“I meant a man. Instead of caring for other people’s children, why don’t you get married and have your own?” The thought of Sabrina married to some ordinary man with children made him feel like he’d been hit with an electric stun gun. If she wasn’t married by now, why would she marry someone else?
She likes taking care of children
, he told himself. She doesn’t need her own.
You don’t know that
, he chided himself. You only suppose.
She didn’t say anything. He couldn’t see her face so he lit a candle. When he glanced down at her he saw a tear trickle down her cheek.
“It’s none of my business,” he said. He wanted to wipe the tear from her cheek, and tell her she was doing the right thing. But she might not appreciate it. He should have kept quiet.
“I was in love once,” she said so softly, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her. “He was a single father and I loved his daughter as my own. She and I were close. The three of us were close. I thought…I thought it would last forever. That I would have the family I always wanted. But I was wrong. I made a mistake thinking I was part of their family. I wasn’t. My employer married someone else and of course I left.”
The candle flickered. Her voice faded. “You were in love with him,” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Of course not.”
I’m sorry I asked,” he said. “I had no right to pry into your past. It’s time live in the present, forget what happened and have dinner.”
Sabrina stood, grateful to have her story over. The past was in the past. Now that he knew everything about her, maybe he understood why she had to leave. She only hoped he wouldn’t guess how she felt about him. She knew better than to let her feelings show. She’d learned early on with her step-sisters teasing her unmercifully.
From the picnic basket she took a table cloth, unfolded it and put it on the bed then she spread out the bruschetta and the fruit dish. “It all looks wonderful. Your girls have excellent taste.”
She sat at the foot of the small bed, her legs crossed, a feeling of relief washing through her. She’d told him her story and he’d told her his. They both knew where their story was heading after this weekend – nowhere. The girls would be disappointed, but at least they had each other, which was more than she’d had.
“I agree,” he said placing the candle on the bedside table and sitting at the opposite end of the bed. “Excellent taste in food and nannies. If they hadn’t rejected the previous ones, we never would have gotten you.”
“But those women were hand-picked by me. Each and every one was well-qualified, experienced and hard-working. I don’t understand…”
“I do. They weren’t you.” He leaned forward, took her hand and kissed her palm.
Sabrina blushed. She told herself to relax and enjoy this romantic picnic in the tower. Vittorio was as charming and charismatic as a prince could be, practically begging her to stay on and complimenting her right and left and best of all, confiding in her about his wife’s death. But after they got out of here, it would be back to reality. Back to coping with the problems he faced. What to do with the girls. And the immense problem she faced. How to recover from yet another unrequited love affair.
Vittorio stood and went rummaging through the picnic basket. “What’s this? A box of truffles.” He brought the box to her, selected one, sat on the bed next to her and fed it to her. In the flickering firelight, she wasn’t sure if she was licking his fingers or the dark chocolate truffle. When he groaned deep in his throat, she realized it was him.
“Now it’s your turn,” he said, holding the box in front of her. With trembling fingers she chose a truffle dusted with dark chocolate powder. His face was only inches away. She would never have been so bold if they’d been in bright light instead of the flickering candle. But she was and they weren’t. He took the chocolate into his mouth and ate it. Then he took her fingers into his mouth, one by one and sucked them. She felt all the air rush out of her lungs. She felt like she was falling from the sky, drifting through clouds. She was in heaven.
She could have pulled her hand away. If she’d had any sense she would have. He was her boss. But not for long. She would be gone within a week. She’d never see him again.
As for now, she could stop him at any time, but it was only flirting, only passing the time until they could leave this place. Why would she want to stop the jolt of pleasure that filled her body. She didn’t. She wanted it to go on forever. She wanted his lips on her fingers, tasting, touching, teasing. She leaned forward. He moved closer and lowered his lips to meet hers. He kissed her and she tasted grappa and zaboione and hazelnut and Vittorio.
She was in a fantasy land. He was Italian and he knew how to make a woman feel like a princess. A princess locked up in a tower with no wish to leave. Not if her prince was with her, kissing her, murmuring words in Italian in her ear, and easing her shirt off with one hand while the other did amazing things. His fingers circled her breast, honing in on the nipple. She gasped, sighed and murmured that she wanted more.
“You are the most beautiful, the most amazing, the most desirable woman I have ever met,” he said, his tongue tracing circles around her ear. “I thank whatever gods brought you to me.”
She wanted to say it wasn’t any gods at all. It was an agency. It was her step-mother. But she couldn’t speak. Her brain had shut off. Her mouth didn’t work either. At least not for talking. She didn’t want to talk. All she wanted was to make love to Vittorio here in this castle tower. On this bed or on the floor. It didn’t matter. One night. That’s all she asked. Was it too much for a simple nanny to ask for? Why not make the most of it? She’d never be back to Italy. Never meet anyone like him again. He didn’t want a future with her. She would take what she could get. One night. Maybe two.
