Amore and Pinot Grigio - a Guido la Vespa Christmas Tale [Guido la Vespa] (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream)

by Bell, Veronica

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “It’s not. It’s all too typical. Now can we change the subject?” Stupid, stupid, stupidissimo Doug.

  Sandro could tell she meant it. “Certo. Certainly. What would you like to discuss?”

  Sigrid looked out the window and noticed they were almost back at the restaurant. She also noticed the gentle snowflakes falling, nothing like the force of winter she witnessed back home. “Snow,” she said. “I mean, it’s snowing.”

  “Yes. The Piazzo del Popolo looks very pretty right now, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. But it always does.”

  “Perhaps. I guess when you live in Rome you take it for granted.”

  “I could not imagine taking this city for granted,” she said, thinking of her own city, Toronto. Oh, it was liveable, clean and mostly safe, but not beautiful, that was for sure.

  “Ecco. Siamo qui,” Sandro said. “We are here.” They were back at the restaurant.

  “Yes, yes, I sussed that one out by myself. My Italian isn’t perfect, but I know enough to understand what you are saying.”

  “On the contrary, your Italian is impressive, like so much about you,” he said silkily.

  “Grazie.” Goose bumps. I’ve got goose bumps. Damn. Damn. Double damn. And I’m feeling a lot of heat between my legs. Triple damn.

  Sandro parked the car in front of the restaurant and when she stepped out, Sigrid noticed the restaurant’s name, La Capanna.

  “Doesn’t that mean ‘shack’ or ‘shed’?” she asked.

  “Yes, it does.”

  “That is a strange name for a restaurant—makes it seem like it wouldn’t be very classy.”

  “Well, it is classy. It’s just my father’s nickname for our home up in Tuscany. He calls it our ‘capanna,’ so that is what we named the restaurant when we bought this building. It’s our home away from home.”

  “You have a home in Tuscany?”

  “Yes, but nothing special. Like I said, we call it the capanna.”

  Sigrid followed Sandro into the restaurant’s front door and it certainly was classy inside—beautiful linens and table settings—but also warm with wood, exposed brick, and wine bottles lining the walls. It was somewhere you could dress up, but also have a relaxing dinner and not feel it would be the end of the world if you picked up the wrong fork for your salad.

  “Bellissimo!”

  Sandro beamed and struck an exaggerated catalogue pose in front of her. “Thank you, I thought you would never notice.”

  Sigrid couldn’t help but laugh. “I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about the restaurant.”

  “Ah, this is tragic. You do not find me handsome?”

  “You’re okay.” She shrugged.

  “Grazie. And again, I must tell you that when you smile and laugh, it is much nicer than your usual serious face.”

  Sigrid kept walking through the restaurant toward what she assumed was the back door, when she felt Sandro gently take hold of her right wrist. “Where are you going?”

  “To get Guido and go home.”

  “You are going nowhere.”

  “Why?”

  “It is after midnight, it is snowing, and it is therefore dangerous for you to drive home in these conditions.”

  “I’m Canadian. I can handle snow. And I’m over 30. I can handle the wee small hours.”

  “Did you drive a Vespa in Canada?”

  “No,” said Sigrid, irritated that he had not challenged her claim that she was over thirty.

  “And did you drive, even in a car, alongside Italian drivers at night in what for us is something that makes the streets very slippery? You know, most Italians don’t have those chains on their tires.”

  “Snow tires, you mean.”

  “Yes, snow tires. Most of us don’t bother with them. So are you accustomed to that mentality in your fellow drivers?”

  “No.”

  “There you are. You are going nowhere. You will sleep here tonight.”

  “If you think you are going to get me into bed by…”

  Sandro let out a laugh. “Only if you are lucky will I get you into bed.”

  Sigrid had to laugh too. “You are really something.”

  “I know, but you will stay here, regardless. And I will not touch you, unless you insist.”

  “No worries, then. Where am I supposed to sleep?”

