One man spotted Frank and called out enthusiastically. Frank waved in response. “Come meet our chefs.”
“Chefs?”
He tugged her along across the crunchy soil—almost as if they were walking on a frozen lake and she wasn’t sure if it would hold them. And she could swear the soles of her shoes were getting hotter as they went.
Frank greeted the men and introduced her to them, remembering each of their first and last names, and with Portuguese names, that was several apiece. The men were clearly flattered at being remembered by the Duke of Santas Aguas and treated her as if she were a princess. Or a duchess. “A pleasure, senhorina.” One man—she thought his name was José—gave her a little bow and gestured at the black mound closest to them. “We bring food out here at five o’clock this morning.”
A couple men busied themselves with a shovel, clearing the dirt away to reveal a pail with a lid. Another man hooked a hoe into the lid handle and lifted what looked like a five-gallon metal bucket.
“Here’s our lunch.”
“Oh, um, are we picnicking here?” Julia looked around for somewhere to sit. She couldn’t even smell what lunch might be.
Frank translated her question and the men laughed good-naturedly. “José says if he sits on the ground he is not getting back up again,” Frank told her, pointing at José who clutched comically at his back and limped for a few steps. “No, we are going to his house to eat with him and his family.”
The men wrapped the pail in a couple of old horse blankets and Frank helped lug it to the parking lot. He pretended to lift it onto the back of the motorcycle as if to drive it to José’s house and the old men laughed again. The Duke of Santas Aguas was obviously a well-admired young man.
The pail made it safely into a compact car’s backseat, and the caravan of cars and motorcycle wound down the hill to a pretty white-washed two-story house. José honked the horn to announce that the ducal procession had arrived, and an older woman came out the front door, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She wore glasses and had short, reddish-brown hair that puffed slightly around her face.
From the way she gestured and scolded José, Julia guessed that she was his wife. The men bore the pail into the house under her strict supervision, and then she turned to Frank. “Your Grace. Welcome to our home.” She even curtsied a bit. It was the first time Julia’d seen anyone treat Frank so formally, and it reminded her that he was indeed a powerful nobleman, cousin to Portuguese royalty, and accustomed to much finer things in life than she was.
Frank bowed back and took the woman’s hand in greeting. “It is our honor to be here, Senhora Magdalena.” He introduced her to Julia, holding the older lady’s hand the whole time.
“Please come in, Your Grace, Senhorina Julia.” Magdalena gestured toward the back of the house. “I must make sure the men are not ruining our lunch.”
“Of course. What would we men do without the ladies to watch over us?”
Magdalena gave a surprisingly young-sounding giggle at Frank’s gallantry. He furthered his reputation as a gentleman by tucking Magdalena’s hand into his left elbow and reaching for Julia’s for his right side.
The three of them entered the house. The living room was small but stuffed with comfortable-looking furniture, and the dark wood dining room table was set with what had to be the good china, white with pink pastel roses around the rims.
José poked his head out of the kitchen. “Hey, Don Franco, you already got a pretty girl, leave mine alone!”
“José!” Magdalena hissed, mortified at her husband’s lack of respect for their noble guest. She let go of Frank’s arm and burst into a torrent of Portuguese, waving her dishtowel at her husband’s head.
The older man just laughed and ducked, obviously used to baiting his wife. She chased him into the kitchen and appeared a moment later, smoothing her ruffled dignity with a serene smile. “Would you like to see the opening of the cozido?”
“I’d love to,” answered Julia. She might need an extra few minutes to bolster her courage for eating their mystery-meat lunch.
The kitchen was a smaller version of the one in Frank’s villa, dark wood and tiled walls. The pail sat on the center island, surrounded by more women—probably the wives of the men she’d met up at the caldera. The men leaned against the countertops, joking with each other. José put on oven mitts and popped the lid. They all sighed in pleasure as a delicious scent immediately filled the room.
