Luscious (5 page)

Sean caught her fingers in his warm hand and brought them to his lips. Heat shot from her knuckles to her nipples and then, yes, lower. Tingling, swelling heat. Not ice. Not ice at all, in fact.

“Hmm,” she mumbled as he leaned toward her.

She had never felt like this before. Sean smiled into her eyes just before his lips brushed hers, and she saw the silvery flash again. Her body responded, going loose and melting.

From an intellectual standpoint, this was fascinating. She felt like an observer, watching very strange behavior. Olivia Marconi did not make out in the back seat of a taxi. She had always been the good one, gingerly perched on the front bumper of whatever car Marlene had been making out in. She was the lookout. The best friend.

Olivia Marconi certainly did not moan and press into the bold hand on her knee. Her panties did not slip wetly between her thighs. She did not throw her head back to invite teeth to graze her throat.

Olivia Marconi had clearly been missing out.

Sean’s soft mouth on hers translated a foreign language. His thrusting tongue, no longer intimidating, explained the rules of an exciting new game. His hand on her breast awakened a fresh desire. Was it just the wine? If so, a bottle of wine per day could have saved her marriage.

She stiffened, brain trying to seize command of her renegade body.
This
is
not
a
good
idea. I can’t do this.
Sean pulled her closer, and it was impossible to reject the smile she could feel on his lips. He was still asking, seducing, waiting for her to answer. He wasn’t Keith, and she suddenly didn’t want to be the old Olivia. She wanted to say yes, wanted it badly enough to risk disaster.

Distantly, very distantly, she knew it was crazy to do any heavy thinking when her brain felt like it was operating six solid inches above her body, but Sean’s lips felt heavenly. Like, astral heavenly. In fact, it didn’t seem necessary to think at all when his mouth moved across hers and his tongue flirted in a way that made her heart pound.

She was tired of thinking all the time—sick to death of being terrified of her inadequacy while pretending everything was fine, that she was happy, successful. There wasn’t anything Marlene couldn’t do better at Chameleon. Nothing Joe couldn’t do more efficiently. The restaurant was better off without her, but where did that leave her? She hadn’t thought any further than Italy and the relief escape would bring her. What happened next?

With shock, she realized she didn’t feel like crying anymore. Her hands fisted in Sean’s jacket.
Damn
it
. She couldn’t even have a proper meltdown; it wasn’t her style. Her approach was more along the lines of tighten the bolt until the wrench broke and make sure that sucker never cut loose again. The breakdown she had been planning wasn’t going to happen unless she checked into a mental institution, and she just wasn’t that far gone. Not quite. Not yet.

She needed to come up with a new plan for the rest of her life. The alcohol had cut through the fog that had kept her immobilized for months. What did she want? She had no idea. It was easier to name the things she didn’t want—Keith, Chameleon, and failure, damn it. Her mother would just have to understand. Maybe Sean could provide a distraction while she decided how to break the news. His lips drifted over her jaw, feeding her hope. Yes, he was a very good distraction. Even if it was the wine talking, there was plenty of wine in Italy. She’d be well supplied.

“I’ve made my decision, counselor.”

Sean froze against her. “Will you let me come with you?”

“Far be it from me to deny you an Italian vacation.”

“So you’re saying—”

God
help
me
. “I’m saying yes.”

Olivia woke slowly. Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry. She tried to stretch and found that she couldn’t move anything but her neck, and even that felt like it was made of cement. She muffled a groan as she eased herself upright a quarter inch at a time.

Strong, warm fingers pressed firmly against the ache in her neck. A hand released the buckle at her waist and she sagged in her seat, resting her head against the vinyl side of the plane. She let Sean work the knots out of her shoulders for a few delicious minutes, but there wasn’t enough residual alcohol in her system to let him continue indefinitely.

She turned around.

“Better?” he asked.

“Not even close.”

“Take these.”

He handed her a travel packet of ibuprofen and water. She hoped there was enough in the bottle to wash down the unfortunate sweat sock that seemed to be lodged in her throat.

“Hair of the dog?” Sean suggested slyly.

“Hell no, I’m never drinking again.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Sean held her still and kissed her so thoroughly that Olivia was sure he’d find half a sweat sock in his mouth when she pulled away from him.

“You got me drunk,” she accused.

“I didn’t drink the wine for you, darlin’.”

“Temporary insanity.”

