Falling for the Sardinian Baron

by Rosanna Battigelli

  What was it about this woman that drew him to her?

  You know... an inner voice said pointedly.

  He felt his abdomen muscles tensing. Yes, he did know. She made him remember that he was a man...

  But what was the point of acknowledging it? Whatever feelings were beginning to germinate in his consciousness, Massimo knew he couldn’t allow them to grow. How could he? She would be leaving in four days. Whatever emotions she had been able to resuscitate in him, whether she knew it or not, he’d have to ensure that they wouldn’t see the light of day.

  With his reduction of speed in the town limits, Ella had relaxed, and Massimo noticed her leaning back and taking in the sweeping views with a smile. When he pulled into his mother’s serpentine driveway, she straightened and reached for her seat belt.

  He clicked on a remote device that he kept in each vehicle and watched as the ornate gates to his mother’s villa opened noiselessly. There were no parked vehicles except those of his mother’s. Her chef had finished his part of the feast, Massimo thought, smiling. And his mother would have spent a good part of the day concocting all kinds of Sardinian delights with which to regale Ella.

  The Huracán glided through, and moments later, Massimo parked it in one of the available spots next to his mother’s Alfa Romeo Giulia and her Mercedes minivan. He smiled. His mother was a classy lady, with or without her fine cars and luxurious tastes. She had a kind heart and made a lot of substantial donations to charities, without fanfare. She was especially devoted to children’s causes.

  Massimo let his hands slide down from the wheel. “Are you ready to meet my mamma?”

  Ella nodded and tilted her head to look out the window, but not before Massimo had caught a slight creasing of her brow. Was she thinking about her biological mother? He felt a twinge in his chest, imagining how difficult it had to be, knowing your mother gave you up for adoption but not knowing why.

  Maybe one day Ella would return to Sardinia to try to find out.

  He checked his watch. “Shall we go in?” he said. “My mouth’s already watering, thinking about the feast she has prepared.” He clicked open his door to climb out and, in several strides, was at Ella’s door.

  She reached for her work bag and the gift bag and moments later, they were walking side by side toward the arched carved-wood door of his mother’s villa.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ELLA HAD TO struggle to keep her jaw from dropping as she stood in the baronessa’s spacious foyer with its gleaming Murano chandelier fashioned like a bouquet of cascading blue irises.

  Silvia DiLuca welcomed Ella in Italian, followed by a few words in English and a warm hug. She had striking features, dark hair arranged in a braided bun and the same almond-shaped eyes as her son, with long lashes. She wore a loose peach silk blouse with olive green palazzo pants.

  She wanted to take Ella on a quick tour of the house, then get the interview done in the gardens. “And then I feed you,” she laughed before hugging both Ella and Massimo, who was smiling indulgently at her.

  “I’ll be waiting for you ladies in the living room, enjoying the soccer game,” Massimo said wryly. “Divertitevi.”

  “Of course we will have fun,” his mother retorted, slapping him none too gently on his backside as he strode away.

  He turned and gave a deep laugh. “You’re lucky you’re my mother,” he teased, and then gave Ella a wink.

  Ella followed the baronessa through the main floor of the sprawling villa, her cheeks tingling. The way Massimo had looked at her had caused her heart to flutter. No, not flutter, flip.

  Her brain and heart were clashing, and for a few moments she was listening to their arguments. Her common sense was telling her that she was foolishly falling for the baron. Her heart was urging her to feel whatever she was feeling, to be open to...

  Don’t even go there, her brain ordered. You’re leaving. There’s no possibility of that happening. Besides, it’s a one-way feeling, girl. He’s not ready for lo—

  “Ella, this is my kitchen.”

  The baronessa entered the massive room, complete with a real wood-burning hearth and an island that was longer than Ella’s apartment kitchen. “What a beautiful room!” Ella smiled. “And whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful!”

  “Please, you call me Silvia, va bene? Now I take you to my gardens.”

