She snapped the lipstick shut. Looking as attractive as she could was a risk, but the evening was only a casual date with a stranger she’d never see again. A harmless flirtation. Nothing serious was going to happen.
Then she remembered the touch of his hand on hers and a shiver went through her. A delicious tremor, to be savored, like a glass of fine wine. As long as she didn’t overindulge, she’d be safe.
She examined the results of her efforts. The sheer tawny lipstick gave her a look of sophistication. Her dark brown hair was swept up and gold drop earrings shined below her ears. A simple, but flowing dress with nodding sunflowers and stylish yellow heels completed the picture.
She pushed a wayward hair back in place. There. Ready to deal with the opposite sex.
She opened the door.
“Wow, Mom. If he doesn’t fall instantly in love with you, he’ll have to be halfway dead,” Sarah said. “I thought you weren’t looking for a man.” Her voice held concern.
“I’m not in the market for a man. This is only a fun date.”
“Right. Let’s go meet the man you’re not interested in, Mom.”
“Children,” Elizabeth said with mock horror.
“Mothers.” Sarah retorted.
They laughed as they rode down the tiny elevator to the first floor. Marcos was pacing in the small lobby. Elizabeth drank in the picture of his lean body and intense expression, feeling the heat of desire flush through her in spite of her resolution.
• • •
Marcos gave Elizabeth an appreciative smile. “
Bella
,” he said, grasping her hands.
“This is my daughter, Sarah,” she said.
“Ah, you have inherited your mother’s good looks,” he said as he shook Sarah’s hand.
“Marcos.” Rosita came from behind the hotel counter. “Where are you taking my guest? And when will you be back?”
“Yes,” Sarah said, her arms akimbo. “I want to know, too.”
Elizabeth looked up at Marcos with a grin.
He smiled back. “You are well-protected, I see.” He spoke some rapid Italian to his cousin.
“
Buona
.” Rosita said. “He is treating you well. As he should.” She glared at her cousin, then turned to Elizabeth and said, “You will love the food there.” Rosita hooked her arm through Sarah’s and said, “Come, your mother is safe. Now we will find some good young people for you to eat dinner with.”
Marcos chuckled. “The
dragon feroce
with a heart of gold. Shall we?” He gestured to the front door.
They strolled through the soft evening light of the Italian coast down narrow streets. While Marcos didn’t touch her, the heat of his body kept her hyperaware of his presence by her side.
“How was your day?” he asked. “I have spent mine with numbers, numbers and more numbers. I pray you had more fun.”
She told him about the discovery of the lotion store, finishing as they reached a tiny restaurant carved from of an older set of buildings. The vine-covered stone of the building laced the glow of light beaming from thick-silled windows.
Marcos pushed open the wooden door and she entered. A small bar hugged the left wall. Eight white-covered tables made up the seating for the entire restaurant. Patrons were seated at all but one table.
A birdlike woman who had been drying glasses behind the bar swept around and gave Marcos a squeeze before launching into an Italian tirade.
He finally broke free from her lecture and introduced Elizabeth. The woman rushed them to the last open table, muttered something under her breath and left after Marcos nodded.
“Let me guess,” Elizabeth said. “Another cousin?”
“Unfortunately.”
They laughed together.
“Thank you for coming with me,” he said after the bartender had brought them an
apéritif
. “I know it’s a risk to take with a relative stranger.”
“The only way to stop being strangers is to begin to be friends.”
Where had that come from?
“Not only good-looking, but wise, too.”
She laughed, enjoying the subtle flattery. “You’re a tease. Just like my brothers.”
“Oh? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“No sisters. Only five brothers.”
“And you are the only female?” His eyebrows raised in mock horror. “How terrible for you! How did you ever get out on a date long enough to create the wonderful Sarah?”
She blushed, remembering the escape tactics that she and Joe had employed to get away from her brothers and her parents.
“There is a story there, no?” he said.
One that she chose not to tell. “How about you? What’s your family like?”
“I have only one sister — older. She lives in Milano. She designs jewelry. I have her card somewhere.”
