An Inconvenient Desire (3 page)

As if on cue, her stomach grumbled. She’d had only an apple that morning. “I guess that seconds your suggestion.” She lined up a picture with Jonathan and the odd clock. “No, don’t stand like that, you look like you’ve got a pole up your backside.” He made a face and she snapped the picture. “Now you look like you’ve sat in something wet and squidgy.” She took a few more shots while he displayed a huge range in what appeared to be a constipated repertoire. “I don’t know what you do for a living, but if you ever want to give up your day job you could get advertising work for a laxative company.” He then went on to portray looks of immense relief causing her to laugh too hard to hold the camera steady.

“All right,” he said. “Show me how it’s done then.”

They switched places and she struck some silly poses as he snapped away. A small crowd started to gather. Last thing she needed was for one of these ridiculous shots to show up on the Internet. Time to put an end to this impromptu photo-shoot. So she turned slightly away, then looked straight back at Jonathan with her signature come-ravage-me look. More than one camera clicked. Jonathan appeared shell-shocked. For the first time he seemed to notice the group behind him.

“I need to eat,” he said as he pocketed his phone.

He took her hand and led her back down the steep stairs. Was he practicing chivalry again? Making sure she didn’t fall? Or was he making a point to the other men who had taken her photo that she was with him? For the moment, she didn’t care about his motive, just enjoyed the skin-on-skin contact. But that led her to thoughts of other body parts touching.

Was Jonathan worth lifting her “no man” declaration? He seemed worthy. But her choices in men so far had proved absolutely abysmal. So obviously she wasn’t a competent judge. They’d all seemed so nice at the start. Especially Stuart, the last guy she’d dated. However, he’d turned out like all the rest—a long line of losers who thought that she earned enough so they didn’t have to work. Lazy bastards. They’d only been interested in their own comfort, their own needs. Not one had considered that standing for ten hours in six-inch heels was not a cakewalk.

More than once she’d come home exhausted and been expected to cook a meal, perform a striptease, then shag them until they fell asleep. And that list didn’t include Jeffery, the boyfriend who questioned everything she ate, commenting on how it would ruin her figure and destroy her chances of making it big. She dealt with enough body-image issues already; she didn’t need someone at home adding to that.

No, she needed all her energy to build her career so she’d have the clout and money to start an outreach program for at-risk teenage girls. She wasn’t going to jeopardize that for any man. Even Jonathan.

• • •

“What would you like to eat?” Jonathan peered over the top of his menu.

She glanced at the options. “Something local. No point coming to Italy to have something I could get at home.” She snapped her menu closed. “Would you order for me? I like a surprise.”

For a second he wondered what her reaction would be to the surprise of him kissing her. He’d become fascinated with her lips now that the lip gloss had worn off, leaving their fullness begging him to taste her. The waiter approached and Jonathan concentrated on the day’s specials. “Well, I’m not exactly sure what we’re getting,” he said a few minutes later as the waiter left with their order. “But he assures me it will be good.”

The server soon returned with two steaming bowls of
tortelli
in broth. Olivia closed her eyes at the first mouthful. “Oh, this is good,” she said on an exaggerated exhalation with feigned rapture.

Every muscle in his lower half clenched. He reached for his glass of Lambrusco, downing half of it in one go. Damn, what he’d give to create a similar expression on her face. If he were a smart man, he’d delete that last photo from his phone without looking at it. Her sexy look had hit him straight in the stomach.

Desperate for a distraction, he pulled out the festival guide. “What do you want to do this afternoon?”

They discussed the various options and formed a plan of action.

Eventually, the waiter removed their bowls, his barely touched, hers empty. A few minutes later, two plates of grilled meat in a dark sauce were placed in front of them.

Olivia put a forkful in her mouth and chewed pensively. “This is delicious but I’m not exactly sure what it is,” she said.

The server, who was refilling their wine glasses, answered in Italian. “Rabbit in balsamic vinegar sauce,” Jonathan translated. He waited for the explosion.

“It’s fabulous,” she said, savoring another mouthful. “Don’t you like it? You hardly ate any of your pasta and now haven’t touched your main course yet. Is everything okay?”

