by Milly Taiden
His restraint rippled through the ropes of his muscles, treating her as if she were a delicate piece of hand-blown glass. He pulled away dragging the wet kiss over her cheek.
“Please, Vincent.” Her shallow breathing came in raspy pants. The soreness and discomfort would be worth the pleasure. She tugged him closer, threading her fingers into the layers of thick hair. “It’s okay. I don’t care how much my body hurts.”
“I just…I need to go slow, bella.” He held back, carefully folding her into his arms, caressing her, reassuring her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
His brief pause exposed something, a vulnerability in his voice. Tracy wondered. Maybe he’s suffering from BHS too. She nodded mechanically, her cheek pressed to his chest. They stood there, cocooned in silence and ravenous need, petting and stroking, until their breathing regulated.
“Now, eat your pasta e fagioli.” The curve of his smile lifted against her temple. “So you can heal and I can ravish you properly.”
The pasta e fagioli was the most delicious soup she’d ever tasted. As the afternoon slipped into darkness, the soreness magnified and Tracy hurt from head to toe. Vincent took care of her, reacting attentively to each whimper or moan. He was kind and considerate and sexier than any other man she’d ever met.
It seemed as though a lifetime of conversation took place between them. She’d never felt so comfortable in her own skin around a man. Tracy kissed him and touched him without contemplation. She’d been naked in front of him, cried in front of him, wore not a stitch of make-up and didn’t even bother putting on a bra. But what she enjoyed most about Vincent was that he made her smile. Above all the aches and pain, she glowed with happiness and each time she laughed, his smile mirrored hers.
Vincent made her a cup of lavender chamomile tea and they moved into the family room to watch a movie. A large sectional brought a quintessential warm and casual atmosphere to the theater-style room. He plopped down into the corner of the huge U-shaped pit and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles.
The chill of the sumptuous brown leather sofa warmed beneath her body as she snuggled next to him. He grabbed a small throw pillow and patted his lap. Tracy laid her head on the pillow, hugging her arms to her chest and rolling to one side taking pressure off her injuries.
Fatigue set in and each tense muscle began to dissipate. His fingers thread through her hair, gently manipulating them over her scalp. The sound of the TV droned in the background and her eyes drifted shut periodically.
“Sembri cosi` stanco, bella.”
Her heavy lids remained shut and a small sound of confirmation hummed in her throat. “Actually, I am tired. I feel like I got ran over by a truck. Plus I haven’t been sleeping.”
“You shouldn’t fall asleep yet.”
It took every ounce of her energy to open one eye. “I’m so tired all of a sudden.”
Apprehension pushed a deep groove between his brows. Her eyes fluttered shut again. The warmth of his hand trailed down her arm and jiggled her fingers. “Don’t go to sleep.”
Inhaling deeply through her nose, she smiled. “The movie is making me sleepy. You should talk to me.”
“What would you like me to talk about?”
“You should talk about dirt.”
Laughter erupted, filling in the quiet room with the sound of his amusement. His abs flexed and shook beneath her head. “Dirt? That’s the first time a woman has ever said that to me!”
“Si`. You are very passionate about your dirt.” Tracy giggled opening her eyes. “It’s a total turn-on. I could listen to you talk about dirt forever.”
His head dropped back as he let out another round of hysteria. “Where have you been all my life? A beautiful, amazing woman who likes the earth’s riches as much as me.”
Tracy flushed hard. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth and she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “I don’t have a thing for dirt, you big goof. It’s just…you get excited and happy. It’s very sexy.”
“Ahh, so the truth comes out! You like me! Not the dirt.” Playful banter heated the small space between them and color burnished high on his nose and cheeks. “You might enjoy the conversation even more if I talk about wine.”
He drowned his grin behind the rim of his glass of wine. Tracy’s smile faded into a drowsy gaze, peering up at him through the deep red liquid swirling in the clear glass above her head.
“Wine is a foreign language to me. I mean seriously…the wordage and description alone could be a college major. For such a tiny ball of fruit growing wild on a vine, it has a bold intensity to its short life.”