  Outside, Ella drew in her breath. “This is an absolute Garden of Eden,” she said. “How enchanting.”

  Silvia led her through themed gardens that were meticulously designed and partitioned by boxwood hedges and featured marble statues and fountains, citrus trees and pergolas, and flower varieties Ella had never seen before. One area was exclusively for herbs and resembled a monastic garden with its terra-cotta planters and cobblestone paths. Everywhere she looked, Ella spotted a different variety of tree: palm, prickly pear, cypress, lemon, mandarin and persimmon.

  They stopped at a serene park-like section with a pond shaded by giant palm trees, and Silvia motioned for Ella to sit opposite her on one of the ornate benches.

  Ella took her recorder out of her bag, and after opening her notepad to the interview questions, clicked it on. She smiled at the baronessa, feeling relaxed, not only because of the peaceful ambiance of the gardens but because of the twinkle in those dark brown eyes, eyes that her son had inherited.

  The hour flew by, and Ella was pleased with the responses Silvia had given her, clearly demonstrating not only her business savvy but her community-minded initiatives and her charitable acts. Her voice had wavered when she conveyed how important the DiLuca Cardiac Research Center was to her and Massimo, and Ella had felt her heart twinge, thinking of how mother and son were channeling their grief in ways that would ultimately help so many others. And then the baronessa had winked at Ella and enthusiastically brought up her upcoming birthday party.

  Ella put away her recorder and notepad in her bag, and they started walking back to the villa.

  “Who or what inspired you to create these lovely gardens?” She smiled across at Massimo’s mother.

  “It was my husband,” Silvia said softly. Speaking in both Italian and halting English, she told Ella how he had supported her love of art and design and had encouraged her to plan the gardens at their first resort. She had ended up designing all of them. “He was a wonderful man who understood my passion,” she said wistfully, her gaze shifting to her grounds. Suddenly she turned to Ella. “What is your passion, Ella? Do you have a wonderful man in your life?”

  * * *

  Massimo strode to the huge window overlooking the gardens. He had spotted Ella and his mother earlier sitting by the pond and had smiled at his mother’s animated hand movements. She was no doubt talking about her two passions, her gardens and cooking. He couldn’t see their faces clearly or hear their conversation, but Ella was leaning forward, and through the open shutters, he heard their occasional shared laughter.

  Forty minutes later, Roberta, his mother’s dining server, set out the appetizers, a variety of local cheeses and spiced olives, and a special Sardinian bread called carta da musica—thin, crispy rounds resembling sheets of music parchment. Afterward, they enjoyed the culurgiones his mother had made, ravioli with a filling of sweet potato and pecorino served with a butter-sage sauce. The main course was fennel-encrusted swordfish with asparagus spears drizzled with olive oil and sea salt.

  After the dessert of amarettus—the Sardinian word for amaretti made with bitter almonds and lemon peel—and sebadas, Ella leaned back with a contented sigh, which made his mother chuckle. “Now you know why the interview came first, Ella.”

  They left shortly after coffee and liqueurs and the usual hugs from his mother. She and Ella had embraced, as well, with his mother murmuring “Buona notte, cara” to her.

  The evening air was hot and humid, and when they were in his car, Massimo turned on the air conditioner.
“I have a feeling we might get some rain tonight,” he said. “Hopefully we’ll be back home before then.”

  “Mmm...” she replied.

  He glanced at Ella as he fastened his seat belt. She seemed much more relaxed than before. Mellow, actually. It could have been the shot of mirto she had tried, an amber Sardinian liqueur made from myrtle berries. He had declined it in favor of a second espresso, but he felt rather mellow himself. A combination of the great food. And company.

  “I gather your interview with my mother went well.”

  Ella turned to him. “Very well,” she said with a smile. “Your mother was a pleasure to interview.” She chuckled. “Not at all a dragon.”

