by Joanne Rock
Vito had been touched by Christine's thoughtfulness, the tribute to his parents' homeland all the more fitting since she'd salvaged many of the roses from a long-ignored garden of his mother's.
He felt the tension thrumming through her as they stood side by side while Giuseppe snapped their picture. Damn it, why was she in such a hurry to put distance between them? When they'd begun this torturous task, at least they'd both been on the same side—trying to keep from tearing one another's clothes off after all their frustrated efforts to be together.
But something had happened during the course of that first photo, something that made her pull away from him. And damn but he hated thinking he'd disappointed her. Upset her.
Placed in the peculiar position of not having any idea what a woman wanted from him, Vito wasn't sure what to say to make up lost ground. Knowing they'd be finished with the test photos soon, he settled for speaking from the heart while his uncle adjusted the camera settings.
"It means a lot to me that you incorporated my mother's rose garden into the new landscaping." Vito watched her weave a young vine into some wrought-iron trelliswork framing one side of the garden. "Thank you."
A little of the tension seemed to slide out of her shoulders.
"It was my pleasure. People tend to think roses must be fussy flowers because they're so delicate and pretty, but they're actually very hearty." She tilted a peach-colored bloom toward her nose and leaned to inhale its fragrance before meeting his gaze. "They're much tougher than they look."
"That goes double for a certain woman I know." He kept his voice low so that Giuseppe wouldn't hear them, but then he noticed his uncle was otherwise engaged in staring at Mary Jo Kowolski who had just come outside to water her lawn.
"I think this picture looks great," Giuseppe said absently, tossing the camera aside as he moved in Mary Jo's direction. "If we're all set here I think I might go … see how your neighbor's van is working."
Christine looked as though she would have followed his lovestruck uncle if she could have. Instead she moved toward the workshed. "Actually, I need to get back to work, too."
"Wait." Vito insinuated himself between her and her stored tools. "No more running and no more hiding. You're avoiding me now as much as you were those first few weeks after I came home and neither of us is going anywhere until you tell me why."
* * *
10
« ^ »
Christine hadn't realized until that moment how much she appreciated the quiet, non-stressful rewards of planting flowers and shrubs.
Standing her ground, she folded her arms and waited for Vito to move. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather not have a confrontation in the middle of your yard with the neighborhood's nicest gossip and your matchmaking uncle a few yards away."
"Who's having a confrontation?" He looked genuinely surprised. "I just want to talk to you."
She gazed over his shoulder at her tools and the cluster of thatch palms that needed trimming. Work held all the more appeal when the alternative was facing questions she didn't want to answer.
"If you want your sister's wedding to be beautiful, I really should be spending more time on the property." She didn't dare look him in the eye, however, since she'd much rather spend her last ten days here sprawled in bed with Vito and not thinking or talking. Just feeling.
The sun slanted its last purple rays over the backyard while she waited for him to move.
"Then how can I help you?" Vito moved toward the workshed where her tools waited. "You can explain it all to me while we work."
Oh, no, she couldn't. She wouldn't be able to get anything done with him so close to her. He turned her on just breathing. She'd never survive seeing all those lean muscles of his in action.
"I don't think that's such a good idea."
"It's a great idea," He dragged her closer to the workshop. "Just give me a tool and point out a project while you clue me into what's going on between us because I'm missing some big part of the picture that you haven't shared."
She reached into the storage area and pulled out a pair of pruning shears and a rake. "I'm sure we both haven't shared a lot of things, Vito. Wasn't that part of the reason for a fling? Keep things simple and easy?"
Although she had to admit that nothing about their summer affair had been simple or easy right from the start and her taking a week to make up her mind. Even the sex that was so good it was transporting couldn't truly be called "simple" since it had complicated her job and compromised her heart.
Vito wanted different things from life than she did. She had no desire to travel the globe and party at an international level. And she'd take her crappy pickup truck over his spit-shined Ferrari any day of the week. Bottom line, she didn't want any part of his lifestyle any more than he seemed inclined to play in the dirt.
"Damn it, Christine, that doesn't mean I want you to make it so simple for me that you don't share things that are bothering you." He took the shears from her and then closed the door to the workshop. "We've still got ten days together and I don't want you to spend them being unhappy."
As she led him to the corner of the yard with the thatch palms, she allowed his words to sink in. And while it was no surprise that the wedding would be their last day together, she wondered for the first time what was in store for them after that. How exactly did one say goodbye to a summer lover?
"I'm not unhappy." She pointed to one of the palm trees that needed a final trimming while she began up the lawn in this corner of the yard she hadn't resodded. If she was lucky, maybe he'd get caught up in the job and forget all about the inquisition.
"Fine, you're not unhappy." He trimmed a few brown, heavy leaves dangling off the dwarf trees. "How about this, I'm unhappy knowing that you're holding back whenever we're together and I'm disappointed you don't think you can confide in me."
