Luscious (9 page)

Mr. Marconi shook his head. “He prefers to serve.”

As the group began to settle around the dining room table, Giovanna hugged her cousin again. “I must go. I’m late for my date. See you tomorrow!” She grabbed an olive on her way out of the room.

“I can’t believe you booked me into the spa,” Olivia groused as she sat down in the chair he held out for her.

He sat beside her. “I thought you would love the idea.”

“You did not,” she retorted.

“I thought you might enjoy being out of the kitchen?” The plate in front of him held a small pile of round dumplings in a reddish-brown sauce. The scent rising from the plates was rich and meaty. His mouth began to water again. He looked around the table and picked up his fork, waiting for everyone to be seated before he took a bite.

Mrs. Marconi ignored her food and glared at her husband. “Olivia doesn’t have time for the spa. I need her help in the kitchen.”

Olivia gave him a look that said “See?” and picked up her fork.

“She didn’t come here to work, Anna Maria.” Her father’s voice was stern.

“Of course she did. What else is she going to do?” Mrs. Marconi’s confusion sounded sincere. Sean kept his head down and speared one of the little pillows on his plate. He popped it into his mouth. Delicious. He hadn’t been sure what to expect from the unprepossessing pile of rugged dumplings, but they were fantastic, lightly tossed with a tomato-based meat sauce that had an intriguing sweetness. “What is it?” he whispered to Olivia.

“Gnocchi,” Olivia said.

“A Veronese specialty,” Mrs. Marconi added.

“Fabulous,” Sean assured them both. If the rest of the food was this good, he was going to eat himself silly this week.

He took a sip of the red wine he found in his glass. When had that been poured? The light, peppery wine was a magnificent match for the rich gnocchi. He felt eyes on him and he looked up and shrugged. “It’s so simple, but it’s perfect.”

Olivia’s father nodded grudgingly from the other side of the table. He held up his glass. “Simplicity is the soul of Italian cooking. Flavor. Color. Texture. Some foods become something more when they are eaten together…and with the right wine…bliss.”

Sean nodded in wholehearted agreement. He felt like he already had one strike against him and he was glad they had found something to agree on. “Giovanna told me you are recreating a wine. How is it going?”

“Slowly.” Mr. Marconi’s brow became even more hooded over his sharp eyes.
Make
that
two
strikes
, Sean thought philosophically, returning his attention to his food.

Olivia stepped into the breech. “I’m so happy she’s here. I’ve missed her.”

“She probably won’t stay long, but it’s nice to have her,” Mrs. Marconi said. “Spend the morning with your cousin, Olivia,” she relented. “You can help me in the afternoon.”

Sean sat back in his chair as Alessandro removed the plates from the table. He smiled at the chef, feeling magnanimous. “The gnocchi was excellent, Alessandro. What was in the sauce? Veal?”

The chef shook his head. “No. A Veronese delicacy.” He smiled and returned to the kitchen for the next course.

When Alessandro returned, he carried three plates stacked on his left arm and another in his right hand.

“Osso buco,” Olivia whispered. “Veal shank and polenta.”

The rich scent of buttery polenta rose from the plate. The meat fell apart at the touch of his fork and he took a bite. Even with the fresh herbs and lemon zest sprinkled around the edges of the plate, it was indecently rich. Suddenly, he was starving again.

He hated to admit that Bellin’s food was every bit as good as the meal he and Olivia had enjoyed in New York. Actually, it was better. For all the technical brilliance and artful elegance of the foams and spumes, Sean much preferred food grounded in simple tradition. He swirled the red wine in his glass and sniffed, anticipating the way it would wrap itself around the flavors already in his mouth. He took a sip and let the liquid flow over his tongue before he swallowed.

“How is Chameleon, Olivia?” Mrs. Marconi asked.

