Her smile faded, then returned. “We were together a long time. I think our relationship had become more of a habit than true love because I was more angry than hurt.”
“This fiancé, he is not a real man.” I knelt next to Elle and took her hand. “You areuna dea. A goddess! You deserveun vero uomo, a real man.” Inhaling, gathering my courage, I confessed, “I saw you in the pool late yesterday afternoon. I did not mean to intrude. I brought the wine to welcome you, heard you singing, and discovered a nymph cavorting in the water. You must think me a lecher.Il libertino. I swear, I am not!”
Elle looked down where our fingers were twined together on her knee, then back up into my eyes.
“Hmm. A goddess?” Her expression shifted from bemusement to skepticism. “Is this a routine you pull any time a single woman books your farmhouse? Are you a…a…gigilo?”
I leaned back, insulted. Is this what American women thought true of Italian men?
“Italians are known for their passion, but I’ve not been with a woman since January. My family, our lands and this vineyard, are ancient, but I’m very much a modern man. I use condoms and am tested to insure I’m healthy.” I spat in disdain. “Lovemaking is a privilege, a gift shared between a man and a woman. I would not denigrate the honor of making love to a woman by sleeping around indiscriminately or exposing her to disease.”
I rose, emotion a hot churning ball of lava in my chest. “Mie scuse. I meant no disrespect.”
“Alessio, wait.” Elle stood as well, her hands fisted around a cloth napkin. “A gorgeous Italian man steps out of my dreams and into the kitchenette of my Airbnb rental and declares I’m a goddess. You admit to spying on me while I was completely naked, and then proposition me. That doesn’t happen in real life.”
“Bella, this is not real life for either of us.” I longed to embrace her but remained in place, arms at my sides. “I live and work in Rome. My father asked me to care for the vineyards for three months. You are on holiday. Nursing a broken heart because yourasinofiancé slithered away like a snake.”
What broken heart?” Elle snorted. “I couldn’t be happier that Henry ditched me. I’m footloose and fancy-free.”
“I don’t know this…this fancy feet. It is an American idiom?”
Elle returned to her chair. “It means I have no entanglements and can do as I wish. Sit down. Eat. Then you can escort me into town and show me the sights.”
My skin prickled, anticipation striking like sharp drops of rain. “We’re to be lovers?”
“Slow your roll, Romeo.” Her cheeks flushed, but her gaze was clear and direct. “I don’t jump into bed with guys, no matter how attractive they are or how seductive their accent is. Let’s spend some time together and see where it does from there. You might decide you don’t like me.”
I would do as she asked and slow my roll, whatever that meant. The mutual attraction was obvious, her caution was wise, and my patience was infinite. Well, as infinite as the remainder of my stay at Terre del Venturi.
Chapter Six - Elle
My hands shook as I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, knuckles white as I gripped the hairbrush. Luigi, the fantasy Italian lover Talley and I had made up, was turning into something real.
Alessio Venturi. Wealthy Roman entrepreneur. Attentive and entertaining tour guide. Seductive international playboy. Earthy Tuscan vintner.
He shifted seamlessly from one identity to another, each role another authentic facet of his fascinating personality. He wasn’t playing a part to manipulate me or advance his own agenda. His desires were Swarovski-crystal clear the moment we hopped on wide-tired bikes with baskets suspended from the handlebars for the ride into town.
He wanted me. He wanted to make love to me. For as long as we both agreed.
It had only been eight hours since he appeared in the doorway of the farmhouse, a dark silhouette gilded by sunbeams that morphed into every woman’s fantasy of the perfect Italian lover. Alessio was tall, about five-eleven, slender but well-muscled. Elegant, poised, self-possessed. He carried himself with a subtle confidence American men lacked, as if he knew his own worth and no one else’s judgement mattered. Chestnut hair. Espresso eyes fringed with lashes. Slanting masculine brows, and an angled jawline. An expressive mouth that communicated without a single word. When the corner tilted up, he was amused. When his lips thinned, he disapproved. When his smile unfurled slowly, he was turned on.
As we’d pedaled down the narrow lane from his estate to the small town, he told me about the history of the area.
“Lucca was settled y Etruscans but became a Roman colony in 180 B.C. Over the centuries, it has seen battles and feuds, but remained an important, independent center of commerce. Many well-known Italian composers were born in Lucca, including Giacomo Puccini, but there are an equal number of other attractions such as gardens and museums. Visitors come for the history and to see the ancient sites that have been preserved. It is sad that some of the countryside estates have not fared as well. There are several broken-down villas, even the old winery adjacent to our vineyards, for sale. It would require a great love for the region and its heritage, as well as deep pockets, to restore these properties.”
We rode side by side, pulling to the edge of the roadway when a car or truck trundled by. The day was mild, and we rode at a leisurely pace, in no particular hurry. The hills and fields gave way to cobbled streets and stucco buildings in shades from eggshell to marigold. When it got crowded, we stowed the bikes in an alley. Alessio took my hand and led me to the market. White awnings covered vendors selling produce, delicacies, artisan crafts, clothing and fabrics. We passed performers and artists, admired the fronts of cathedrals, peered into shop windows, and shared bits and pieces about ourselves.
“Next time we’ll climb the 230 steps to the top of the Torre Guinigi,” he’d promised, pointing out a Romanesque-Gothic tower with trees growing at the top when we stopped for coffee andbuccallato, a local sweet bread topped with whipped cream, at a sidewalk café.
Hour by hour, I learned more about Alessio. How he’d grown up in the country but couldn’t wait to leave for university and the big city. How close he’d been with his mother, and how her death created a breach between him and his father. He revealed himself to be intelligent, ambitious, decisive, impatient, curious, and affectionate. When I told him I was homeless and jobless, an exaggeration but true nonetheless, he seemed almost envious.