Was she that transparent, or was Vito Cesare just a damn insightful guy for a superstud race-car driver with houses on two continents? Probably a little of both, she conceded, knowing she couldn't write off Vito as a jet-setting playboy anymore since he'd proved to be so down-to-earth and just plain nice with her.
And how could she blame him for not wanting to commit to anyone when she'd just recently made that same vow in her own life—much to the disappointment of her inner romantic?
As she raked and thought and pretended not to steal covert glances at Vito's spectacular muscles in action, she figured as long as he'd cornered her, she might as well put her cards on the table. She always appreciated honesty in other people. She could at least be honest with him in return.
When she stopped raking, she realized he'd quit pruning. He stood watching her. Waiting.
"You're right." Standing the rake upright beside her, she gripped the wooden handle for support. Courage. "I am holding back. I can't help that and I'm not going to change that, but I can at least tell you why."
Maybe.
Assuming she didn't chicken out and sprint for her pickup truck first.
Vito studied her, his impressive shoulders planted directly between her and her only possible escape vehicle.
Sighing she stuck with her good intentions. "Did you ever have one of those relationships that really screws up your whole life or kind of breaks your heart?"
"Honestly?" He took a step closer, laying the pruning tool on the ground. "I've never really let anybody close enough to do a number on me."
Comforting to know she'd tell her story to a man who had zero means of comparison. Would it have killed him to just nod yes? She tried to remember how much she appreciated his honesty before forging ahead.
"Well, my nightmare dating experience spooked me big-time since I accidentally got engaged to a guy with seven other fiancées."
He blinked. Twice. "Accidentally? How long did you know this guy?"
"Actually, we only met once face-to-face. But we had an online relationship for almost a year before he popped the question in person." And by then she'd been head over heels. Along w
ith a whole slew of other women.
"What an idiot."
"Um. No kidding. But I've learned to forgive myself." Although it hadn't been easy. She'd always set high standards for herself and to fail so miserably and so publicly had been a real blow to her self-esteem.
"Hell, I don't mean you." He reached to stroke his hand over her hair. "I mean that guy must have had a screw loose. No man in his right mind would try to please eight women. Half the guys I know can't even effectively make one woman happy."
She soaked up his touch, thinking that Vito had been really successful in making one woman happy. Her whole body sang with pleasure every time he came within reach.
"The worst part about it was that the news made all the West Coast papers and the story followed me around for months afterward." At least she'd had her work with a landscaping business to keep her busy. She'd found solace in working outdoors with non-judgmental plants. "I've managed to put most of the time out of my mind, but the whole engagement farce really soured me on romance."
And love. And happily-ever-afters. And any man who might be a player.
Frankly, globe-trotting race-car drivers filled the bill. Christine was holding out for a man who appreciated the finer points of home and hearth. Like having something blooming in the garden during every season of the year. And feeling connected to one place.
Hell, Vito Cesare didn't even seem particularly connected to one country.
"I'm not going to pretend that doesn't suck." His hand slid away from her hair before he settled in against one of the thatch palms near the old tire swing. "But you must know it's not fair to write off a whole gender just because one guy was a jack-off."
"I'm not writing off every guy. Only the ones in the twenty-to-forty-year-old demographic. I'm sure the rest of them are just peachy." She shifted away from him, away from the intimacy of sharing a piece of herself. The last thing she needed was Vito feeling sorry for her. Or worse, thinking she had to be the world's most clueless woman.
As she went back to raking—a bit more fiercely than before—she noticed Vito hesitate. When he started to prune the palms again, he worked more slowly than before. No doubt thinking about her dating ineptitude.
"The guy had eight fiancées?"
"If you count me, yes." She shuddered as she unwound an old length of honeysuckle from its stranglehold on an overgrown bush. "Although, I suppose I'd rather not."
"Do you mind if I ask what was so damn appealing about the man that he managed to convince so many women to marry him?"
She looked up at the annoyed tone in his voice. Only then did she realize he'd begun to attack his job with even more ferocity than she'd tackled hers.
The hope that he might feel a smidgen of jealousy died as soon as it began. More likely he was just kicking himself for starting a fling with a wary gardener who wouldn't even spend the whole night in his bed. A man who drove a Ferrari and partied around the world probably wasn't used to such a slow summer.
"Why? You trying to figure out how to make sure I don't lasso you with a cummerbund and drag you down the aisle against your will?"
He tossed the heavy shears aside with little concern for the divot he made in her grass. Technically his grass, but still. Could she help it if she was feeling defensive at all his questions? She hadn't signed on for this when she'd said yes to a summer affair.
"Why the hell would I be worried about you chaining me to your side when you run for a hoe or a spade every time I get within arm's reach of you?" He stole the rake right out of her hand and pitched it next to the pruning shears beneath the swing. "I just want to know what it is this guy did that made you throw all those damn boundaries and gardening tools aside and take a gamble."
Vito stared down into Christine's blue eyes, amazed that he could strip away her landscaping equipment and stand almost toe-to-toe with her, yet she still retained an air of aloof distance. What was it about her that made him want to reach through that gulf between them and haul her over to his side?
