Tuscan Heat (3 page)

I got dressed faster than he did. As soon as he was done, he stretched out his arm. I went to him. We stood there, looking over the city, as if we’d been lovers for years.

“Sara.”

I looked up at him, startled by his use of my actual name. He continued, “Tonight was…it was special. I needed a woman. But you, you surpassed what I needed and gave me what I most desired. Thank you.”

I started to answer. Then I frowned. I didn’t really know him well enough to pry. “You’re welcome. You seemed upset a couple times tonight. I would, I mean, it’s…oh, crap.”

He laughed. He turned our bodies until we were in a full embrace. “Serafina, it is all right. I was trying to explain that, yes, I had been upset, and that you have done much to cure it by being open and saying yes. Let us leave it there for now.”

“For now?”

“I must take you to dinner while you are a guest of my city. I told you already, I am not usually one to move so quickly.” Seeing my hesitation, he rushed to say more. “Do not feel obligated. An encounter between strangers in the night has its own romance, and if you prefer it, I will consider my honor satisfied.”

He seemed sincere, and I was fading too fast to press and find out why he’d take his one night stand on a date. What the heck. Yes. “I would enjoy dinner, Marco. I like things that are off the beaten path, and I’ll bet you know a few places that aren’t meant for tourists.”

“I do. Now, I would gladly spend the night walking and talking with you, but you seem tired at long last.”

“You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

“That was nothing.” He leaned in and kissed my earlobe. “I can do more with some preparation.”

My clit gave a tiny spasm, echoed by my tender pussy. “I believe you.”

“I believe you agreed to a return engagement?” He moved to nibbling and sucking on the tender skin under my jaw.

“Mmm. Now?”

“All right, all right, I must stop. But you are irresistible, Serafina.”

I was about an inch from not stopping him, but I stepped back and smiled. “Well, then, you’d better lead me down those stairs again. This time I don’t mind falling on you. You can take my weight.”

“You will see.” He kissed his own finger and touched it to my lips. This time the shudder went through my entire groin.

This was going to be a terrific vacation.

Too soon, we stood in the street under a flickering lamp. His kiss was slow and full of promise, and his fingers were gentle on my hair. I was all the way back to the hotel before I realized I had not exchanged phone numbers or addresses with the best lay I’d had in my life.

The day dawned wet and drizzly, and the heat forced me out of planned piazza strolling and onto a bus to the Museo Stibbert. I stood in the Mongolian Room, feeling a bit subdued and thinking about the end of the previous evening.

Marco must not have been too serious about getting together for a second night. I tried not to care.

I wasn’t going to think about him. I returned my eyes to the diorama I stood in and tried to guess the purpose of each weapon. The museum was a few kilometers from the center of Old Florence, where everyone spoke English and the Renaissance was polished into one big tourist treadmill. I might as well have been two thousand miles away for all the staff cared about the swarms of vacationers. There were no signs in English and the tour guide spoke none. Actually, she wasn’t so much a guide as she was “a lady with keys who unlocked each room and stood in the doorway yawning while I looked around.” This place didn’t get tourists and didn’t want any, thank you very much.

I wondered if Marco knew about it.

“Stop thinking about him!” I said. The guide looked at me, confused. I shrugged and she went back to staring at the ceiling.

Lord Stibbert spent his very Victorian life bouncing around the Empire collecting…stuff. Rare stuff, interesting stuff, weird stuff and stuff that locals had no doubt sold him just to see if he was dumb enough to buy it. When he retired to his mother’s villa, he arranged the stuff by region into life-sized dioramas complete with both equine and human mannequins. The irreverent guide book I had stashed in my hotel room referred to the whole institution as a monument to the pack rat from hell.

I couldn’t bear to face the crowds yet, and I figured I’d skip looking at a few frescoes with the tourist horde and see something unique. It’s unique, all right, I thought as I ducked to avoid the upraised knife being wielded by an Asian mannequin.
Larry would never have come here, not when there were more famous sights down in the city center. It wasn’t logical.

“And stop thinking of him too,” I muttered.

This time my guide didn’t even raise an eyebrow. She let me into the next room, the biggest one on the tour. The grand hall might have been the villa’s ballroom at some point, but now it was a testament to one little boy’s love of knights in shining armor. I sighed. If I could have dragged my erstwhile boyfriend up to this place, he would have loved it. I would have loved that he loved…
Argh. Stop it. Look at the display, idiot.

Horses draped in ornamental barding bore knights in ceremonial gear. More knights marched in ranks on foot, bearing weapons. The walls were lined with period-correct tapestries meant for colder climates and drafty castles. Above, a coffered ceiling meant for this climate displayed intricate patterns that didn’t quite match the armor. I couldn’t see the details without squinting thanks to the lack of sunshine outside the tall windows.