Julia breathed out a sigh of relief, as well. Pork, if she wasn’t mistaken. She could handle that. Magdalena reached into the pail with tongs and started pulling out tender chunks of meat, wedges of cabbage, potatoes and other vegetables and plump brown loops of sausage.
Julia’s mouth watered. “So the pail acts as a slow cooker and the volcano supplies the heat?”
Frank nodded. “And it’s first come, first served to the hot pits where you bury the food. That’s why José got there at five this morning to make sure he got a good spot.”
“All that work for us?”
José overheard her question. “No work, just an honor. The Duke, he is very good to our little islands.”
Magdalena chipped in, “He paid for the school playground, new roof for the church, bus for the handicapped children, new machines at the hospital—”
Frank waved his hands. “Please, please, you’re embarrassing me.” His cheeks were turning ruddy, and Julia smiled.
She decided to take the focus off Frank to let him recover from the shower of well-deserved praise. “Magdalena, you speak very good English.” Julia carried a platter of cozido to the table and set it where the older woman indicated.
“She should,” said José, pouring a rich red wine into the goblets. “We lived in Falls River, Massachusetts, for thirty years. They say Falls River is the eighth island of the Azores since so many of us moved there when we were young.” The other men nodded.
Magdalena shooed everyone into a chair. She and José sat at the head and foot of the table. Julia sat between José and Frank and the other couples filled in to make about fourteen people at the table.
Julia smiled at their host. “Of course, Falls River.” It was a heavily Azorean enclave famous for its good food and rich culture. “I live in Boston now, but my parents retired back here. We lived here briefly when I was young—on the Air Force base.”
“Eh, we all move back and forth between Massachusetts and the Azores. If you lived here when you were a kid, you already an Azorean, right?”
“Well…” She’d need to learn Portuguese much better to get away with that claim. “That’s kind of you to say.”
“Just the truth.” José tapped his wineglass. “A toast.” The table obediently quieted. “A toast to Don Franco, Duke of Santas Aguas, who grew into a fine man like his father and grandfather before him. They would be proud.”
Frank blinked in emotion, but José wasn’t done yet. “And to the lovely Senhorina Julia, an Azorean-American beauty. Welcome home!”
It was Julia’s turn to blush, and she gave what she hoped was a gracious nod to the cheers and claps. She sipped at her wine and filled her plate with juicy pork chunks, sausage and fork-tender cabbages and potatoes. The conversation dimmed as they ate their lunch, but grew in volume as the wine flowed and the eating slowed. It was a mix of English on her behalf and fast Azorean Portuguese. Weather, politics, the local economy were all hot topics that brought out fervent gestures and much fork-pointing.
During one particularly vigorous argument, Julia leaned over to Frank. “I didn’t know you were such a philanthropist.”
He grimaced. “I tried to stay anonymous, but Benedito likes to brag about me. He and his wife have three daughters, so I’m the closest thing he has to a son.”
“But that’s so sweet.”
“No, you are.” He caught her hand under the table and squeezed. She squeezed back and he smiled at her, his eyes like melted chocolate.
No, Frank was sweet. Sweet to her, his friends, th
eir hosts who respected him for being a decent man more than just a duke. Nobility was an accident of birth, but good character was no accident.
She realized they had been staring into each other’s eyes for quite a while when the table quieted. She and Frank broke eye contact and Julia stared at her plate, her cheeks hot.
Conversation quickly picked up, but Julia caught a twinkle in José’s eye and quickly hidden smiles from the women.
Goo-goo eyes and holding hands at a table full of doting Azoreans—phone lines would be burning hotter than the volcano ten seconds after they left.
Frank gave her hand one last squeeze and picked up his wine glass. “I would like to propose a toast to our host José and his lovely wife Magdalena for inviting us into their home, and to all of you as well for welcoming Julia and me to Furnas. Saude! Cheers!”
His sentiments were echoed amidst the clink of goblets. Madgalena brought out a huge American-style chocolate cake and traditional pastries. Julia had to decline a second dessert. “I don’t want to tip over the motorcycle.”
