“Resizing! That sounds like serious business talk I must be a party to,” Luca’s deep voice impinged on them. He paused at the doorway, then crossed the room and kissed Catarina. “You’ve got a visitor. Hi Tamsin.”
Tamsin caught her breath, her heart lightening, and almost went weak at the knees. In an open-necked cobalt-blue shirt and jeans. Luca looked relaxed and contented. Over the past few days she’d been wondered how to orchestrate meeting him again without it seeming too obvious. “Catarina’s misbehaving with loose talk.”
Luca said with mock severity. “Now what shall I do with a misbehavee?”
Catarina’s shining. Tamsin has restored her no end. And he was pleased, because she’d manifested no interest in anything after she’d lost Salvatore. He studied Tamsin thoughtfully and felt a dangerous surge of heat in his groin.
Leaning on her cane, Catarina struggled to her feet. “It’s years since Tamsin admired my slice of paradise, so I insist we have a wander and she’ll see what I’ve done and tell me, truthfully I hope, what she thinks. Not that I will change anything! You may come if you wish.”
“That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. You two get on with it and I’ll tell Mirella there’ll be three for lunch.”
Catarina nodded. “Oh my, you’re in serious danger of taking charge of the household.” Her eyes swung between the pair of them. This could be interesting. Then, taking Tamsin’s arm, she pulled her away, towards the spring flowering gardens, dizzyingly rich with scent and color under a washed-out blue sky. There was a faint breeze blowing off the lake, bringing with it the sweet smell of orange blossom, making Tamsin feel almost lightheaded.
“It’s utterly divine, like some fairy tale.” Tamsin felt her throat tighten as if with tears.
* * * *
Lunch was an informal affair, the turbot delicately cooked, washed down with dry, white wine. Catarina surprised Luca by downing several glasses with evident enjoyment, whereas only the other day she seemed to have lost all appetite for the finer things of life. Luca regaled them with stories of life in the fast lane. Tamsin’s experiences in the book restoration business had them chuckling.
“I haven’t enjoyed myself like this in ages,” Catarina declared. “Now I’m going to put my feet up and have a read of…”
“A gossip mag?” Tamsin teased.
Catarina’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Ooh, just what I fancy! I’ll borrow Mirella’s.” She got up and, brushing aside Luca, hobbled to her suite of rooms.
Luca grinned, visibly less anxious. “I haven’t seen her look so bright since Salvatore’s death.”
“Well, something like that does take the stuffing out of one. Losing one’s partner is damn stressful and can threaten one’s sanity. I expect she’s really rather bored after all those champagne-fuelled nights out as a wife.”
Laughing, Luca cocked a brow at the empty wine cooler. “Shall we shift some more of this?”
He fetched two clean glasses and, uncorking the bottle, slid past Mirella, clearing dishes, into the sitting room.
“No change,” Tamsin said, her eyes darting round.
“Catarina’s memories are made of this, so we’ve just left it as it is, although it badly needs updating.” That he was sensitive to her was touching.
“So, how have you been?”
She propped her head against a cushion. “Well, I’m husbandless, partner-less and childless.”
He smiled. “That’s self-evident.”
“And you?”
“A free spirit.” He leaned over, took the glass from her hand and kissed her on the cheek.
“Let’s do it,” Tamsin whispered urgently, possessed by a sudden, primitive instinct. Just being with him was making her melt. “Let’s fuck now like we did that summer.”
His eyes darkened and narrowed. “Are you absolutely sure? Isn’t it too soon…?”
“I want it now.” She was already frantically unbuttoning his shirt, twisting the fabric out of his trousers, and would have done it there and then. All those years apart and no one fucked like he. Desire spooled through her. “I want to live a little. Luca, now.”
As quick as lightning, she yanked off her clothes as he shrugged his aside. She cupped his balls with a hand aching for him, needing him so badly to release her. She didn’t care she was setting herself up for another disappointment, that she was a lost cause.
