Alchemy (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Serena Fairfax

  But, he shuddered inwardly. Even he realized her get-up was unedited. He was aware the Heriots lived pretty much hand-to-mouth, that Tamsin made her own clothes and Eve had confided to Maria in an unguarded moment that they’d be in the market for any Leopoldo castoffs. That skin-tight, knee-skimming punky floral skirt with the elasticized waist and wonky hem that did nothing for her big butt was probably one of Tamsin’s sartorial efforts, sadly mismatched with a tight-fitting carnival-print sleeveless blouse that boasted far too many tiny buttons, scuffed neon pink sandals and gold-plated earrings the size of curtain rings.

  “Look,” Tamsin continued briskly, the well-rehearsed masterstroke dropping from her lips suffused with a rightly judged degree of urgency. “We’re having a bit of a drama. A load of guests is due this evening and the hot water system’s on the blink. Could you come and wave a magic wand over it? A cold shower’s the last thing they’ll want. And before you ask, no, there’s no one available for a couple of days to fix it. They’re all solidly booked up.”

  “No worries,” Luca said easily. “Maurizio will be along to sort you out.”

  This development had escaped Tamsin. Alarmed, she burst out, “No, no. I’m sure he’s far too busy. I’d hate to drag him away.”

  She was coming on a bit strong. Luca was fractionally bewildered. Ah…! He’d sensed she was sweet on him, suspected a flicker of the true agenda behind those soft eyes. It’s playtime!

  “OK. Just give me a moment.”

  He disappeared and returned wearing a pair of cream shorts that molded with perfection to his taut muscularity, and a zingy T-shirt. Carrying an impressive box of tools, he’d slipped a packet of condoms—“ultra-sure, skin-on-skin feeling” if Tamsin only knew—into his pocket.

  “All set.” He whistled up Beau, his young black Labrador. “We’ll take the shortcut.”

  Wow! Tamsin gave her a biggest bombshell grin, thrilled her ruse had actually succeeded as she bounced along beside him.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Luca asked mildly, jerking his head across.

  She felt a rush of crimson up her face and dashed back to untie Dusty, who she’d leashed to an antique stone urn. “Now where did I put my head?”

  They meandered along a twisting shady path bordered with banks of honeysuckle, and then up a gentle slope strewn with summer jasmine and myrtle that separated the lacy, wrought iron entrance gates of the villa from the Heriot house. Impeccably maintained, without a hint of sterility, the timeless perfection of the Leopoldo residence, oozing history and elegance, stood proud among rare, ancient magnolias and palm trees in the Riviera-like microclimate, in stark contrast to the ramshackle casa. Lacking the capital for restoration, the Heriots administered a modicum of first aid. There was no pool, the roof leaked, the garden was ragged, the furnishings slowly disintegrating and Eve, whose cooking was dire, was no domestic goddess. But undaunted, Patrick and Eve, glossing over its rampant shortcomings, blithely sold it as a boho lifestyle. You’re here for culture in the sunshine, stimulating conversation and expert tuition by highly acclaimed practitioners, their website boasted. This was an exaggeration, because Patrick had never sold, let alone managed to give away, a single painting and the most Eve had published was a slim volume of verse twelve years earlier that had sunk without trace.

  Dusty bounced indoors with muddy paws and leapt onto a sagging sofa. Tamsin struggled to dislodge him. Dog hair wouldn’t go down well with the guests, some of whom were pet-intolerant, so Fabio had offered to take him off their hands for the duration. Amused, Luca hauled up a protesting Dusty and thrust him outside where, panting heavily with his tongue hanging out, he proceeded to feign heat exhaustion.

  Was there anything in the plan she’d omitted? Tamsin cast her mind back. Granted, the bed sheets were not 1,000-thread Egyptian cotton sateen, but they were freshly laundered polycotton and she’d

  darned the more obvious holes. In Luca’s honor and on wings of love, she’d even run an iron over them, something she never did.

  Luca dumped the toolbox on the floor. “Now where’s your little problem?”

  Tamsin pointed. “Just over there, in that alcove.”

  He didn’t move. “Come on Tamsin, what’s this all about? The technician serviced our boiler yesterday and told Maria he’d just done yours which he discovered, surprisingly, given five years neglect, happened to be firing on all cylinders.”