“A little girl like you,” Madgalena scoffed, clearing away a plate. “Me, on the other hand…” She patted her well-rounded hip.
José grabbed her around the waist. “More of you to love, meu bem. And there are other things to ride.” He wiggled his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows.
“Oh, you!” She swatted at him with her dishtowel, blushing fiercely.
“What? Like a bicycle. Or a car. Or a donkey.”
“I’ll give you a donkey!” Magdalena gave him one last smack with the towel before flouncing off to the kitchen, José’s uproarious laughter in her wake.
Julia smiled at their comfortable relationship, much like her parents. Maybe that was why she’d never gotten terribly serious about any of the men she’d dated. They had been pleasant men but she’d never felt truly at ease with them. She hadn’t been able to imagine herself years in the future, older and plumper, pouring wine, setting out a nice dinner for them and their friends.
She offered to help in the kitchen but was roundly rebuffed for being a guest. Frank chatted with the men for a while, but then stood and made his goodbyes, reminding Julia they still had to run their errands and get back to Belas Aguas before dark.
They put on their jackets and helmets and rode away with a roar, waving goodbye until they turned the corner.
The earlier haze had burned off and the mountains were even greener as they rode along, reminding her of photos of Hawaii with its rich volcanic soil.
Frank was warm and solid in her arms, and she wished they were back on the boat so she could hold him face-to-face. As they got farther away from Furnas, she could swear that he was hitting bumps on purpose. Every time he hit a bumpy spot, the throbbing between her thighs increased, and her hands tightened on him. Once they got back to the boat, she would free him from his pants and take him inside her, make him relieve her aching desire.
He found a spot in the road that probably hadn’t been paved since her first trip to the Azores and she let out a moan. The road, the throbbing of the engine, the sly touches and teasing…
Frank unexpectedly slowed and pulled into a narrow country lane. He drove the bike under a canopy of hanging trees and shut off the engine. The sound of the countryside gradually returned to her ears as they adjusted to the sudden silence.
He swiveled on the bike and flipped up his visor. “Julia, are you in pain? I didn’t realize this road was in such poor condition.”
“No, Frank, I’m fine.” She fought to bring her breathing under control and waved a hand.
He didn’t believe her. “Let me see your face.” He popped off her helmet. “You’re all flushed, and your eyes are hazy.”
“I’m fine.” She just wanted to get back to the boat and have her wicked way with him.
A devilish smile spread across her face and he unzipped her jacket. “Your nipples are hard, Julia.” He ran his palm over each breast. “And if I were to touch here, would you be wet?” He slipped his fingers along the center seam of her jeans. “Soaking wet. I think our bumpy ride turned you on.”
Her face flushed even hotter. “Get me to the boat and you’ll find out.”
“No, I think I’ll find out here.” He unbuttoned her shirt and flipped open the front clasp of her bra. The cool woodsy air tightened her nipples into hard little buds.
“Frank.” She half gasped, half moaned at the sensation of the breeze on her bare skin. “What if someone comes?”
He backed her up so she rested against a big tree. “I hope more than one person comes,” he joked, bending to take her into his mouth, and then all joking was finished. His mouth was hot and wet, like a mineral spring bubbling around her. He licked and nibbled at each swollen tip. She cried out and clutched his head with one hand and the tree with another.
He chuckled and slid his hand between her legs, rubbing at the damp fabric, pressing the thick seam up into her throbbing flesh. Shockingly, she started to climax from just that stimulation in addition to the bike’s vibration. She tried to fight it, wanted to wait, but he rubbed harder and sucked her breast deep, pinching the other nipple as she came. Her head fell back and she moaned in pleasure.
He finally slowed and looked up at her. “God, you’re beautiful. And so sexy. I bet you were almost ready to come on that bike, weren’t you?”
She nodded, her face red with embarrassment and desire. Despite her climax, she was still wound up, still on edge.
He stood, his jeans bulging in the front. “And you’re ready to come again, aren’t you?”