The instinct scared him as much as it enticed him.
"He reeled me in with a lot of romantic BS." She hugged her arms around her waist and anchored her fingers in the belt loops of her cargo shorts. "Hearts, flowers and stuff. Poems. Love letters. The hard-core romance things some women still dream about and rarely find in a dating scene that's all about how fast you can score and how often. Obviously I wasn't the only one who fell for the fairy-tale scam."
She held her head high even though a dull flush crawled over her cheeks that couldn't have anything to do with the Florida sun that was almost set by now.
Now he felt like a total heel.
Her moron fiancé had given her the things she really wanted while Vito had given her … what? A good time in the shower? No wonder she wasn't letting him get too close to her.
He wanted to reach for her, to haul her closer and fix this awkwardness somehow, but where would they go from there? What did he really have to offer her once their ten days together were up and he left for Germany? Another year on the racing circuit. Another year living the life he'd put off for so long in deference to his siblings, while Christine had her own business to run.
"You deserve the fairy tale." That much was damn certain. "And not the scam variety. You shouldn't settle for anything less than the real deal."
She gave the tire swing an idle nudge and sent it spinning. "Apparently they call it a fairy tale for a reason. It's not real."
"I know firsthand it's real." Vito stopped the tire, steadying it with his hands before he leaned over one side of it, his elbows perched on the rubber.
"It's a myth, Vito." She slumped over the other half of the tire, her soft scent curling around him as she anchored herself on the opposite side of the frayed rope. "I learned it the hard way, so just let me spare you the trouble of finding out firsthand."
"My brothers and sister all have the fairy tale. My mom and dad did, too." Funny how he hadn't thought about their relationship in a long time. He'd been a teenager when his mother had died in childbirth with his brother Marco and Marco's twin sister who hadn't survived. Perhaps he'd opted not to think about his parents together because for many years afterward, it had been easier not to remember. But now, allowing himself to think about his mom and dad as a couple made him smile.
"Maybe it only looked that way on the outside." She turned her head sideways to stare at him across the short space of black rubber, her forehead scrunched with skepticism. "Don't you think some parents sort of fake happiness for the sake of their kids?"
"Not my parents." He peered across the yard to Mrs. Kowolski's house where Uncle Giuseppe was telling her a story that involved both hands and a lot of gesturing. Whatever it was made Mrs. K. laugh. "Mary Jo would vouch for them. Hell, even the most oblivious of neighbors who lived here back then could tell you that the Cesares were crazy in love."
Christine smiled as she propped her head on her elbow to listen. "Really?"
"You know the stereotype about Italians being passionate and expressive?" He stared into Christine's eyes in the falling twilight and wondered how many times his parents had smiled at each other under these same trees. "It didn't matter if my folks were mad, sad or happy—everyone around them knew it. They'd have spats where they'd shout and fling dishes, but when it was over, they were just as obvious about making up. My mother would hang out her bedroom window to blow kisses at my dad when he left for work and he would carry her over mud puddles in the driveway."
"So it was the fairy tale, but it was real at the same time." She ran her finger down the knots in the worn rope tied around the swing. "I don't remember my parents together since my dad left when I was little. I always thought it would be nice to have romance in a relationship but after the whole engagement debacle I guess I'd rather settle for honesty."
"And that's why you decided to have a fling," Understanding finally dawned on him. The various facets of Christine started to fall into place as he realized she had never been a fling ki
nd of girl before. She'd compromised her standards to have a no-strings affair with him because some dirt ball had lied to her so much she no longer believed she could find the happiness she deserved.
"After the rude awakening with Rafe, I thought your idea of no commitment sounded fun. And at least you were being honest with me." She shoved away from the tire, leaving him draped over the top of the swing by himself.
His eyes tracked her as she moved around the yard in the growing dark, her understated curves damn pleasing to the eye as she bent to repair a small divot in the grass.
"What about now?" He shifted off the swing and moved toward her, unable to keep away from her even now that he acknowledged she deserved a hell of a lot more from a relationship than he had to offer. "Has this summer been fun for you?"
Was it selfish of him to want to hear her say yes?
Absolutely.
That didn't stop him from asking the question. And it definitely didn't stop him from following her or sliding his hands around her waist while the night birds started to call and chant around them.
"I like knowing exactly what I'm going to get with you." A smile hitched at her lips as she skimmed her hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders.
"Even if it's a hell of a lot less than you deserve?" He didn't like the idea of her "settling" for anyone. Not even him.
Her eyes focused on his mouth as she arched closer. "Right now, there's only one thing I want from you."
His eyes fell shut as she nipped his lower lip and drew it into her mouth. Wrapping his arms around her tighter, he pressed her body to his, savoring the give of her soft curves along with the flex of trim muscles.
She tasted like the mint leaf she'd given him to try in between Uncle Giuseppe's pictures. And the light floral scent wafting his way could have been her perfume or her flowers. She was as all natural as the name of her landscaping business—a walking advertisement for the benefits of clean, healthy living.
