The Sicilian's Proposition

by Rees, Lynette

  “Too much to eat on the plane,” he mumbled.

  Too much to eat? What about all the free alcohol he drank on board? He took full advantage of everything on Dante’s private plane, from the lobster thermidor to the classy looking flight attendants. He even slipped his business card into one of the girl’s palms with a promise of taking some portfolio shots of her. Byrne was all right in small doses, but he did have an eye for the ladies that didn’t sit right with her. He was a married man.

  “My brother’s hotel is just a short car journey away. It is near the marina at Alcamo in the charming port of Castellammare del Golfo. It’s newly restored and is just a few steps away from the castle that gives the town its name,” Dante explained. “There’s a lovely small beach nearby and a private beach just a three-minute drive away. I know of this wonderful fish restaurant overlooking the sea. The fish is so fresh there, you can actually see the fishermen landing their catch and handing it over to the chef.”

  She laughed. “Oh really?” It was hard to believe how everything worked so efficiently in spite of such a laid-back approach on the island.

  “I am serious, Joanne. That is the way of life here. We eat a lot of fresh foods. There are olive, orange, and lemon groves growing all over the island. It’s the only way to live, believe me. Where you live, you don’t get the opportunity for much fresh produce. You go to your supermarket, and even there most of the fresh food is imported, but here on this beautiful island, we grow a lot of our own food and make a lot of our own wine. It’s a way of life. There are many different cultural influences too—we are quite…how you say…cosmopolitan in our thinking.”

  She gazed at him as she digested his words. He was a remarkable man to achieve so much at his age.

  He guided her over to the long black limousine, where Bruno, his uniformed driver, was busy loading their cases and camera equipment into the trunk. The back doors of the car were wide open, ready for them to enter. Dante nodded to Bruno and said something in Italian. Then he followed Joanne and Jackson into the car.

  Most days, she’d be at her desk right now, either typing up her latest article, answering a bunch of e-mails, on the phone making inquiries, or else in a meeting with her editor. Whatever she would or should have been doing was no comparison to this, being in a beautiful country with a good-looking, attentive man. It was a shame Jackson had to share the ride to the hotel. She couldn’t be mean; he needed to be there to take the photographs. After the photo shoots, she might not have to see him very much at all.

  As the car wended its way through narrow streets with white-washed walls, historic old buildings, and crowded markets, she glanced out the window at people who seemed perfectly content as they chatted in small groups, sitting outside cafes or standing by the side of the road. The pace of life here seemed a far cry from busy London. Sicily was more relaxed somehow. Here there were elderly faces lined with wrinkles, who had no doubt seen a lot of life and sun, children hanging on to their mother’s hands, and young couples in love. It did have a certain charm about it. Near the sea, several colorful boats bobbed up and down on a choppy sea that was a clear aqua green, melded with blue. Who could fail to feel uplifted by somewhere like this?

  All too soon the car drew up at a hotel named Casa Alphonso. Ah, she recognized the family name. The name casa translated into English as home. It was nice, a hotel family home, very reassuring. The hotel was white-washed walls with colorful flowerbeds adorning its borders and surroundings. Some small tables and chairs were set outside where several people sat drinking coffees or sipping cool beers. It looked like quite a small establishment, but at the same time welcoming.

  A man who looked a little like Dante walked toward them with arms wide open, and he hugged Dante with a passion. Dante turned to her. “Joanne, I’d like you to meet my brother and proprietor of this hotel, Giovanni.”

  Giovanni hugged her and kissed both cheeks. “Bellismo!” he said, smacking his fingers to his lips.

  Joanne smiled. She was unused to this kind of welcome from a stranger. Back home, it was a polite hello and maybe a handshake.

  Giovanni greeted Byrne in the same manner. The photographer stood stock still, appearing unused to that type of greeting from another man. Then, as if realizing an opportunity, he arranged for Dante and his brother to pose for a few photographs outside the hotel.