“Whatever gets you through the flight,” he quipped.

“I’ll be right back.” She pointed at the airplane lavatory, needing a moment alone to assess the damage from wine consumption, bloating, and dehydration.

She made her way to the bathroom and locked the door behind her, peering hesitantly into the mirror. Not completely tragic. Her blond hair always looked exactly the same. Her skin was clear, although she looked faintly green under the punishing fluorescent light. She looked into her eyes, trying to puzzle out how she felt by gazing at her reflection. No clue.

She used the bathroom, washed her hands, then fished a tinted lip balm out of her purse and stroked it over her dry lips. She’d better get some more water into her body soon. Wine could only take a girl so far. She gulped to think about where it had taken her in the taxi.

The prospect of spending a week in her parents’ house fooling around with Sean seemed improbable in the sobering light of the airplane lavatory. His interest was flattering—beyond flattering—but an affair spelled catastrophe. Was there any way to pretend that whole conversation hadn’t happened?

Olivia turned to the door and caught a whiff of Sean’s aftershave trapped in the crease of her neck. His scent shot a thrill straight through her. She lingered for another minute, reliving his kiss. She shivered, saw his eyes flash silver in her memory, wanted to kiss him again. Sean had made her feel like a different woman—someone adventurous, exciting, and carefree.

Could she be that woman with him?

Sadly, tragically, unfortunately, no. She couldn’t fake sexy. She was still the same woman he’d rejected. Sure, he’d said it was because she was married and from the intensity in his kiss she could almost believe it, but that didn’t mean it was worth the risk of disappointment. Hers or his. Resolutely, she unlocked the bathroom door.

***

The door to the airplane lavatory opened and Olivia walked toward him. Her frown told him to expect trouble. Desire kept him still as she brushed by his knees and sat down beside him. His heart sped when her arm brushed his. She fastened her seat belt and stared straight ahead. “Listen, about what happened in the taxi…” she began.

He said nothing, waiting to see where she was taking her argument.

“I can’t do this. It’s just not possible. I, uh, the whole sex thing—it’s not something I can do.”

Sean reached out with two fingers to turn her face to his. “Can’t do? Or won’t do?”

Anguish shone bright in her eyes. “I have it on good authority that sleeping with me only rates slightly higher than watching grass grow.” Her lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile.

Her
bastard
ex-husband convinced her she is bad in bed?
Half the marital estate was too good for him. They should have taken him to the cleaners for making Olivia feel inadequate. Sean cupped her jaw, bringing her closer, wanting to reassure her in the most direct way possible. “Good thing I don’t plan for us to sleep much.”

She held him off with a hand on his chest. “I can’t handle any more complications, Sean. I can’t—” Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she stared at him, mute and miserable.

He smoothed escaping strands of blond hair against her cheek and leaned toward her until their mouths were a whisper apart. “Of course you can,” he murmured against her mouth as he closed the distance between them. Her lips were soft, and she tasted faintly of grapes. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. It’s just a vacation.”

Her body relaxed beneath his palms, which had come to rest on her neck and her waist. She sighed, and he moved his lips to her eyelids then her cheeks. Her eyes opened. She looked at him with deep green eyes gone sleepy and he kissed her lips again, a quick, hard, possessive kiss, before he settled back in his seat.

Whatever Olivia believed about her sex appeal, he knew better. A simple kiss from her set him on fire, and he couldn’t imagine what making love with her would be like. In fact, he’d better not even try or he was going to scare the flight attendant, who was approaching with her snack cart. Her ex-husband was an idiot, and he couldn’t wait to prove him wrong. He’d spend the week showing her exactly how wrong, in as many ways as he could imagine, in even more ways than he had suggested in the restaurant in New York.

He glanced over at Olivia, who was pretending to be asleep again. He watched a pulse beat faintly in her neck. He itched to press his lips to that spot and feel the blood flowing through her veins. He couldn’t believe his luck. He was on a plane to Italy with Olivia Marconi and there was nothing to keep them apart anymore.

As he’d mentioned in the restaurant, he hadn’t wanted any of his high school friends to meet his mother. He’d also been afraid they might tell their parents what was going on at his house. He’d worried every day that Child and Family Services would arrive on the doorstep and plunk him and Colin in foster homes. Keeping their lives together had been more important to him than dating or making close friends, but by the time Colin had been old enough to fend for himself, Olivia had been busy with college and the restaurant, then away at culinary school.