“You can’t learn about wine in a classroom.”
“I could.” She snickered at her inner-geek. “The textbook is my home-away-from-home.”
“The effort you put into the description of aroma and flavor, helps you understand and retain your impressions of different wines.” He followed the curve of her face with the pad of his thumb. “You build a memory bank of the smells and their beginnings. That way, you’ll be able to identify subtle hints of jammy fruit flavor or strong vanilla or various oak or even the earth itself.”
“So the words help you focus on hidden gems that make up the wine.” Her arm draped above her head, settling into the hard terrain of his body.
“Si`. You learn to appreciate the complexity of the wine.”
Sheer exhaustion exposed itself in a huge yawn, but enthusiasm danced in her voice. “Vincent, will you teach me?”
His jaw shifted parting his lips. She watched keenly as his tongue skimmed along his back teeth. “Si`. I will teach you.”
***
CHAPTER TEN
“Well? How was he?” Anticipation bubbled over in JC’s tone.
Tracy stepped gingerly into a pair of thick lined leggings, easing the waistband over her bandage. “How was he, what?”
“Oh come on, Tracy!” Disgust on full display. “How was he in bed?”
“What? Who?”
“Don’t give me that shit. Mom said you and the guy have a total thing going on.”
By thing her mother meant chemistry. “His name is Vincent.”
“Whatever—”
“And we haven’t had sex…yet.”
JC squealed at the indication there might be a good dosage of sex on the horizon. “It’s been so long, you’re practically re-virginified. Are you nervous?”
“Thanks a lot! I am now! Actually you would’ve been proud of me.” Tracy tapped her finger to her chest. “I flirted.”
“Hold on…let me pick myself up off the floor. You were flirting? This is serious!”
“I’m telling you—” She searched her mind for a good analogy. “Oh my God, do you remember that cat we used to have?”
“Yeah, how can I forget? I was the one standing there when that fucking hawk swooped down and snatched Miss Kitty right out of the backyard!”
Tracy cringed at the memory. Her little sister cried for weeks and refused to get another cat. Ever. After watching their furry family pet fly off into the sunset in the talons of the hawk. “Sorry. But remember how she used to meow really loud and swish her tail and curl herself around our legs.”
“Miss Kitty didn’t walk, she pranced.” JC corrected indignantly. “I swear that cat used to bat her lashes.”
“Exactly!” Tracy nodded, slinking her body seductively, dragging the tips of her toes on the floor as she sauntered into the kitchen,
“If you even dare tell me that you meowed or purred at this guy, I’m gonna come over there and bitch-slap you.”
“Shut up! Of course I didn’t meow.” Both girls giggled into the phone. Tracy considered confiding in her sister about the whole Oh my God, Vincent issue, but opted to keep it to herself. “I couldn’t help it! My body had a mind of its own.”
“What is it with you and Italian men? You should just move there. Buy a castle. Walk around like Miss Kitty all day. Wouldn’t that be the life?”
After recanting a sho
rt version of her fall in a rush of words, Tracy lifted her shoulders in a sweet shrug. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Please be safe, no more falling or smacking of head in a foreign country.” Notes of concern stained her voice, for a minute. “And I expect you to call me when you get laid.”
“Will do.” Tracy stopped mid-stride tilting her head from side-to-side. “I mean, if I do. When I do. Shit, you know what I mean. I gotta go, sis. I need to get my work done this morning, he’s teaching me about wine later.”
Tracy decided to stop by and have a conversation with Mrs. Giovanni. After a few hours of broken dialog, and wild hand gestures, she gathered that Mrs. Giovanni’s main concern was keeping the family name attached to the vineyard. She feared if things didn’t change, she would have to sell, leaving nothing for her sons. That and of course the melodramatic mention of My boys, they breaka my heart. All I want is for them to find a good woman and give me grandbabies. I pray for them every night. Tracy rose to her feet giving her a compassionate hug before heading to the vineyard.
Settling into her office, Tracy opened her laptop and went to work. However, an hour later she had accomplished nothing, hypnotized by the view outside her window. She strummed her fingers on the wooden desk peering out over the villa on the hill.
