HER FINAL FLING

by Joanne Rock

  Brushing the thermal blanket aside, his fingers were just sweeping over the lush curve of her breast when a noise sounded in the back of his brain.

  No. A noise sounded in the hallway.

  His hands went still as he waited. Listened.

  Until a boisterous male voice boomed from down the hallway.

  "Hey Vito! Is this any way to greet your favorite uncle?"

  * * *

  9

  « ^ »

  "This can't be happening." Christine lay back on the bed and wished she could bury her head in the pillows.

  She knew that voice. And she knew the energetic, jovial man attached to it.

  She just didn't care to see him right now, when she had been ready to spend hour after blissful hour tangling limbs with the sexiest man she'd ever met.

  "I can get rid of him." Vito shoved himself off the bed, tugging the covers over her as he went. Then he shouted through the closed door. "Be there in a minute, Uncle Giuseppe."

  Tossing the sheet aside, she grabbed her wet clothes. "That's okay. I feel unprofessional enough having a fling with the boss's nephew. I sure don't want to avoid my employer when he shows up to check my progress."

  Her stomach knotted at the thought of being perceived as unprofessional. She'd worked so hard to make the property exceed Giuseppe's expectations, she couldn't stand the thought of blowing it because she'd exercised poor judgment in sleeping with Vito.

  "Trust me, he's not here to check your progress."

  Vito shot her a dark look as he put on a dry T-shirt and then tossed her one, too. "I know you don't want to hear it, Christine, but he's most likely here to check out mine."

  Staring down at the blue shirt stamped with a Grand Prix racing logo he'd given her, she tried to follow that logic and failed.

  Perhaps her blank look said as much.

  "He probably wants to see if I'm making any inroads with you." Smoothing the blankets on the mattress like a teenager caught with his girlfriend, he shoved their discarded clothes under the bed. "Remember? I think half his motive was to get us together."

  "Well, he sure succeeded there, didn't he?" Suddenly miffed with herself for falling so predictably into Vito's bed, she shrugged her way into the dry shirt and dragged her fingers through her damp, tousled locks. "I can't see the point in hiding it. I've done a kick-ass job on the yard, so it's not like I've been slacking off on my responsibilities to steal quickies with you."

  Giuseppe's voice boomed through the door again. "Vito?"

  "Damn." Vito reached behind her neck to tuck the tag in on the back of her shirt. "He'd never think that, Christine. But you don't need to deal with him right now if you don't want."

  "I'm ready." Thankfully she sounded more confident than she felt. "Let's go."

  Nodding, he planted a kiss on her forehead and pulled open the door.

  Giuseppe stood in the hallway, possibly eavesdropping and not looking repentant in the least. A grin split his face, his white teeth a bright contrast to his dark olive skin. His close-cropped dark hair was thinning slightly on top, but otherwise he showed little sign of his age.

  Dressed in tan cargo shorts and a neat leather belt, his green polo shirt tucked and pressed, Christine would have never pegged him for a mechanic. But then again, she sort of hoped she didn't go around looking as if she played in dirt for a living.

  But Giuseppe Donzinetti's clothes were so crisp he could have just stepped out of a Gap ad.

  "Bon giorno!" He wrapped Vito in a bear hug before he kissed his cheek and clapped his back. "You're finally home where you should be."

  Whatever Vito said in response was drowned out by the bear hug Giuseppe turned on her.

  "And now you're practically family." He let her go after a hard squeeze. Thankfully, he skipped the back-clapping which had looked borderline painful. "My nephew is a nice guy once you get him away from all his cars and his fancy parties. I work on cars for a living, and even I get tired of talking about cars with him sometimes. But you like him, eh?"

  Hoping a smile would suffice for an answer, she wondered why she hadn't simply taken Vito's advice and hidden in the bedroom. Much, much better idea. The "practically family" comment had not only caught her off guard, it also called to her romantic side with all the subtlety of a foghorn.

  Coming to her rescue, Vito dropped an arm around his uncle's shoulders and guided him toward the dining room. "Christine doesn't want to talk about me. I hope you realize how hard she's had to work to get the landscaping finished in time for the wedding. She only quit early today because of the rain."

