Love in the Vineyard (The Tavonesi Series Book 7) (5 page)

Her stomach growled. She’d wolfed down a sandwich at Casa del Sole around noon but hadn’t eaten since. Hunger drew her from her sanctuary and out to a curved table that held bamboo baskets filled with delicate dumplings. She set down her glass and piled a few of the hors d’oeuvres onto a plate. She was just headed back to her secluded corner when a hand touched her arm.

“I have it on good authority that the mushroom dumplings at the end of the table are excellent,” a velvet-smooth voice said.

She looked up into dark eyes outlined by a black mask. The midnight-blue eyes belonged to a man with the most beguiling smile she’d ever seen. Perhaps it was the champagne or perhaps it was because the mask made his smile more pronounced, but she could’ve sworn it reached into her most secret heart. The part of her she shared with no one.

Instinctively she stepped away from the man’s touch. And saw that in addition to the simple black mask, he wore a costume that made him look like a cross between a dark angel and some sort of swashbuckling musketeer.

“That good
authority
being me,” another man, one wearing a wizard’s costume, said with a jolly laugh as he stepped up to them. He nodded to the man with the velvet voice. “Don’t trust
his
opinion of American food. He’s new to the country.”

“Not
that
new, Parker,” the man with the unsettling smile said. “And besides, these are Asian dumplings, nothing American about them.”

His easy laugh shouldn’t have sent a warm path of energy flooding through Natasha.

“No
names
,” said the man outed as Parker. “
You
are officially fined one thousand dollars.” He turned to Natasha. “
You’ll
be fined too if you give any identifying information. Any at all.” He wriggled his brows and grinned. “We have agents throughout the room keeping track of rule breakers.” He nudged the other man. “You can pay up now or at the end of the evening. If you don’t want to break my well-crafted spell, you’ll have to wait till midnight.”

“Put it on my auction tab. I want that painting. But you won’t get any more fines from me. My lips are now sealed.”

Parker turned to Natasha. “You’re forewarned. But if you do slip up—no worries—all the fines and auction proceeds go to the Boys and Girls Club, so no harm done. But I do prefer when my parties run according to plan.”

“He’s a step away from being the party police,” the first man said in a good-natured tone. “But we love him just the same.”

“Do
not
try me,” Parker said. “I wanted to use the airplane hangar for the auction, but several guests had already claimed it to house their jets for the night.”

“I can imagine that put you in a foul mood.”

Parker looked from Natasha to the other man. “I am
never
in a foul mood. Well, maybe once. But that was when we lost the polo match to Argentina.”

“That was no fault of yours, Parker. You played like a demon.”

“
You
scored the only three goals that afternoon.”

“It was my lucky day,” the velvet-voiced man said with a shrug.

“I don’t believe in luck.” Parker turned to Natasha. “Do you, my lady?”

“Not lately.” Not good luck.

“A woman of the highest sensibilities,” Parker said. “You really should set your sights higher than a dark-force musketeer.”

A woman wearing an Egyptian headdress and slinky silk gown—incongruously holding a clipboard—sidled up and whispered in Parker’s ear.

“I’m off. Needed.” He shot another playful grin to Natasha. “Remember,
no
identifying information. There’s party karma at stake here.”

As Parker walked off with the clipboard-hugging Cleopatra, the dark musketeer turned to Natasha. “Don’t mind him.” His lips turned up in a smile. “Parker’s the heart of this event. He has much on his mind.”

Her heart stuttered when he held out his hand.

“Since I can’t tell you my true name, I’ll introduced myself as Dumas, the man who invented the fictional character I am supposedly representing in this silly costume. I was promised a Prince of Darkness costume, but I was badly deceived by our man Parker.”

There wasn’t a single silly thing about the clothing he wore. He looked authentic, and his accent made him seem that much more real. He could’ve stepped off the screen of an eighteenth-century period film.

“And what might I call you?” he asked. He surveyed Natasha’s costume.

She shivered under his scrutiny.

When he returned his gaze to hers, though she expected to feel judged, the smile in his eyes melted through her ready defenses.

