Tuscan Heat (11 page)

All too soon, he slowed us down and got onto a country road. Ahead of us, high on a hill, stood an image out of a fairy tale. Scrubby olive trees surrounded high medieval walls capped by large, square towers. Before I could ask him to stop and let me look, he turned into the narrow lane leading up to the gates.

He went around an old dog lying in the sun and parked the bike along the side of an ancient stone house.

“Come su la cerchia tonda Monteriggioni di torri si corona,”
he said with a grand wave.

“What does that mean?”

“It is from
Dante’s Inferno,
” he said, as if that answered my question. “We are in the town of Monteriggioni.”

“Yes, and?”

“It does not translate directly very well. Something like ‘like the circular towers that crown Monteriggioni.’ It is simply the one part of the
Inferno
that mentions this little town. It seemed appropriate.”

Was I seeing the faintest suggestion of a blush? He was still trying to impress me. I was touched, and maybe a little pleased. “He sings, he draws and he quotes poetry. It’s like I’ve got a Renaissance man on my hands.”

“Just an educated Italian,” he said with a hint of pride. “Eat first, or climb onto the wall?”

A tour bus in the lot outside the gates blared its horn, and the dozen blue-haired women milling around the town’s sole piazza rushed for the ticket booth near a metal walkway leading to the walls of the town. We looked at each other and laughed. A sign reading Café La Vasca was visible from where we stood, and we headed for the shade of the restaurant’s bright yellow patio umbrellas.

Lunch was delicious, and we bantered easily. When we finished, the tour bus was gone.

“My timing is pretty good, no? The buses come first thing in the morning, on their way to Siena. The last one is always gone this time of day, and you can see this beautiful town.”

“Let’s check out the wall. Then I can see the whole town at once,” I added with a grin.

He chuckled and took my arm. We sauntered across the piazza toward the sign reading Percorso Sulle Mura. “This was an outpost of Siena. If it had been Florentine, ah, then it would be something to see.”

“Snob.”

“You say that like it is a bad thing.”

“I heard that Siena has a little horse race that’s pretty impressive. Enough to have a billion specials on the Travel Channel about it.”

“Ah,
il Palio.
When you come back, I will take you.
Due biglietti, per favore,
” he said to the sleepy-looking woman at the ticket booth. We started to climb the steps to the top of the wall.

“That mad scene? I actually watched those specials. I’d be trampled like a mouse at a cat rodeo.”

He pretended to be insulted. “As if I would put you in the crowd. I have a friend with an apartment that has a view of the Piazza del Campo.”

“Marco.” I took his hands. “I’ve been honest from the beginning.”

“Yes?”

My voice, so clear and rational, faltered a little. “I’m not coming back. This was a once in a lifetime trip. It could be years before I can afford to come back.”

“In just one sentence it has turned from ‘not coming’ to ‘it could be years.’ Who knows what it will be in an hour.” I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me go. “I joke, I joke. But Sara, please. We do not know what the future will bring. You must…you must live now. See the things in front of you.”

From the top of the wall, the view was astounding. It looked like my calendar, with the golden sunflowers, the silvery olive leaves, and the endless Tuscan sky. For the second time today, my eyes watered. I longed to put my head on his shoulder, but I didn’t dare encourage him.

He coughed, a tiny choking sound. When I looked at him, I caught a glimpse of the same expression I’d seen on our first night together. He turned away and strode to the end of the walkway.

I followed him. “Marco,” I said, with a hand on his arm. “What are you thinking?”

“Her name was Isabella.”

“Who?”

He sighed. “When you stood on the roof of the
enoteca
with your open heart and your arms flung wide, you reminded me of Isabella. My fiancée.”

I felt cold despite the summer sun. “Your—”

“Five years ago. She is dead.”

He said it so flatly, but it echoed like a scream. “I’m so sorry.”

“You did not do it. I did.”

“What?

“Making my family happy used to be everything to me. Everything for them. Myself and Isabella, always we came second. She used to shout and stamp her feet and throw things to get my attention.” He glanced at me and gave me a tiny smile. “I know. Such a stereotype. But it is true. Well, she
was
from the south.”

