by Milly Taiden
“So—“ She licked her parched lips and swallowed hard. “Sorry.”
Tracy didn’t know what to say. If he was half as turned on as her, and she knew he was, he’d have a major hard on. The small triangle of cotton fabric between her thighs deemed useless. Turning away to hide her flushed face, she tried to look at anything other than his crotch. But damned if she couldn’t help glancing to the side, watching his fingers splay downward along his cock, adjusting the impressive bulge
She was inundated with the mindfulness of his presence, solid and sexy, right beside her. Tracy couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Breathless, she tried again, “I didn’t realize I was saying that.”
“Every. Room.” His voice, now low and tender and smothered in teasing, reached deep inside, stroking her raw nerves.
Staring out the window, the garden vanished, replaced with images of him under her, hovering over her, nibbling her everywhere. Dropping her chin to her chest, Tracy’s eyes floated shut. Her face averted, ignoring the lush strands of his dark hair nearly tangible in her grasp. Her hands balled into fists, hidden within the sleeves of his jacket.
“We’re losing the daylight. We should probably head back.”
Probably? Does that mean I have another option? In some bizarre turn of events, she felt as if they were on a date. Not just a typical, get to know you, first date, more like a fifth date, a come in and stay for breakfast date. Who am I kidding? I’ve never made breakfast for a man. It was the best day she’d spent with a man in a very long time, maybe since The Italian.
“Vincent,” a chortle escaped her as she was half tempted to call out his name in a dramatized cry of pleasure.
A roguish grin tipped the edge of his mouth, he knew she had held back teasing him.
“Will you bring me back again? I really like it here.”
Reaching out, he snapped the top button on the jacket. She froze, so as not to feel the brush of his skin against her neck. “Si`, I will bring you back.”
***
CHAPTER NINE
Tracy spent the weekend with her mom and Lisa, hashing over design ideas. Lisa loved to be in control, to the point of bordering on overbearing. After keeping quiet for the first hour, Tracy found her footing and changed her approach, limiting their options.
“Oh, by the way, I told you earlier that you would owe me.”
“Yes.” Tracy steadied herself, glancing up from the glow of her computer screen.
“I want a batch of those Italian cookies you made at Christmas last year.” She pouted. “I was thoroughly disappointed when you didn’t make them this year.”
“You want a batch of Rainbow Cookies?” She paused waiting for the catch. “In exchange for giving me advice on how to decorate Castlello Giovanni?”
“Yes. And an undisclosed amount of wine. We’ll have to work out the details. Maybe, perhaps, possibly we can also come to an agreement on letting me in on creating a new label too.”
“They are in desperate need of a new label,” Tracy agreed. “But, Mrs. Giovanni is never going to go for that. She is way too proud to accept any help for free.”
“You think this is my first go-around kid?” Lisa scoffed, loudly. “I’ll handle Mrs. Giovanni. By the time we’re through with dinner and drinks, she’ll think she’s paying me top dollar.”
By the time Sunday night rolled around, Tracy lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling. Her mind worked over numbers, possibilities, and most of all Vincent, in every position she could dream up. No matter how many times she told herself No! every fiber of her being said Yes!
At 3:00am she texted her sister. - I need an Italian intervention.
JC text back - 3:47am. I talked to mom. She said this guy is HOT!!! I don’t care what country he’s from. You need to go on a few dates. At least three, so you can get laid.
Tracy - 3:52 Thanks! Now I’m never going to get any sleep!
JC - 3:55 Stop beating yourself up over what happened. We all make mistakes.
Tracy – 4:02 I don’t.
JC – 4:04 Grrr…get over it! Excuses are a time thief, stop robbing yourself of moments you could be enjoying.
Tracy – 4:07 I really could be enjoying him right now. ;)
JC – 4:13 Breakfast, lunch and dinner does constitute as three dates, but only on a very RARE occasion! Go for it!!!