  “I told you, this is our home away from home. We own the whole building, which is quite large and has four stories. The restaurant is only downstairs. Upstairs we have a quite large apartment with three bedrooms. You will be safe from me. In fact, upstairs is where I was when I first heard you prowling about the back. That is why there were no lights on downstairs.”

  “I wasn’t prowling.”

  “Dio!” Sandro ran a hand through his hair. “Do you have to fight all the time with me?”

  “I’m not fighting. I’m just correcting you. Anyway, look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m going home. If you’re so worried about me taking Guido, I’ll grab a taxi and I’ll leave my number so you can call me about Pinot once you hear back from the veterinarian. I’ll come and get Guido tomorrow sometime.”

  Sandro heaved a huge sigh. “You are stubborn! Do you give other men such problems? Can I at least convince you to stay for a glass of my family’s wine before you get a taxi?”

  Wine sounded nice.

  “Well, that does sound like a good idea.”

  “Ah, finally, she softens a bit! I will get some wine. Please, come with me to the bar.”

  Sigrid followed him to the area behind the plush, dark bar. “I love this,” she said, standing next to him and surveying the broad selection of wines and rich-looking liqueurs. “It’s very early 1960s, very Mad Men.”

  “What is Mad Men?”

  “A great TV show which I’m sure you can get on DVD, if not on Italian TV. A show about the days when men were men and they smoked and drank and women were desperate for husbands.”

  “That last part sounds like a nightmare.”

  “It was, I think, but mostly for the women.”

  “You are very funny, Sigrid, but as far as I can see, things have not changed much, except for the smoking. Even Italians smoke less now, but you women still want husbands.”

  “I don’t want a husband.”

  “Well, you are a gattara—you just want cats. Tell me, where did you get this love for animals? Or is it only for cats?”

  “No, it’s for animals. Period. I don’t know, I just feel for them. So often they are at our mercy and so often they are destitute because we have been irresponsible, because we treat them as though they are inanimate. You know, they might not reason like human beings, but we know without a doubt that they feel pain, and they feel fear and they suffer. I can’t bear it, even when I see an injured pigeon or a mouse or squirrel that was hit by a car. They’re just trying to live their little lives, not unlike us.”

  “I don’t know what to say, except that you should meet my father. He feels this way, as well. Do you not sometimes think spending so much time and energy on one animal is, I don’t know, a waste? What of all the other animals who are suffering?”

  “I can’t save them all. But all my time and energy isn’t a waste for the one I save. What about the money you spent on Pinot Grigio tonight, not to mention your time? Do you feel it wasn’t worth it? Would it have been better to leave him to suffer because you can’t save every living creature?”

  Sandro shook his head and put his hands up in mock surrender. “You make good sense. And certainly, if this poor cat tonight will be out of pain, it was worth my time and money.”

  She watched him shrug off his jacket and remove his scarf. “You are still wearing your coat,” he said, stepping behind her and reaching around to remove it without asking. “And your cardigan,” he added, removing it, as well. His hand brushed against her right breast and she remembered she wasn’t wearing a bra. He must have noticed it, too, as her exc
itement couldn’t be concealed. Nor could his, she saw, as he stepped away from her to select a bottle from a small refrigerator. “Pinot Grigio.” He smiled, “in honour of our little friend. And of course, I chose a white wine because I know you cannot drink red, due to your unfortunate migraines.”

  Sheesh, a sexy man who listens and retains what you have said, thought Sigrid. He does have some charms. And he’s looking even better right now with that five o’clock shadow.

  Sandro uncorked the wine and served her a small amount, asking her to do the tasting.

  “I only drink Tetra-Pak wine. I wouldn’t know what’s good.”

  “Sure you would. Go ahead.”

  Sigrid sipped. It was good, better than what she had in her little B&B room. “Mmm. That is so good,” she said.

  “I trust you,” said Sandro as he filled first her glass and then his own. “So let’s do a brindisi, a toast. To…what do you propose?”

  “To Pinot Grigio, of course!”

  “Ma certo—of course. To Pinot Grigio and to his recovery!”

