Tuscan Heat

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  “What difference does it make now?”

  She took a deep breath and held it for a brief second. Donovan shook his head, moving to turn from her.

  Gianna grabbed his arm, spinning herself back to stand in front of him. “Because when I do this,” she whispered, “you need to know that it comes from me. From my heart.”

  Donovan’s brow furrowed with confusion again. “When you do what?” he snapped.

  Gianna closed what little space remained between them, pressing the warmth of her body to his. “This,” she whispered softly as she stood on her tiptoes, tilting her face to his. And then she kissed him, capturing his mouth with her own.

  * * *

  Had he been asked, Donovan would have sworn on everything he held sacred that when Gianna kissed him, fireworks erupted in the sky and a symphony was playing blissfully in the distance. In his mind’s eye he would have bet his last dollar that he’d seen the colorful striations connecting the bright stars above and that he’d heard the music that had danced with the lull of the waves that teased the sand.

  He had never before been kissed as passionately as when her mouth blessed his. Her lips were soft, satin pillows. They parted slightly, her tongue playfully teasing his. It was an easy give-and-take of magnanimous proportions fueled by something too sweet to ever be believed. It was the best first kiss of all the first kisses in his small world.

  As his lips danced over hers, she wrapped her thin arms around his neck, drawing him so close to her that it felt as if they were one body and not two. Her soft curves melded into every hardened line of his body, and neither could begin to decipher where one began and the other ended.

  Donovan wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her from the sandy foundation beneath her feet. As he did, she wrapped both legs around his waist, locking her ankles together at the small of his back. He clutched the round of her backside with one hand, his fingers teasing the taut flesh as the other skated up and down her torso.

  The moment was surreal. Gianna was so lost in the vastness of it that when Donovan broke the connection, pushing her gently from him, the infraction felt magnanimous. They were both breathing heavily, gasping for air as he eased her back onto her feet and took a step from her, putting what she thought was far too much distance between them.

  Donovan’s head bobbed up and down against his neck, his mind racing with too many thoughts, but there was something in his eyes Gianna had never seen before. He reached a hand out, trailing his fingers along her profile as she closed her own eyes and leaned her cheek into his palm. When she reopened her eyes, Donovan was still staring, his gaze misted with emotion.

  “I’ll find my own way home,” he said softly, the comment not at all what Gianna had expected.

  “Donovan, please,” she whispered back, clutching a hand to her chest. “Let’s just talk.”

  He shook his head as he took two additional steps backward. “I’m sorry, Gianna, but I don’t have anything else to say,” he replied. And then he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  Chapter 8

  Donovan stared out at the students who were taking their first exam of the semester. The surprise pop quiz was solely for his benefit, to assess the capabilities of his students and identify those mathematical areas where he needed to focus more energy and those he could dismiss. As he eyed each student, he was surprised to find Alessandra Donati staring back at him intently. The young woman slowly licked her lips just as she drew her number two pencil to her mouth, then gave him a suggestive wink. The overt gesture threw Donovan off course for a brief moment as he shifted his eye to the paperwork on his desk, pretending not to have noticed.

  He took a deep breath before returning his gaze to the rows of seats and the thirty-six students sitting in them. He resumed his study of the classroom, starting his trek on the other side of the room. They were a great group, eager, inquisitive and bright. They would make the teaching experience a joy. Then there was young Ms. Donati, her flirtatious manner beginning to cause him concern.

  The girl was intellectually gifted, but she had no boundaries. Her brazen antics since the semester had started went far above and beyond those of students he’d had in the past. And in the past, there had been many a student who’d hoped to know him outside of the classroom on a more intimate level, but Donovan had always been able to shut them down.

  Shutting down Ms. Donati was proving to be a challenge. The first day of classes, she’d made her interest in him known in front of the whole class, the sexual innuendo making him blush a time or two. He’d pulled her aside immediately after class to express his disapproval, and she had only laughed, pretending not to know what he was talking about as she trailed her hands over her full breasts, drawing attention to the large nipples that poked through the sheer fabric. But the overt comments had since stopped, at least when there were others around to hear.

  As the clock chimed through the room signaling the noon hour, Donovan moved onto his feet, collecting the exam papers as each student passed by his desk toward the exit. He wished them each a good afternoon as comments rang out about the ease or difficulty of the test.

  “I wasn’t prepared for that, Dr. Boudreaux!” one young man said, laughing.

  “That was a breeze, sir!” another interjected. “You’ll have to do better challenging us!”

  Ms. Donati brought up the rear, hanging back to be the last to leave, as she did after every class. Before she could comment, her wide eyes showing her eagerness to whisper out of turn, Professor Mugabe burst through the door.

  “Donovan, how was class? Oh, Alessandra, dear, how are you?”

  The student shrugged her narrow shoulders, annoyance visible across her face. “I’m well, thank you,” she answered.

  There was a brief pause as the two instructors stood staring at the girl.

  Alessandra shifted her gaze toward Donovan. “Professor Boudreaux, will you be having office hours today?” she asked as she twisted the beads around her neck between her fingers. “I’d like to speak to you, if I may? Alone.”

