Red Hot Lovers: 18 Contemporary Romance Books of Love, Passion, and Sexy Heroes by Your Favorite Top-Selling Authors

by Milly Taiden

Tracy noticed him glancing at her cherry-red polish as she stretched her toes to the ground, sliding off the seat. She held back a grin watching his jaw fall slack as his gaze drifted to her legs.

  His voice sounded a bit strained stating, “The vines will turn green soon. In summer this countryside will come alive with lush fruits.”

  Tracy wrapped her cardigan tightly around herself, rubbing her hands together for friction. She pointed toward the last ridge of plantings, where the valley met with the mountain. “Is that where your property ends? Or does it keep going on the other side of the hillside?”

  Sunshine gleamed along the silky strands of his wavy layers as he shook his head, indicating the land stopped at the hillside. Vincent unzipped his work jacket and the V-neck collar of his heavy knit navy-blue sweater revealed a white t-shirt beneath. Her lips parted as she took in the sun kissed skin at his throat gaining a five o’clock shadow. A tingling sensation gathered in her lower abdomen.

  “The land, it tells the stories of our family. Ups and downs, focusing on perfection, yet we never manage to climb over the highest hurdles.”

  Heat on her cheeks burned, tingling in the winter air. “Perfection is overrated. Especially when it comes to family. ‘All of our little imperfections are what makes us so lovable.’ That’s what my dad used to say.”

  “My father used to say, ‘There is no need to travel for miles attempting to get around the mountains, we simply turn, bending with the land just as it is given to us.’” A genuine easygoing smile tugged at his closed mouth. “Your parents, they are divorced?”

  “No, my dad died a few years ago. Heart attack,” she explained quietly.

  “Mine too,” he said with a small sound of apology.

  Vincent shrugged one shoulder then the other, easing out of his jacket to offer her the warmth. She peered at the jacket and chewed on the inside of her cheek, tempted by its cozy plaid flannel lining.

  “Come on, I know you are cold.”

  He held it open, grinning as if it were a peace offering. Tracy’s need for warmth outweighed her stubborn pride. She slipped into the jacket, pulling her arms through the long sleeves that nearly dangled to her thighs. The scent of him, sweet and oaky, swirled around her. A current of blistering heat washed over her, wondering what his skin would taste like on her tongue.

  Her body shifted, loosening the stiffness in her frame. One foot crossed over the other, slinking into a more feminine stance as if her hormones had a mind of their own. No no no! No way in hell. Stop it! You vowed never again! The man, who drove her crazy for days, now blindsided her with a deluge of magnetic charm. She’d only felt this drawn to a man once in her life and the uncanny resemblance to The Italian who shattered her heart, didn’t go undetected. It was difficult to classify all the feelings stealing over her, but one thing was certain. Desire hit her at full speed, trampling all of her will power.

  “Thank you.” Apparently her voice had learned to magically transform to silk with the slightest raise in endorphins.

  “Di niente. There is a pair of socks in the pocket.”

  Her lashes fluttered and she fought to keep from licking her lips flirtatiously or smashing her body to his. I must need a fucking intervention. Tall, dark and gorgeous is going to be the death of me. She shoved her hand in the pocket, retrieving a pair of heavy wool socks.

  “Do you always carry a spare pair?”

  He snickered, watching her pull the thick wool up to her knees. “I grabbed them when I put your shoes inside.”

  “You just happen to have extra socks laying around your office?” Peeking down at the long socks, her typically logical mind took a nosedive straight into the gutter. She strategically began comparing socks to feet, feet to hand size, hands to the size of his—

  “It is my office and my home. I live above the north building.”

  “Oh. Oh…” A ping of guilt crawled up her spine, hit with the realization she’d essentially gestured for him to fuck off right on his front doorstep. The same threshold he warned her never to cross again.

  “I figured if you decided to calm down, or if your toes turned blue, I’d let you wear them.”

  Tess and Lisa waved as they rode by, not bothering to stop.

