Runaway Love (3 page)

“I have already,” she said. ”Woof.  How’s that?”

“Hmm.  I think I will have to ask Domino to make you some extra lessons.”

“Perhaps, when my brain is working, I'll do better.”

“Dio.  Of course.” An expression of worry swept across his face. “Genie, mi dispiace.  You must be tired.”

“Not especially.  The shower fixed me up.”  She opened her eyes wider to prove it.  “And I am awake enough to have really enjoyed this wonderful breakfast.  Thank you very much.”

“Good.” He stood up. “Now, mi dispiace, I must leave you now.  I have much work to do.”

“A farmer's life, eh?” 

“Esattamente.  Why don’t you rest today?  Go to bed if you like.  The bed you slept in last night was not so comfortable, non e vero?

“At the time, the straw felt fantastic,” Genie said. “But since I met that bed upstairs, I know where I’d rather be.”

He nodded. “Bene.”

One of those pregnant pauses froze time.

Genie sought for a way to set the clock in motion again and decided a change of subject would do it.

“Lorenzo, I'm really sorry I'm forcing myself on you like this.  I hope I will not be a burden.”

“So do I,” he said with that heart-squirming smile. “But, I'm sure we can find ways to compensate for any burdens that might arise.”

There it is again.  He’s got her working on his farm already.  He’ll have her dressed up like a milkmaid in no time.  She absolutely refused to wear one of those funny hats.

“Of course.” Genie smiled winningly.  This was her chance to show him where she was prepared to work. “You go ahead.” A Chef’s hat’ll be okay.  “I’ll clear up the breakfast things.”

“Grazie.  But there is no need.”

“Yes there is.  You run along.  Do what you have to do.  I'll take care of this.”

“As you wish.  Molto grazie.  Andiamo, Domino.” He turned and strode towards the front door.

Domino grunted, snuffled his reluctance and ambled after his master.

“When you want to go outside,” Lorenzo said, “there is a padded jacket and gloves out here.” He pointed to the entrance hall.

“Great.  Thanks.” she said.  She sat back in the chair and drooled over his athletic gait.   Her gaze wandered downwards to his rear end.  Nicely rounded and dead sexy.  It bore the promise of...

“Cool it Hamilton,” she muttered as he closed the door. “Men are off-limits, remember.  That means
all
men.” 

She paused her table-clearing activity and stared at Lorenzo's empty coffee cup.  Would she ever find a man who simply wanted her for herself?  And what about this unconditional love Lorenzo's so taken on?  She shifted her gaze to the door through which he had disappeared.  He sounded so convinced.

Well, I’m not.” She stood up and cleared the table.  “Italian men.  Romantics - all of them.” Balancing the dishes carefully, she headed to the kitchen. “I live in the real world, Lorenzo, baby.  Which planet do you come from?”

Perhaps he's lived up here on his own for too long.

Perhaps it's wishful thinking on his part.

Perhaps that's how he feels about his wife - or felt.

“Where
is
his wife?” 

His only reference to her was when he showed her the clothes she was wearing.  “These belonged to my wife,” he'd said.

Belonged. 

Past tense.

So, what happened?  Where was she now?

“So what?” She turned on a tap and tested the flowing water with her
finger “What will knowing get me?” The water turned hot almost immediately. 

“Stick to the plan, Hamilton.” She placed the dirty dishes in the sink. “Oh yeah.  Just how am I supposed to do that?” 

Here she was, isolated from the rest of the world for God-knows how long, in a close encounter of the third kind, with a man. 

Maybe divorced. 

Maybe a widower. 

Maybe neither. 

Either way, a beautiful man who only had to smile to bring her out in goose bumps - and worse.

She started cleaning the plates vigorously with a dish cloth.

Could it really be fate - as Lorenzo had suggested?  An Italian farmer - a million miles from her home, her accustomed lifestyle, and even her nationality. 

It just couldn't be.  

It mustn't be. 

No way.  No way.  No way.  

Never.     

It's just that he's so lovely.

Chapter Four

Lorenzo walked with Domino around the perimeter of his estate, checking the wire fence.  A formidable barrier, it stood almost three meters high, the top half metre inclined outwards.  It was not meant to repel human intruders. People could walk through the gate, just as Genie had done.  He never locked it.  He just made sure it was securely latched.  The sole purpose of the fence was to keep at bay, animals with an earnest desire to dine on his livestock.   