“Better than okay.” He picked up his knife and fork, making more effort to act like he wasn’t about to burst into flame. “I’m happy that you’re enjoying it. A lot of women I know would have run screaming from the room after being told they were eating rabbit.”

“Not me.” She put another forkful into her mouth and chewed like it was the best thing she’d ever eaten. “I’m a model and have to watch everything I eat. On the rare days like today, when I let myself take a break, I really appreciate food.”

His fork froze halfway to his mouth. He put the utensil down, no longer hungry. “You’re a model?”

“Yes. But I’m on holiday so I’m letting myself have a few days off my constant diet. Besides, with all the walking we’re doing today plus the pool at Sophia’s, I figure I’ll be able to work off the extra pounds without too much difficulty.” She reached for a slice of bread, tore off a chunk and dipped it into the sauce before popping it into her mouth.

He forced himself to take a mouthful, but it could have been cardboard soaked in motor oil for all the pleasure he took in the food. “What kind of modeling do you do?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

“Mostly catalogue, some advertising. I don’t really have the figure for catwalk work. Designers want waif figures for their clothes. My curves are a disadvantage.”

There was absolutely nothing wrong with her curves, in his opinion. “Do you have many friends in the industry?”

“A few. I’m not into partying, drinking, or drugs. After a photo shoot or show I usually just go home. I have a few designer friends, but Sophia is the only person I’m really close to.”

“Do you know Celeste Nichols?” He took a deep breath.

“I’ve heard of her, but I don’t think we’ve met in person. She’s way above my league. She’s a catwalk model who does the big shows. Why? Is she a friend of yours?” Olivia put her fork down as well.

“She’s my ex-wife.”

Olivia picked up her fork again and concentrated on the food in front of her. Except now it tasted of nothing. Jonathan had been married to one of the world’s most beautiful women. They would have made a gorgeous couple, both blond and blue-eyed. She pushed her plate away and took a sip of her wine, hoping the alcohol would dull the sense of loss. It was stupid. They’d only met yesterday. They were barely friends, never mind lovers, and yet she felt disappointed. She’d never be able to compete with his ex-wife, even if she wanted to.

Okay, maybe she wanted to. Just a little.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to freshen up.” She picked up her bag and fled to the ladies’ room.

Ten minutes and a stern pep talk later, Olivia returned to find Jonathan staring off into the distance. He snapped out of his trance as she approached.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine,” she replied and put on her best photographic smile.

“I paid the bill. I assumed you didn’t want coffee or dessert, but if you do, I can call the waiter back.”

“No, I’ve eaten enough, thank you.”

His eyes didn’t meet hers. And as they wandered back out to the street, he didn’t take her hand again, as he’d done earlier when they descended the stairs after their little photo session up on the hill.

“Let’s check out the market,” he said. “I’d like to buy something for Sophia for all the help she’s given me in decorating my house.”

“How could I say no to shopping?” She forced her body to relax. So what if he’d been married to Celeste. He wasn’t any longer.

They wandered the market stalls where colorful ceramics and mosaic plaques competed with paintings and knitted crafts for her attention. She was careful to avoid touching Jonathan. But every once in a while she’d catch a whiff of his citrusy aftershave, or something particularly amusing would catch his eye and his firm lips would curve up in a smile. And the slow burn in the pit of her stomach would flare up again.

A table of exquisitely carved marble statues caught her eye and she went to investigate. Mothers cradling babies and lovers embracing seemed to be the artist’s favorite subject. Olivia ran a finger over the smooth figures of an entwined couple.

“I like that one, too.” Jonathan’s voice dragged her mind away from a vision of the two of them in such a pose.

“It’s beautiful. But I’m not sure it’s an appropriate gift to give a friend.”

He looked at her blankly for a moment. “Oh, Sophia. Yeah. How about one of those mosaic things for her garden?”

“She’d love that.”

Jonathan bought a set of mosaic stepping stones and then took them back to the car so he didn’t have to carry them around. While she waited for him, Olivia strolled over to the food section of the market. She didn’t even need to turn to know when Jonathan returned to stand behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her heart rate quickened.