“I recognize the era of your dress, but the mask is much more modern. Edgy. Exquisite, really.”

She fingered her mask, hesitating before taking his offered hand. It was a simple handshake he offered. She shouldn’t be feeling so nervous.

But as her fingers touched his and he closed his hand around hers, she knew she shouldn’t have come to the party. She wasn’t ready for men. She wasn’t ready for parties. But he held her hand firmly, waiting for her reply.

His snug-fitting costume told her he had a magnificent body. She could see enough of his face to know that it matched his exquisite physique. Long-pent-up and unwelcome desire tingled in her. Desire and foolishness had led her to that horrid night long ago. She wouldn’t allow unbridled emotions to mislead her ever again.

“Tasha,” she finally stammered out. She couldn’t think of a name other than her own. The sounds of the party flooded her mind. His scent wafted to her, blocking thought. Vetiver. Surely he smelled of vetiver. And a spice she couldn’t name. Frankincense or myrrh or some other exotic spice. But through the teasing scents, another pressed in on her, stronger and more insistent.
Male
.

She pulled her hand free and stepped back, but only succeeded in creating a better view of the man’s honed body. She grasped her plate of dumplings and clutched it to her chest like a shield.

Chapter Four

THE WOMAN INTRIGUED ADRIAN. BUT Dumas? What a stupid name. No wonder she pulled her hand away and looked at him like he was half-crocked.

“Let’s get you some real food, Tasha,” he said. “There’s a buffet at the other end of all this madness.”

“I’d like that,” Tasha said.

Her words said yes but the way she held her body said no. She seemed fragile, skittish. Uncomfortable. God knew he felt plenty ridiculous in the costume Parker had foisted on him; maybe she felt uncomfortable in hers too.

But there was nothing ridiculous about the flowing lines of the enticing gown she wore. The costume looked as though it had been made especially for her. The deep blue velvet set off the creamy ivory of her skin, and the mask, rather than hiding her beauty, accentuated her gold-flecked hazel eyes, deepening the green in them. Even through the lace of the mask he could see that she was an exceptional beauty. And though she appeared to wear no lipstick, her lips were the deep pink of the roses his mother once grew in their family estate in Rome.

He offered his arm.

“Allow me to escort you. You never know what wolves are hiding under innocent costumes at an affair like this.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, and he suddenly felt self-conscious. What did they say? That clothes make the man? Well, he was taking this playacting to the extreme.
He
wasn’t an eighteenth-century swashbuckler and
she
wasn’t a Renaissance countess.

Maybe his lack of sleep had affected him more than he’d realized. He’d played a mighty poor six chukkers of polo that afternoon. Or maybe the stress of dealing with the local growers yesterday had set him off his game and muddled his mind. Although why the local vintners couldn’t grasp that having employees prosper was good for business was beyond him. One irate vintner had gone so far as to accuse him of being the Karl Marx of wine country. If Coco hadn’t been at the meeting and used her sisterly influence to keep him in his seat and remind him to tamp down his temper, he might’ve said something he’d have regretted.

Whatever the cause of his oddly altered state, he’d better ratchet back to reality before he made a total fool of himself.

Just as he was about to pull his arm back, Tasha laughed and put her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“And how am I to know you aren’t one of them?” Her eyes glittered in the soft light. “A wolf in costume, I mean.”

“I can assure you that he’s
far
from it.”

Adrian heard the mirth in Coco’s voice as she approached from behind. She circled and then waved the wand she held in their direction. “I do love eavesdropping; you hear the most preposterous things.” She looked at her wand and then at Adrian. “Do you think this thing works? Because if it does, I could cause all sorts of trouble.”

Adrian couldn’t miss the twinkle in Coco’s eyes. The fairy costume suited his mischievous sister perfectly.

Tasha took in Coco and her frothy, low-cut costume. She pulled her hand from his arm, so gently that the movement was almost a whisper. But it was clearly a retreat in the face of Coco’s antics. Adrian suddenly felt the need to put Tasha at ease.