  Sandro finished his glass quickly. “Ne ho avuto bisogno. I needed that,” he said, looking at Sigrid carefully. She realized she had been staring at the bulge in his pants and felt herself redden.

  “I know what you mean. It’s been quite a night,” she stammered, emptying her glass and putting it down. “I needed that, too. Thank you.”

  “Prego.” He took a step toward her. “Is there anything else you need?” His voice was low, suggestive, with a hint of playfulness.

  You have no idea, buddy, she was thinking, but she could only stammer. “Well, I…I…”

  Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers and before she could protest—not that she wanted to—his tongue was inside her mouth, his erection was rubbing up against her, and his hands were pulling the elastic out of her hair. Sigrid could no longer resist what she felt, what she wanted, and what he knew she wanted. She bumped her hips into him, trying to feel his hardness even more as he lifted her onto a bar stool and spread her legs apart pulling them around him. His hands were now exploring her small ribcage and slim waist, as he moved his mouth from hers and began kissing her neck.

  “Sandro, please…we should stop, we…”

  “Why?” he said, laughing. “You are too delectable, I cannot stop.”

  She felt his five o’clock shadow on her skin, like a slight tickle. She giggled.

  “What is so funny?” he growled.

  “Nothing, I’m ticklish.”

  “Good to know for later,” he said, laughing.

  He moved his head down to her nipples and lifted her shirt over her head, throwing it onto the floor. “I am so pleased you did not wear a brassiere.”

  “Well, I don’t need one. I’m pretty flat-chested and…”

  “You’re not flat-chested. You are lovely, except that you talk too much at inappropriate moments.”

  Soon he was kissing her breasts, sucking her nipples gently, then biting and twisting them.

  “I’m almost going to…”

  “Slow down, cara, slow down.”

  “And what if someone looks in the window?”

  Before she knew it he had pulled her off the chair and said, “Come upstairs. I told you, there are bedrooms there. No one will see us and we will be more comfortable.”

  Sandro took both of Sigrid’s hands in his and led her through the restaurant’s kitchen, to a door that led to a flight of stairs.

  * * * *

  Hours later, Sigrid awoke to the bright light of a Roman winter morning filtering through the shutters of…all of a sudden she remembered where she was. The shutters of a bedroom above a restaurant called La Capanna with a gorgeous man called Sandro who was no longer in bed with her. Oh, great. He’s embarrassed, he’s disgusted, he’s bored. He’s somewhere making coffee. She could smell the coffee. Oh, sweet nectar of the gods.

  She looked over at the chair on the far side of the room and saw that all of her clothes had been placed there, including the shirt that had been left on the floor behind the bar when this madness had begun. She looked over at the clock on the bedside table. It was 8:30. Only about seven hours ago she and Sandro had come to this bedroom and he had laid her down on the bed and undressed her, covering her flesh with kisses, not stopping anywhere.

  “I see you are a natural blonde,” he said, noticing the light blonde curls between her thighs. “You are a rarity.”

  “Yes, there are not too many of us in this world.”

  He kissed and licked her, opening her with his fingers and tasting her, then teasing her clitoris with his tongue till she was begging him to be inside her.

  “Mmm…this is like a piece of candy. You are like candy.”

  “Please Sandro, please.”

  “No, not yet.” He stood up and smiled, arching an eyebrow at her. He removed his shirt, revealing a dark-skinned, muscular torso beneath. Dark hair covered his chest and nipples, and a slim line of hair led tantalizingly down to the top of his pants. “Help me get my pants off,” he said, scarcely audible. She sat up and unbuckled his belt, her mouth so close to the spicy, masculine smell of him and the tempting bulge beneath the fabric. Shaky hands unzipped his black jeans and pulled them down to the ground, and when she reached inside his boxers to feel him, he let out a moan. She put her hand around the full, hard length of him, smooth and pulsing.