“Tamsin…” He swung her to the floor and pulled her beneath him, nudging her legs apart, raising her hips with a plump, silk cushion, riding astride her, thrusting slowly, thrusting deep, flooding her with heaven.
“That feels so good.” For so long she’d been starved of his juices, his cock. She took him in her mouth, the rhythm mounting, and she climaxed, shuddering against him in pleasure.
“You’ve changed as a lover,” he said as he eased out of her.
Her fingers drifted through his hair. “I should hope so. But, in what way?”
“Not so shy. More?” He dipped his head to lick her nipples, bringing her to the edge of reason.
“Well I haven’t been celibate so that must explain it.”
“But not particularly adventurous.”
She looked at him steadily. “Now you’re talking ‘back door.’”
He kissed her way down to her pussy. “Mind-reader. But the key—no pun intended—is prep if you’re really to savor it.”
“I’m grown up and ready.”
“Something’s missing. I’m out of lube.” He wasn’t, but she was like tightly coiled wire and he doubted she’d be physically receptive to a bit of rough regardless of what she wanted.
“I thought your motto’s ‘be prepared.’”
He swung her a shuttered look. “You want anal, so why aren’t you?”
There was no answer to that. “Well, next time,” Tamsin said lamely.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” he said shortly, lifting himself up on one elbow.
It was obvious this hadn’t gone down well. Had she overstepped the mark? Had she uttered the equivalent of the dreaded “no no, when do I see you again?”
“I…” she faltered.
He said suddenly. “Let’s change the subject.” He was unapologetic. “What’s with the casa?”
“I don’t get you.” Her forehead puckered a little “Oh yes, I see…Gareth wants a tenant but is unlikely to find one.”
“You never spoke a truer word. Money’s tight.” He paused and ran his knuckles down her cheek. “Look, Tamsin. I’ll take it off your hands.”
She sat up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I’m offering to buy.”
“How much?”
He told her.
“I’ll have to put it to Gareth.” She bent over and kissed his cock. She knew she was in over her head but didn’t care.
His breathing roughened. “That’s the general idea, and I advise you to seek independent advice. Consult a decent realtor. Meanwhile…” He flicked her a teasing smile and entered her again slowly, inch by blissful inch, and she bucked and came with a loud cry.
She wanted it to last forever. “You’re a fucking danger.”
“I’ve always known that.” He growled. “And it’s not over.”
His mouth returned to hers, his palm sliding round to her butt. Her excitement spiraled and mounted as she felt every glorious inch of his strength moving within her, taking her to oblivion.
“We’re a perfect fit.” He smiled, a hand playing with hair.
“I’d need a few more fittings before I can confirm that,” she teased.
He grinned. “Necessity is the mother of invention.”
They reached for their clothes and he walked her to the entrance gates. “ Let me know what you decide.”
* * * *
Gareth went spare. “That wanker wants it on the cheap, but he’s not getting it.”
Somehow Tamsin persuaded him to talk to a realtor who said that Luca’s offer was the best they could reasonably expect in the
current economic circumstances, given that he was all lined up to offer cash.
“I urge you to accept. If you don’t, the house will continue to deteriorate and will rapidly reduce in value unless you undertake a targeted program of repair.”
They knew they were cash-strapped.
Gareth shook his head. “No. We’ll try our chance on the open market. I’m not selling to that shit.”
There was silence. The realtor shot him a shocked look and Tamsin hastily intervened. “It’s just a…touchline spat. My brother and I must be in agreement before we can sell.” Given Patrick and Eve’s outstanding debts, there’d be precious little left to divide and it was already earmarked for Ruby who, after volunteering in a hospice for the terminally ill, had her eye on medical school.
A few days later, the realtor called to pass on another offer he’d received. However, it was well below the asking price, and was dependent on the buyer obtaining a mortgage and on his selling his current property.
“Please reconsider Luca’s offer. As you know, it’s unconditional and he can close quickly. I promise you I’m not being biased when I say you’re unlikely to see anything quite like that for a long time.”
Gareth refused to budge.