Tracy arrived early Monday morning, armed and ready, full of ideas for the vineyard and the courage to move forward. Or with at least the possibility of letting her guard down. The sensual energy she and Vincent shared was exactly that, shared.
The day drug on and on. Tracy stared out the window at the villa nestled into the hillside, waiting for the painting on the wall to rattle. The constant quiet ticking of the clock drove her to near madness, anxiously waiting to hear the door slam. Tracy watched for him out the window, made several unnecessary trips through the corridors to get espresso, and even strolled the garden near his office, hoping to catch sight of him.
When the clock struck 5:00pm, she gathered her things. Glaring at the painting, she now deemed herself stupid. Tracy considered slamming the door for her own satisfaction. The faint sound of a feminine accent floated down the hallway as she neared the entrance. Rounding the corner, two people loomed in the reception room. A gorgeous dark-haired woman wearing a skimpy burgundy dress and tall black ankle boots, and Vincent, escorting her by the elbow toward the front door.
Tracy’s breathe caught, loud enough to draw their attention. Vincent stopped abruptly, his eyes widened, giving her a brief nod. He looked absolutely magnificent in dark jeans, black suit jacket and crisp grey shirt unbuttoned at the throat.
The woman slid a cool scan over Tracy. Her brow lifted to a point, calculating the heaviness hanging between Vincent and Tracy like a dark rain cloud threatening to break loose at any moment.
Heat crawled over her flesh, catching fire to her cheeks, turning them crimson. The leggy brunette curled her frail limb through the crook of his arm, acute female instinct on full display. Tracy’s heart thudded, falling to the pit of her stomach.
“Ciao,” she heard him say over the blood pounding in her eardrums.
The sight of him with another woman stung, painfully, far more than it should have. Jealousy simmered, strangling her words and stealing the air from her lungs. No way in hell could she bring herself to look at Vincent. She was no good at concealing her feelings and every raw vulnerable emotion would be transparent, opening the porthole to her soul.
“Good night.” She murmured though a façade of politeness, pushing through the door without turning back.
*
Tracy was thankful for Tess and Lisa’s exuberant assistance, but even more thankful when they left, giving her the opportunity to process her feelings.
Survival wrapped itself around her heart, keeping her safe from pain for nearly two years. And now, the first time she found the courage to consider allowing herself the liberty to feel desire, she failed miserably. Yet, Tracy couldn’t escape the feeling there was something between them, a connection, an undeniable attraction she couldn’t shake.
She hadn’t stepped foot in the winery for days. Antonio had skillfully shown her the path he’d chosen for the future of The Giovanni Winery, however there was far more to the circumstances. Determined to pursue every possible approach from neutral ground, she opted to work from home. She refused to admit how much she missed the sound of slamming doors and the gorgeous view from her window. She found herself sneaking over to the vacant fortress, meandering the grounds.
As she sat at the edge of the bed and stretched her hands to the ceiling, sunshine gleamed through the windows calling her outside to play. Pummeling a treadmill wasn’t going to cut it. She needed something a little more aggressive to chastise herself. Tracy threw on a pair of running shorts, laced up her tennis shoes and hopped on a bike.
A blue morning mist clung to the hillside, and the saturated air coated her skin in dampness. She rode through the countryside, enjoying the stark be
autiful hillsides and golden pastures, until reaching a sleepy little renaissance town.
The cobbled streets, old and worn were occupied with fashionable boutiques, intimate coffee houses, tantalizing restaurants and lovely flower vendors. The spirit of Tuscany was apparent in the warm genuine smiles of friendly people starting their day.
On the outskirts of town, she stopped at a public fountain to fill up her water bottle. A steep vertical stairway nestled between age-old lodgings, excavated in the tuff stone of the hill. Tracy walked the bike over, peering in awe, up the towering flights of steps. Modern doors painted red, green and brown flanked the moss-covered stones, which were worn from years of the repetitive action of walking.
