I see him everywhere! she thought, exasperated and still astonished by the impact he had on her only after a few hours spent in his company. She’d never experienced such a feeling. And, although she was frustrated and intrigued, the fragile root of a joyful, crazy, adolescent attraction was taking residence in her heart.
Lost in thoughts, she jumped when she saw Francesco, the gallery’s owner. He walked toward her, a greeting smile warming his face.
Francesco was a middle-aged Italian with dark hair, tanned skin and classical features. She’d never seen him wear anything but elegant black suits.
“Bella mia!” he said in his baritone voice, which seemed to fill the entire room. “I was wondering when you planned to stop by,” he continued in impeccable English, spiced with just a hint of Italian accent.
“Francesco!” She kissed his cheek. “You scared me.”
“Your works are so captivating that even you remain hypnotized at their sight.”
She laughed.
“Not quite. I see you have everything arranged. It’s fabulous,” she remarked, gesticulating to encompass the room.
“We have to be ready for Saturday, my dear. The grand opening is getting close. The press, television, newspapers, all are waiting anxiously for the big event.”
Studying her denim shorts and white tank top, he winced visibly.
“I am confident you plan to wear something more, ehm, chic than this outfit, for the occasion.”
“Oh, my, Francesco! How can you say such a thing?” she said, feigning offense. “I’m going to wear a black tank top,” she joked, then laughed at his panicked expression. “Just kidding, darling! Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you, or the gallery.”
“Ah, you almost gave me a fright, cara! Will you have a drink? Coffee, soda?”
“No, thanks. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay long. I have some more places to go. I only stopped by to see how things are and to congratulate you. Everything looks lovely!”
“Thank you, but the artists have all the merits.” He smiled, running a manicured hand through his graying hair. “I’m so glad you came by. We’ll keep in touch by phone. Soon, I will give you all the details for Saturday.”
“Okay. Then I’ll see you around. Ciao!” she said, waving to him on her way to the exit.
“Ciao, bellezza!”
She drove to the clinic, under the pretext that she wanted to know more about Gerard’s treatment. She hoped to pass unnoticed, but remembered she didn’t know where his office was. Carolina was at her desk, as usual. She lifted her head when Linda entered, seeming surprised to see her. The woman’s brows went up when Linda asked her where Dr. Leon’s office was. Not daring to question her, Carolina promptly led her to a corridor, gave her further indications and then returned to the reception desk.
His office door was marked by a sign with his name etched in gold letters. Linda knocked discreetly, her heart hammering with nervous anticipation.
“Come in,” he said.
When she entered, she caught him massaging his tired eyes. As he opened them, they remained fixed on her long, tanned legs. His gaze lifted slowly, meeting hers.
She smiled at him and hooked her thumbs into the pockets of her denim shorts.
“Hi, Doc!”
“Hello!”
He stood and headed toward her. When he kissed her cheek, she breathed deeply, enjoying his divine masculine scent of soap, aftershave and man.
“What brings you by?”
He indicated the chair in front of his desk, but she declined to sit. Instead, she went to the window, feeling the weight of his gaze on her.
“I had business in the area and I thought I’d come by, to see what else the children need,” she lied, looking out at the rush-hour traffic.
She turned around to face him, then noticed the shadows under his eyes, and his wrinkled shirt. Several buttons were unfastened—more than was prudent for her imagination. Even tired and unshaven, the man looked gorgeous. He unleashed inside her an undefined, but apparently infinite desire.
“You seem tired. Is there something wrong?” she asked, feeling her cheeks grow warm, afraid he could read her reactions to his presence.
He sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair.
“I don’t know if you could put it quite like that, but we do have an unpredictable situation. Looks like I have to take some time off as soon as possible and leave for Romania.”
“Romania? Dracula’s land?” she exclaimed, shocked. “What the hell do you want to go there for?”
He laughed indulgently, indicating the mountain of papers spread on his desk.
“Well, I have a friend—actually he was a good friend of my father’s—who lives there now. He’s a doctor too. In the past years, he collaborated with another Romanian doctor and they devised a treatment made from a plant called hellebore. It seems to give good results in certain types of cancer. True, the results differ from case to case and the treatment is not effective on every patient, or in every form of the disease. Like the snake venom treatment, the best results are obtained in incipient stages, if the treatments can be applied locally. Especially in the beginnings of skin cancer.”
“And he wants you to go there to share the treatment formula with you?” she asked.
“Yes. In exchange, I prepared copies of all my notes, observations and research to share with him.”
Linda approached the desk, intrigued, and inspected the scattered papers.
“Chemical formulas, observations, reports…Here is all your work related to the serum made from snake venom?”
“Just about anything that could be put on paper.”
“And do you trust this person?”
“Absolutely.”
She continued studying the notes on the desk, while he sat back in his chair, studying her.
She directed her gaze to him.
“You could make a fortune with this thing. Why give it for free to that guy?”
He gave her a long look, appearing offended by her implication.