  Once Byrne had finished snapping away, Dante showed Joanne to her room. For a brief moment it appeared as though he were about to stay. He told her to get some rest and he would send his driver back later to take her to the vineyard. A sliver of disappointment coursed through her. He wasn’t going to accompany her. After all, he was a busy man and she was here to work.

  When he departed, she took a shower and changed into a pair of oatmeal-colored linen trousers, strappy top, and a thin, white, cotton overshirt. She had no idea what it would be like walking around a vineyard. If she wore layers, she could always remove her shirt. She decided to take a straw floppy hat and a pair of shades along to protect herself from the sun. As she dried her hair, she noticed a note on the table beside a basket of fresh fruit and a large bottle of water.

  “Please make use of the small refrigerator. There’s a salad prepared for you inside and some fresh bread on top of that. Also, there’s a bottle of wine chilling for you. If you need anything else, please ring reception. Dante.”

  That was so thoughtful of him. She pulled the salad from the refrigerator and added some ham and cheese that had been left for her too, sliced a couple of pieces off the rustic looking loaf, and poured a glass of white wine into a glass. Studying the label on the bottle, it read, “Vino d’Alphonso.” That must be a bottle from the family vineyard. She took the food and drink out onto the small balcony and ate al fresco. There was something about eating and drinking good food and wine outside; it reminded her of the other evening at Dante’s hotel suite.

  Her mind drifted back to that night…the soft music and the dancing. She had thought he might have tried to kiss her, but he pulled away at the last moment, leaving her weak-kneed and confused. The feeling of being in his arms was incredible. The tension between them was almost palpable. She closed her eyes and imagined herself locked in his embrace once more. Her daydream was shattered as she heard Byrne’s voice drifting from the balcony below. It sounded as though he was speaking to his long-suffering wife. Joanne didn’t want him around. He would be accompanying them to the vineyard, but she realized he had a job to do.

  The bedside phone rang and a receptionist, speaking in broken English, informed her Signor Alphonso had sent his driver to collect her and the photographer from the front of the hotel in ten minutes.

  By the time she arrived at reception, Byrne was already there waiting. He smirked. “We should get plenty of free booze out of this!”

  “Is that all you ever think of?”

  He nodded. “Yep. I have to say well done, you securing us this assignment. We don’t get that many freebies. Have you been doing a couple of favors for the Italian Stallion, then?”

  Joanne’s skin crawled. The creep! Somehow, Byrne had a habit of contaminating everything around him with his hard-drinking, womanizing ways. Her body tensed. “Definitely not. This is just a working assignment. Mr. Alphonso is a very busy man, and it was kind of him to allow us to come over here on his private plane and stay at his expense.”

  “Okay, calm down, keep your hair on, darling…” He dug his hands in his pockets and jangled some spare change, something that continued to irritate her about him.

  Joanne let out a breath, “Look, do me a favor. Just stay out of my way while we’re here. You do your job and I’ll do mine or else…”

  Byrne took a step forward in a threatening manner, but she stood her ground. He sneered. “Or what, darling?”

  “Or else I might be inclined to mention you have an interesting penchant for attractive flight attendants the next time I encounter Mrs. Byrne at one of our office parties.” Byrne flushed from the neck upwards.
He appeared about to explode. “You need to calm down a bit; have you taken your blood pressure tablet today?” Joanne batted her eyelids at him.

  “You wouldn’t dare do something like that…”

  “Try me.” Byrne looked as if all the air had been sucked out of his body. She was in no mood to be messed around with.

  The sound of a horn alerted them to the fact Dante’s car had drawn up just outside reception. They got in and travelled in silence for the twenty-minute ride until they arrived at the vineyard. It was a long ascent up a dusty track leading to row upon row of green heavy-laden vines.

  There was no sign of Dante when they drew up outside. Instead there was a short, stocky man wearing white rolled up shirtsleeves and a stained apron. “Hello…good to meet you, Joanne,” he said, walking toward her and giving her the strongest hug she had experienced in her life. For one so short and quite elderly, he was a powerhouse of strength.