“Frank.” His name came out in a strangled groan, and he laughed.
“How would you like it this time, Julia?” He rested his hands on either side of her face. “Do you want me to take you against the tree? Or do you want me to lie down so you can ride me like the bike? You pick.”
“But Frank, are you sure we’re alone out here?”
He stopped and listened. The birdsong had returned after the noise of the engine disappeared, and there were no other sounds to indicate company. “Nobody but us.” He kissed her, cupping her breast until she arched against his palm. “Tell me, sweet Julia—the tree, or like the motorcycle?”
“The bike.” She blushed again. It was dangerous and naughty to do this, not too far off the road. But, oh, was it sexy.
“Good.” He pulled a folded picnic blanket off the back of the motorcycle and spread it on the ground. Her legs were still wobbly, so she waited for him to return. She kicked off her shoes and he undid her jeans, pulling them off but leaving her tiny black satin panties on.
Julia took off the heavy jacket and her blouse and bra, setting them aside. Frank picked up the jacket. “Wear this.”
She slipped into the jacket and started to zip it, but he stopped her. “Leave it open. I want to see your pretty white tits against the black leather. If you’re a good girl, you can ride back to the boat like that, your nipples rubbing the leather.”
Her knees almost buckled again and he gave her a wicked smirk. His jeans came off quickly and she saw how he strained against his briefs. She reached into the waistband and freed his hard cock as he groaned with relief. “That’s it, Julia. I’ve been aching for you for hours.”
She wrapped her fingers around him, marveling again at his length and heft. He was dark brown with ropy veins struggling along his shaft, his head a deep plum, engorged with blood. As she gently squeezed him, a silvery bead formed on the tip.
Impulsively, she dropped to her knees on the picnic blanket and flicked the droplet with her tongue. He let out an agonized moan, his fingers digging into her scalp. “No, no, no. Oh, not that. I won’t be able to—”
She cut off his words when her lips closed over him. He rocked back on his heels in shock as she sucked him hard. Up and down she bobbed her head, his salty taste coating her tongue and his musky scent filling her nostrils. She cupped his heavy sac with both hands and petted him, enjoying his gasps of pleasure. Her own secret places p
ulsed in time to his, her panties dampening as she got caught up in his pleasure.
He jerked inside her mouth and she thought for a second that he was going over the edge. Instead he held her head still. “Stop,” he gritted out, pulling away from her. He lay down on the blanket and tugged her toward him.
She crawled up his body, her breasts swaying free from the jacket. His eyes widened in appreciation. “That is exactly what I had in mind.” He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, and she nearly collapsed on him. “Please, Franco.”
“Come, ride on me.” He helped her straddle his thighs, tugging her panties to one side to expose her wet center. He stroked her clit, and she jerked in response. “Oh, yes, you’re ready for me.”
She found the strength to push up and then, with his fingers guiding his engorged shaft, sank deep onto his full length.
They both cried out. He pulsed inside her, and she couldn’t help spasming around him. He groaned. “Do that again.”
She squeezed her little muscles again. He stroked her clit at the same time and she started to come again, panting and moaning on him as his dark eyes glittered with triumph.
She finally caught her breath. “Darn you, Frank, I wasn’t ready.”
“Your body thought otherwise.” He began thrusting up into her, his powerful hips easily leveraging their weight.
“But I’ve never come so fast—not at the tree, and not like this.”
“Good.” If she thought he was triumphant a minute earlier, he looked positively savage. “You are mine, and only I can make you feel like this.” He caught her waist in his big hands and lifted her up and down until she caught his rhythm. He was heavenly inside her, slipping up and down until she could feel every glorious inch of him, stretching and filling her.
He moved his hands to her satin-covered bottom and squeezed the tender cheeks. “I would like to see you on my motorcycle like this—did I tell you I have a big American motorcycle at my estate in Portugal? I would start the engine and put you on the seat wearing panties and my leather jacket.”
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