  Donovan shook his head. “I’ll be in early tomorrow. In the common area until ten. You’re more than welcome to come see me then,” he answered, his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

  She forced a smile. “Tomorrow then,” she said as she sashayed out the door.

  Professor Mugabe looked from him to Alessandra and back.

  “You’ll need to keep an eye on that one,” she said as Alessandra disappeared from sight. “She’s one of our best and brightest but...” The woman’s words stalled. She pressed a hand to Donovan’s forearm. “But I’m sure you’ve already figured that out.” She gave him an all-knowing smile before she continued. “Do you have plans for lunch?”

  “I was actually planning to just head home early since I don’t have a class this afternoon.” His brow furrowed, something else obviously on his mind.

  “Nonsense!” Sophie exclaimed. “You must have lunch with me. We really haven’t had an opportunity to talk since you got here.” She headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, “I insist!”

  * * *

  Gianna entered the family home, a blank expression across her face. Carina and her father exchanged a look as she and Franco both turned to stare at the same time.

  “Ciao, bambina!” the patriarch called out, gesturing for his daughter to come to his side.

  Gianna crossed to the other side of the room, leaning in to kiss her father’s cheek. “Ciao, papà,” she replied.

  “Where were you?”

  She shook her head. “I just went for a walk. No place special,” she answered.

  The old man nodded. “Have you spoken to Donovan?”

  Gianna took a deep breath and sighed softly. She turned abruptly, not bothering to answer.

  “You should try to call him, Si
ssy!” Carina called after her. “If you want I can try...”

  Gianna turned to give her sister a look, cutting off the comment. “Leave it alone, Carina. You have helped more than enough,” she said sarcastically.

  Franco moved onto his feet, crossing to stand by her side. “Carina is right. You two need to talk. You should try to call him.”

  She shook her head. “Donovan has made it quite clear that he isn’t interested in talking to me, so let it go. Please.”

  Gianna stepped into her father’s outstretched arms. Franco wrapped his daughter in a warm hug. He held her, no one saying another word. As she stood in his arms, she could feel the hurt that consumed her flooding her spirit, building yet again.

  It had been a few weeks since she’d told Donovan the truth, and since then a wall of silence had stood like stone between the couple. All of the family had wanted to intervene, but Gianna had been adamant about none of them doing anything at all. It was over, no possibility of a future between them existing. Gianna had accepted such, and everyone else just needed to, as well.

  Franco gave her a quick squeeze before kissing her cheek one last time and letting her go. Turning from him, Gianna moved toward her office, leaving them behind. Before she could close the door, Carina moved into the space.

  “Please don’t start,” Gianna muttered. She swiped at a tear that burned hot behind her lashes.

  “I just wanted you to know that I haven’t gotten to your mail or your email messages yet. If you want me to, I can take care of them now.”

  Gianna shook her head. “No, I’ll take care of it. I have some calls to make, too. If I need anything, I’ll just let you know.”

  “You’re pushing your deadline. How’s the writing going?”

  Gianna paused. Truth be told, she hadn’t written a word since that last night with Donovan, her mind a complete and total blank. The writing wasn’t going well at all. She forced a smile as she met her sister’s stare. “Fine. The writing is going very well.”

  “So, you’ll make your deadline? Because if you don’t think you will, we should send your editor a message.”

  “I said it’s going to be okay, Carina. I’m handling it.”

  Carina nodded. “Well, let me know if that changes, okay?”

  “Okay, Carina!” Gianna snapped.

  An awkward silence fell between them. Carina said nothing else as she backed her way out of the office, closing the door behind her.

  Gianna sat down at her desk, then flung the felt-tip pen she’d been holding across the room, the device landing in front of the wooden bookcases. She shifted forward in her seat, dropping her head into her hands. Frustration creased her brow.

  Nothing felt as if it was going to be okay. She felt lost and couldn’t begin to explain to anyone why. Donovan turning from her had broken her heart, and she couldn’t begin to know or understand when her heart had gotten caught up in the fray. And then she thought about that first kiss.

  Kissing Donovan Boudreaux had been everything she’d imagined and then some. The man’s touch had been searing, and in that brief moment, when their connection had been the most intimate experience of her life, Gianna had imagined her fairy-tale romance and happy ending. Nothing about how he held her, his body pressed tightly against hers, had prepared her for that being their very last kiss. Nothing. But that’s where they were. Done and finished before anything had been able to start.

  Shaking the thoughts from her head, Gianna turned on her computer. As she waited for the device to power up, she eased her headphones over her ears and flipped the on switch to her MP3 player. The English crooner Sam Smith was suddenly serenading her, his melodic tone instantly calming her spirit. He sang, and Gianna allowed herself to drift into the emotion of his tune.

  She slid her finger across the laptop’s mouse pad, opening her email folder. After entering her user name and password, she watched as a lengthy list of new messages rolled across the screen. She scanned the names beneath the list titled FROM. One name suddenly screamed for her attention. As she clicked on the message, a bright smile pulled at her lips, joy flooding her face. She read it once and then again.