  “Me?” The shallow screech ricocheted over the empty hillside. She smiled, following the echo dance between the valleys.

  A boyish grin lurked in his chiseled features, he shrugged innocently. “You see the mountain, the one furthest in the distance?”

  She nodded.

  “It is what makes our wine different, better. The mountain, she gives us shelter from storms that move in from the south.”

  “The weather is what sets you apart?”

  “Si`. The mountain is key.” Vincent bent scooping up a handful of dirt, displaying it in his hand. “The climate sets everything into motion, the soil, the rainfall, the life of the grape and how long it remains on the vine. It is exactly what sets us apart from other regions and vise versa.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Our hills are the driest in Tuscany.” He tossed the dirt, brushing if from his hands. His eyes wandered slowly over her features sending a shot of electricity to every nerve ending she possessed. “On summer nights the lightening dances over the mountain peaks, but it never gets this far.”

  Tracy couldn’t help but notice a change in Vincent from the moment he dug his hands in the dirt. He spoke with a tremendous passion and enthusiasm highlighted his words. She didn’t realize she was gawking at Vincent until a small sheepish smile crinkled near his temples.

  “The sky here is full of stars on this side of the mountain.”

  Tracy thought she might have to rip some wool from her sock and shove it into her mouth to keep herself from talking about stars. A subject she used to be incredibly passionate about, now only brought her pain. Each bright light still reminded her of the passionate night in Greece with The Italian. She’d spent months cursing the long winter nights in Colorado, wishing she could flick each star from the sky. Colors of a fading sunset would no sooner bleed from the sky and darkness would consume her, torturing her with memories she wanted to rid from her cognizance.

  Pulling herself from the dark memories, she focused on the tranquil stillness surrounding them for miles. “It’s so rich in culture and history. Everything here breathes such a sense of Old World.”

  “You say that negatively,” he stated more as a question than fact.

  “No, not at all. I love it here.”

  “Producing exceptional grapes allows us to focus on quality instead of quantity.”

  “You’ve stayed true to your heritage, up until this point.”

  The change in his body language turned rigid. “Up until this point,” he repeated coarsely. A shadow darkened his face as if his worst suspicions had been confirmed.

  She knew she’d hit a nerve, the source of his animosity.

  Tracy decided to continue, carefully. She instinctively scooped up a handful of the cold soil. Holding one hand above the other, she let the dirt sift out the bottom of her fist, collecting it with the other and then repeating.

  “Most of your neighbors are having success with super wines and exporting.” Tracy eased closer to him extending her fist.

  He held out his palm, catching the soil. Extending his fingers, Vincent spread the rich earth over the flat of his palm. “I am a fifth generation of winemaker producing wine from this soil. We’ve stayed true to the old ways while other wineries have dove deep into experimentation. They are creating new super wines and we remain unchanged. It is as my father, and his father, and his father before him wanted it to be. We are not searching for excellence. There is no need to look for what we have already found.”

  “You don’t agree with the creation of new wine?”

  “I agree with experimentations in the vineyard and in the cellars.” He nodded in approval. “I enjoy some of the new wine. It has brought new life to this region over the last few decades.”

&nb
sp; “What about exporting, Vincent?”

  “I applaud my neighbors for exporting. They deliver a taste of Italy around the world, but I don’t agree that it is right for our winery. I believe there is enough diversity in marketing to go around.” He paused, throwing the dirt to the wind and sauntering toward the bike. “We just need to learn how to do it better.”

  Every discussion she’d had with Antonio revolved around income and the bottom line. Changes they discussed would raise the bar, throwing Castlello Giovanni into an entirely new category of winemakers. However, Vincent was far more passionate about his family’s legacy. All of her research pointed in the direction of growing a super wine or exporting. Her thoughts were swimming in pool of uncertainties.

  Vincent’s hands around her waist startled her, lifting her onto the bike seat. His expression was unreadable. “My brother wants to grow and compete to meet the global demand, but that is not what my papa wanted. Making of wine was intensely personal for him. It is the same for me as well, but not Antonio.”