The patterns and the architecture were potentially useful to me in my work, and I pulled out my pocket sketchbook and tried to record the designs. I was busy peering through the gloom at the ceiling and I thought I was the only visitor, so I didn’t look behind me. I didn’t see the man with his own sketchbook until I backed into him.

My apology froze in my mouth.

Marco beamed at me. “Serafina!”

“What are you doing here?” I blurted out. He blinked at me. “I mean, how delightful to see you, Marco, what a surprise.”

“That is a much better greeting.” He kissed me in the European manner of old friends, swift air kisses on either side of my face.

“I was only surprised. I didn’t expect to see anyone, let alone someone I knew.”

“Why were you staring at the ceiling?” he asked.

“Professional curiosity. What about you?”

“The same. This ceiling has some historic significance to a client I hope to acquire, so I am here gathering inspiration. No photos allowed, even for me, so I am making drawings.”

“Even for you?” I stole a glance at the paper. He was really, really good. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, I mean I am a regular visitor,” said Marco with a dismissive wave. “I was about to take a short rest. Would you care for some espresso from the gift shop?”

“My treat,” I said firmly.

In a few minutes we were sitting on a stone bench pushed against the villa wall, holding tiny cups. The rain was still coming down, but we were protected by an overhang. It wasn’t a big bench, and I was aware of his warm thigh so near my own.

“I am very glad to have run into you like this,” he said. “I was concerned you would get back to your hotel too late to want to meet me for dinner.”

“Oh, you remembered.” I tried to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

“Of course I remembered. It has been only a matter of hours since we made the date. Have you already forgotten last night?” He pressed his leg against mine.

The feeling was close to electric. I swallowed hard. “No. Not at all. But I didn’t tell you enough to find me, and I only knew you were a handsome, sexy man named Marco. I hardly wanted to beg Giacomo for your phone number.”

“But you told me how to contact you. Hotel Giglio. Sara Wright of the lost luggage. Anyway, the concierge knew exactly who I meant an hour ago when I left a message.”

“You did?”

“I did.” He winked. His espresso was gone, and he set the cup on the ground under the bench. When he straightened back up, he took the opportunity to run his hand from my calf all the way to the top of my thigh, and gave me a gentle squeeze. “One night with you could never be enough.”

“You know flattery will get you everywhere with a girl on vacation.”

“I hope so.”

His unabashed lechery warmed me all the way through, and I laughed so loudly that I frightened a scavenging pigeon. Marco joined me in mirth. He moved my empty cup to the ground beside his. This time I extended my leg to give him better access for a full caress. He did not disappoint me.

“Mmm. Maybe you should stop unless you also know the owner here,” I said.

The stitching on my capris seemed to fascinate him. He traced the seam with an elegant finger. “I see you found your luggage.”

“No such luck. This is what I wore on the plane.”

He put his lips against my ear. “And your underwear?” he breathed.

I shivered and leaned against him. “Dry by the time I woke up this morning. Wouldn’t you like to know if I decided to wear it today or save it for tonight?”

His fingers clutched my skin. I pressed my cheek against his and sat up a bit. If he’d known the owner, he’d have said something, from the way he was shifting his body.

“So,
Americana,
what do you do for work that brings you to such an unusual place?” He gestured at the museum behind us.

“I’m an artist.” I suppressed a chuckle at his fleeting expression. “The kind that makes money, not the kind that sits around feeling unappreciated.”

“Oh?”

This time I outright laughed at his expression of relief and curiosity. “I didn’t even take art history in college. I took the practical course. You know those paintings in magazines, the ones labeled ‘artist’s interpretation of the house of the future’ or ‘artist’s rendition of the world of the velociraptor’? That’s me.”

“Will you despise me if I admit I am glad to hear that you do not plan to set up an easel in front of the Pitti Palace?” he said with a smile.

“I guess you’re somewhat plagued by that type here in the birthplace of Western art.”

“Plagued is an excellent word.”

“Well, I’ll try not to make anyone sick. I came here to the Stibbert to see the arms and armor, but the building itself is interesting.”

“It is, and I am glad you have the eyes to see it as well as I do,” he said. His finger stopped playing with the stitches on my capris and moved to the cutwork on my tunic hem.

I put my hand on the back of his neck and played with the silky hair growing almost to his collar. “What about you? What do you do that you’re here drawing the ceiling? Is it related to that master’s degree you got from Virginia Tech?”

His reaction was strange. His eyes lit up, but there was tension in his shoulders. “You remembered.”

“You’re practically kinfolk, as far as I’m concerned. My family is from around there.”

“A family? Surely you were created by angels, not born to mortal parents.”

I swatted his arm. “Shush.”

“But I mean it.”

“Uh-huh. What do you do when you’re not charming Americans?”