Tracy leaned the bike against a handrail drilled into the dense wall and started to run. The quiet sound of her steps resonated through the rock passageway, and cool moist air burned her lungs. Making it to the top, she turned, descending back down to the street. On the fifth set of stairs Tracy heard footsteps, heavy and loud, gaining on her from behind. She veered to the right, hugging to the wall so the person could go around. Something caught on the handrail and her foot slipped, sending her flying through the air.
Everything went black.
*
The sound of her frantic breathing filled the quiet darkness. Blood rhythm pulsed wildly, resonating through her eardrums in a loud whistling hum.
“Tracy. Aprite gli occhi. Guardami.” The accent broadened, garbling in the shadows of her mind.
Hands worked feverishly over her body.
Again, the blackness swallowed her consciousness.
“Open your eyes! Look at me!” The voice boomed again in English, pleading with urgency.
The voice sounded a world away in the distance, yet the hands touching her skin felt real.
Vincent. Tracy thought she said it out loud, but no sound came from her mouth. She could hear the soles of shoes scurrying and scuffing against the wet stone steps beside her head. Vincent.
Submerged in a distant darkness, far away from reality, terror ripped through her altered state of cognizance.
Am I dying?
Panic grabbed hold of her sub-conscious, increasing her heart rate. The sound of her breathing became perceptively clear, faster and louder. Why can’t he hear me? Adrenaline surged through her veins plumping violently. Vincent! Vincent! Tracy screamed, but the compression of her voice stuck in her throat.
“Tracy.” His fingers brushed over her temple, clearing the hair from her face. “I’m right here. Open your eyes.”
Each limb felt like it was tied to the ground, bound by heavy restraints, making her unable to move. Her breath came in laborious pants. She cried out, “Vincent?”
“Si`” He recited a prayer, a plea of sorts. “Look at me.”
Her arms rose, grabbling for him frantically. “Vincent?”
The shadow blanketing her mind began to recede. Her vision blurred though a slick of hot tears. Unable to focus, she screwed her eyes shut and tried again. Tracy glimpsed a hazy outline through wet lashes, opening and shutting like windshield wipers during a torrential downpour.
Vincent filled her vision, a concerned look was etched deep into the wrinkles on his forehead.
She couldn’t remember what happened. Time jumped in her mind, losing bits and pieces to the blackness. Tracy had never been so scared in her entire life.
“Am I alive?” she choked, touching him to make sure he wasn’t her imagination. Her fingers dug into the fabric covering his broad shoulders, clinging to him, questioning if he were real. Every inch of her body trembled violently searching for her perception of reality.
“Shhh. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Lay still.”
“Where am I?”
Vincent enclosed his hands over hers attempting to peel her grip from his shirt.
“No!” she sobbed, pulling him closer in desperation.
Vincent’s eyes opened wide, his face inches from hers, as he made a sympathetic sound in the back of his throat. He spoke in a soothing tone, gently gripping her wrist and then coasting his hand to her elbow. “I just need to take my shirt off to cover you up. I’m not going anywhere. You need to be still.”
He stabilized her head on the step and shed the long sleeve T-shirt over his head, draping it over her front.
The dewy scent of saturated dirt filled each shaky inhale. She couldn’t think clearly. Paralyzed by fear, emotion-filled tears streamed down her face, soaking her hairline.
Endorphins kicked in, and the heavy rhythm of deep inhales and exhales began to regulate. Tracy struggled to lift her head and pain shot through the base of her skull like an arrow. She instinctually reached for the back of her head, but Vincent caught her hand and rested it on her stomach.
“Just lay still for a minute.”
The back of her head hurt like hell, but overshadowing the pain was fear. Tracy had never been so frightened in all her life. She was in a foreign country, alone, days away from her family.
“Am I bleeding?” she whimpered through quivering lips.
“No, not on your head, but you were knocked out cold.” He kneeled over her, continuously rubbing her arms as he talked. The touch of his hands never fully left her body, one would replace the other, keeping constant contact. “I don’t think anything is broke, but you probably have a concussion. And you’re missing some skin.”
“I’m missing skin?” She sniffled a groan.