“I had no idea there were so many different types of olive oil,” she said.

“I know. Back in London I had one bottle in my cupboard. Here I have six.” He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Do you think I’ll be thrown out of the country if I admit they all taste pretty much the same to me?”

She laughed and accepted a sample of one of the local vintages. Jonathan translated the various labels for her. They strolled past a few more stalls with various olive-derived products—soaps, candles, lotions, and potions claiming to cure any ailment …

“Oh, this is good, Jonathan. You’ve got to try some,” she said after biting into a sample of a cheese and spinach pie. Without thinking, she held the remains of the tester up to his lips. His eyes held hers as he took the small bite into his mouth. She sucked in a breath at the warmth of his gaze and shook her head to dissipate the intensity of sensation as his lips closed on her fingers.

“You’re right, it’s tasty.” His voice was husky.

“Can you ask if they’ll be open at dinnertime? Maybe we could have a picnic supper. Did you still want to stay till late? I forgot, we have the long drive back and you must be tired.”

“It would be a shame to come all this way and miss the battle reenactment and pyrotechnic show. Unless you want to leave early?”

“Oh, no. I’m happy to stay as long as possible. I didn’t think this would be so much fun. Sophia and Luca have missed out.” A thrill of anticipation flowed through her. She refused to analyze whether it was the thought of the upcoming events or spending more time with Jonathan.

He turned to the stall keeper who had been handing out the cheese and spinach pie samples. An animated discussion ensued and whatever he said to the woman obviously pleased her as she had a huge smile on her face. “She’s going to make up a picnic basket for us and we can collect it from her later,” Jonathan said as he handed a few bills to the woman. “Why don’t we get out of this heat and get a cool drink?”

“Great idea.”

Hours later, she wished she had another cold drink. Jonathan stood behind her as they watched a reenactment of a medieval battle. Every single nerve in her back was on alert for the brush of his chest against her. A trickle of perspiration that had nothing to do with the weather pooled in her bra. When he would whisper a translation in her ear of the commentator’s words, she’d have to suppress a shiver. Much more of this and she’d be a puddle at his feet.

Yet despite her brain telling her to keep her distance, she leaned into him as the crowd got bigger for the pyrotechnic show. As the last of the fireworks faded and the breeze took the smoke from the air, she straightened and pulled away from his strong, warm body. It was time to get back to reality.

A shiver of longing swept through her. “Are you cold?” he asked. His voice was soft, intimate, as though he, too, had been enjoying more than a fireworks display.

“A little,” she lied. “I brought a wrap with me.” She slid her bag from her shoulder and rummaged around in it. The wrap seemed caught on something.

“Would you mind holding my stuff while I get it out?” She handed him her valuables while she tried to untangle the wrap’s fringe from an internal zipper. Just when she freed the fabric, a scooter whizzed by too close and the driver reached out and grabbed the bag from her hands, disappearing into the dark night in a second.

Jonathan yelled something in Italian and was about to chase after the thief when Olivia called his name, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait, there’s nothing important in there. Just a couple of almost empty tubes of lip gloss, a comb, and some tissues. I left my passport at Sophia’s and you’ve got all the important things in your hands.”

“Are you okay? How’s your arm? What about the bag? Wasn’t it expensive?”

She sucked in a breath at the concern on his face. “I’m fine. And the bag was worthless. I bought it for a fiver at a market last year. It was falling apart anyway. I only brought it today because everything fit into it.”

“As long as you’re unhurt.” He ran his hand down her arm as if to ensure she really was okay. His gentle touch set off another wave of longing. She’d been mugged at knifepoint once in London and her then-boyfriend had been more concerned about having to change the locks at their flat than the trauma she’d been through.
Lock, keys ...

“Damn, the keys to Sophia’s place were in the bag.”

Jonathan glanced at his watch. “It’s almost midnight, plus the three-hour drive back to Lombardy. It will be too late to wake Sophia’s staff to let you in. Do you mind staying at my place tonight and I can take you back to the villa tomorrow morning?”