“This is my—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Coco wagged a finger and interrupted him. “Thousand-dollar fine if you give identity hints. And I
will
tell on you.” She smiled at Natasha and tilted her head toward Adrian. “
This
one’s always been horrible at following the rules of games. Despicable, really.” With a last sly smile, she disappeared into the crowd.

“She’s lovely.”

“Yes,” Adrian admitted. “And there’s a string of other descriptives that can be applied to her.”

Like meddlesome and unstoppable.

“We were headed for the buffet before the fairy of the land interrupted us,” he said. “I can promise you the food will be delicious. Parker hired the best caterer in the Bay Area. He always does.”

“Well,” Tasha said, “when in Rome…” Her lips turned up in an uncertain smile.

“I’ve heard that phrase often since my first visit to the States, but I’m never sure what it means,” Adrian said, hoping to draw her out with conversation. He liked the sound of her voice, clear and yet rich and throaty. But more than that, he wanted to know more about her.

“It means…” She hesitated and waved one of her hands through the air.

She had graceful hands, lovely arms. And she moved as if she should be the one holding a magic wand.

“I never really thought about it before,” she added, knitting her brows.

Her intense expression dragged Adrian back from his admiration of her beauty.

“I suppose it means go with the flow,” she said. “Or something like that.”

“Then flow it is. After we sample Parker’s fare, I’d like to claim a dance. That is, if I may.”

“I don’t dance, I—”

“
One
dance. If I step on your toes, you can flee. And I promise not to stalk you.”

She stiffened. Something had made this woman very, very skittish. If he wanted to know her better, he’d better take it slow.

They filled their plates and sat at a table with two vacant places. Surrounded by strangers, Adrian felt vaguely uneasy. It wasn’t the costumes. After years in Venice with his grandmother’s family, he’d grown accustomed to being surrounded by
carnivale
partiers dressed to the nines. What bothered him was that he recognized no one’s voice.

For the first time in ages a sense of loneliness crept through him, nibbling its way into his gut. He had his family around, to be sure, but he’d left close friends behind in Rome, friends he’d had for a lifetime. Setting up Casa del Sole and seeing to its success had kept him busy, but the work didn’t fill the hole that yawned in his quieter hours. Maybe Coco was right. Maybe he did need to get out more.

He turned to Tasha. Following Parker’s rules for anonymity proved harder than he’d imagined. There was little he could discuss that wouldn’t provide identity clues. And unlike the others cavorting around the table, he wasn’t in any mood to pretend he was someone other than who he was.

But as he looked at Tasha, an idea popped into his mind. If they spent time together without sharing their full identities—if she didn’t know who he was and it turned out that she liked him—he’d know that she liked him for himself. Not as an heir to the Tavonesi fortune or for his family’s aristocratic roots, but just for himself.

Beside him, Tasha quietly ate her meal, observing the others as they chattered and laughed.

He picked at his food. Although delicious, the roasted salmon and saffron-laced rice held little appeal. He glanced at Tasha, who listened patiently to a man in a polar bear costume who had obviously had too much to drink.

His idea took hold. And then it took off.

They could go on a series of anonymous dates. They could share their dreams and preferences, get to know each other but without the trappings of circumstance.

But he needed a way to make her comfortable enough in the next couple of hours that she might give him her phone number and agree to a first date.

One of the couples left the table and headed to the dance floor. Women loved to dance; he had that on good authority from his sisters. Amber had once told him that if men realized what seductive power dancing held for women, they would be flooding dance instructors with requests for lessons.

When Tasha finished her meal, he stood and held out his hand.

“A dance, my lady?”

She didn’t take his hand, just stared at it as though she had to weigh the pros and cons of dancing with him. Not a promising start.

“As I said, if I step on your toes, you can flee the dance floor.”

“One misstep and I’m gone,” she said. From her tone he surmised that perhaps she meant more than him stepping on her toes.

But then she smiled and allowed him to close his fingers around hers. He guided her into the colorful throng of already dancing couples. The DJ played a medium tempo swing song, and he tilted his head at Tasha. “Swing?”

“I don’t know this music. Or how to dance to it.”