He dug his wallet out and fished among the papers. “Here,” he said. “You’ll have to see her jewelry on the Internet.”
She took the card, pleased with his endorsement of his sister. A man who loved his family had good values. “Is your sister married?”
“Oh, yes. They are so terribly in love, even after two children and a long marriage. I never thought it would last. He’s so
imbranato
… how do you say it … geeky. He works with computers or something. But they are very happy, especially now that their children are out of the house.”
Elizabeth wondered what a relationship that outlived children would be like. If Joe had lived would they still be friends now? Or strangers sharing a house? Many of the wives who came into her store described a life like that. The loneliness seemed so sad after a lifetime of work and children.
A young waiter plunked a stacked antipasto plate on the table. “
Buon Appetito
!” he said over his shoulder as he rushed into the kitchen.
Marcos chuckled. “Their son. I do not think he has finished his training yet. May I?” He began to place several slices of meat and cheese, an array of olives, and a few small peppers on a plate. “These are the best parts of antipasto. You must try them and tell me what you think, yes?”
Elizabeth watched him, wide-eyed. She’d never had a man serve her in her life. With Joe and Bobby, it had been the other way around.
Marcos continued. “I have been talking so much, I have never asked if you work. It is nerves, I assure you. I do know how to be quiet.” He grinned with a warmth that crinkled the edges of his eyes.
“I own a day spa in Costanoa. It’s a small town on the California coast.”
“How wonderful! You are an entrepreneur, like me. I make beautiful wine and you make women look beautiful. But it must be easy for you, since you look so well.”
He picked up an olive from the plate and put it in his mouth, slowly chewing.
“Um … thank you,” she finally said, forcing her gaze back to the table. “I opened Beauty by the Bay about seven years ago.”
“And you are successful?”
She nodded. “It’s given me a living.” She relaxed into the company and the meal. “My husband died when Sarah was five, so I had to find something to do to make money.”
“I am so sorry. That is very young to lose a husband and father.”
“He died suddenly. A heart attack.”
“
Mi dispiace
.” He touched her hand softly.
They ate quietly for a bit. Every time she looked up, he was watching her, a bemused smile on his face.
“Do you like?” he asked after they’d demolished half the platter.
“Very much.” She looked into his blue eyes. Too bad he lived in Italy.
Too bad she was sharing a room with her daughter.
What was she thinking?
“What happened between you and your wife?” she asked, searching for a flaw in the man.
He took a sip of his
apéritif
before he answered. “AnnaMaria and I divorced a number of years ago.” A strain in his voice told her the divorce hadn’t been an amicable one.
“Just the one daughter?” She felt like she was prying, but she wanted to learn more. His presence caused her skin to prickle, as if it was awakening from a long slumber.
His face lit up. “Just Gina. But she is worth it all. She’s working in some purse place … ” He named a fashionable store where, Elizabeth knew, purses started at several thousand dollars. “But on her days off, she makes paintings.” He sat up straighter. “She has inherited the artistic gene from my sister.” Pointing his fork at Elizabeth, he said, “I predict she will be very famous some day.”
She had to laugh. Every daughter should have a father like this.
“Have there been other men in your life, other than your husband?” he asked.
She was saved from choosing to be indignant or answering the question by the arrival of their young waiter with pasta and wine.
“I have ordered traditional cheese ravioli because, of course, ravioli was first invented in Liguria,” Marcos said.
“Of course.”
Every Italian claimed ravioli invention as a product of their region.
Elizabeth stabbed a pocket of cheese and slid it into her mouth. Slowly chewing, she glanced up at Marcos. He was still watching. She shut her eyes to concentrate on the savory flavor and creamy texture. When she was finished, she deliberately licked her lips. She opened her eyes and was rewarded by the slack-jawed look of the man across from her.
Two could play this game.
Good thing her mother couldn’t see her now. Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed.
Marcos grinned at her.
They finished the ravioli in silence, their eyes never leaving each other as they swallowed each cheesy pocket.