Chapter 5
“Luca’s offer is still on the table,” Tamsin confirmed. Filled with embarrassment, she’d called him, having been dragooned by Gareth into launching enquiries. It was a damp September day, four months after the fatal car crash and Gareth, having nurtured his girlfriend and decided to tie the knot, didn’t want to go entirely penniless into the marriage.
There hadn’t been an hour, a minute or a nanosecond that Tamsin hadn’t thought of Luca with desperate longing.
Gareth couldn’t believe his luck. “Any signs he has upped it?”
Tamsin stared at him. How could he be so crass? “You must be joking. He was rather curt and said that unless it’s wrapped up within 24 hours, all bets are off.”
There was a heavy silence. Gareth went as white as a sheet then he gave vent to a short, foul rant. “We’d better make a move, then.” He grabbed his smartphone from her and booked them on to the next budget flight to Milan.
* * * *
Luca, understatedly formidable in a charcoal-gray business suit, cream shirt, pale-blue Hermès tie and cufflinks fashioned from ancient Roman coins, rose as they entered his study in the villa and drew out a chair for Tamsin. He was unsmiling and, after briefly shaking Gareth’s hand, resumed his seat flanked by Vincenzo, a boyhood friend and now his lawyer, an amiable-looking man with steel-rimmed glasses. A pot of coffee, bone china cups and saucers, a crystal bowl of fruit and a plate of pastries stood on a console table. Light flooded in from the three large French windows, bouncing on the ceiling and the pale lemon walls, and over the doorway were inscribed words from Virgil’s Aenid, “Hoc opus, hic labor est.” This is the labor, this is the toil.
The sale contract had been e-mailed to Tamsin and Gareth and their realtor had assured them it was entirely standard.
Tamsin tore her eyes from Luca and signed, then passed the document to Gareth who, slumped pseudo-casual in his seat, made a big play of tightening the knot of his tie, perusing and checking, accompanied by much frowning, table-drumming of fingers and gazing out of the window.
For God’s sake, Tamsin felt like screaming, stop posturing.
“Right.” In a sudden movement, Gareth eventually scrawled his name and practically flung the contract at Luca, whose signature was an illegible black gash.
“As we speak, the funds are in transit to your account.”
But Gareth, his face blazing with self-congratulation, was already on his smartphone checking. “The eagle has landed and I’m flying.” He brushed crumbs off his jacket and rose to leave.
“Not so quick,” Luca interjected smoothly. “Your set of keys, please.”
Gareth felt in his pocket and tossed them over and Luca caught them as they planed down. Tamsin had already deposited hers on the table.
Gareth gave Tamsin a quick hug. “Gotta go—mustn’t miss the flight. See you back in London when we’ll divide the spoils.” From the proceeds of sale, there were their parents’ outstanding debts to settle, and only then could they split the unencumbered balance.
Vincenzo pushed back his chair and, murmuring something to Luca, bade a polite good-bye to Tamsin and made for the door.
Tamsin gave a huge sigh and her heart abseiled. She’d hardly slept since the tragic incident.
Luca filled two cups of coffee and his dark, liquid eyes swerved towards her. “Are you all right?” She looked strained.
There was a silence. “Yes. Well, no. The casa was the landscape of my life for so long, it’s a wrench that it’ll soon only be a soundtrack.” A faraway look came into her eyes. “I wonder if…” her voice tailed off in a tremor.
Luca reached for a pastry. Waited.
“I mean, can I see it for the last time? If that’s possible?”
“No problem.” He stood up. She looks bleak. “Let’s do it.” He picked up a couple of crash helmets from the vestibule cupboard as he ushered her out.
* * * *
Luca pushed open the rickety gate hanging from rusty pillars. Tamsin found herself almost tiptoeing in, as if her brain already registered it no longer belonged to her. In a fit of petty-mindedness, Gareth had refused to remove the contents, putting Luca to the trouble of getting rid of it. All for burning Patrick’s daubs, as Gareth contemptuously described them, Tamsin had mounted a rescue operation and now they were stacked higgledy-piggledy in assorted piles all over her flat.
