The Perfect Someday (A standalone novel ~ Book three in The Mathews Family) (21 page)

Vincent
sauntered inches from her. Looking down, he spoke with frankness. “We don’t speak of this.”

“We don’t?”

“No one knows I come here. It is just a place I come to decompress.”

“You’ve never brought anyone else here?” She wasn’t sure why she asked, but for some odd reason, his answer seemed very important.

“No. I’ve been sneaking up here since I was a very young boy.”

“
Can we go inside?”

Vincent’s brows squis
hed together. Reluctance poured out in his body language, hesitating to allow her into his sanctuary, a place he deemed sacred.

“I’ll keep it
between us. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

What she expected to be
a dark and dingy castle with cobwebs hanging from dilapidated rafters and chandeliers, was everything but. Widespread beams lined the high ceiling and rustic posts mounted above every door and window. Large arches trimmed in stone and brick greeted her with a subtle sophistication and elegance as she explored each new room.

Tracy meandered through the villa, absorbing a distinct energy, a gift of happiness that lingered within its walls.
Itineraries came to life, like a stack of photographs strewn across the floor. Each picture granting her a glimpse into the history of what once was and what could be again.

Looking forward, her perspective brought fresh strokes of color to a perfect portrait in her mind of what the villa might look like filled with life
and laughter. The image of delicate pink roses, freshly stained doors and shutters and the glow of lanterns danced through her imagination.

Standing in the grand living room, she closed her eyes breathing deep, allowing h
er mind to relax, reveling in the warm rural character of the villa.

The sun lowering in the afternoon sky shone brightly on the garden
, and she ambled to the window. “Oh my God, Vincent! Can you imagine the garden in the summer? Vines of magenta roses, creeping and tumbling over the parapets. The—” She turned toward him. Taking one glance at his lust filled eyes, her words trailed off to nothing, replaced with a jolt of sensual awareness that came crashing on top of her like a tidal wave.

Vincent sat on the hearth in front of the fireplace
, staring at her, elbows perched rigidly on his knees. The typically tan flesh of his fingers, turned white from the death grip he held on his laced fingers. 

Vincent’s
fingers splayed stiffly, palms together, in a demanding fashion. “You need to quit calling out my name like that.” The ragged edge in his voice and pause between each word had gotten his point across.

Her heart pumped so hard, she felt dizzy. The yearning in his grey eyes drew heat to the surface of her skin, covering her in goose
bumps. Tracy opened her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

She heard him swear under his breath, something to the effec
t of, “You’re fucking killing me with the ‘Oh my God, Vincent’.” The tension in his voice sent an uneasy pang between her thighs.

“So—
“ She licked her parched lips and swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

Tracy didn’t know what to say. If he was half as turned on as her, and she knew he was, he’d have a major hard on. The small triangle of cotton fabric between her thighs deemed useless. Turning away to hide her flushed face, she tried to look at anything other than his crotch. But damned if she couldn’t help glancing to the side, watching his fingers splay downward along his cock, adjusting the impressive bulge 

She was inundated with the mindfulness of his presence, solid and sexy,
right beside her. Tracy couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Breathless, she tried again, “I didn’t realize I was saying that.”

“Every
. Room.” His voice, now low and tender and smothered in teasing, reached deep inside, stroking her raw nerves.

Staring out the window, the garden vanished, replaced with
images of him under her, hovering over her, nibbling her everywhere. Dropping her chin to her chest, Tracy’s eyes floated shut. Her face averted, ignoring the lush strands of his dark hair nearly tangible in her grasp. Her hands balled into fists, hidden within the sleeves of his jacket.

“We’re losing the daylight. We should probably head back.”

Probably? Does that mean I have another option? In some bizarre turn of events, she felt as if they were on a date. Not just a typical, get to know you, first date, more like a fifth date, a come in and stay for breakfast date. Who am I kidding? I’ve never made breakfast for a man. It was the best day she’d spent with a man in a very long time, maybe since The Italian.

“Vincent,” a chortle escaped her
as she was half tempted to call out his name in a dramatized cry of pleasure.

A
roguish grin tipped the edge of his mouth, he knew she had held back teasing him.

“Will you bring me back again? I really like it here.”

Reaching out, he snapped the top button on the jacket. She froze, so as not to feel the brush of his skin against her neck. “Si`, I will bring you back.”

CHAPTER
NINE

Tracy spent the weekend with her mom and Lisa, hashing over design ideas. Lisa loved to be in control, to the point of bordering on overbearing. After keeping quiet for the first hour, Tracy found her footing and changed her approach, limiting their options.

“Oh, by the way, I told you earlier that you would owe me.”

“Yes.”
Tracy steadied herself, glancing up from the glow of her computer screen.

“I want a
batch of those Italian cookies you made at Christmas last year.” She pouted. “I was thoroughly disappointed when you didn’t make them this year.”

“You want a batch of
Rainbow Cookies?” She paused waiting for the catch. “In exchange for giving me advice on how to decorate Castlello Giovanni?”

“Yes. And an undisclosed amount of wine. We’ll have to work out the details. Maybe, perhaps, possibly we can also come to an agreement on letting me in on creating a new label too.”

“They are in desperate need of a new label,” Tracy agreed. “But, Mrs. Giovanni is never going to go for that. She is way too proud to accept any help for free.”

“You think this is my first go-around kid?” Lisa scoffed, loudly. “I’ll handle Mrs.
Giovanni. By the time we’re through with dinner and drinks, she’ll think she’s paying me top dollar.”

