Out of the Dark (5 page)

His hands are behind his back, and I stand as he approaches and smiles softly.

“Good morning.” He kisses me on the cheek and reveals three red roses that were concealed behind his back.

I take them, thanking him as I inhale their perfume, and then I set them to the side of my plate.

He places his hand on the back of my chair and gestures for me to sit. “I hope you slept well.”

As I take my seat, I blush, recalling the sounds I heard, or dreamed, in the night. “Yes. The bed is very comfortable.”

“I’m glad.” He spreads his napkin in his lap, and we eat breakfast together on the veranda.

He stares at me while I pretend not to notice.

“Carina, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you stayed. That you’re here. That I met you.” He leans back in his chair. “It must feel strange to be offering me, a stranger, such trust. It’s not lost on me. I’m very lucky.” He looks into the distance, perhaps trying to find the right thing to say. His next words are in a deep whisper. “Something is happening here, and I think you can feel it, too.”

Again, he leaves me breathless. There’s no sense in denying it. “I do.” I admit it, and I can’t fight the grin that emerges on my lips.

His face mirrors mine. “What would you like to do today?” He sips his juice.

“Anything . . . as long as it’s with you.” The honesty that’s so appealing to him is now dispensed with ease, and I see in his bright eyes, he’s enthralled by it.

“How about I take you through the vineyard?”

“I’d like that.”

After breakfast, we walk down a dirt road that could accommodate a small car. On each side are rows and rows of vines. Carved wooden signs delineate the types of grapes planted.

He sees me admiring them and explains some of the different varieties. “Here is the Sangiovese I was speaking of yesterday.” He retrieves a small hook-shaped tool from his back pocket and reaches up, using it to sever a bunch from the vine. “Some vintners call it
una brutta bestia
, ‘an ugly beast,’ but I couldn’t disagree more.”

I watch how he handles the delicate fruit with such reverence.

He pulls a grape from the bunch, keeping his gaze is glued to mine. “Come here.”

I walk toward him. My will to do anything else is nonexistent. I stand just a breath away. “Close your eyes,” he says.

My heart rate increases and beads of sweat begin to drip down my back—possibly from the sun, but most likely from Stefan—as I obey.

“Open your mouth.” He commands me, and with my eyes closed, his voice sounds so haunting, so suave.

Again, I do as he says.

The flesh of the fruit is pressed against my lips, and he runs it around my mouth but doesn’t place it inside. Then, he removes it. “Lick your lips.”

I do as he says.

The flavor is sharp and tart, but there’s a lingering sweetness. I say nothing, but with eyes closed, I await further instructions and am not disappointed. This time his voice is even closer, and I feel his hand on my hip.

“Open again.”

I part my lips, and the small fruit is placed inside. I let it roll around my tongue before puncturing its flesh, and the sweet, tart flavor overwhelms my taste buds. It’s heaven. As I chew and swallow the fruit, I’m aware of his hand on my body, and though my eyes are closed, I can feel his gaze all over me.

His grip tightens momentarily, and he slides his hands up my back and into my hair. “Open your eyes.”

As soon as I do, he tugs my head back and touches his lips to mine, sharing in the sweet flavor of the grape. His kiss is slow at first, then our tongues touch, and I taste only him.

I slide my arms around his shoulders and pull him into me. I want him to know that I want this. I want him.

My neck sways to the side as he forces my mouth open further, and he lets out a moan. It’s a guttural sound filled with desire. His hand slides down my back, over the curve of my ass . . .

He stops.

“Please,” I beg, but he shakes his head.

“I’m finding it very difficult to remain a gentleman around you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So, don’t.”

He looks at the ground. “I may have known you for just a short while, but in that time, I’ve decided there are certain things you deserve, and my good behavior is one of them.”

“If this is you on
good
behavior, I’d hate to see when you’re bad.”

He pauses and the look on his face is severe. “I like to take my time.”

He takes my hand in his, and we begin to walk again. He doesn’t explain his actions further, and something makes me afraid to ask.

In the valley, there are fields of sunflowers, and Stefan tells me that his great grandfather planted them for his great grandmother. “He was a romantic man, but the oil they make is sold to supplement our income here at the vineyard. We make and sell olive oil, as well.”

We amble past the fields, and I follow him into the stone buildings where the wine is aged. It’s cool inside compared to the heat in the fields, and enormous barrels line the walls beneath the arched ceiling.

“As a chef, I’m sure you have a sharp palette. How much do you know about wine?”

“I’m embarrassed to say, very little.”

“Well, let’s remedy that.”

He enters a back room, returns with several items—one of which is a bottle of Savano wine—and sets them on a small bar.

I watch him open the bottle with a corkscrew.

He handles it with care and removes the cork with a very gentle pop before he pours two glasses. “The glass that wine is served in is often overlooked, but it’s crucial. Wine glasses are crafted to enhance aromas and thus the flavor. A good wine can be ruined if poured into the wrong glass.”

He’s my teacher, and I’m his all-too-eager student.

“Smell this.” He holds out a small bowl, and I sniff.

“Coffee beans?”

“Yes! In order to savor the aroma and flavor, you must cleanse your palette. The coffee beans do that nicely. Now drink this.” He extends a small glass of cold water, and I sip. He does the same, sniffing and drinking the water, cleansing his own palette.
 

I stare at him. It’s like watching a holy ritual.

“Now, take the glass in your hand and hold it up to the light. Admire the color. See how it’s a deep ruby in the center and lighter around the edge? When you swirl the wine, there are tendrils of liquid that stick to the side. These are called
legs
, and they indicate how dense and flavorful the wine will be. Now, this may feel odd, but it is crucial. Hover your nose over the glass and take a deep breath.”