  She opted to remain discreetly quiet.

  “That is the difference between us. You see, I am a winemaker. Antonio does not have the same attachment to the land and the history. My brother, he sees the vineyard as merely a business. For me, it is my life. It is a part of me.”

  The wind whipped between them, giving a chill to the hovering silence.

  “Antonio told you none of this?”

  “No, Vincent. He did not,” Tracy replied. A cold ache settled in, fearing he was not going to be happy with her findings. “What about your mamma? What does she want?”

  Turning to climb on the bike, Vincent grumbled starkly, as if he’d been dealing with this all his life. “Antonio is my older brother, which means his opinion is respected a bit more than mine.”

  “That doesn’t seem very fair.”

  “It’s not about being fair. It is just her way. My mamma, she wants two things in life, my brother and I to get along together and for us to give her grandbabies.”

  She giggled, hearing him eject a long dreaded groan of honest humor.

  Tess and Lisa waited at a fork in the path. Vincent spoke with pride about handcrafted wines, barrel fermenting working in tandem with cooling tanks and gravity feed. His arms moved fluently as he told the stories of oak barrels selected for the tightest grains and toasted for an hour over a low flame to create a mellow flavor.

  In Tracy’s mind, there was a fine line between arrogance and self-confidence. She found nothing sexier in a man than modest self-assurance, and it clung to Vincent. By the time he got to alluvial soil being the ultimate composition for their high quality wine, she leaned closer, captivated by his language.

  He continued, explaining the balance between calcium, lime and clay and how it provides excellent drainage, which in turn allows the ground to retain humidity from the air protecting the vine from drought.

  A seamless amount of pride glimmered in Vincent’s eyes when her mom acknowledged sincerely, “You sure do know your dirt.”

  Immersed in a sunny vision of him sweaty and covered in dirt, she expelled a soft sigh, conveying her agreement.

  The sound of her exhalation drew a strange reaction from her mom and Lisa. Each raised their brows in surprise, blinking repeatedly. A sly sultry grin stretched to the second set of Lisa’s dimples right before mouthing in mockery Oh, he is a complete unredeemable jerk.

  Tracy’s eyes widened. She glared at Lisa, aiming a precise target at her big mouth.

  She cleared the trepidation from her throat. “Does this path lead to that villa over there?” Tracy pointed to the overgrown trail veering left toward a hamlet nestled into the hillside.

  “Si`.”

  “I’ve been staring out my window at that place for days. Can we go see it?

  He frowned, looking a little put out.

  “I’ll help pedal,” she prodded.

  Lisa intervened of course. “Vincent, why don’t you take Tracy to see the hamlet. Tess and I can visit Mrs. Giovanni.”

  Tracy wondered how any one woman could be blessed with such sultry wits. Lisa Levi had a particular gift for getting just about anything she wanted by merely opening her mouth. It was almost unfair to the rest of the population.

  *

  The massive double doors recessed several feet into an enormous arch made of thick cut stone. Tracy etched her fingers over intricate scrolls of hand forged iron that decorated the thick wood, faded from years of sunlight.

  Dropping her head straight back, she guesstimated the height of the enormous door. “How tall is this, do you think? Twelve feet?”

  “Si`. At least.”

  “Is this place structurally sound?”

  “Yes. Simply rundown and overgrown.”

  “How long has this place been vacant?”

  “It’s been uninhabited since I was a little boy.”

  The ginormous iron ring, mounted at the height of her head, was too tempting not to try. Tracy gave it a little knock followed by a heavy knock knock knock. She heard a chuckle from behind as Vincent mulled around near the drive.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. You look like a little girl standing in front of that door. Your hands disappear into the jacket and my socks are pulled up to your knees.”

  A smile flushed her cheeks, but she sulked playfully. “Little girl?”

  His voice carried next to her ear. “Si`.”