“I’m not interested in money and fame, Linda. I became a doctor because the most important thing to me is healing, bringing comfort to my patients, not profiting from their tragedy,” he said, his expression intense and earnest. “Those who do that aren’t true descendants of Hippocrates, they’re just crooks. All my work is measured in the number of people I help, not in stacks of money.”
Something glowed warmly into her entire being. All at once, she felt her heart was lighter, ready to fly toward the nameless fulfillment that she longed for.
“You are a noble man,” she said truthfully, with a trace of admiration. “I respect that very much.”
“I’m a man like any other,” he replied, reclining in his chair. “I have flaws and qualities, nothing special compared to others. Still, I like to think I have a better sense of humor than most,” he added, smiling. “Please, sit down. I feel uncomfortable sitting while you stand. Do you want something to drink?”
“No, thanks.”
She sat in the chair facing his desk.
After a few moments of silence he asked, “Dracula’s land?”
She started laughing, and so did he. When their laughter subsided she said, “That’s all I’ve heard about Romania.”
“That’s about all the rest of the world has heard too. In fact, Jean-Paul tells me it’s a very beautiful country, with extraordinary landscapes and an admirable history. There are numerous predictions and speculations that there, in the heart of the Carpathians, is the physical projection of Shambala—the spiritual center of the Earth. You know, the more or less mythical land of the initiates who hold the balance of the world.”
“Really?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes. I told you, it’s an interesting country, extremely controversial. It intrigued me ever since I listened to Jean’s stories. Speaking of history, do you know how all this Dracula story started?”
“I have no idea. You realize that an intellige
nt person doesn’t believe in vampires and other such nonsense. But I suppose in every legend there’s a grain of truth.”
Gerard smiled, linking his hands on his desk.
“Actually, there was once in Romania a ruler called Vlad Tepes—which means Vlad the Impaler. He was called so because he literally impaled all thieves, criminals and all those who broke the law, as well as his enemies. They say people were afraid of him to such an extent that, when he put a golden cup on the edge of a fountain, nobody dared to take it. When it was gone, they all knew he was no longer ruling.”
Linda shuddered.
“So much cruelty! I think that man was a monster!”
“Granted, those punishing methods weren’t too gentle, but we have to take into consideration that in those times, around fifteenth century, cruelty wasn’t unusual. Not only at royal courts, but worldwide. Besides, the most horribly punished were the Ottomans—a people who, from the beginnings of history, tried to subjugate the entirety of Europe and beyond, having a personal ambition to conquer Romania.”
“Hmm, what an odd thing. I didn’t know all of this, but it didn’t even occur to me to read about it,” she confessed meditatively. “So, all these atrocious torture methods have created the image of Bram Stocker’s vampire monster?”
“This, along with other bits and pieces of elements gathered from here and there, or invented. For example, Vlad’s father, called Vlad Dracul—which means The Devil—was part of the Dragon’s Order. Their symbol was a creature resembling a dragon from Oriental Mythology, with claws and fangs. This kind of distorted legends created false myths, which mystify history. In reality, Romanians consider Vlad Tepes one of their country’s best rulers and a character they can be proud of. If it weren’t for him and a few other Romanian rulers, all European states would be Turkish colonies now.”
“Talking with you is really fascinating! I always learn new things,” she remarked, impressed by all his knowledge.
He returned her smile and the fatigue shadows on his face seemed to dissipate slowly.
“I could tell you a lot more interesting things tonight, at dinner.”
She bit her lower lip involuntarily, as her heart gave a little thud of excitement. After a few moments of inner debate, she asked, “Do you like Italian food?”
Chapter Five
Linda had learned to cook from an early age. She used to spend hours watching enthralled as Sofia—their cook—prepared sumptuous meals for the Coriola family, which back then was still intact.
Sofia was a well-rounded woman with ever-rosy cheeks and gray hair, which she always covered with colorful scarves. When Linda had asked the woman to teach her a few simple recipes, Sofia had been delighted with the little girl’s passion for gastronomy. She’d immediately taken her under her wing, teaching her the art of becoming a domestic goddess, as she used to say. And so, in a few years, Linda—who was already in her teens—had gained the experience of a high-class chef.
At the moment however, it seemed all her culinary knowledge had left her. She’d hired Mrs. Adams to cook for her so she could dedicate her time to sculpting and not bother with domestic stuff. Now she got the impression she’d lost her touch.
She lined up precisely on the counter all the ingredients she needed, then sat on a chair next to Pirata, who watched the preparations curiously.
For a few long minutes they both sat, staring at the spaghetti, spices, mushrooms, cheese and ham, all arranged in military fashion. The cat’s gaze was lustful, his nose and whiskers twitching with interest. By contrast, Linda’s gaze reflected a shadow of something resembling desperation.
Eventually, with a deep, resigned sigh, she stood and got to work. The Spaghetti Carbonara was her favorite dish and was quite simple to prepare.
Working efficiently, without conscious effort, carried by the rhythm that had never truly left her, she started an animated discussion with Pirata.
