Loving Venus (Sally-Ann Jones Sexy Romance) (17 page)

     “Are you all right?” he asked gruffly. “I don’t want to have to carry you as well as the petrol on the way back to the Bentley.”

     “Of course I’m all right,” she snapped. “But you won’t be if you don’t put on your shoes. For one thing, Tonia will kill you for ruining an expensive pair of silk socks. For another, I don’t want to have to carry you either, when you cut your foot on a rock.”

     He stopped in his tracks and looked at her full in the face before saying, “Let’s not snipe at each other like this. It’s childish and I don’t believe either of us is feeling in the least bit childish right now. If you’ll kindly wait for me, I’ll get my shoes and we will find a service station together. Then we will drive to Casa dei Fiori and I will pack my belongings and leave. I think it’s best we don’t see each other again. Not for a while anyway.”

     She gulped and bit her lower lip to prevent hot, angry, confused tears from spilling down her cheeks. Was it so dreadful last night?, she longed to scream at him, knowing only too well he would be lying if he denied how wonderful it had been.

     “Why must you go?” she asked in a small, bewildered voice.

     He stared at her. Was she stupid or merely insensitive? “How can you ask that?” he barked. “I’ve seen you and Umberto Esposito sharing tete a tete meals together at the villa – the villa that was until recently my home. I’ve seen you link your arm in his and smile up at him with your big green eyes fixed on his. And yet you are so duplicitious you fell into my arms at the slightest opportunity. I know now that you planned it all. Perhaps you even made sure the car had a half-empty tank so we would be stranded somewhere. You intended to seduce me so that the only honourable thing for me to do would be to leave my birthright and let you do what you will with it, unopposed. Well, you succeeded, Annabella. Congratulations. I hope you will be very happy.”

    “Al!” she sobbed, now not attempting to hide her distress. “It wasn’t like that at all! How can you believe such an awful thing of me? I’m not a schemer like Claudia Silvestro.”

     “No? Yet you managed to dash crazily in front of my horse during the
Palio
, when I was in the lead. You are destroying the de Rocco name, second cousin, and living up to your own convict roots.”

     “How dare you!” she flung at him. “How dare you speak like that to me! Do you know why my father’s grandfather was a convict? Because he stole bread to feed his starving children. Well, I’m proud to be descended from a man like that. I doubt you would care if your children were hungry. You are a heartless toad.”

     “Let’s stop trading insults, shall we, and get on with finding petrol?” he said evenly, although she could see that a nerve in his jaw was hammering insistently.

     Her anger evaporated as suddenly as it had flared and she nodded her agreement. It was impossible to be cross after a night such as they
’d shared, no matter what he might profess to think about it. Her whole being was satiated with glorious, sweet memories of him. Was it because of this that the morning seemed even more wonderful than usual – the sky a pearly, golden-pink, the olive grove on one side of the road a flashing silver that rippled in the light breeze, the forest on the other side a dark emerald green in which the amethyst of wild cyclamen shone. Were the birds really singing more tunefully than ever and was the sun warmer today than on any other day?

     Alessandro climbed back into the Bentley to retrieve the shoes that he had no recollection of flinging off. The mixed scents of leather and walnut in its luxurious interior had always reminded him of happy things – his great grandfather, joyous rides down to Fortezza Rosa with him, trips to Florence to see some of his favourite art shows or to enjoy the opera, holidays to Siena to spend time with Mario and his family. But now these perfumes were even more redolent of pleasure. A deep pleasure, the like of which he had never known and had never even suspected existed.

    His sigh shuddered through his whole body as he told himself brutally that it would have been better to have never known such joy than to realize he would never experience it again.

     He put on his shoes slowly, forcing himself to be calm and reasonable. Soon, he would leave Casa dei Fiori. The torment would be over, eventually, when he finally forgot her. But how many decades would it take? He had the sinking feeling that he would be an old, old man before the memories of last night began to fade.

     Finally, he emerged from the car into the sunshine.

     “Come on, then,” Annabella said, bossily. “Let’s go and get some petrol.”

     By unspoken agreement, they walked down the winding lane rather than up it in the opposite direction. But even the perfection of the morning could not brighten their spirits and they trudged in silence, neither noticing the beautiful vistas that spread themselves out before them like unfurling, freshly-painted canvases. After about an hour, they did begin to see that the farmhouses and cottages seemed to be becoming more numerous, and they realized they were approaching a small village, its church spire rising above the oak trees.

     “I need to eat first,” Alessandro growled, his tummy rumbling on cue.

     “Me too,” Annabella agreed.

     Both knew that their hunger was due to the previous night’s lovemaking, but neither wanted to acknowledge the fact. At the entrance to the village, there was a small roadhouse which advertised by means of a rusty, crooked sign, that it served coffee and
panini
, the delicious, crusty bread rolls which were eaten at any time of the day and filled with cured meats, cheeses and the salty tomatoes that tasted better in Tuscany than anywhere else.

    “Come on,” he said, striding ahead.

     The proprietor, an old, bent, balding man who was sweeping the steps leading into the roadhouse, greeted them in surprise and smiled broadly  when Alessandro explained in Italian that they had broken down the previous evening and had had to spend the night in the car. The man openly appraised Annabella, looking her up and down as a connoisseur might examine a sculpture, and, winking at Alessandro said, under his breath, “I should be so lucky!”