Blinking rapidly, she touched the scruffy dog basket that Dusty, long gone, had made his nesting place, poked her head round the kitchen, where battered and scorched saucepans stood on greasy shelves, gazed out of cracked and grimy windowpanes to the jungle of a garden where weeds stood head-high.
“I’m going to say good-bye to my room,” she said on a wobbly note.
Luca followed her up the stairs. A faded, much-darned bedspread covered the bed.
“What’s this?” Luca’s sharp eyes spotted something peeking out from under the bed. He nudged it out with a foot. ‘Bonking For Tyros.’ My, this looks well-thumbed.”
Tamsin giggled. “I wondered what had become of it.” She took the fat, dog-eared book from him and sat down. “It was my bible. I had so many lovely moments in this place. Dad and Mum worked so hard, but just couldn’t pull it off.” Waves of grief suddenly overcame her. “Maybe I ought never have come back to Italy and just left Gareth to finalize the deal.” She mopped her eyes. “Well, I’ve wallowed in nostalgia and soon it’ll be unrecognizable.”
Luca came to her side and put an arm round her. “It is better this way. It’s cherishing a memory you’re not likely to forget, rather than letting it bug you.” She was like an injured bird.
“Fancy reprising that first time?” Could Luca hear her pounding heart? Would he always have this effect on her?
She was handling it better this time, slowly unknotting his tie, going to lie down quietly on the bed. Her eyes locked with his, drowned in his as he slid alongside her beneath the bedspread onto a bare mattress, the warmth of his hard, lean body closing in on her. “You’re getting to be a habit with me.”
He gave her a quizzical look and she saw his jaw tighten slightly. “Let’s get this straight. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea, having any illusions. We have a friendship, but no ties, no relationship.” Are you crazy? he asked himself, ruefully bewildered by his own weakness. A compass that has lost its bearings? You’ve become a scrambled egg. The soft warmth of the day was bringing out the floral scent of her body, and despite all the rationalizing, he kissed her, feeling aroused. “And now that’s out of the way, I’m up for an encore.” He felt no twinge of guilt at the lack of commitment.
Once she’d have slapped his face and walked away, like she’d done with many a jerk who’d just wanted casual sex. But she’d wanted Luca for too long, loved
him for too long, been scorched by him for too long. The icy dousing made no difference to the confusion ripping her heart. Her throat got tighter, her hips shifted and hungrily yielded herself to him. If this was her being a slut, so be it, she wasn’t going to beat her chest like a gorilla. This was her slut-rom.
“Let’s show each other what we can do,” she murmured against his mouth.
He slipped his tongue inside her wet, swollen clit.
“Yes-s, just keep touching me.” She tasted him on her lips and, as the sound of birdsong flowed through the open window, she moved on him, her pussy drizzling its sweetness, and came, yelling his name as waves of hot semen spurted into her.
Then he’d dressed and was in control, sitting gingerly on a wobbly bentwood chair. She was still breathless after the roller coaster ride, her hair mussed up, her cheeks rosy, like a flower that had blossomed.
* * * *
Catarina wants me to persuade you to have supper with us before you leave.” He was aware Tamsin planned to return to London the next day and had booked herself into a local pension.
“No persuasion necessary. That sounds nice, and I was hoping she’d ask as I want to say a proper good-bye.” She shrugged on her cream shirt waister and tightened the braided belt.
“You’re not mad at me?” He told himself that he was not susceptible to love. That sex was not foreplay to love. The trauma of the past had smothered his ability to love. And loving means taking big risks with my being and identity and I’m not sure I could do that.
She shook her head.
“Fabio’s joining us. The Archbishop won’t let him think of retiring, owing to a dire shortage of priests. These days it seems young men have no vocation, preferring to become premier league footballers rather than poverty-stricken clerics. Although,” he added breezily, “the Church would make rather a lot of money if the parish priest were also a top footballer. Shall I put it to the Vatican that they adopt that as a new business model?”
Alchemy (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 6