  “No, bella,” he said, as she moved her face closer. “If you do that, I will come too quickly and I want to give you pleasure.” Pushing her back on the bed, he stepped out of his boxers and reached over to the bedside table’s top drawer. He pulled out a condom, lay down beside her and commanded her to put it on him. She had barely rolled it all the way down when he could no longer stand it. In one swift move he rolled on top of her, using a muscled thigh to pull her legs apart.

  “Put your legs around me,” he ordered, and as she complied, he entered her in one motion. He took her, slowly at first, taking her face in his hands and kissing her passionately, then speeding up his movements, ceasing the kissing and dropping his hand down between their two bodies, placing his fingers ever so gently on her clitoris, massaging it with swirling motions.

  “No, stop,” she cried out, “It’s too much, too much.”

  “That’s it, Sigrid, that’s it, bella, come for me, come for me.”

  She called his name as her spasms began, tightening and flexing around his hardness until he lost control. She removed his hand from between them, putting both arms around his back and pulling her close to him.

  When he finally finished, he collapsed, falling asleep on top of her and still inside of her. Sigrid lay awake, not wanting to ruin the moment, stroking his back and enjoying the feel of him, eventually falling asleep herself.

  And now awake again and alone in the bed, she thought, what do I do now?

  Chapter Three

  Down the hallway, Sandro was having the same thought. What do I do now? He was having some other thoughts as well. How do I get her out of here? What do I say to make it clear I’m not looking for something serious? Can it be done without hurting her? Why did women always have to make such a big deal out of sex? Will she make a scene? And why were they always so dramatic?

  She certainly was a heavy sleeper. The animal hospital had already called about Pinot Grigio and she hadn’t woken. He had had a shower and she hadn’t woken. The noisy Monday morning traffic of Rome was in full force and she hadn’t woken. The sounds of the coffee grinder and the great hiss and gurgle of the coffee maker hadn’t woken her. He had stared at her when he woke up, thinking she was very beautiful, different than what he had previously thought constituted beautiful. Pale, ethereal-looking, tall—most of his girlfriends had been short, earthy and voluptuous, dark women, including Flavia. And judging by Sigrid’s hair and clothes, she was not one to invest a lot of time and money on appearance. Natural, she was, like the Canadian wilderness, he imagined, having never been to Canada.

  Time to face her, San
dro thought grimly, walking toward the bedroom with two cups of coffee in hand. She was sitting up in bed, having put her panties and shirt back on. She was checking her phone for messages. “Buongiorno,” he said, giving her a kiss on the nose, as though she were an annoying young friend entrusted to his care, not an equal, not a lover. He handed her a cup of piping hot black coffee.

  “I didn’t know how you took it, so if you want milk or sugar, I can go get those for you.”

  “No, no, black is fine. No calories.” She smiled. Awkward, she thought.

  “You are slim. You could stand to take some kilos.”

  “Women love hearing that,” she said. “And I am sure my remaining weeks in Italy will help in that regard.” Goodness, I sound so stilted, she thought. My remaining weeks in Italy will help me in that regard? I sound like a visiting public official. Such passion with this man last night and now we’re all weird and formal with each other. “The food here is amazing. But I try to be careful, now that I’m over thirty. Weight doesn’t come off easily as one gets older.”

  “You look like a kid. I couldn’t believe it last night when you said you were over thirty.”

  Finally! “Thanks, yes, I’ll be thirty-two in March.”

  “And not married?”

  “No,” she said indignantly. “But neither are you and you are how old?”

  “I haven’t said.”

  “I know, but how old are you?”

  “I’ll be thirty-four in May. But it’s different for men.”

  Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. Have you heard from the vet?” Best to change the topic, she told herself, than embark on a never-ending argument about double standards.

  “For once you don’t want to fight with me,” he smiled.

  “No, I don’t. How is Pinot? Have you heard anything yet?”

  “The bad news is that he will have to have his front right leg amputated. The good news is that he can live well like that, provided he is cared for safely indoors, and the even better news is that the staff at the hospital say he is much less of a street cat than we realized. He is friendlier now that he has been fed and given some flea treatments and is feeling more trusting.”