“Screw it,” she mumbled, collecting her laptop and walking out the door.
Exiting the office she ran straight into Antonio, spilling his cup of hot coffee down the front of her royal blue shirt.
“Scusa. So sorry. I didn’t know you were here,” Antonio rambled apologetically, rushing into his office.
“Shit. Hot, hot, hot.” Her shoulders curled inward, pulling the wet cotton from her chest. She bent, propping her laptop case against the wall. “I’ve been working at the Levi’s. Less distracting.”
He returned with a handful of tissue and reached out to blot them to her chest, but before he could touch her, an explosive rumble came from over her shoulder.
“Don’t touch her.” Came a murderous growl. “She is mine.”
Vincent grabbed his brother by the wrist and slammed his back to the wall. Tracy lurched, reeling back two steps. She felt a strange twinge of sensation, unsure if she should feel annoyed or elated Vincent deemed her to be his. However, her hormones seemed to be elated, shooting a zing of arousal through her, too intense for her describe.
“What is your problema?” Antonio struggled to get loose, shoving at Vincent.
“You will not touch her,” Vincent spewed.
Testosterone-filled threats flew back and forth in Italian between the men.
“Yours? She is not yours. What are you going to do with her? All you know how to love is your land and the wine,” Antonio goaded, reacting to his brother’s outburst.
Vincent rammed his forearm into his brother’s shoulder, pinning him hard against the stone wall. “I don’t want you near her.”
Tracy only had one brother, but she recognized the macho demonstration of possession. She cleared her throat, loudly, tugging on Vincent’s arm. “What are you doing?”
Antonio retorted, “Bella…”
Vincent smashed his full weight into his brother’s shoulder, knocking the wind from his lungs. “You do not ever call her that!”
Tracy shook her head in irritation, plucking the tissue from Antonio’s hand and dabbing at the brown stain covering her breast. She glanced down the hallway, thankful it was still too early for any visitors.
Antonio struggled briefly, attempting to get free. His eyes narrowed, shocked by his brother’s impulsive display of protectiveness. Hostility wedged into the thin slice of air between them. The brothers didn’t argue, only cursed a few words struggling for power and Vincent had the upper hand.
“Vincent, stop,” Tracy said softly, tugging at the hem of his shirt. His chest raised and lowered in laborious breaths. After getting no reaction, she discreetly slipped her hand up under the tail of his shirt, rubbing small circles on his lower back. This caught his attention.
One brow lifted, politely indicating he needed to knock it off. The grey of his eyes, stormy with anger, tempered. Vincent backed away releasing the death grip from Antonio’s wrist, bringing his arm around Tracy and hauling her close to his side.
Antonio rolled his neck and smoothed his shirtfront. He fumed through clenched jaw, “Would you please give us a moment?”
“Are you two going to behave?” Her glare darted between them, fixating on Vincent.
“Si`.” Vincent grumbled, sweat beading on his upper lip.
After disappearing to the bathroom to rinse and blot the coffee stain from her shirt, she returned to her office. The door to Antonio’s office stayed shut. She stood at the open door to her office taking Vincent in. He half-sat on the edge of the desk. His head was bowed, and fingers knotted together rested in his lap as if he were praying. He glanced up at her, looking contrite and sexy as hell. The sun cast through the window, playing shadows on the silky waves of dark hair. She folded her arms over her chest hoping to conceal the thrashing of her heart.
“So,” she dragged out the vowel. “What’s that all about?”
“We are brothers.” He gave a frayed sigh, riddled deep with history. “We fight, we make up. It’s what we do.”
“Umm, he looked pretty surprised.”
He reached out snaring her softly by the waist, bringing her between his thighs. Her arms draped over his shoulders, rubbing at the tension in the muscles of his neck.
“We were both surprised.” A catch of cynical laughter. “I’m sorry. I reacted without even thinking. I don’t want him flirting with you. Or touching you.” His jaw clenched. “He won’t do it anymore.”