By the time Sunday night rolled around,
Tracy lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling. Her mind worked over numbers, possibilities, and most of all Vincent, in every position she could dream up. No matter how many times she told herself No! every fiber of her being said Yes!

At
3:00am she texted her sister. - I need an Italian intervention.

JC text back -
3:47am.  I talked to mom. She said this guy is HOT!!! I don’t care what country he’s from. You need to go on a few dates. At least three, so you can get laid.

Tracy - 3:52 Thanks
! Now I’m never going to get any sleep!

JC -
3:55 Stop beating yourself up over what happened. We all make mistakes.

Tracy – 4:02 I don’t
.

JC – 4:04 Grrr…get over it! Excuses are a time thief, stop robbing yourself of moments you could be enjoying.

Tracy – 4:07 I really could be enjoying him right now. ;)

JC – 4:13
Breakfast, lunch and dinner does constitute as three dates, but only on a very RARE occasion! Go for it!!!

Tracy arrived early Monday morning, armed and ready, full of ideas for the vineyard and the courage to move forward. Or with at least the possibility of letting her guard down. The sensual energy she and Vincent shared was exactly that, shared.

The day drug on and on. Tracy stared out the window at the villa nestled into the hillside, waiting for the painting on the wall to rattle. The constant quiet ticking of the clock drove her to near madness, anxiously waiting to hear the door slam. Tracy watched for him out the window, made several unnecessary trips through the corridors to get espresso, and even strolled the garden near his office, hoping to catch sight of him.

When the clock struck
5:00pm, she gathered her things. Glaring at the painting, she now deemed herself stupid. Tracy considered slamming the door for her own satisfaction. The faint sound of a feminine accent floated down the hallway as she neared the entrance. Rounding the corner, two people loomed in the reception room. A gorgeous dark-haired woman wearing a skimpy burgundy dress and tall black ankle boots, and Vincent, escorting her by the elbow toward the front door.

Tracy’s
breathe caught, loud enough to draw their attention. Vincent stopped abruptly, his eyes widened, giving her a brief nod. He looked absolutely magnificent in dark jeans, black suit jacket and crisp grey shirt unbuttoned at the throat.

The woman
slid a cool scan over Tracy. Her brow lifted to a point, calculating the heaviness hanging between Vincent and Tracy like a dark rain cloud threatening to break loose at any moment.

Heat crawled over her flesh
, catching fire to her cheeks, turning them crimson. The leggy brunette curled her frail limb through the crook of his arm, acute female instinct on full display. Tracy’s heart thudded, falling to the pit of her stomach.

“
Ciao,” she heard him say over the blood pounding in her eardrums.

The sight of him with another woman stung, painfully, far more than it should have.
Jealousy simmered, strangling her words and stealing the air from her lungs. No way in hell could she bring herself to look at Vincent. She was no good at concealing her feelings and every raw vulnerable emotion would be transparent, opening the porthole to her soul.

“Good night.” Sh
e murmured though a façade of politeness, pushing through the door without turning back.

****

Tracy was thankful for Tess and Lisa’s exuberant assistance, but even more thankful when they left, giving her the opportunity to process her feelings.

Survival wrapped
itself around her heart, keeping her safe from pain for nearly two years. And now, the first time she found the courage to consider allowing herself the liberty to feel desire, she failed miserably. Yet, Tracy couldn’t escape the feeling there was something between them, a connection, an undeniable attraction she couldn’t shake.

She hadn’t stepped foot in the winery for days. Antonio had skillfully shown her the path he’d chosen for the future of The Giovanni Winery, however there was far more to the circumstances. Determined to pursue every possible approach from neutral ground, she opted to work from home. She refused to admit how much she missed th
e sound of slamming doors and the gorgeous view from her window. She found herself sneaking over to the vacant fortress, meandering the grounds.

As she sat at the edge of the bed
and stretched her hands to the ceiling, sunshine gleamed through the windows calling her outside to play. Pummeling a treadmill wasn’t going to cut it. She needed something a little more aggressive to chastise herself. Tracy threw on a pair of running shorts, laced up her tennis shoes and hopped on a bike.

A blue morning mist clun
g to the hillside, and the saturated air coated her skin in dampness. She rode through the countryside, enjoying the stark beautiful hillsides and golden pastures, until reaching a sleepy little renaissance town.

The
cobbled streets, old and worn were occupied with fashionable boutiques, intimate coffee houses, tantalizing restaurants and lovely flower vendors. The spirit of Tuscany was apparent in the warm genuine smiles of friendly people starting their day.

On the outskirts of town, she stopped at a
public fountain to fill up her water bottle. A steep vertical stairway nestled between age-old lodgings, excavated in the tuff stone of the hill. Tracy walked the bike over, peering in awe, up the towering flights of steps. Modern doors painted red, green and brown flanked the moss-covered stones, which were worn from years of the repetitive action of walking.

Tracy leaned
the bike against a handrail drilled into the dense wall and started to run. The quiet sound of her steps resonated through the rock passageway, and cool moist air burned her lungs. Making it to the top, she turned, descending back down to the street. On the fifth set of stairs Tracy heard footsteps, heavy and loud, gaining on her from behind. She veered to the right, hugging to the wall so the person could go around. Something caught on the handrail and her foot slipped, sending her flying through the air.

Everything went black
.

****

The sound of her frantic breathing filled the quiet darkness. Blood rhythm pulsed wildly, resonating through her eardrums in a loud whistling hum.