In the past he had found signs of the attempts by the more enterprising predators to burrow under the fence, or to break through.  He had even seen a bear testing it - to no avail.  The bear's immense strength and weight was no match for Lorenzo's fortification. 

However, his main concern was the craftiest of potential intruders - and among the most dangerous.  The wolf.

He knew they were around.  He had seen them from time to time, and frequently heard their eerie howls in the distance.  On rare occasions, Lorenzo had the impression that they had ventured close to the fence.  So far, however, they had not succeeded to break in.

While his daily fence inspection was routine, there was an additional reason for his tour this morning.  He needed space - time to think.  

He paused and stared through the fence at the snow-covered, open ground stretching out to the tree-covered slopes and mountains beyond.  Nothing looked or felt the same this morning. 

This scruffy girl erupting from a pile of straw had totally disoriented him.

His first reaction had been anger.  After all, she was an uninvited and unwelcome intruder.  Then, his natural male instincts came into play.

He marvelled at her wild, rich bronze-gold hair, framing a delicately carved oval face, with high cheekbones as perfect as you can get.  She looked like a desirable little imp, instantly capturing him with her seductive emerald green eyes, sparkling with lively, continual shifting highlights. 

Her unzipped green storm jacket revealed a compact, metre and a half frame with all the earmarks of someone who regularly took care of herself.  Meals consisting of practically nothing, and daily aerobics, he shouldn't wonder.

He smiled as he thought about the way she bolted down her breakfast.  Any diet regime to which she had enslaved herself, she ate to smithereens this morning.

“Andiamo
AIMCO,” he said to Domino as he resumed his fence inspection - albeit, on automatic pilot.  His thoughts of Genie continued to usurp his powers of concentration.

This was not good. 

Yes, he admired beauty.  He'd committed enough to oils and canvas in the old days to last a lifetime. But this girl aroused certain emotions in him that surpassed mere admiration.  Apart from her beauty, she excited him with her quick wit, intelligence and her ability to rapidly adapt to challenges.  The way she'd handled herself when discovered in the barn was a good case in point.  Indeed, so was how she held her ground on the subject of love at the breakfast table.

This Genie with a G certainly had a mind of her own.

“We've been on our own too long, Domino,” he said.  “Can't see a pretty face without dreaming up all sorts of fantasies, can we?”

Domino responded with his characteristic “Woof.”

Lorenzo liked to think his canine friend understood when he talked to him. 

Deprivation, Lorenzo recognized, fired up desires for the unavailable, to disproportionate heights.  Time will dampen the fires within - he hoped.  In the meantime, he must keep his over-stimulated feelings in check. They're only fleeting after all.  This was nothing more than the sight of a pretty girl playing fast and loose with his hormones. 

His hormones told him so.

Genie decided to postpone her rest for the time being.  Now she had accepted the idea that she was here for the duration, she was gripped by a sense of adventure.  This life on the Italian Alps was something totally outside her experience.  Something to explore.  Lots to discover - especially more about a certain Lorenzo Calderone. 

Her concentration shifted from thoughts of her new host to seeking out a drying up cloth.  For the first time, she became fully aware of her surroundings.

“Hey, Lorenzo,” she said, taken aback by what she saw. 

She'd expected a traditional country kitchen.  Instead, it was clear that Lorenzo, and his mysterious wife, had indulged themselves.  This was no kitchen of just-managing-to-get-by, self-sufficient enthusiasts.  Much thought, design and care – to say nothing of expense – had been invested.  They had installed a raft of state-of-the-art kitchen mod-cons – from a fitted eye-level oven to a pasta maker.

In retrospect, Genie realized that everything she had seen so far bore the same mark - the bedroom, bathroom, dining room.  While pleasant, and relatively traditional in appearance, nevertheless, it was all quality.  Lorenzo's space-age kitchen was icing on the cake. 

“I’ve seen how Italians are serious about food, Lorenzo,” Genie said to the juicer, “but, ‘mine host’, you certainly know how to produce it in style.” She pirouetted a full 360 degrees and clapped her hands together. “I’m going to enjoy working here.  But, dear Lorenzo, if I accept the role of Chief Cook and Bottle Waster, you’ll to have to put up with a few menu changes.”  She patted the work surface in front of her.  “Yessir.  Absolutely.”