“Vincent, it’s not as if I would’ve stood there and let him touch me. Even before…last night.” She added. The heated scent of him filled her nose as she drew in a deep puff of air. His thumbs rotated small circles over her hip bones. “Your brother is a bit of a scoundrel.”
He cuddled her close, resting the side of his cheek on top of her head.
“Where were you going when Antonio dumped coffee on you?” Vincent questioned with a brief nod toward her laptop now sitting on her desk.
“Huh? Me?” Tracy pursed her lips together, dropping an awkward stare straight to the floor. Brown leather loafers and whip stitching filled her sight. “Nowhere.”
Vincent eased her away from his frame. Concern wore in the creases near his temple. “You weren’t leaving, were you? I like it when you work here.”
She gave a quick shake of her head.
“No?”
“No, not really leaving.” Guilty conscious worked its way over her face in a nice hue of red. “I just needed to decompress.”
One brow lifted, he forced a quizzical smile.
“Fine. I was going over to the villa.” She waved her hand idiotically toward the window. “I can’t help it! I swear that place calls to me, Vincent. I know it’s your spot, but I stare at it the whole time I’m here. It’s so beautiful, just something about—“
Vincent cupped his hand in the shape of a C near his ear. “I do hear it. It’s calling us. Let’s go.”
Taking her by the hand, Vincent led her down the corridor, through the property and past his office to a separate out-building. Turning the corner, the first of six garage doors was rolled open. A dozen farm workers huddled at a long picnic table enjoying their lunch and glass of wine. She’d gotten used to the fact that nearly all of Italy enjoyed their favorite vino during lunch and many establishments closed for the daily occasion.
The men ranged in ages from twenty to sixty. Their discussion came to a hush and smirks of intrigue plastered all of their faces noticing Vincent’s grip on her hand. His grin broadened, nodding at the workers as he snagged a bottle of white wine from the center of the table.
One of the older men spoke to Vincent, in a scolding manner, his accent heavy and rushed. Disappointment weaved through the scowl furrowing between his thick black brows. Each defi
ned line plotted near his eyes telling a chapter of his long life. He stood from the table and all of the workers followed suit standing from their benches.
“Scusi, where are my manners.” Vincent scoffed a smile at the obligatory introduction. “Tracy, this is Maurizio, Damiano, Giani, Vittorio, Dante, Stefano, Andrea, Alessandro, Francesco, Marco, Marcello and Roberto.”
One by one, each man eagerly greeted her with a wealth of warm kisses and a lively, “Piacere.” These men worked for Vincent, yet she felt the admiration they held for him. Judging by the happy looks of surprise they wore, it was not often they saw him with a woman.
As they left the building, the young man named Francesco whistled and called to Vincent, tossing him half a loaf of Italian bread. Dante followed suit, pitching him a block of cheese wrapped in plastic wrap.
Vincent bowed slightly in appreciation. “Grazie.”
Pink dusted her cheeks, she blushed from head to toe, waving goodbye. “It’s like having twelve uncles. They’re adorable.”
“We have a devoted crew of workers and farmers. Many have worked in these fields for generations. Several I have known all my life.” Three golf carts lined the hard packed gravel parking lot. “No bikes, today we drive.”
Tracy pouted at him. “You mean to tell me we could’ve taken one of these the other day when I was barefoot?”
“Si`, but it wouldn’t have been near as much fun seeing you get so mad.” Hiding a devilish grin.
“Oh you are terrible.” She teased. The sole of her boot caught stepping from the sidewalk. Tracy wobbled and he looped his arm under hers, pressing a quick kiss to her neck. “Why Pinot Grigio? Is this your favorite?”
“It’s a bit sweeter. I’ve got to break you in slowly.”
Vincent continued, but she didn’t hear anything, her mind blistered.
“You can break me in however you like.” She mumbled under her breath, holding back a grin hearing his breath hitch. Seeing a thick wool blanket and a small cooler in the back of the cart sent her heart into overdrive. “You planned this?”
“Perhaps.” His eyes glimmered removing the lid of the cooler, adding the appetizers to an already well-packed ice chest.