He remembered getting drunk when she came home from culinary school engaged to Keith. He’d been thrilled when she’d appeared in his office looking for a lawyer to handle Chameleon. His specialty was divorce law, but he knew enough about everything else to handle her business, and it gave him an excuse to talk to her now and then. Of course, handling her divorce had been an absolute pleasure—and ignoring her when she had hit on him had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Olivia sighed and turned her head. Her body slipped sideways, so he caught her with his arm and nestled her head on his shoulder. His heart thudded in his chest and he couldn’t help a sigh of utter contentment. Her scent, fresh and flowery, drifted up to him, and he leaned to press his lips to her sleek blond hair.

The late afternoon sunlight in Italy was brilliant, as if God had put a lot of work into this part of the world and wanted it brightly displayed. Rectangular and pale, the enormous stone structure of Villa Farfalla graced the blue sky with its peaked, red-tiled roof. Gardens, greener than she had been expecting from late August in Verona, stretched out on either side of the house. The rounded Roman archways and tall, shuttered windows looked like romantic eyes on the front of the building. Patio furniture lazed on the front porch where cheery white umbrellas shaded the wrought-iron tables and chairs. The pictures her mother displayed on the website didn’t do it justice—Villa Farfalla was stunning.

Too bad she was in no mood to admire the scenery. She had been panicking since the moment their plane touched down in Paris. She had spent their layover stress eating pastries, and the flight to Verona had been too short. Now they were pulling into the driveway. What was she going to say when her parents wanted to know how long she was staying? How was she going to explain Sean? What was she going to do after she told them she was finished with Chameleon? How on earth was she going to explain her apathy in the kitchen? Her cooking mojo had all but deserted her and there was no way her mother wouldn’t notice. Her mother hated idle hands in the kitchen. What had she been thinking? She should have taken off for the Caribbean instead.

The taxi slowed, then stopped. She chewed on her lip and peered out the window.

Sean opened his door and slid out of the taxi. She could hear him thanking and paying the driver. Now their luggage was on the curb, waiting. Sean opened her door.

She fought off the anxiety that froze her muscles and slowly climbed out of the car. Sean tugged her out of the way and slammed the door behind her. The taxi sped off, raising dust from the dry road.

He put his bag over his shoulder and rolled her carry-on and suitcase behind him. “Let’s go.”

“Give me a minute,” she muttered.

It was ridiculous to drag her feet after traveling for nearly twenty hours, but she wasn’t ready to face her parents. Unfortunately, her hesitation didn’t register with Sean. He motioned for her to precede him, then herded her up the walk toward the round archway that shadowed the door.

“Let me take something,” she begged, needing to do something with her hands.

“I’ve got it. Go ahead. Open the door.” Her feet felt heavy and her heart fluttered as she tugged on the elaborate brass handle.

It was cooler inside.

“Mamma?” she called.

“Olivia!” Her mother’s voice flew from the back of the house, and her stout body barreled through a swinging door and into the foyer a bare moment later. She enfolded Olivia in her arms and the smell of basil and yeast was overpowering. The bones of her mother’s shoulders were curved, felt brittle, and there was a new slackness to her middle, as well as a lot more silver in her blond hair. It had only been two years—why did her mother seem so much older?

Her mother squeezed her tighter. “You’re not eating enough.” The familiar criticism provoked instant regression.
Too
skinny, too slow, too—

Her mother stiffened. Olivia felt her mother’s head swivel back and forth and knew she was searching over her shoulder. Her mother held her at arms length. “Where is your Nonna?” Her brown eyes were sharp. “And who is this?”

“Uh—” Olivia bit back a hysterical giggle as she quickly rejected several possibilities, trying to think of a delicate way to phrase Nonna’s situation. She should have thought about
this
on the plane. “Well…Nonna met an old friend in Norton…and she wasn’t quite ready to come home yet. She’s coming for the Gala next weekend, I think.” There. That sounded pretty good.

Her mother cocked her head to the side. Her gaze intensified. Olivia felt like the truth was plain on her face, inscribed on her forehead for her mother to read.
Nonna’s shacked up with a mobster
. Finally, her mother blinked hard and let go.

Olivia stepped back to allow Sean room to hold out his hand to her mother. “This is Sean Kindred, my lawyer, and your new guest.”