  He let out a deep laugh. “You must have made a positive impression on her. Correction... I know you made a great impression on her.”

  She looked at him curiously. “How do you know?”

  He didn’t answer right away as he made his way through the villa gates. Once they closed behind him, he said, “Mamma has always claimed to have a certain intuition about people. She sensed it with you right away.”

  Ella’s brow creased. “How would you know that?”

  “She only takes her best friends or people she feels she can trust into her gardens. That is her sacred space. Her private space. Ordinarily she would conduct an interview in her study.” He came to a stop sign. “Trust me,” he said, flashing her a smile before driving on. “I know my mother.”

  “Well... I’m flattered,” Ella murmured.

  “I’m not trying to flatter you, Ella.”

  She didn’t reply, and his quick glance in her direction caught her puzzled—or maybe hurt—expression as she turned to look out her window.

  “That didn’t come out right,” he said, wishing he could just park the car and talk to her face-to-face. But he couldn’t risk wasting time if he wanted to get back to the villa before the downpour.

  “What I meant to say was I’m not telling you this to boost your ego, Ella. I’m telling you this because it’s the truth.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn to look at him. “And one more thing...she said, ‘Buona notte, cara,’ to you. She doesn’t use that term lightly. There’s only one other person she called a dear.”

  “Your father?”

  “No. She called him amore.” He swallowed. “She called my late wife Rita, cara.”

  Massimo felt a surprising relief once he told Ella this, as if a buildup of pressure inside him had been released.

  His mother liked Ella.

  And so did he. He didn’t see it as a betrayal to Rita for either one of them. Rita would always have a place in his mother’s heart. And his.

  But had his admission made Ella uncomfortable? Is that why she hadn’t said anything? He ventured a quick glance at her.

  She was smiling at him.

  Feeling a surge inside his chest, he grinned back and merged onto the freeway, anxious to get back to Villa Serena. Ella gasped as the Huracán accelerated and her hand shot out and landed on his leg.

  And it seemed to rest there for a while before she pulled it away...

  When they arrived at the Paradiso, Massimo looked at the gathering clouds. “We should be able to make it back before the rain starts,” he told her. They would be fine in the boat’s cabin, but he didn’t like the idea of driving the boat at night in a heavy rain.

  A quarter of a mile away from his villa, they heard the first rumblings of thunder. Ella turned to him, her eyes wide. He increased his speed, and the rain began pelting the boat just as he was docking. He held out a hand to Ella and she clambered out. “How fast can you run?” he said.

  “Faster than you can swim,” she teased.

  He clasped her hand tightly as they dashed toward the villa, but halfway there, the rain turned into a downpour with the boom of thunder reverberating around them. They reached the villa entrance just as jagged spears of lightning branded the sky.

  Inside the lit foyer, they stood dripping, and as they caught the reflection of their faces in the oval mirror, they both started to laugh. “I’ll go grab some towels in a minute,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. After taking it off, he squeezed the excess water out and used it to wipe his face and head. He noticed that Ella was trying not to stare, but their gazes met several times.

  She couldn’t very well take her dress off, and because of the height of the mirror, she probably hadn’t been aware of the fact her loose-fitting garment was now clinging to her provocatively, highlighting the curves and shadows that had been previously concealed.

  The soft but quick beat of his heart seemed to suddenly match the boom of thunder that made Ella jump, seconds before the lights went out. His arms instinctively shot up to steady her. In the darkness, feeling her wet, shivering body against him, his arms wrapped around her as if they had a will of their own. Her breath fanned his Adam’s apple, igniting a sizzle through him that coincided with the series of lightning flashes that illuminated them briefly through the villa windows.

  Ella didn’t move. Massimo closed his eyes, his chest heaving, allowing himself to just experience the moment. The feeling. The wonder of his whole being, body and soul, wanting to...to...