  Tracy gripped the enormous handle, the iron cold on her skin, pressing the fixed latch. It didn’t budge. Not one to give up easily, she gripped the handle tenaciously with two hands, pushing her shoulder into the door.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself.” Unable to contain his amusement, he said, “Trust me, it doesn’t open.”

  “Shit,” she muttered, giving it one last yank.

  Intrigue sparked on all cylinders. Tracy backed away slowly, taking in every detail of the rambling assemblage of tattered stucco once painted saffron yellow. The chipped and faded exterior bared the ancient brick and mortar underneath.

  Vincent entwined his fingers, bending to offer her a foothold, as if he were going to catapult her over the three story wall.

  “Ha ha very funny. I’m dying to see inside.” Envy hung on her every word. “There’s just something about this place. It’s so beautiful.”

  “You can’t simply expect to walk right through the front door of a fortress,” Vincent hesitated for a long moment, as if weighing some unforeseen consequence. “You could, however use the backdoor.”

  “Yes!” Tracy cheered, clapping her hands together in three rapid pats. Shrugging her shoulders as if she were embracing a brand new puppy, she joyously wiggled with excitement.

  They strolled all the way around the sprawling villa. The gorgeous view of the valley and the hillside it cleaved to was simply intoxicating. Concrete banisters, standing the size of a toddler, lined the long rectangle garden occupying the center of the U shaped buildings. An ancient old oak tree set up residence in the center of the lawn, and masses of climbing plants cloaked the grand estate. Though the grounds were unkempt, the castle remained in great shape.

  Vincent sauntered inches from her. Looking down, he spoke with frankness. “We don’t speak of this.”

  “We don’t?”

  “No one knows I come here. It is just a place I come to decompress.”

  “You’ve never brought anyone else here?” She wasn’t sure why she asked, but for some odd reason, his answer seemed very important.

  “No. I’ve been sneaking up here since I was a very young boy.”

  “Can we go inside?”

  Vincent’s brows squished together. Reluctance poured out in his body language, hesitating to allow her into his sanctuary, a place he deemed sacred.

  “I’ll keep it between us. I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  What she expected to be a dark and dingy castle with cobwebs hanging from dilapidated rafters and chandeliers, was everything but. Wid
espread beams lined the high ceiling and rustic posts mounted above every door and window. Large arches trimmed in stone and brick greeted her with a subtle sophistication and elegance as she explored each new room.

  Tracy meandered through the villa, absorbing a distinct energy, a gift of happiness that lingered within its walls. Itineraries came to life, like a stack of photographs strewn across the floor. Each picture granting her a glimpse into the history of what once was and what could be again.

  Looking forward, her perspective brought fresh strokes of color to a perfect portrait in her mind of what the villa might look like filled with life and laughter. The image of delicate pink roses, freshly stained doors and shutters and the glow of lanterns danced through her imagination.

  Standing in the grand living room, she closed her eyes breathing deep, allowing her mind to relax, reveling in the warm rural character of the villa.

  The sun lowering in the afternoon sky shone brightly on the garden, and she ambled to the window. “Oh my God, Vincent! Can you imagine the garden in the summer? Vines of magenta roses, creeping and tumbling over the parapets. The—” She turned toward him. Taking one glance at his lust filled eyes, her words trailed off to nothing, replaced with a jolt of sensual awareness that came crashing on top of her like a tidal wave.

  Vincent sat on the hearth in front of the fireplace, staring at her, elbows perched rigidly on his knees. The typically tan flesh of his fingers, turned white from the death grip he held on his laced fingers.

  Vincent’s fingers splayed stiffly, palms together, in a demanding fashion. “You need to quit calling out my name like that.” The ragged edge in his voice and pause between each word had gotten his point across.

  Her heart pumped so hard, she felt dizzy. The yearning in his grey eyes drew heat to the surface of her skin, covering her in goose bumps. Tracy opened her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

  She heard him swear under his breath, something to the effect of, “You’re fucking killing me with the ‘Oh my God, Vincent’.” The tension in his voice sent an uneasy pang between her thighs.