When they were finished, the owner of the restaurant came over to pick up their plate. “
Buono
?” she asked.
“Mmmm,” Marcos murmured in return.
“Do you travel much?” he asked after his cousin had gone.
“I always wanted to, but I’m afraid I never got the chance.” She was relieved at the change of conversation.
“I travel for my business. In addition to my Italian vineyards, I own one in France. I am looking to purchase another in California.” He swirled the wine in his glass and stared into it. “Traveling alone can be lonely. No one to share small experiences and excellent dinners.” His voice was sad, but wondrous, as if a thought occurred to him that hadn’t before this time.
“I’ve been lucky to have my daughter with me on this trip,” she said, uncomfortable with the change in tone.
He nodded, still staring at his wine.
The waiter placed small plates of delicate fish covered in a lemony sauce in front of them along with platter of steamed artichoke hearts drizzled with oil and vinegar, causing Marcos to snap out of his reverie.
Elizabeth breathed in aromas of oregano and thyme with an undernote of lemon. She forked a flake of fish and ate it. “Mmmm.” After stabbing an artichoke heart and scooping it into her mouth, she glanced up at Marcos.
He grinned at her. “I like that you are enjoying my choices. It’s good to see a woman eat. Too many pick … pick … pick … like a chicken.”
“That’s because everyone’s always on a diet. I run three times a week so I can eat what I want.”
“Bravo! I, too, exercise, but it’s usually the vineyards that give me a workout.” He ate an artichoke. “What has been your favorite moment of Italy so far?”
“Other than meeting you?” Really, she was turning into an outrageous flirt.
“Other than that, yes.”
“The fabulous store I was telling you about earlier.” Her idea came back into focus. Could she make her own lotions?
It would make more sense than lusting after a man.
He cocked his head. “Something more?”
“I don’t know. I have a half-baked idea. I’m thinking about launching my own line of products.”
“That would be wonderful!” Marcos beamed at her.
“I don’t know. It’s ambitious.”
“Maybe, but anything is possible if you have the heart to take a leap of faith and the hands to do the work.” He finished his fish. “You must know that. You raised a daughter by yourself and created your own business.”
If only it were that simple. She knew how to work hard with her hands, but did she have the heart to create and follow her dream?
She gazed at his face, enjoying laugh lines that accented his eyes. Those eyes. She had to look somewhere else. Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
Mistake. She immediately wondered what those lips would feel like on hers.
Elizabeth barely noticed the espresso and tiny bowl placed in front of her. Her eyes remained fixated on Marcos’ mouth as he deposited a spoonful of dark chocolate gelato between his lips.
Licking it off his lips would be a bit over the top, but the urge was there.
What had come over her?
She forced herself to pick up her spoon and take a taste. Like everything else in the meal, it was perfectly prepared, melt-in-your-mouth smooth and sweet enough without being cloying. She ate every bit, making sure her spoon and her lips were licked clean.
Marcos gazed at her with a wry smile on his lips.
When she finished, she said, “What a wonderful meal! Thank you.”
“I’m glad you have enjoyed it.” Marcos was back to studying his wine glass as if he was looking for answers. Placing it on the table, he looked up at her said, “I anticipate seeing you in California.”
From the way he said it, dinner wasn’t all he had in mind. Her heart stirred at the possibility. But it was fantasy. She was a single mother from California and he was a world-touring vineyard owner. They had nothing in common.
She should discourage him.
Plopping three sugar cubes in her coffee, she said, “When do you think you’d come over?” Four more cubes went into the dark brew and she stirred energetically.
“Probably late October. Harvest should be over by then.” He glanced at her coffee cup.
She looked down. The dark brew was sloshing over the sides of her demitasse cup as she swirled it with her miniscule spoon.
“You feel about espresso the way you feel about small tomatoes? You must make sure it is dead?”
“No … it’s … um … never mind.” She picked up her cup and took a sip of coffee. It took everything in her power not to spit it out. She swallowed and grimaced.
“I wondered about the sugar,” he said. “I hear Americans have a hard time with espresso, but
seven
sugar cubes?”