She got to her knees and took off her shirt. It was too warm in there. Too warm for clothes. He helped her dispose of her white Capri pants and tossed them to the side. She was still wearing a small triangle of silk that was called a bikini and a push-up bra. Too many clothes. Way too many.
Chapter Nine
Sabrina had dismissed the bed as not being big enough for two, but that was when she was picturing something totally different. She was picturing sleep. Why sleep when there was so much else to do? When there was room enough to make love.
He took her by the shoulders and eased her onto the bed. She did nothing, just lay back and let the sensations wash over her. Feeling the touch of his cool fingers as they caressed her enflamed skin. Then he unfastened her bra with its front snaps and sucked in a deep breath. “You are so beautiful,” he breathed.
He stood and ripped his clothes off and left them in a pile on the floor. She sat up and in the candlelight she saw he was magnificent, better than portrait of Adonis, better than the statue of David in front of the Baptistry in Florence she’d seen in books. She wanted say something, to tell him what she thought, but her voice was stuck in her throat.
In the dim light that turned his skin to gold, she knew she’d never seen anything so beautiful as he was. Never wanted anyone more than she wanted him at this moment.
“I’ve been celibate for seven years, Sabrina. I want you to know that,” he said in a voice she scarcely recognized. “This is not what I do.”
She nodded. She didn’t care. She wanted him as he was, celibate, gorgeous, smart or not, rich or poor. It didn’t matter. He eased her back down on the quilt. The bed sagged with both of them on it. He braced his arms against the thin mattress and loomed above her, his face in shadows. He could have been anyone, but he was Vittorio Monteverde, a prince. In his eyes she saw blazing hunger, and in his arousal she saw throbbing desire, hot and potent. She was ready. More than ready. But he had to be sure. She had to be more than ready for him. He brought her to the brink of explosion over and over, with his tongue, his touch and his words whispered in her ear.
“Bella, bella,” he murmured. “Stordira, splendida, incredible.”
Italian must be the most romantic language in the world, she thought. And Vittorio must be the most romantic Italian in the world. She felt her blood pulsing throughout her body. “Come to me,” she begged. “Now. I want you. I need you.” She raised her arms. He kissed her cheeks, her forehead and her mouth. He’d kissed her before. But this was nothing like that. These were wild frantic kisses. He was hungry. He was crazy with desire. He wanted her.
“Carissima,” he said. “I know. I feel it, I want you too. Do you see how much I want you?”
She smiled in the darkness. She saw his arousal. She arched her back. The blood pulsed through her veins like a drumbeat. Her body was on fire. She ached for him. She had to have him now.
Her cries rang out in the still of the night. He called her name. She screamed. No one heard. Only the fireflies below. He held her tight. Finally they slept.
Some time later they heard the fireworks. The sky outside the windows was alight with brilliant colors and shapes. Roman candles, chrysanthemums, and visions of palm trees all lit up the sky in a dazzling display. She tried to sit up to see better, but his arms were wrapped around her.
“Don’t move,” he muttered. “It’s part of the celebration. Whatever they do can’t compare to our own fireworks right here in this room.”
They lay together on the narrow bed in the darkness, listening to the cherry bombs going off, wrapped up together, lying under an ancient but immaculate quilt. Courtesy of the girls or the Princess Alessandra?
Sabrina’s lazy mind drifted around the possibilities. She didn’t want to think. She only wanted to feel. The way she felt was blissful. Vittorio had one arm around her, his hand splayed against her bare hip, his other arm draped over onto the floor. He was asleep again. Her face was pressed against his shoulder. He smelled like wine and candles and chocolate.
“Tesoro,” he muttered.
She sighed. “I’m here,” she said.
“I know.” He opened his eyes. I want to take a bath with you.”
“Now?”
He kissed her long and lovingly on the mouth, until she was weak with desire. She saw him light the candle then leave the room and go to the bathroom with the candle in his hand. She heard a rush of water falling into the tub.
“It’s warm,” he called out. “The tank is on the roof, heated by the sun,
grazie al dio.
”
In a few minutes he called her to come in. She wrapped herself in the blanket and stood in the doorway to the bathroom. She’d seen him smile before. Once. But she didn’t know what he’d look like with a satisfied grin on his face visible even in the candlelight. Until now. He stood by the tub totally naked, looking prouder of filling a tub with hot water and lighting the room with a candle than if he’d pulled off a bank merger.
“Your bath is ready,” he said, taking the edge of the blanket and unwrapping her slowly like a Christmas present. His intense gaze made goosebumps pop out on her skin. She’d never felt so beautiful. How did he do it with just a look?
She sank into the deep hot water. In a moment he’d joined her, sitting behind her with his legs stretched out around her. He massaged the back of her neck until she had only enough strength to lean back against him until they were wedged together in the warm water. Now he was drawing circles with the soap on her back. He lifted the hair off her neck to kiss her there again and again.
She wanted a chance to do the same to him. With the fragrant bar of soap in her hand she reached for him and massaged his whole body until he told her to stop in a tense, guttural voice. He lifted her out of the tub and they returned to the bedroom where he dried her off with a large towel.