  “Hello…but how do you know who I am?”

  He laughed, lighting up his tanned and wrinkled face. “I am Dante’s papa. My name is Vito.”

  She looked at him and smiled. Of course, this was the papa Dante had told her about, the poor man who had lost his dear wife a year or so ago. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “So pleased to meet you,” she said. “But where is Dante?”

  “He’s still in a meeting but will be here soon. I am to show you around the vineyard.” Her heart slumped, but she fought not to show Vito her disappointment.

  Jackson Byrne unloaded his camera equipment and came over to talk to Vito, totally ignoring her, which suited her fine.

  “You’re going to need that hat,” Vito said, pointing to the large straw hat she held in her hand. “I am going to show you around and I understand photographs will be taken?”

  Joanne nodded; it was nice of Vito to give up his time.

  “Here, let me take you to see our vineyard,” he said, linking arms with her. Although she had never met him before, she felt very much at ease, as if she had known him all her life. He reminded her a little of her own father, someone she could trust. Vito chatted along the way, showing her various vines and telling her they grew five different grapes at the vineyard, while Byrne snapped photographs hither and thither.

  Joanne turned as a tractor headed toward them driven by a young man. It passed a couple of yards in front of them and then pulled up to a standstill. Two children jumped off the back, a boy and a girl aged about eight years old.

  “These are my grandchildren,” Vito said, his pride obvious. “They’re twins. Salvatore and Natalia.” They ran over to him and he ruffled their hair. “They are Angelina’s children. They like to help me sometimes.” He pointed to the red plastic crates of grapes loaded into the back of the trailer attached to the tractor. The young man dismounted and came over to stand beside them. “And this is their older brother, Ricardo.”

  Ricardo smiled. He was very handsome and looked a little like a very young Dante. “Buona sera, Joanne.” He took her hand, and for a second it seemed like he was going to plant a kiss on it. He shook it instead. He looked around eighteen years of age and was no doubt already breaking some girl’s heart somewhere.

  Vito said something in Italian to all three of his grandchildren; they waved and got back on the tractor, but not before Jackson had fired off some shots with his camera.

  Joanne quirked a brow.

  “I just told them they could go home for the day,” Vito explained. “They have been here for hours. I know they are coming here to keep an eye on me and not the other way around,” he joked.

  That might well have been the case. The whole family was probably concerned about him since Mamma Maria had passed away. She was just about to pass on her condolences when she saw a cloud of dust thrown up in the distance as a car headed toward them. As it drew closer she recognized the driver wearing shades as Dante. He was here at last. He stopped the engine and her heart skipped a beat as if a magnetic attraction drew her toward him. She hated herself for feeling this way when she should be concentrating on work, but the pull was too great. He got out of the car, closed the door, and headed toward them.

  “I hope Papa has been telling you all about the vineyard?” He removed his sunglasses. He looked devilishly handsome in a short-sleeved navy cotton T-shirt and denim jeans.

  “Yes, he has. It was so kind of him. Anyhow, weren’t you at a meeting?” She removed her sunglasses to look into his eyes. It was as if he could see into her soul. She fought to break eye contact for a moment. It was like standing nude in front of him when he gazed into her eyes like that. She replaced her glasses.

  He nodded. “I have. It was quite an informal one. I should have liked to have got back a bit earlier, but you know what meetings are like, they sometimes run on a little.” He grinned. “Hop into the car and I’ll take you over to the winery.”

  The photographer was about to follow after them, when Dante turned and said, “Oh it’s okay Mr. Byrne, you can carry on taking photographs here, and then my father will show you the old farm house.”

  Byrne nodded, his lips set in a line. He was irritated. Probably because he wouldn’t get a chance to taste the wine and she would. As if Dante somehow sensed what was going on, he called back over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring a couple of bottles of wine back for you to take to the hotel.”

  Byrne raised his hand as if accepting the kind gesture. For the time being it might appease him.