  “Oh.” Tamsin blinked rapidly. She had a habit of doing this when anxious or confronted with an unexpected or challenging situation.

  “And stop gnawing your fingernails like a mouse so that I can kiss you.”

  Lowering his head to his lips, he did just that and it was heaven, his tongue soft and hard, low and deep, flicking and thrusting. He ran his fingers through her hair. “Remind me,” he teased, “you’re what—thirty, thirty-five?”

  She giggled. “Nineteen next week, well over the age of consent.”

  “And you want me to fuck you, consenting adult?” He released her and grinned. “Why me?”

  She didn’t skip a beat. “Why not? Gareth’s mates and my gang’s brothers are rather too close for comfort and you’re bound to know all the right moves, having hit on all those beauties I’ve seen you with.”

  She didn’t add And I simply melt when I think of you, but then he probably knew that.

  Beaming and clutching to her bosom the bottle of red wine and the two glasses she’d placed in advance on the dresser, her eyes angled upward.

  “More’s the pity. I’d prefer the kitchen table,” Luca said, winding her up. “I’d take you to absolute pleasure from the rear end.”

  “Er, er…” Tamsin blinked. This was perhaps a little advanced for her. It didn’t get a mention until Chapter 5 in “Bonking For Tyros.”

  “Just kidding. Missionary position, you have my word of honor.” He paused. “All clear?”

  “Oh, yes.” Tamsin nodded confidently. “We’ve all the time in the world, as they won’t show up until well after seven.”

  Luca suppressed a smile. Go girl! She had it all sorted, like a business plan. “Lead on,” He relieved her of the bottle and glasses and, giving her bum a friendly wallop, followed her swaying hips up the steep, creaking stairs.

  Tamsin pushed open the door, her heart fluttering wildly. The narrow bed with its angel-carved oak headboard was invariably used by a lone guest when she was away. Luca carefully balanced the props on a rickety chest of drawers, bumping his head on a dangerously sagging ceiling. There was no need to draw the curtains, as there was no habitation in sight, just miles of meadow quilted with wild flowers, the stillness broken by the twitter of birds and the sweet tones of the bells of St. Mary Maggiore chiming the hour.

  He closed up on her and, very slowly unbuttoning her blouse, kissed her neck. She shivered with anticipation. He deftly unclipped her bra and shyly she buried her head in his hairy chest.

  “Let’s get this off.” He wriggled her skirt down, no mean feat, and tossed it on the floor, then, lifting her up, laid her on the bed and eased off the new, frilly puce-colored panties.

  “Feel me,” he ordered.

  She pulled his T-shirt over his head unbuttoned his shorts with trembling fingers and swallowed at the hardness within his Ermenegildo Zegna boxers. “Unexpected item in bagging area,” she giggled.

  Oh God, the condoms are languishing downstairs. “There’s something I have to fetch,” she yelped.

  He reached into the pocket of his shorts and she caught a glimpse of silver foil.

  “You’re well prepared.” She slumped back, relieved.

  “My motto’s exactly that. And if you want me to fuck you, hadn’t you better finish what you started?”

  That this was Tamsin’s first time was clear, and he felt oddly pleased she’d chosen him and not one of those bumbling village louts. He put a hand between her warm thighs and she gasped. He’d never thought of her as sexy or even a looker, but he was horny and hadn’t invited any girl friend
s to stay that summer, owing to some significant house improvements. Yet there was something about Tamsin’s yielding curves, those soft breasts like cushions, velvet complexion and that juicy-apple freshness of her that was making him come.

  Tamsin sighed contentedly as his lips met hers, then trailed down to the secret core of her. She tried to recall what she ought to be doing now as per the manual she’d committed to memory, but it escaped her. He was kissing and touching her all over it and it was heavenly the way it made her toes curl.

  “Fast or slow,” he murmured, “what’s it to be for a knock-out first round?”

  She arched into him, burning for him, her fingers threading through his hair. “Hurry. I want to feel you inside me now.”

  He breathed in her scent, aroused by its musky, patchouli notes and, half closing his eyes, buried his face in her lush, drenched pussy.