Her mother frowned. “Mr. Kindred! I wasn’t expecting you to arrive with my daughter.”

“It was a surprise for her too,” he said.

Understatement
of
the
year
there
, Olivia thought.

She heard a door swing open near the back of the house and looked up, hoping it was her father, usually only a few beats behind her mother. Instead, a dark-haired man wearing a black chef coat swept through the dining room and entered the hall. He stopped behind her mother, who gave him a broad smile and presented him with a flourish that instantly put Olivia’s
uh-oh
meter on high alert.

“This—is Alessandro Bellin, our chef. A man who can cook.”

Oh boy, she had walked into that one. Subtle, her mother was not. No wonder she’d given Sean the stink eye. She already had Olivia’s next man lined up. Alessandro Bellin, the man who could cook, must have her mother’s blessing in the kitchen, unlike Olivia’s ex-husband who had repeatedly earned her scorn.

Alessandro took the hand she held out to him politely and used it to draw her forward to kiss her soundly on both cheeks in the Italian fashion. He brought the heat of the kitchen with him. The chef looked down at her, still holding her hand, making her wonder if he knew about her mother’s romantic hopes for them.

“I have heard so much about you, Olivia.” His English was subtly accented and made Olivia think of the elegant way snakes move, sinuous and mesmerizing. She couldn’t fault her mother’s taste in potential boyfriends, that was for sure. The chef had a full-lipped James Dean pout, a sexy mouth that looked as if it ought to have a cigarette dangling from it at all times. His brown, almost black, eyes danced beneath brows too elegant for a man’s face, and his distinctly Roman nose was only eclipsed by the strength of his proud chin. He looked every inch the chef, God’s gift to the kitchen and the world.

Inwardly, she groaned. Just what she needed—someone making her feel even less capable than she already felt. No doubt he was one of those old school protocol-conscious nightmares too.

Alessandro turned to Sean with a cordial nod, but he still didn’t release Olivia. “Welcome to Villa Farfalla,” he said in a tone that felt as proprietary as his grip on her arm.

***

Sheer perversity made Sean take Olivia’s hand and pull her away from Bellin.

“I’ll show you your
rooms
,” Mrs. Marconi said, stressing the last word intentionally, he was certain. He wondered when and if she would connect him with the boy who had often cut through the parking lot of their restaurant, hoping for a glimpse of her daughter. Once, he’d even saved up enough cash for him and Colin to go in for dinner, just so he could watch Olivia bus tables. Colin had been about five and behaved badly, knocking over his water glass and dropping food all over the floor. Sean had avoided any attempt to eat there again after that.

Mrs. Marconi tugged her daughter away from his side and pulled her toward the stairs, leaving Sean to contend with their bags. Olivia shot a helpless glance over her shoulder, shrugging in apology and snagging her carry-on as her mother corralled her.

“I must get back to my stove.” The chef shot him a look of amusement and disappeared toward the back again.

Sean threw his bag onto his shoulder and lifted Olivia’s heavy suitcase. He trudged after them, trying not to outwardly fume. The chef had clearly been hitting on her.

“Where’s Papà?” he heard Olivia ask as he reached the top of the stairs, somewhat behind them.

He didn’t hear the response. The upstairs hall branched left and right. He went right, toward the sound of voices and stopped in front of an open door. A four-poster bed dominated the room, which was heavy on antiques and brocade. Sean set Olivia’s suitcase inside the door.

“Mr. Kindred, if you’ll follow me.” Mrs. Marconi ushered him swiftly out the door.

They continued down the hall past several closed doors.

She stopped in front of the corner suite and unlocked the door, gesturing for him to precede her into the room.

The first thing he noticed was that his bed was even bigger than Olivia’s. He stifled a grin. When he had booked it yesterday, the Montecchi Suite had been the only room available, probably because of the exorbitant price. He set his bag next to the bed and turned to thank his hostess.

She handed him the key. “I hope you will enjoy your stay with us, Mr. Kindred. Villa Farfalla guests are immersed in Italian culture from the moment they arrive at our estate. You can learn our language, as much as you wish, and our chef will be more than happy to instruct you on all aspects of the traditional foods that will be served to you each day.”
Yeah, I’ll just bet he will
, Sean thought as she continued. “My husband conducts daily tours of our small winery, which exports our private label wine to the United States. Our full-service spa, Bella Farfalla, is just down the hall. My niece, Giovanna, is an excellent massage therapist and aesthetician. I’ll be happy to introduce the two of you at dinner. A staff member will always be available should you have any questions and Olivia is too busy in the kitchen.”