  As Giuseppe took a seat at the table, he looked genuinely worried as he glanced back at her. "I didn't mean for you to spend all your time working this summer."

  "I'm enjoying it, actually." Which was true. Even when she'd been deep in the labor-intensive portion of the project she'd had fun planning the lawn and gardens to show off the house to its best advantage while providing tranquil areas to relax or entertain. "I love what I do."

  The doorbell rang before she could launch into her spiel about all she'd accomplished on the property. She couldn't stand to have Giuseppe think for a minute that she might be slacking on her part of the bargain.

  Vito excused himself to answer the door while she started pointing out the window to a few of the most obvious changes in the yard.

  Half listening to Christine talk about fire bushes and fig trees, Vito squinted out the frosted-glass window-pane in the kitchen door for a hint of who else had arrived. He really hoped the rest of his relatives would wait a few more days before descending on him since Christine looked shell-shocked enough just trying to handle Giuseppe.

  As he pulled open the door, however, he realized he had nothing to worry about. Mrs. Kowolski stood on his doorstep, her arms loaded down with fancy white boxes bearing the logo for her catering company.

  "I don't mean to intrude." She thrust her pile of boxes into Vito's arms and stepped inside. "But since I knew you were expecting a lot of company in the next two weeks I thought you might be able to use some extra sweets for your guests."

  "Sweets?" From the dining room, Giuseppe's voice halted Christine's running monologue about the yard.

  His head bobbed into view a moment later, Christine shadowing him as they entered the kitchen like sugar-crazed zombies following the scent of almond and lemon.

  "Hi, Mary Jo," Christine called when Giuseppe remained uncharacteristically silent. "You are a goddess. All those are for us?"

  "And your guests," Mrs. K. reminded her, gaze fastened on Uncle Giuseppe. "Have they started arriving already?"

  Staggering under the unwieldy stack of boxes, Vito lowered them onto the kitchen counter while Christine made the introductions. By the time he turned back to thank his neighbor, the local catering maven was edging her way back out the door, her cheeks pink.

  "Good luck with the wedding preparation," she called hastily over her shoulder. "I'll stop by next week to see if you need anything else."

  What had he missed? Mrs. K. had never left a friend's house that fast in all her life. She hadn't told a single story about the rowdy Cesare clan in their youth.

  He might have been tempted to ask Christine what the heck was going on, but when he turned to her, she had big grin on her face.

  "You like her, eh?" She winked at Giuseppe while his uncle craned his neck to stare out the frosted-glass windowpane at the departing figure.

  Ah. He might not have a clue about romance, but somehow Christine had seen the signs of attraction between the two widowers.

  "Mary Jo Kowolski lost her husband at least three years ago," Vito offered, all too willing to join Christine in turning the tables on his uncle's matchmaking efforts. He'd never get her back into his bed with Giuseppe around. "She's been running a catering business by herself ever since. I would have thought you'd have run into her before now."

  Giuseppe peered into the stack of catering boxes now that Mary Jo's van had driven out of sight. "I woul
d have remembered her." Taking a bite of a frosted gingersnap, he sighed with pleasure. "And I would never forget a woman who baked like that."

  "Too bad she's been having so many problems with her delivery van." Christine winked at Vito behind Giuseppe's back as she dived into a box of shortbread cookies. "I had to help her make all her rounds with my pickup truck last week."

  His uncle's eyes widened. "I'm a mechanic. Maybe I could help."

  "I'm sure she'd be really grateful. And she'll probably be around tomorrow morning if you had time to—"

  "I'll stop by." He smoothed the collar on his shirt. "Just to be neighborly, of course."

  "Of course." Vito stifled a grin as he thought about the Giuseppe-free hours he could enjoy with Christine tomorrow morning. Maybe if his uncle was busy dodging Cupid's arrows himself, he wouldn't have time to fling so many at other people. "Do you need me to help you bring your bags in, Giuseppe? I assume you're going to stay here for the wedding, aren't you?"