“Joe and Marlene have it covered. Those two are like lightning in the kitchen.” Olivia picked at her veal shank. She cleared her throat and set her fork down on her plate. “Mamma, I—”

The door to the kitchen flew open with a bang and Alessandro entered the dining room, carrying an open bottle of wine and a pitcher of water. Sean leaned aside to allow him to pour yet another glass. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel drunk, just very mellow. “Thank you,” he murmured, taking Olivia’s hand under the table. She didn’t pull away and that small victory filled him with pleasure. Her hand felt strong. Her fingers were long and delicately shaped. He rubbed the hollows between her knuckles and caressed the space between each finger. He rested his fingertips on the pulse in her wrist and felt it beat, slow and steady.

Mrs. Marconi raised her glass. “Yes, Olivia? Were you saying something?”

Olivia shook her head. Tentatively, her fingers began to explore his in return, a whisper-light caress that made him forget to eat, his attention completely focused on the subtle dance of their hands beneath the table. It seemed to him as if their hands were making love. Did she feel that way too or was he reading too much into a little hand-holding? Her thumb slid into his palm in an unmistakably sensual motion.

He forced himself to move his fork to his mouth and eat.

Mrs. Marconi was speaking and Sean hoped he was managing to nod and smile in all the right places. His thoughts were miles away from the events of the upcoming week and his heart beat unevenly in his chest. Clearly the alcohol had stripped his inhibitions because it was taking every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from pulling Olivia away from the table. He wanted nothing more than to finish what they’d started that afternoon, before her mother had knocked on the door.

Alessandro removed his plate from the table and Sean realized he’d eaten every bite without tasting a thing. Now that was tragic. Olivia was carrying on a conversation with her father. He brushed his palm over the back of her hand and watched a tiny shiver shake her before Alessandro stepped between them to deliver dessert, and Sean was forced to drop her hand.

Sean couldn’t imagine having room for more food, but he didn’t want to seem rude. He nudged some purple flowers out of the way with his spoon.

“It’s lavender. Edible, I swear,” Olivia whispered.

He arched an eyebrow at her and scooped up one bite of the pale purple ice cream. He raised the spoon to his lips. From its appearance, he expected it to be grapey, but the flavor was complex, more floral than fruity. The grape was there, but it hummed in the background, more scent than taste.

“I love it.” He took another bite because he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted more of the flowery perfume that hit his tongue and his nose at the same time. “It reminds me of something.” He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to pull the scent from his memory. Whatever it was, it was giving him an erection. His eyes popped open at the realization.

He glanced at Olivia. She gave him a tiny smile. “I picked the flowers today. I’m glad Alessandro found a use for them.”

“Beautiful,” Sean said, not talking about the flowers. He smiled and took her hand beneath the table again.

***

Olivia had no idea hand-holding could be so erotic. The way Sean’s fingers glided down her palm should be illegal. She swallowed, wondering if he could tell her heart was racing. From the slight curve of his lips, she imagined he could. She stole another sideways glance and saw he was watching her eat her ice cream. His eyes held a wicked gleam. Her parents seemed oblivious to the play happening under the table. Her father was staring out the window at the vineyard and her mother was busy outlining Olivia’s list of responsibilities for the week.

“Our guests arrive at various times tomorrow. We also have a morning tour of the vineyard followed by a five-course lunch for the Garden Club. I’m sure Alessandro has the lunch under control, but you can help with dinner after you’re done with your cousin. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stay out too late after the opera tomorrow because the cooking classes start on Sunday, and we’ll be in the kitchen for most of the day. A limited room-service menu will be available tomorrow for anyone who prefers to eat in their room.”

Olivia blinked hard and picked up her spoon. It was hard to shift into work gear when Sean’s fingers were making her head buzz. The wine wasn’t helping her either.

Alessandro silently placed tiny cups of espresso next to each of them. “I’m afraid I must take the afternoon off tomorrow. A family emergency.”

Mrs. Marconi’s eyes sharpened. “Dinner isn’t going to make itself.”

Alessandro shrugged. “I am sorry. It can’t be helped. I will make everything ahead of time and come back to serve it.”

“I’ll handle dinner, Mamma,” Olivia volunteered, surprised she felt no panic at the thought of working in the unfamiliar kitchen.
Wine
to
the
rescue
once
again.

“I said I will be back to serve it,” Alessandro repeated.

Naturally, the herb girl couldn’t be counted on to cook.