I watch him close his eyes as he does it. This is his trade and a science to him. I inhale and try to pick up nuances.

“What do you detect?”

I try to place the fragrance. “Cherry?”

“Very good. What else?”

“It has a woodsy sort of smell . . .”

“That’s from the oak barrel. You’re doing well. Now, let’s taste.” He touches his glass to mine in a toast.

I follow his lead, closing my eyes and sipping the liquid. I let it linger on my tongue. It feels like velvet as it drips down my throat, and I’m left with an aftertaste of flavors not unlike those I detected when I breathed it in. The scents and flavors combine, and it’s magical. Harmonious. I’ve never tasted anything quite like this.

I open my eyes, and something happens inside me. Sharing this ritual has somehow amplified the bond I feel with him. “It’s wonderful.”

He smiles and looks around with pride. “This wine, this land, this is the life—the heart—of my family and who I am.” He walks toward me and takes my hand in his then places it on his chest. “This is what my heart beats for, Carina. Taking care of this place and my business. Do you understand?”

I’m not sure I do. I love my parents, but I’ve never felt invested in something the way Stefan is invested in this, with such passion and purpose. All I can do is admire him for it.

“I want to, Stefan. I want to understand.” I reach up and brush a lock of hair from his forehead, and then I cradle his jaw in my palm. I gaze into his eyes and find a man that I can tell all my secrets to. Deep in my soul, I know they will be safe—that
I
will be safe with him—and I can’t imagine being apart from him.

The next day, and the next, and the day after that begin the same way: a romantic breakfast on the veranda. The fear that each day will be our final one together creeps through me, but then plans are made, and the day escapes us as he shows me more of the estate or takes me on a drive through the countryside to visit some touristy place he feels is worthwhile.

The first week I spend with Stefan is peppered with an occasional kiss . . . or several. I grow more comfortable with his hands on my body, and I begin to crave his caresses. He’s adoring and kind, always touching me—my hand, the back of my neck, my waist—but he never takes it as far as I’d like.

The connection I feel with him intensifies each passing minute, and the enchanting romance makes me feel drunk all the time.

He asks much about my life, but in turn, I only learn about pieces of him. He keeps the conversations fixed on me. Before I know it, sundown is approaching, and again, he asks me to stay. I always say yes.

My nights are spent in my bed, dreaming of him, and strange, yet familiar, voices make their way into my sleep.

Chapter Four

Over breakfast, I ask Stefan what we’ll be doing today, and he’s vague, but he gets a boyish look and dances around the subject. I know I’m in for some kind of surprise.

In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve grown to adore certain little details about Stefan. His clothing is always impeccable, but no matter what he wears, I always feel an impulse to rip it from his body. His sexy voice is smooth, almost hypnotic. He doesn’t laugh often but is generous with his smile. He knows just what to say, and when we talk, he seems to know a little bit about everything. He’s been all over the world, and I frequently feel inadequate while listening to him talk about his life. On the days he doesn’t shave, the little silver hairs in his scruff remind me of how far apart we are in age—his forty-three to my twenty-two. He’s mysterious but he doesn’t intimidate me, and I can tell how much he enjoys that. I find that my gaze wanders over his body when he’s not looking. He persists in his pledge to remain a gentleman, but I’m resolved to make as difficult as possible for him.

Starting today.

Wherever we go, whatever we do, I will get closer.

It’s a gorgeous afternoon. Stefan pilots his car, and we zip over hills and into valleys headed toward our secret destination.

I squint in the bright sunshine.

Stefan notices my expression. “You need a pair of sunglasses.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I didn’t think to pack any.”

“Look in the glove box.”

I open the latch and find a pair not unlike the ones Stefan wears. I slip them on, smile, and then I reach over and take his hand in mine. I rub my thumb along his finger in my best attempt to begin the dance of seduction.

He turns left onto a dirt road and we begin to ascend a hillside lined with cylindrical, cypress trees.

When we reach the top, my senses are saturated with the beautiful view, and I don’t notice how close Stefan has gotten. I’m startled when he removes my borrowed sunglasses.
 

He’s holding a black scarf. “I’d like for this to be a surprise, if you don’t mind.” He gestures with the scarf, indicating that he wants to blindfold me.

I feel parts of myself quivering. All I can do is nod.

He slides the soft scarf across my eyes and ties it at the back.

My old self would have never done something like this, but the new reckless me is enjoying it with gusto.

“I guarantee you’re going to like this,” he whispers in my ear.

Submerged into darkness, I grasp his hand, and he seats me on what feels like a quilt. Several minutes pass, and I’m tempted to peek, but I don’t. I think of the wine tasting with Stefan, the sensory experience that took place, and try to let myself live in this moment. With my vision obscured, I take in scents and sounds—birdsong and earth. Then he brushes his hands against my hair as he unties the blindfold. I open my eyes and squint in the bright sun.

Stefan kneels beside me, and laid before us is a tantalizing spread of food. A dish of olives, hummus, bruschetta, mozzarella marinated in pesto, sopressata, prosciutto wrapped melon, panzanella salad, and sweet panna cotta. Of course, a bottle of Savano wine is the centerpiece for our picnic.

My mouth waters and my heart swells.

“Do you like it?”

I more than like it. And I more than want him.

I rise to my knees and face him, pushing any hesitance away and letting my impulses take over. I can see him fighting an internal war as he watches me, trying to resist his desires. I grip his shoulders, crawl into his lap, and then lower my lips to his, kissing him.

He cradles my face in his hands.

I can feel him holding back, and the only way for me to get closer is to push the limit. I begin to swivel against him as we kiss. I feel him getting harder and harder beneath me as I move both my lips and my hips.