  Straightening, Giuseppe looked mortally offended. "And get in the way of true love?"

  Was it Vito's imagination, or did Christine's face turn a few shades paler?

  "This is the bride's childhood home," he explained, a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes. "I'm sure she'll want to stay in her old home with her fiancé. I've already booked two weeks at a bed and breakfast near the water."

  Vito wondered if Christine would be checking out of the Cesare house soon, too. Once she realized she'd be dodging the relentless efforts of matchmaking Italians for two weeks, she might gladly hightail her way out of his life for the solitude of a Motel 6.

  And despite his fears about their relationship getting too complicated, Vito found himself surprisingly reluctant to let her go—whether it be tomorrow or two weeks from now.

  He didn't have time to worry about it now, however, since Uncle Giuseppe was wrapping his big arms around both of them and drawing them all close in a family hug.

  "But for now, we eat!" He shouted the last words like a call to arms. Eating was serious business for many old-school Italians, and Giuseppe Donzinetti in particular. "Get your umbrellas, kids. Dinner's on me."

  * * *

  Four days later, Christine thought she'd lose her mind if even one more relative knocked on Vito's door.

  After Giuseppe arrived in town, a steady stream of wedding guests insinuated themselves into the Cesare household on a daily basis, trampling her sod with high-heeled pumps, assuring her she didn't need to spend so much time working in the garden and enthusing over what a great couple she and Vito made. And just when she thought life couldn't conspire against her any more, fate sent her a sunny day and a frantic phone call from the bride asking about her test photos.

  Now, as Christine readied her scarlet milkweed flowers for their close-up under the glaring rays of the lateafternoon sun, she wondered how she could possibly pose for a picture with Vito so close to her and refrain from tearing off his clothes.

  "It looks bellisimo, Christina." Uncle Giuseppe called to her from his perch on one of the new faux stone benches she'd installed around the gardens. "All I need in the picture now is a couple glowing with the blush of young love."

  Stifling the urge to roll her eyes as she finished adjusting a wayward branch of flowers, she didn't have the heart to tell Giuseppe that any glow she might have was a direct result of frustrated lust and not remotely related to love. She and Vito had barely gotten within kissing distance of one another in the past four days thanks to international flights arriving at the airport at all hours of the day and night.

  Even after Vito finished playing host to his seemingly endless extended family during the day, he would wait for hours at the airport in the middle of the night for delayed flights to arrive so he could drive more guests to their respective hotels. Or else he'd drive them back to the Cesare house for a night or two until the party in question got wind of Giuseppe's matchmaking scheme, and then they'd make excuses about how they'd always wanted to stay at the Coral Gables Quality Inn.

  From behind her, she heard Vito's voice. "You'd better behave, Uncle Giuseppe, or I'll have to go tell Mrs. K. you only fixed her van so she would invite you to dinner one of these nights."

  Threats concerning Mary Jo Kowolski were the only weapon that seemed to help.

  "No need to sell me out, Vito." Giuseppe smoothed a hand over his thinning dark hair and cast a covert glance at Mary Jo's house with its wide, inviting porches.

  He'd been transparently smitten with Vito's neighbor from the moment she'd stepped into the Cesare kitchen bearing cookies. For four days straight he'd been asking questions about Mary Jo and stealing surreptitious peeks out the window toward her house, but he had yet to do more than smile politely at her and offer some mechanical help.

  For a guy who made romantic meddling his number-one hobby, he sure didn't seem to have a clue how to manage his own love life.

  Speaking of which, if she didn't start taking some initiative with her own, Giuseppe's high-handed approach would send Vito screaming back to Europe long before she got her fill of kisses. And more.

  She took a deep breath and decided to take matters into her own hands.

  "Okay, I'm ready. The plants are ready." Better that she be the one in control of this situation than to have Giuseppe scripting an awkward pose between her and Vito. "Let's get the pictures over with so I can finish up my last round of pesticide spraying before the wedding. Vito, are you ready?"