She took a bite of gelato and nearly swooned in spite of her irritation. It was sweet and flowery with just enough acidity from the grapes to balance out the rich cream. She could almost forgive Alessandro’s arrogance if he could create food with this much subtlety. At least he had the skill to back up his superior attitude.

Her mother crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. “The villa will be completely full by tomorrow night and we have a very busy week ahead of us. Cooking classes, wine and cheese seminars, vineyard tours, trips into Verona and Padua. We also have to get ready for
la
Sagra
dell’Uva
this weekend. I’m so glad you’re here to help, Olivia.”

The weight of her mother’s expectations was heavy but familiar. Olivia sipped her espresso, feeling pleasantly numb around the lips. The pastries she’d scarfed in Paris couldn’t stand up to the wine. Counting their dinner last night in New York, she’d had more alcohol than food in the past twenty-four hours. Was it only last night? Their Trio dinner felt like it had been last week.

She could probably blame that on the wine too. Prosecco. Valpolicella. Amarone. It was no wonder she was feeling light-headed. No doubt her father would insist on Recioto after dessert. Maybe she could drink it lying down. Her head began to whirl.

“I need some air.” She stood carefully and Sean stood beside her, ever the gentleman. “I’ll be right back to help with the dishes, Mamma.”

“No need,
cara
. Marco will get them,” her father said.

“Wonderful.” Olivia didn’t expect to receive an offer like that very often, so she made her way toward the front door, intending to lie down on one of the lounge chairs, because it was closer than her bedroom and she wouldn’t have to climb any stairs.

“Thank you for dinner,” she heard Sean murmur to her parents. Would he follow her to the porch? Did she want him to follow her?

She pushed open the front door and let it shut behind her. As she felt the warm tile under her bare feet, she realized she’d left her sandals lying under the dining room table. She’d have to remember to fetch them before guests arrived. She lowered herself onto a lounger and stretched in relief. Maybe she would sleep here. Maybe she would spend the week here.

She heard the front door open. She kept her eyes closed, hearing Sean groan as he lay down on the lounger next to hers.

She giggled. “I know, right? I’m never going to move again.”

He took her hand in his. They lay together, separately, linked by their lazily intertwined fingers. She was exhausted, yet every nerve was alert, attuned to the man beside her. She could almost sense the blood pulsing through his body.

“Can we sleep here?” he asked.

“No,” she sighed. “But the thought of staggering up to my room is more than I can handle.”

“I’ll help you.” He seemed to be marshaling the effort to move but then he groaned again, surrendering. “In a minute.”

“More espresso, maybe?”

“I’ll explode. That lavender ice cream was spectacular.”

Olivia turned her head to the side and opened her eyes. In the moonlight, his eyes were silvery. She caught her breath. He was beautiful—and at the end of the week, he’d be gone.

Her lassitude began to dissipate.

She slowly sat up, still holding his hand. “I use lavender shampoo, you know.”

“That must be why I liked the ice cream so much.”

Maybe it would be different with Sean. Maybe some of those fascinating things she’d heard happened to other women would happen to her. She knew one thing for certain—they would never happen if she didn’t give it a try at least. She would never have a better opportunity to experiment. So what if it ended in epic failure? He was leaving. The disaster would be short-lived. And if it was good…they had a week to enjoy it.

Sean’s eyes were half shut as he watched her, but she knew he was waiting to see what she would do. It was his way, to wait. The expression in his eyes always seemed to say
your
move
, and suddenly it seemed like a cowardly way to operate. Anger chased away her exhaustion. Naturally, he wanted her to make the first move, while he lay there safely removed, taking none of the risks.

She pulled her hand out of his and stood. She didn’t know how to stage a seduction, not if he was just going to lie there. She couldn’t do this alone. “Good night, Sean.” She turned to walk toward the house.

He chuckled softly. “Coward.”

She looked over her shoulder. His grin made her feel exposed. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

Swiftly, he rose to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. An involuntary shiver shook her. She swallowed, trapped between the lounge chair and his body, unable to move forward or back. His large palm firmly cupped her small breast, making her nipple peak under his fingers. She twisted in embarrassment. Her ex-husband had preferred big breasts; what if Sean did too?