“I don’t know what I was thinking, inviting him for dinner,” she told the cat, barely noticing that he’d just slid a paw on the counter to steal yet another piece of ham. “I mean, look at me.” She gesticulated with the knife she used for cutting mushrooms. “Instead of minding my business, I’m cooking for a guy. And I don’t even know if he’ll like this. As a matter of fact, I know very well why he’s coming to dinner. He’s only interested in the dessert.”
Remembering the way he’d kissed her the night before, of how incredibly sexy he looked sitting at his desk—unshaven, his shirt nearly unbuttoned—she became aware of her own need and desperate craving for that kind of decadent dessert.
Ignoring for a moment the fantastic way he was built, she had to admit he was a special man. Noble, that’s how she’d called him, and meant it.
“Why do I have to complicate stuff?” she demanded again of Pirata, who was washing his paws, satiated. “I’m just going to live the moment, not sit around analyzing every little thing. Giovanni was right. Not all men are a pain in the ass. Some of them are worth the trouble, right?”
At the end of this one-sided conversation, during which she had been moving like a robot, she was amazed to discover the meal was almost ready. She made the final touches, then consulted her watch and exclaimed in panic, “It’s a quarter to eight! Gerard has to be here at eight sharp!”
She scrambled toward the door and ran upstairs to her bedroom, under the cat’s placid gaze.
She quickly applied some basic makeup. After that, she pulled on a white backless dress that reached her knees, splendid in its simplicity and elegance.
Her only jewelry was the ring she never took off and a pair of delicate pearl earrings.
Precisely as she descended the stairs, she heard the intercom’s buzz. She pressed the button to unlock the gate and opened the front door, in time to see a black Jeep advancing on her driveway.
Gerard parked in front of the garage, before climbing out of his car. He walked around and opened the passenger door, revealing an enormous bouquet of flowers. He removed it from the seat, then headed toward her. He wore midnight blue pants and a white shirt, open at the neck. The white cotton created a delicious contrast to his tanned chest, sprinkled with dark-gold hair. She felt her entire body reacting to his presence like a metallic splinter attracted to a powerful magnet.
When he reached her, she noticed he’d shaven.
My God, he is completely magnificent! she thought, while his intense green eyes drilled into hers, as if he intuited all her thoughts and sensations.
He handed her the bouquet—a combination of white roses and white lilac, spreading a divine scent. He took in her white dress, the thin material that flowed down her body, subtly emphasizing every curve.
“I can see I chose the flowers very well. They perfectly match you and your attire. You look magnificent,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek.
She turned her head involuntarily and his warm, soft lips touched the corner of her mouth. Entranced by his nearness and by his dizzying perfume, she turned her head another fraction. Their mouths touched in a kiss that would have been as chaste as the white flowers between them, if not for the explosive sensuality crackling in the air. For several seconds they just stared at one another, in hypnotizing fascination.
He touched her lips with his once more, then slowly traced them delicately with one finger, as though caressing the petals of an exotic flower. He stepped back from her slightly, noticing Pirata, who had come to inspect the intruder. Amused, he bent to rub the cat’s ears and was repaid with a generous purr.
Linda invited him inside, prompting him to have a seat on the living room sofa, while she took the flowers to the kitchen.
“Would you rather we ate in a more formal ambient or in the kitchen?” she asked when she returned, aware that her dress wasn’t suited for a kitchen meal.
“Definitely in the kitchen. You don’t have to be formal with me, Linda. Do you need me to help you with anything?”
“Just with the eating,” she joked. “Come into the ki
tchen then.”
As he sat at the counter, she mentally congratulated herself for being such a tidy cook. Because she cleaned all surfaces while she was cooking, her kitchen always looked brand-new. She took great pride in that.
She arranged the dishes, then brought the spaghetti.
“Mmm, they look almost as good as you!”
“Thanks, but I can assure you they taste a lot better.”
“I seriously doubt that,” he replied, watching her in that particular way, which never failed to incite her.
After he had his first taste, Gerard remarked, “It’s absolutely delicious! Where’d you learn to cook this?”
“Back home, when I was a child, we had an excellent cook. Sofia taught me everything I know. Unfortunately, lately I’ve become pretty lazy and I rarely cook.”
“I’ve always loved Italian food the most. It’s got something special, just like Italian women. My mother always pushed me to find an Italian girl.”
“And you didn’t succeed?” she asked jokingly.
“I did now,” he answered in a serious tone, his eyes meeting hers.
They looked at one another for a long moment, in silence. She was the first to break that intense visual contact. She resumed the conversation, changing the subject as if nothing had happened.
They went on with their meal, making small talk, while Pirata twirled around their feet, shamelessly begging for treats.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t had time to prepare dessert,” she apologized, as she cleared the table. “But I’ve ordered something delicious.”
Gerard stood and put his dishes into the sink.
“What? So far, dinner was great.”
She went to the fridge and produced a casserole, from which she generously filled two dessert bowls. She put them on the table and added two spoons.
“Caramel Cream. Haven’t you ever had this?”
He studied it curiously, then used his spoon to test and taste the creamy surface.
A French Kiss in London Page 4