Bracing himself with one hand, Vincent lowered his face to hers, cradling the side of her neck to check the pupils of her eyes for dilation. A clammy layer of perspiration chilled her to the bone. She covered his hand with hers, trapping the heat on her skin.
Another round of waterworks broke from her throat. Her face crumpled and she linked her arm around his neck, bringing him closer. “Please don’t leave me.”
“You’re going to be okay.” A hint of softness eased the worry wedged deep between his thick dark brows. “I won’t leave you. I’ll take you to the hospital.”
Tracy lost it, crying in fits of sobs. Coming apart, she buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Hospital? Please no don’t take me there. I hate hospitals.”
Vincent spoke words of reassurance, pressing his lips against the top of her head. Time moved in slow, pain filled minutes. He brushed long, inspecting strokes over each limb, assessing the damage. She curled her arms beneath his shoulders, holding to his solid frame for dear life.
After begging and pleading, he agreed not to take her to the hospital, but insisted she see a doctor. He made a phone call arranging for his family doctor to come to the Levi’s Villa to examine the lump on her head.
The fuzzy haze cleared from her vision. She eased into an upright position, taking her time, making sure all her parts functioned correctly. Every bone and muscle ached, including her ass. Tracy handed him his shirt, but quickly realized she was half naked. Her shorts had ripped clean off her on the right side. The cheek of her butt lost a good amount of flesh, claimed by the stone steps of the village. Vincent obligingly held the shirt open wide, shielding the view from his eyes, helping her pull the shirt over her head. It was so big that it covered her to her thighs
“Seriously?” A long grumble of mortification whooshed from her lungs. She slowly climbed to her feet. “I was laying here half naked when you found me?”
A glint of a boyish grin flashed in his eyes. “I didn’t see anything.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned.
Vincent’s grin faded and he averted his face. She blinked repeatedly, realizing she’d done it again.
“S…sorry, I didn’t mean to s…say it. How did my shorts get ripped off?” Tremors possessed her words and movements.
Vincent eased his arm around her back, carefully picking her up into his arms, and carrying her down the stairs. “I was running behind you when you fell. You must’ve heard me coming because you scooted toward the wall. The loose hem on your shorts hooked on the handrail, and bam, you went down hard.”
“So it’s all your fault?” She sniffled, laying her head on his shoulder.
The strain of his bicep captured her gaze. Tracy became very aware of how good he looked shirtless. A neat diamond patch of dark hair stretched across his chest, trailing downward over a six-pack of solid muscles. He was powerful beneath her form, carrying her with ease. Chill bumps rose on his chest, turning the dark flesh of his nipples taut. She wanted to touch him, to roll the tight tip between her finger and thumb. Her hand followed the hard slope of his collarbone and torso, rubbing over the goose bumps, sub-consciously admiring each indention of muscle as he carried her to his car.
Her snark triggered a small sign of relief, and his profile softened. “You’re going to blame me for falling?”
Tracy nodded. Waterworks flowed in a constant stream as the pain in her ass deepened. He opened his car door, but she attached herself to his neck, refusing to let go of him. He rubbed his hand up and down her back in a comforting fashion.
Cars never made much of an impression on her, but his black little sports car looked spotless and very, very nice. “I’m all grimy. Plus, I think I’m bleeding.”
“I’m not worried about my car.” He said, slipping her onto the leather seat.
Adrenaline still seized her senses and she quivered pointing to her bike. “But, but what about the bike? That’s Lisa’s. I can’t just—”
“I’ll get it. Just sit still.” He lowered the back of her seat and shut the car door.
Tracy closed her eyes to the throbbing pain, listening to him adjust the bike on the rack of his car. They rode in silence, and concern etched in the stiffness of his jaw. He reached for her hand, entwining his fingers around hers, gently squeezing.
A car waited at the entrance to the Levi’s Villa. It followed behind them down the long drive. She attempted to decline Vincent’s assistance getting out of the car, but one arched brow hushed her complaints. He carried her to the garage door and she entered the security code.