Snowed-in life is going to be more comfortable than she first thought. “And, if dear Lorenzo does try to add to my 'comfort' with a personal touch, I can handle it.  Done it before.  Had plenty of practice” 

She had first begun to develop her man-management skills among her own clique in and around London.  But, when “Celebs Exposed” magazine ran the supposed bio of “Genie Hamilton, the “Heiress with the Mostest”, all sorts of hopefuls came out of the woodwork.

She gritted her teeth in response to the heat of anger building within her as she recalled the nightmare of the constant barrage of 'eternal lovers'.  They sought her out on every conceivable occasion.  Even, at times, in the street.

Men - rich or poor - they were all the same.  Those without money wanted the good life handed to them on a plate - or, more accurately, handed over to them.  The moneyed boys simply wanted a merger.  To them, marriage was little more than a business deal, with Genie thrown in as a perk.   

She knew then that her future had been sealed by the pages of “Celebs” magazine.  Re-christened among her fraternity as “Schlebs”.  It had thrust so far into the public eye that she was doomed to be viewed by all men as the goose in human form who'd provide them with an endless supply of golden eggs.

Genie, who had not given any thought to her father’s legendary immense wealth before, now began to hate it.  She started to feel her world closing in on her.  Everywhere she turned there was another hopeful with sterling, dollars, Euros - depending on his point of origin - dancing in his eyes. 

However, there had been one.  He was fun.  He was attentive.  He wanted nothing except to be with her.  And there came a time when that was all she wanted, too. 

Then...the mask came off.

Then, all Genie wanted was to get away from him and everyone else who had his sights on her.  To get away to somewhere where no one would know who she was.

Somewhere to escape shallow, fortune-hunting male attention.

Genie pushed the hurt back down to where she had
harboured it for many weeks and brushed aside the painful memories.  She took a deep breath and said, “I am here - in the present.  Now.”

She surveyed Lorenzo's kitchen. “Look where 'Now' is.  A perfect hiding place.” She smiled. “Now I suppose dear old 'Celebs' rag is running, 'Genie Hamilton, the Runaway Heiress,' or, 'Where is Genie Hamilton?'”

She busied herself cleaning the work-surfaces.  “Let them ask.  They aren't going to find me here.”

“Being snowed in has its up-side,” she said.  “Mind you, heaven knows what 'Celebs' would make of her current situation if they found out.  How about, 'Genie Hamilton in Snowed-In Love-Nest with Italian Farmer'.”  A laugh bubbled to the surface.  “Never mind 'Celebs', what would Lorenzo think of the idea of a love nest?”

Her smile faded.  The big question was what did Lorenzo think of her?  If, by the strangest chance he already knew her story, her stay here will be more of the same.

This time, however, there will be no running away.

“On the other hand, what if I'm just an ordinary-everyday girl to him - one that isn't a “Celebs” celebrity?”  She paused to consider the idea. “An ordinary-everyday girl.  That would be nice.”

“What am I saying?  I am an ordinary, everyday girl.  It’s not my fault, men see me lugging about a treasure chest.” 

She glanced at the kitchen window and wondered what Lorenzo was doing.  “I'm an ordinary-everyday girl, Lorenzo Calderone,” she said. 

She strode to the window and peered out. “Wonder where he is?”

She mentally tossed a coin. “Heads, I'll go out to see him; tails, I'll go to bed.”

As soon as she voiced the word “bed”, the thought of snuggling up warm under the quilt exerted a strong pull.  The temptation was great, but so were thoughts of 'warm' contact with her host.

“Cold contact, you mean, Hamilton,” she said, turning away from the window. “He's out there in the snow.”

Nevertheless, her mental coin came up heads. 

She slipped into the cold weather gear and checked herself in the mirror.  “I think I'll pass,” she said.  “Not exactly seductive.  It leaves too much to the imagination.  But, it'll do.” 

  She flung open the door. “Where are you, Lorenzo the fabulous?” she said.

“Right here,” he responded, a mere metre away, shovelling snow away from the doorway.