  Her gaze flashed to his, hoping he'd come along for the ride with her on this one. She'd far rather get the photo right the first time than to have Giuseppe debate with them all afternoon about how they should get closer. Kiss each other. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

  They'd do it right the first time and then they'd be off the hook to go do their own things today. Which—considering the luck she and Vito had been having this week—would probably involve Vito chauffeuring his aunts around to the local shopping venues so they could find dresses to wear to all the wedding activities Giselle and her fiancé had planned.

  "Hell, yes, I'm ready." He was near enough to her that only she heard his words as Giuseppe cleaned the lens of the camera with a corner of his knit polo shirt.

  Vito stepped closer still, joining her under the natural arch of flowers made by an old honeysuckle vine and a slew of new orange, red and yellow plantings. The vibrant colors would attract plenty of hummingbirds for years to come, and the warm tones would complement the bride's Italian-American complexion. Christine had seen pictures of Giselle around the Cesare house and—no surprise since she was Vito's sister—she was beautiful.

  "Then let's get this over with before we spontaneously combust, okay?" Christine whispered under her breath, mindful of Giuseppe testing camera angles a few feet away from them.

  "Too late." Vito spoke through the clenched teeth of his camera-ready smile while his hand slid around her back. He tucked her close to his side as they faced the camera. "I'm combusting on a nightly basis while I lie awake and wish I could be in your bed."

  Christine could feel her fake camera smile turn into the real thing. "Oh, really? Do tell, Mr. Cesare. I like to think I'm not the only one burning up every night."

  Giuseppe must have found an angle he liked because he called to them over the camera.

  "Okay, kids, we're ready to shoot. No more talking." He frowned as he stared at them over the lens. "And no more goofy grins. You've just gotten married, remember? You're in looove."

  He gave the last work about six syllables too many.

  Vito dutifully turned toward Christine. "I think you're taking your camera work a little too seriously over there, old man."

  "Nothing's too good for my niece's wedding." Giuseppe shook a stern finger at them both although his eyes remained lit with mischief. "And you'd do well to remember how important weddings are for family, eh? Without the wedding, there is no family, no crazy relatives to indulge and no more fun. Trust me, weddings are good. Family is even better."

&nb
sp; Christine didn't have to worry about removing her goofy grin. It came sliding off all on its own at the first mention of weddings and family. Half of her wanted to embrace Vito's uncle in a big hug as a fellow romantic, but the other half of her—the half that was trying very hard to gag her dreamy impulses—needed to plug her ears at his ardent defense of love and marriage.

  Of course, it didn't help that Vito's broad hand rested on the curve of her waist, his pinky straying down to her hip and tantalizing her with how awesome it would be to combine all that love and marriage stuff with the heady sensuality she'd discovered in Vito's arms.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard Giuseppe shout, "Si, si!" Too wrapped up in her own thoughts, she could only concentrate on the warmth of Vito next to her and the sultry breeze stirring her thin peasant blouse around her shoulders.

  Her throat dried as she braved a glance up into his dark hazel eyes. His gaze probed deep, as if he could see deep inside her to all those soft, suggestible parts she'd buried after Rate's scam had been revealed.

  After her colossal stupidity had been unveiled.

  God, she was an idiot for treading down this same terrain with Vito.

  Ready to put this farce of a photo behind her, she pulled away from him. "Okay, let's shoot the next location and call it a day."

  * * *

  Could Christine have killed the mood any faster?

  Vito followed her lead as she hustled around the new gardens faster than one of his cars on the final lap. She arranged branches, pruned flowers and deflected all of Giuseppe's sly remarks at full throttle, as if she couldn't wait to put the ordeal of the pictures behind her.

  No, truth be told, she acted as though she couldn't wait to put Vito behind her.

  He puzzled over her sudden retreat while his uncle snapped a few shots at the final location Christine had suggested for his sister's wedding photos. The sun slipped lower on the horizon, casting a faint orange glow on the rose bushes near a small fountain Christine had installed last week. She'd called this little corner her "Ode to Rome" with its classical statue of Venus and the pleasantly weathered marble bench she'd purchased secondhand from his brother Renzo's wife, who worked as an antiques dealer.