  “You’re so ready, I’m taking you.” Stroking her rosy nipples, he took one in his mouth, sucking hard. She shivered with pleasure and heady abandon and then a moan broke from her as he slid between her thighs, the throbbing warmth of his cock probing her, stretching her into a pleasure that hungered, drawing her in deeper and deeper. And then she was on fire and flying.

  “What the hell’s going on?” a strident voice demanded.

  Chapter 2

  The door was wrenched open and Gareth, sandy-haired, wiry, with pale blue eyes, stood scowling on the threshold. Flatlined at the sight of him, Tamsin squeaked and disappeared under the bedclothes like a cormorant diving for fish.

  “Hey, is that my sister you’re fucking?”

  Luca sat up and leaned nonchalantly against the bedhead. Gareth was badly in need of a shave. “Well spotted.” He could hear Tamsin snuffling away and whipped off the top sheet, briefly exposing her Bathsheba nude bottom. “Look, you can make a positive ID that it isn’t Eve doing a Mrs. Robinson.”

  A spasm crossed Gareth’s face and he half closed his eyes. He’d dropped out of university after the first year to pen a crowd-pleasing blockbuster that Tamsin suspected was still stalled at the first thousand words, and was currently resting from intermittent employment as a package holiday tour leader, intermittent since he was only ever enlisted as a last resort.

  “How about a threesome?” Luca suggested mischievously. “That can be pretty liberating.”

  “I heard noises, thought it was a break-in, so,” Gareth added weakly, retreating a step, “decided to be Sherlock Holmes.”

  Tamsin disentangled herself from Luca’s leg astride her and, struggling over into a sitting position, tweaked the sheets up to her chin, her head popping out like a nestling chick anticipating a feed. “That’s very noble of you,” she said tartly, knowing full well he would be the first to turn tail and vamoose. “Besides, every self-respecting burglar knows we’ve nothing worth nicking. But what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Milan with Mum and Dad.”

  Gareth’s expression was petulant. “At the first pit stop on the autostrada I couldn’t face the prospect of yet another batch of talentless geriatrics, so I pleaded a migraine and hitched a lift back.”

  “Well, they’re here and there’s more to follow, so it’s all hands to the plough,” Tamsin said crossly, fearing he was going to do the classic runner. “Put up or shut up.”

  “Actually, neither.” He paused, his gaze swerving guiltily to the window. “I thought I’d take a fraternal interest in Ruby. Make sure she’s all right, that sort of thing.”

  Tamsin’s mouth opened and shut. She—they—knew Ruby was having the time of her life in Ibiza. “Are you crazy? You can’t just dump yourself on them.”

  Gareth sighed as if engaging with a rather dim-witted child. “The invite will be a mere detail, easily sorted.” There was a glint of cunning in his eyes. “Anyway,” he added confidently, “I’m out of here soon.”

  Luca had followed the exchange with rising impatience. He’d always regarded Gareth as a shifty, arrogant, arsehole much indulged by Eve, and this was yet one more instance of it.

  “Well, if you won’t join us, beat it,” he said dangerously. “We’ve unfinished business.”

  Emboldened by Luca and her newly deflowered state, Tamsin nodded vigorously and, surprised at herself, flapped a get lost hand at him.

  Giving Luca a murderous look, Gareth sniped “fuck you” under his breath and slammed the door and the next thing the casa was quivering with the sound of reggae played at high volume.

  Luca rolled his eyes and gave a quiet inward laugh. “Now where we before we were so rudely interrupted?” His warm body pressed against Tamsin.

  Tamsin scrambled out of bed and, unscrewing the bottle top, poured out the wine and handed a glass to Luca. “This is the natural moment for an intermission.” She settled herself in beside him and, clinking glasses, took a large swallow. “Mmm, blissful.”

  Luca sipped and almost spewed it out. He could have sworn that it was possibly the worst drop of wine that had ever crossed her lips. Tamsin was clearly no connoisseur, her mouth faintly ringed in red as she savored it, draining the glass to the last drop.

  “Got to take a leak,” he said diplomatically. He put his feet to the floor, went to the bathroom, and poured the contents of his glass down the lavatory pan. Then, going back to bed, he wiped Tamsin’s mouth with the back of his hand. They began to laugh.

  “That was hilarious,” Luca said, stroking her cheek. “Rather like a French farce!”