  Her lips brushed against his jaw. With a groan that was muffled by the next clap of thunder, his hand slid up to cup the back of her head while his lips found hers. He froze for a moment as they made contact, and then he lingered, first over her lower and then her top lip. Ella’s hands reached upward to trace a path on his back, and the way her fingers moved over him, giving a slight squeeze every few seconds, was threatening to undo him.

  At her sudden intake of breath, he pressed her tightly against him and kissed her deeply, his heart clanging wildly when she reciprocated.

  Massimo could taste the myrtle liqueur on her tongue. His pulse skyrocketed. His hands dropped to blindly find the hem of her dress, without breaking off the kiss. His fingers trembled as they closed over the drenched material...

  And then the lights flickered back on.

  It was like getting a bucket of cold water poured over his head. He released the hold on her dress, and as the kiss ended, they stood looking at each other, both dazed.

  He didn’t know whether he should apologize or kiss her again.

  “Ella—”

  “I—I have to go,” she said, crossing her arms self-consciously in front of her.

  They could both hear the rain pelting the villa’s tiled roof and windows, followed by a menacing series of thunderclaps.

  “You can’t leave now, with this storm,” he said huskily. “The path down to the guesthouse will be too dangerous. And there are too many trees that are a target for lightning.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ll have to spend the night.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ELLA WATCHED HIM disappear around the corner after telling her that he would return with some towels.

  She loved storms...as long as she was inside. She’d watch a deluge from the window seat in her bedroom and wait for the lightning to sizzle across the night sky.

  This storm would have been amazing to watch from the guesthouse, with the stupendous views of the cove, but she wasn’t about to head there after Massimo’s warning.

  He was right. It was too dangerous to go out. But what was even more dangerous was the storm inside her. And she couldn’t put the blame entirely on the baron. Or the weather, although running up to the villa with her hand in his had certainly started it. Followed by Massimo taking off his shirt, the ear-splitting boom of thunder that had caused her to practically jump in his arms and the lights switching off.

  Pressed up against him in the dark and feeling the touch of Massimo’s hands and lips had ignited a yearning within her that she hadn’t been able to suppress. His kiss had been powerful...seismic. If it hadn’t actually caused the floor to split and quake around her, it certainly had shaken her to the
core.

  But the return of the electricity had shocked her back to reality...to the knowledge that allowing anything further to develop would be a big mistake. Just allowing herself to be kissed by the baron—and kissing him back—had not been the wisest thing to do. It had never happened in the past with a client, and she could not let it happen again.

  No matter how physically attracted she was to him.

  No matter that being in his sphere made her pulse spike in a way she had never experienced with Dustin or the other guys she had dated.

  And despite her earlier feeling that Massimo wouldn’t be interested in her, his lips and his body were telling her something different.

  It didn’t matter.

  She had to choose reason over recklessness.

  Simply because she would be leaving soon, and the last thing she wanted was to complicate matters by giving in to what her body seemed to be yearning for.

  Ella shivered. If only they had arrived ten minutes earlier... She would be in the guesthouse, comfortably watching the storm in her robe, instead of standing here soaking wet in a dress that had become too revealing for comfort.

  And now she had no choice but to spend the night under his roof.

  The lights flickered as the baron returned with several extra-large towels. He had changed into a black T-shirt and jeans. He handed two towels to Ella and dropped one on the floor where he had been standing. She wrapped one around her body and used the other one for her hair.

  “I’ll take you to a guest room,” he said brusquely, as if he were a resort employee speaking to a paying guest. “It has an en suite bathroom, if you’d like to take a warm shower. And there’s a bathrobe on the hook behind the sliding door. There are hangers for your wet clothes in the walk-in closet.” He handed her a bag. “Slippers, since your shoes are soaked.”

  Ella followed him past his living room and up the grand staircase to the second level.

  “Buona notte,” he said, giving her a curt nod. “I’ve put a bottle of water on the night table. If you need anything else, just let me know. My room is at the end of the hall.”