Before Sean could muster more than a bemused nod, she gave him a tight smile and turned her back, stepping out of the room and closing the heavy door. Closing him in, he thought.

Sean crossed the room to the doors that led out onto a small balcony overlooking the back of the estate. He flipped the bolt and stepped out into the hot afternoon sun. He shrugged out of his jacket and unknotted his tie, tossing both onto one of the small chairs on the balcony.

Looking over the edge, he saw a tiled patio that wrapped around the back of the villa. Off to the side, a small garden boasted bright splashes of color. As he had half expected, a hammock swung in the shade of two trees. The vineyard stretched behind the house and down the hill as far as he could see. Just below the escarpment, he saw a well-camouflaged building that he guessed must be the winery. It appeared to be growing out of the hill, making him wonder if the wine cellars stretched behind the structure into the earth. Another building, more of a barn really, sat just at the edge of the vineyard. He turned his thoughts back to his immediate surroundings.

Villa Farfalla was posh, beyond posh. Everything around him underscored the casual luxury of people who took money for granted. He’d had no idea Olivia’s family was so wealthy, but she must be used to it. She hadn’t batted an eye at the wide expanse of pink marble casting a rosy glow over the foyer or the chandeliers dripping with jewels. She hadn’t caught her breath, as he had, at the size of her bed or the opulence of her room.

He rubbed his eyes with his fists. His big bed was calling to him in a serious way. Jet lag was making him feel dizzy, but he wanted to get himself on the local schedule as fast as possible.

He checked his cell phone again, as he had a dozen times since they landed. Still no signal. His service provider had apparently lied. He’d have to figure out how to get a working cell phone as soon as possible. He trusted Colin to stay out of trouble but he didn’t want to be out of touch, and he needed a working cell phone to keep in touch with Mr. Russo. He’d left the villa’s number with his client, but time was of the essence. Who knew how long Mrs. Russo would stay in the Veneto region? He didn’t want to have to chase her down to the tip of Italy’s boot.

He heard a noise in his room so he ducked back through the doors, half expecting to see the talented Giovanna, sent by Mamma Marconi and armed with oil, hot towels, and strong hands. With relief, he saw Olivia poking her head in his room.

She shut the door behind her, scowling. “My presence has been commanded in the kitchen. I haven’t even been in the building for ten minutes, and I get called in to work. My mother is something else.”

“Terrifying,” he agreed.

“You think so too, huh? Glad I’m not the only one.” She joined him at the balcony doors and looked out the window.

“I’m sure she just wants you in the kitchen so she can spend some time with you.”

Olivia’s sigh turned into a choked laugh. “Give me a break, Sean. She wants free labor.”

He shrugged. “So don’t go.” He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed, intending to offer comfort, but she gave a little groan and leaned into him, making him want to offer more.

“Of course I’m going. I have to go. If I don’t, it will upset the order of the universe. I spent a zillion years in school getting a business degree and a culinary degree because she told me to. Why would I balk at a little kitchen duty?”

“Why don’t you get a massage in the spa instead? Your mother would approve. She was just in here extolling the skills of Giovanna. Your cousin, I presume?”

Olivia turned to face him. “Gia’s here? I haven’t seen her in years. She’s always traveling.”

He drew her forward against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, seeking the tight knots in her shoulders with his fingers. She froze and he thought she would pull away, but then his fingers hit a tight spot and she gasped and pressed closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

They stood silently for long minutes as his hands moved over her strong back. Her muscles were long and lean, ribs and shoulder blades prominent beneath her flesh. “You’re not eating enough.” He mimicked her mother’s disapproving tone.

She giggled and he felt her tension ease a bit under his hands. Satisfaction glowed inside him. “That’s better,” he said.

She raised her face. Her eyes asked a silent question and no force on earth could have made him disappoint her. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers in a kiss so soft it felt like floating, yet so intense he hardened immediately. Need clawed his throat and the taste of her breath made him groan. He wasn’t the only one. Olivia wrapped her arms around his neck. Her whimper blanked his mind to everything except the desire to get closer to her. He steadied her body with his and took slow steps toward the bed.