“You’ll have to explain that later. I still don’t see how you putting your family first meant…a tragedy.”

He shaded his eyes with one hand and looked north, as if he could see Florence if he squinted hard enough. “It was more than putting my family first. I…I put this beautiful woman into a box.”

“What?”

“I am not explaining well. I put my work and my family into one box. I put Isabella into another box. I did not allow them to mix. When I was at work, it was as if she was not in my mind at all.”

“Compartment.” I knew how Isabella must have felt, but the pain and regret in Marco’s face were hard to avoid.

“Yes, compartment.” He shot out an arm and pulled me close. I’m not sure he realized that he’d done it. He seemed to need someone, so I put my arms around him. He relaxed a tiny bit. “I always worked. Day, night, it did not matter. The last night, it was raining. I was supposed to come get her. She did not drive well when the roads were wet.”

His voice faltered. I pressed my hands into his back, wishing I could make the story end a different way. He swallowed hard and continued, “Her Fiat went out of control on a sharp curve. She smashed into a retaining wall. I told her she would have to drive into the city to see me, because my parents had called a meeting, and so I never saw her again.”

There was no sound except the rustling of olive leaves in the wind. “I’m so sorry,” I said again. “What…what was she like?”

“Beautiful, though not quite as beautiful as you. Stubborn like you. A bad temper, but a good heart.” He chuckled. “A daredevil. She drove like a demon out of hell. That was why she did not like wet roads. She tried to drive on them like they were still dry.”

I pulled back without letting him go. “But you blame yourself for the accident?”

“What do you mean?”

“She drove fast on wet roads. The fact that she was coming to see you was a coincidence.”

His body stiffened. “You must not blame her for her own death.”

“I’m not. It was a horrible thing, and not anyone’s fault. That’s what I mean. It wasn’t her fault, and it certainly wasn’t yours.”

He sighed. “It has been many years. I say this to myself, and friends say it too, but I do not entirely believe it.” He looked at me. “Do not misunderstand. There is a scar, but the pain has faded. It was a hard lesson, but I learned to not worry so much about the future. You see, I too have learned I must say yes. To live without having regrets.”

He looked so vulnerable, and so old. I reached up and smoothed back a glossy wave of hair from his face. “I’ll never regret meeting you, Marco,” I whispered.

His face lit up. “You will not, I promise you.”

“Wait, I wasn’t—”

He put his mouth over mine with enough emphasis to drive my argument away. I didn’t want to think anyway. I loved the way his tongue moved, so sure and firm. His body was warm against mine, and I molded myself against him until his breathing changed.

“Serafina, you were made for me,” he gasped. “No one has ever made me feel like you do.”

“I don’t suppose you know the owner of any of these buildings?”

“Sorry, I do not. Our choices are those trees, or back home.”

We eyed the little stand of trees just north of the town. I heaved a sigh. “I don’t think I’m hard core enough. I can see too much of the ground between the trees from here.”

“I suppose I can wait an hour. If I must.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

I laughed and dragged him down the steps and under the exit gate’s archway.

The ride home went by in a blur of golden light and flowers. He was humming or singing the whole way. When we stopped at the last signal outside the Florence city limits, I caught a few words in between engine cycles.

“Paesi che non ho mai veduto e vissuto con te—”

“Marco.” I gave him a poke.

“—
adesso, si, li vivrò…sì,
Serafina?” he shouted.

I raised my voice to match. “That song. You have to tell me what that song means.”

“Later!”

“But never jam today,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Damn straight, later!”

He only laughed and zoomed forward.

We managed to behave like adults until the elevator doors shut between us and the lobby of my hotel. His hands were everywhere and so were mine. I had his shirt untucked before we passed the second floor. I loved the feel of his stomach and imagined rubbing my nipples up and down his velvet skin. For his part, he also seemed to be thinking of nipples. He was gently pinching my left one while his other hand cupped my ass.

The door slid open and we jumped like teenagers whose parents were pulling into the driveway. He straightened up and ran his hands through his hair with a sheepish grin. “I am sorry, Serafina, I am suddenly feeling light, like a little bird flying. And affectionate.”