  There was a chill in the air in the wine cellar. She placed her shades on her head, too dark to wear them in here. There was row upon row of oak wooden kegs. Every time they spoke, their voices echoed off the walls.

  “Which is your oldest wine?”

  “Those bottled ones there.” He pointed to one of the dusty shelves. “There are several from the years each of my brothers and sisters were born, including myself. They were good years.”

  She smiled. Indeed, it must have been a good year Dante Alphonso was born. The man was an absolute inspiration with all he had achieved so far. “So, have there been any bad years?”

  He nodded. “Unfortunately yes. There were a few years that almost wiped out some of the crops; there was a virus that attacked the vines. Papa had to import some new vines from America and graft them to the old to strengthen them. It goes like that sometimes.”

  He leaned over one of the kegs and inserted a long piece of tubular plastic, withdrew it, and held it inside a glass, allowing the liquid to flow. “Here, taste this, tell me what you think?” He passed her the glass. She tasted the amber liquid cautiously. “Just have little sips. Take your time.”

  She did as instructed. “It’s quite sweet. I’m guessing it’s some kind of a dessert wine?”

  He nodded. “Your guess is correct, Joanne. Any idea which wine?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

  “It’s a marsala wine. It’s Italy’s answer to sherry.”

  “Yes, it did taste a little like sherry.”

  “It’s used mainly in cooking, particularly dishes like zabaglione, tiramisu, and so on. You like?”

  “Yes, but it’s a little sweet for my taste.”

  He laughed. “There are different levels of sweetness. Some are dry.” He stepped a little closer.

  Her heart beat, hard and fast. Mouth dry, she took another sip from the glass and then put it down on top of the keg. “Oh?”

  “Yes. There is a semi dry…” he stepped even closer, the heat emanating from his body. His broad chest was inches away. What did he look like underneath his T-shirt? She tingled at the thought of tearing it open and running her hands over his chest.

  “Really…”

  “Oh yes, and then there is a dolce version…” He stepped even closer and cupped her face in his hands.

  “W…what does that mean?”

  “Sweet…” he whispered. “Sweet but full bodied and full of juice…” He lowered his head and his lips met with hers. Her head was spinning as she felt his tongue flick ove
r her lips and enter her willing mouth. He had her pressed up against the cold cellar wall, taking her breath away, and she didn’t want to come up again for air. She felt consumed.

  The magnetism was stronger now. Where had this come from for the both of them? Never in all of her life had she experienced such powerful chemistry. So that night on his hotel balcony he’d been feeling it too.

  “Oh Joanne,” he murmured. “I want you and I want you now…”

  Chapter Four

  He watched the flickering flame of desire in her eyes. There was no doubt about it; she wanted him too. He reached out and drew her close to him, pushing his hardness into her thighs. She yielded to him and groaned. He stroked her face and outlined her lips with his thumb. They parted to reveal her pearl-white teeth, and that pink tongue, so wet and warm, awaited him.

  “Bella, Joanne.” he murmured. “Please let me have you, here, right now.”

  She nodded and he brought his hand to her throat and stroked it and then blazed a trail to her breast. He gently cupped it and then pulled her closer for a kiss that went on and on. He tasted the sweetness of her lips and wondered what other parts of her would taste like.

  He removed her cotton overshirt and let it slide to the floor, and then he slowly hooked both thumbs under her strappy top and let the straps fall over her shoulders, revealing the most beautiful décolletage he had ever seen. He drew in a breath. Not even the coastline of Sicily or even Naples was as beautiful as the sight before him. He was just about to unhook her bra when he heard a voice call out.

  “Hello!” The photographer! “What time are we going back to the hotel, then? I feel like my throat has been slit. Where’s the wine you promised me?”

  Dante watched as Joanne shook her head and covered herself up, replacing the straps on her shoulders, recovering the discarded overshirt, and slipping it back on. “Damn Byrne,” she whispered under her breath.

  “Never mind,” Dante said, softly stroking her cheek. “There will be other opportunities.”