  Dear Ms. Martelli,

  My name is Donovan Boudreaux. I’m a math professor currently teaching at the University of Siena in Tuscany. I have been a fan of yours since your first book, Bruised and Battered. Despite my previous intentions to write and tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your writing, I’ve always stopped myself, feeling that you probably would not want to be inundated with more fan mail. But I have been reading an ARC of your latest work, Primed and Pursued, and have been so engaged with the characters that I could not let the opportunity to tell you what I think pass by.

  I am awed by the beauty of your words. From the first sentence to the last, I was pulled in and captivated. But I was also haunted, your protagonist’s pain seeming to mirror my own. So I had to write to ask if his heartbreak was intentional on your part or just a consequence of your heroine’s actions. I’d be curious to know as well if you ever considered rewriting the ending to mend the hurt the infraction caused him. Clearly, you had compassion for this man, so does he not deserve a happier ending?

  I’d love to discuss him and your story in further detail. I do hope that you’ll respond.

  Yours truly,

  Donovan Boudreaux

  Excitement bubbled like boiling water in a pot as Gianna grabbed an ink pen and yellow-lined notepad from the corner of her desk. As a response formed in her mind, she began jotting down notes, anxious to send a reply.

  * * *

  As Sophie prattled on and on about testing and student scores, Donovan found himself drifting off into his own thoughts. The woman had been talking nonstop since they’d taken a seat at the sidewalk trattoria. He’d given up trying to get in a comment and resigned himself to just listening, occasionally nodding in agreement.

  The meal had been a delight—appetizers of classic caprese salad with tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella cheese, and Tuscan prosciutto with cantaloupe melon. He’d chosen saffron risotto with veal ossobuco ragout for his main course, and had finished off with a scoop of mango sorbet in a bowl of raspberry soup.

  Now he sat clutching his smartphone in his lap, hoping for the distinctive sound that alerted him to an incoming email message. Before leaving home, he’d sent Gianna an email, hoping against all odds to start their relationship over again. For days he’d stopped himself from climbing that hill to the winery to see her, wanting to forget that he’d left her and her horse standing alone on the beach in the dark of night. And as often as the thought of seeing her came to him, he’d talked himself out of it, able to forgive but unable to forget that she and her sister had played him for a fool.

  But this morning had started differently than all the other mornings. Signora Rossi had wakened him as usual, her boisterous chatter like its own alarm clock on the other side of his bedroom door. The old woman had knocked for his attention, and when he’d finally wrapped a bathrobe around himself to greet her, she’d been in an exceptional mood.

  Pushing him out of her way, he’d watched as she stripped the sheets from his bed, and then out of nowhere she’d reached into his nightstand drawer and had pulled Gianna’s framed picture from where he’d hidden it inside. Propping it back onto the tabletop, Signora Rossi had given him an evil eye and had shaken her index finger at him as she’d berated him in her native tongue. He’d understood just enough to know that she thought him a bigger fool for allowing the rift between them to continue. And so he’d given in to his wanting and had gone to his computer to send Gianna a message.

  Sophie interrupted his thoughts. “Maybe we can have dinner together tomorrow?”

  “Excuse me?” He struggled to focus his attention back on Sophie, shaking the thoughts of Gianna from his mind.

  “Dinner? Tomorrow? I was thinkin
g that you could come to my apartment and I could cook a traditional Nigerian meal for you.” Sophie smiled brightly, her porcelain white teeth a striking contrast against her dark complexion.

  As Donovan stared into the woman’s eyes, he realized something between them had changed, Sophie reading more into their friendship than he’d ever considered.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He repeated himself a second time. “I’m really sorry, but...”

  She held up her hands, her smile still bright. “No pressure. I just sense that you’ve been off your game lately, and I thought some downtime with a good friend might help alleviate some of your stress. So think about it, and if you change your mind or you just feel like spending some time together, I’m available.”

  Donovan nodded. “I appreciate that,” he said, feeling extremely uncomfortable.

  His phone suddenly vibrated. As he stole a quick glance to see who the incoming message was from, Sophie changed the subject, telling him about her family and the journey from Africa that had landed them on the Italian coast. Despite wanting to focus his attention on his phone, he instead leaned toward Sophie to hear the story she was so excited to share. The message from his sister could wait. He wouldn’t be rude to the woman who was trying so hard to be a good friend.

  An hour later, he stole a quick glance at his wristwatch. Half the afternoon had passed, and he found himself wishing he were anywhere but where he was. He moved as if to ready himself to leave.

  “Don’t rush off,” Sophie said as she shifted in her seat. “It’s still early. We could order a bottle of wine, maybe take a stroll through the piazza?”

  He smiled. “I appreciate the invitation, Sophie. I really do, but I have to head back to Maremma.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad we could spend some time together.” She reached across the table for his hand. “I’m really glad that we’re getting to know each other better. You know how much I’ve always admired you.”