I fumbled with my key. “That’s a good word for it.”

“No. It is more. I have not spoken of Isabella in a long time. In the last few days you have made me forget…no, not forget, but you have pushed out the sorrow and replaced it with joy. Now I must make love to you and show you my appreciation.”

I stepped into the room and turned to face him. “You’re forgetting something.”

“Eh?”

“It’s my turn.” I yanked him inside and shut the door.

He wasn’t the only one feeling like a weight was lifted. I didn’t want to analyze it. I just wanted to take off his clothes. I got as far as his shirt. He kicked off his own boots.

“And what will you do with this turn?” he asked.

“Mmm.” I spotted the long silk scarf I’d used as a belt that morning. That morning? It felt like a year ago. The thought flashed through my mind while I twisted the cloth around Marco’s wrists. His eyes widened.

“Very interesting, Sara.”

“What’s interesting is that between this and the belt from the bathrobe, I can tether you to the headboard without your having to sit up.” I shoved him onto the bed and straddled his body while I tied the knot.

He strained against the material, hard enough to make his muscles ripple, and I wasted no time getting my hands on them. I traced his pectorals with my fingertips, and moved to his ribs and his smooth, taut stomach. His cock stirred and I smiled.

I repeated my caresses of his torso, but this time with my fingernails. He closed his eyes and moaned.

“Feels good?”

“Sì.”

“How does this feel?” I scooted back until I could slide a finger into his waistband.

“Keep doing that.”

“Oh, no. Too soon.” I leaned down and kissed the skin right beneath his navel. He shivered a bit, a shiver that turned into him arching his back when I pointed my tongue and painted a long, straight line up his delicious body. When I reached his throat, I switched from licking to nibbling. I kissed my way around his neck until I reached his ear. I bit his earlobe, very gently, and ran my tongue along the outer edge.

“That is nice.”

I sat up. He made a little sound of dismay. When I didn’t react, he opened his eyes. That’s when I unbuttoned my shirt, one slow release at a time. He didn’t move, a tiny smile on his lips.

I unbuttoned his pants with the same deliberation. When he tried to help, I slapped his thigh. “Now who’s greedy?”

“Me!”

I shook my finger at him. “Well, too bad.”

I got his slacks off, but I left his briefs on. I straddled him again so I could feel his rising cock against my pussy. I put my hands on the cups of my bra. I squeezed and rubbed, every so often reaching under the cloth to tweak my own nipples. I could see his fingers writhe with the desire to touch me.

“Want some of this?”

“You are cruel to tease me so.”

“It’s not teasing if I’m going to deliver.”

He only groaned in response, probably because I leaned down and rubbed my satin-covered breasts all over his torso, just as I’d imagined only minutes before. It felt good to slide against his body, to press my groin against his bulge with a little gentle rhythm.

All of a sudden I wanted nothing between our chests. I stripped off the bra and rubbed against him until my nipples were hard and aching. His eyes were closed and his hips were moving.

I moved up to kiss him. His tongue was hot against mine, but I was still the one driving. I pushed against his tongue, exploring his teeth and lips. He was still sweet to the taste. I couldn’t get enough.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I got off him and stripped off his briefs. I bent down to kiss his smooth head with a glistening drop of come on the tip. I licked him clean and stripped off my jeans and panties.

“Sara. There is a condom left, I think.”

“Do you really want to?”

“Of course not. But I—”

“Oh, God, Marco, I just want you.”

“My beautiful Serafina. You are a gift from God. I l—”

I leaned over and kissed him fiercely. He was about to go one step too far. Anyway, my hand on his cock, squeezing and stroking his shaft, made it hard for him to talk.

He moaned and rocked back and forth on the bed. Seeing this powerful man’s desire for me was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced. I climbed back onto the bed and straddled his body. I lowered myself down until he was a quarter of an inch into my opening.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“Be more specific, lover.”

“I want you, Sara. I want to be inside you.”

I slid down, taking him into my body. I cried out—a long low sound—at the exquisite sensation of his bare cock filling me inch by inch. When he was all the way in, I stopped.