“My degree and my vocation are the same—architecture.”

I stared at him. “You couldn’t find a school in
Italy
that knew a thing or two about architecture?”

That strange tension in his body returned. “My family wanted me to bring another perspective, and a bit of American sensibility to our work.”

I rubbed his neck. “You didn’t want to go?” I guessed, trying to figure out what was bothering him.

My guess was wrong. He smiled. “It was no hardship. I wanted to live in a foreign country instead of experiencing it as a tourist. To you, Italy is exotic, but to me, it is just home.”

I tried again. “What did your family have to do with it?”

“Ah, Serafina, you see how you affect me. We connect so well that I forgot you don’t have my entire history. The family business is architecture.”

“That must be wonderful, to work so closely with family.”

“It can be, depending.” He patted my leg and changed the subject. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“The Uffizi Gallery. As much as I like things that are off the beaten path, I can’t come to Florence and skip the Uffizi.”

“No, certainly not. Have you got your entrance tickets?” he asked.

“I thought I could only get them same-day.”

“No, no. Ask the concierge to make your reservation the instant you get back to the hotel, and you will skip the whole line.” He ran his hand up my arm and stroked my hair away from my face. “I have a work engagement tomorrow that I should not miss or I would demand the privilege of being your guide.”

His expression was so serious. My heart skipped a beat, and this time it wasn’t just from lust. This was a dangerous direction for my holiday fling. I needed to clear my head before I got carried away.

The rain had grown lighter while we talked, and a crepuscular ray burst through the clouds. It seemed like a hint to me. “Speaking of work, I should let you get back to it.” I stood up. “Walk me to the gate?”

He retrieved the cups and went past me into the gift shop to return them while I waited, and when he got back to my side, he tucked my hand into his arm. We went down the three marble steps into the garden.

“Have you ordered a taxi, or perhaps you are taking a bus?”

“Now that the rain has stopped, I’m going to walk.”

“It’s farther than you think,” he warned.

“I always go farther than everyone expects, and I always know how far I’m going.”

He smiled at me. I noticed that his canine teeth were a little longer than I expected, giving his sweet expression a feral edge.

I pressed my breast against his arm. He inhaled sharply. We were standing at the head of a tiny path arched over with dripping branches, and without warning Marco grabbed my hand and hauled me into the green tunnel. I burst out laughing.

Before I could stop giggling long enough to ask where we were going, we were there. The path had led us to a clearing with two marble benches and a tiny fountain. A thin stream tinkled and splashed from the mouth of a miniature lion into a stone bowl covered in lichen. Little white flowers that I didn’t recognize grew all around us, weaving in and out of the lattice that hid us from anyone who might be passing by.

As soon as his mouth met mine, I knew I’d teased him too far. He devoured me with his forceful lips, his tongue against mine with a terrible urgency. His hands were everywhere, gripping me like he would never let me go. I loved it. I had never evoked such a response, not from a man willing to let me see it.

My heart pounded. My legs trembled and I moaned softly. Marco put one arm firmly around my waist to support me and to keep my body pressed tightly to his. His other hand found my breast, rubbing and squeezing. Those teeth I’d just admired nibbled on the skin of my neck. His cock was a hard bulge against my groin. I raised one foot and hooked my leg around one of his to increase the pressure on my swollen clit.

He let go of my breast and grabbed my thigh. With his hands as they were, I didn’t have to worry about my balance. I ground against him as hard as I could.

I could feel the waves of heat spreading from my clit into my belly and down my legs. I held onto his neck for dear life. Marco seemed to know how close I was and as I lost control, he took it, thrusting against me again and again.

The orgasm was short and so intense that the world went gray and then to black, with only a pinpoint of light around Marco’s face still visible. “Oh, yes,” he whispered harshly. “Yes. I love to feel your body shaking.”

I was still shaking, and gasping for breath, when I pulled my raised leg free and pushed him toward one of the benches. “Sit,” I hissed.

He grinned. “I am telling you, Serafina, you are building up quite a number of orders you will have to take.”

“You don’t have to sit if you don’t want to,” I said. I grabbed his belt buckle and worked the supple leather through the catch.

“I’m sitting, I’m sitting.” He knew what I wanted. He sat on the edge of the bench with his legs spread apart, his hands braced behind him.

As soon as I had the button undone and his fly unzipped, his cock forced its way through the front of his briefs. Again I found he was so ready that the smooth and tender head was exposed, his skin slightly red from the pressure of my groin. I knelt down on the soft moss. The potential for green stains ran through my mind, and I mumbled, “Hell with it.”

“What was that?”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Why, thank you.”

The last syllable out of his mouth turned into a long sound of relief as soon as I put my lips around him. My pussy ached for him, but this grotto wasn’t that private. He was so rigid that I knew he wouldn’t last much longer anyway.