  “Whew, you were masterful.” Tamsin’s eyes shone with admiration and she meant it. She was utterly smitten. “I’ll have to genuflect to you.”

  “That sounds an intriguing position. Let’s go for it.”

  Then they were alight again, fucking like they were tango-dancing until they heard the minivan grinding along the lane. Tamsin catapulted out of bed, rubbed herself down with a damp cloth and threw on an even more hideous concoction—a gypsy-style dress that made her look like a buxom serving wench in a Robin Hood movie.

  Luca got dressed slowly and, going downstairs, bumped into a sweating, harassed Patrick straining single-handedly with heavy luggage, most of the guests having packed as if for a circumnavigation of the world. Of Gareth, there was no sign. Never a grafter, he was playing mine host, dispensing welcome drinks. Luca exchanged cheerful greetings with the new arrivals, gallantly offering his arm to the more doddery ones, and raced up and down hefting luggage to the allotted rooms.

  “Thanks so much,” Patrick, a beanpole of a man with a thick head of silver hair, drawled gratefully, wiping his forehead. The veins stood out on his face. At sixty-five, this baggage handling lark was becoming too much for him and he wondered how much longer he and Eve could survive without proper help. He’d no idea what Luca was doing at the casa, given the long standing antagonism between him and Gareth, in fact he couldn’t remember Luca ever having visited except for a couple of times when he was a small boy, but he was bloody glad he was. “Join us for a drink?”

  What! More of that? Count me out! Luca managed a neutral expression. “Thanks, but I promised my folks I’d help them with Facebook, as they want to track the adventures of the grandkids.”

  “How many at the last count?”

  “Eleven,” Luca said proudly, “a First Division soccer team.”

  Tamsin walked beside him to the footpath. “Thanks,” she mumbled, mindful of Chapter 1’s instructions that on no account was she to utter the words “when do I see you again?”

  Luca rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and kissed her chastely on both cheeks, his gaze straying to the several pairs of interested eyes sharply focused in their direction. He felt for his cell phone. “What’s your number?” He entered it and pressed save. “I’ll call.” He seemed to mean it. “And I plan a rather more interesting shock assault.” He gave her that megawatt smile that sent a flare through her.

  Tamsin felt a twinge of loss as she watched him round a bend in the lane, then gleefully thought I’ve done it! Today I became a woman! Is this when
I sit down and write a coming-of-age story?

  * * * *

  A week passed, during which Tamsin, resolutely cheerful, checked her cell phone half hourly whilst nimbly sidestepping guests’ intense inquiries into her love life. She’d just begun to abandon hope when, one morning in the kitchen helping Eve, febrile, willowy, her pink-streaked fair hair swept up in a complicated knot, scrape black bits off charred breakfast omelets, her cell phone warbled.

  “I’ve got tickets for tomorrow night’s performance of ‘Aida’ at the Verona Opera,” Luca announced casually, as if asking her to join him at a local football match. “Are you up for it?”

  “Try and stop me!” Tamsin’s heart soared. No way would she let anyone or anything get in the way.

  “We’re going by bike. I’ll collect you.”

  He was dead on time and helped her adjust the crash helmet, his fingers cool and sexy as he snapped the strap. Wearing jeans and a check T-shirt, she’d crammed her best dress, an embroidered, ankle-length blue cotton kaftan that a girlfriend had found for her in a Marrakech souk, and a pair of high-heeled sandals into a backpack, told her parents where she was going and dashed out before Eve could object.

  Clutching Luca firmly round the waist, she clung like a monkey to his broad back and, with a virile growl, they were off at the speed of light, waving as they sheered past Fabio in his laboring Fiat.

  Fabio returned the greeting, the image of the first time he’d encountered Luca whispering through his thoughts. He remembered him as a timid, starving seven-year-old waif clutching the hand of an emaciated forty-year-old Somali man, Jabril, the same age as himself. They were scavenging for food in dustbins and sleeping rough in the carcass of a rusty car overturned in a damp ditch. Offered food, Jabril had refused, saying he would only accept on the condition that he did odd jobs for Fabio since he’d no wish to be regarded as a beggar or categorized as a scrounging illegal. Luca, his big eyes full of terror, was mute, traumatized by his past. As Fabio gradually gained Jabril’s trust, he learned about the shocking events that forced man and boy to flee to Italy.