     “We need food and petrol,” Alessandro insisted, ignoring the man’s remark.

     “
Si, si,”
he muttered.
“Venite
, come, come.”

     Before long, they were seated at the one tiny formica table in the road house, a steaming pot of espresso between them and a plate piled high with rolls. A brimming jerry can was at Alessandro’s feet.
                

     “Now that we’ve ordered breakfast, I’m not all that hungry,” Annabella confessed. With her second cousin opposite her, she felt too brimful of emotions and sensations to be calm enough to eat.

     “We’ll have to at least try to eat some of this,” Alessandro urged. “It would be rude not to.”

    “You’re right,” Annabella agreed, chastened. “Besides, do you realize this is the first time we have sat down for a meal together since I arrived in Italy?”

     It was Alessandro’s turn to feel repentant. Whatever he felt about last night, he had to admit it was miraculous. That Annabella was miraculous. He had taken blissful pleasure in her body yet his cavalier attitude to her had ensured he hadn’t made her feel in the least welcome at Casa dei Fiori. Although, he remembered sourly, Annabella herself had turned down Signora Ferri’s invitation to eat with them after the
Palio
, preferring the company of the young doctor.

     His conflicting thoughts chased each other around and around in his mind and were interrupted by her voice asking, “Coffee?”

     He nodded and watched as she poured, taking advantage of her eyes being on the percolator to study her beautiful face. He knew he’d never grow tired of looking at it and that even in very old age it would still be lovely, thanks to the high, wide cheekbones, the proud chin, the huge eyes set wide apart over the lovable, girlish upturned nose.

     Feeling his eyes on her, she carefully set down the pot and, turning her gaze on him, smiled. Before he could remember all the reasons why he did not want his second cousin in Italy, let alone in Tuscany, he smiled back. Then, his guarded frown returned and they finished the meal in a frosty silence.

They hardly spoke on the walk back to the car nor even during the drive to Casa dei Fiori, which they reached at almost lunch time. As Annabella had expected, Tonia flew out to greet them on hearing the thrum of the Bentley’s big engine. But there was no look of relief on her face. Rather, she was wringing her apron in anguish.

     “It’s Eduardo!” she cried, dashing out to the car and shouting her news before Alessandro had had time to turn off the engine. “He won’t eat and says he wants to come home. They’re very worried about him.”

     Alessandro leapt out of the driver’s seat and ran towards her, putting his hands on her shoulders in an effort to calm her.

     “Tell me slowly what has happened,” he said resignedly.

     “Eduardo wants his great-grandfather. He can’t understand why he hasn’t been to see him for so long,” Tonia began. “So he says he w
on’t eat until the old man comes to fetch him. And he has let nothing pass his lips for three whole days!”

     “Tonia,” Annabella said, concerned for the person whose name was Eduardo although she had no idea who he was. She didn
’t know anybody else who could claim Alessandro senior as their great-grandfather. “Who is Eduardo?”

     Tonia looked, stricken, up at Alessandro, her eyebrows raised questioningly.

     “He is my brother,” Alessandro told his relation, his voice low, accepting.

     “Your brother?” Annabella was amazed. Nobody, not even her mother, had ever mentioned a brother.

     Alessandro nodded. “He was born with slight brain damage and he lived here until our parents were killed. Then, it was impossible to care for him as he needed to be cared for, with special exercises and therapy. Our great grandfather and Tonia tried very hard for two years, but he seemed to be going backwards. So the old man travelled to Florence to find a good home where he could live and receive the nursing he required. That was just before you and your parents came to Casa dei Fiori when you were a child. Do you remember the salamander? It was Eduardo’s, but he wasn’t allowed to keep it in the convent where he’s lived ever since, so I took it and looked after it until it died of old age.”

     “But why is his name never mentioned?” demanded Annabella, outraged. “He
’s still your brother, no matter how ill he is.”

     Alessandro nodded, crestfallen. “I know. But, with my parents dying and Eduardo having to leave as a result, there was so much sadness and, yes, I admit it, guilt, that it always seemed easier never to bring him up. Even our great-grandfather felt like that. Eduardo looks very like our mother and the old man could barely look at him when she was killed. Eduardo himself moped around like a whipped puppy, looking for her and calling her name every day. He could never understand that she was buried up on the hill, that she wouldn’t be there in the morning to help him with his hot chocolate.”

     His voice was harsh and Annabella could see the unshed tears that only pride and willpower preventing spilling down those tanned, lean cheeks.

    “I understand,” she whispered, moved. “But he can come back now. I can care for him.”

     “You don’t understand how ill he is,” Alessandro protested.

     “He
’ll be worse if he does not eat,” she countered. “Let’s go and get him and bring him back, even for a week. Please, Alessandro.”

     “I think Bella
’s right, Alessandro,” Tonia urged. “He’s your responsibility now, as the only male de Rocco.” She squared her shoulders determinedly as she added, “You must leave now.”

     This time it was Alessandro’s eyebrows which were raised – at the housekeeper’s audacity. But Tonia had always treated him like a child, he remembered, and loved him as if he were hers. He hadn
’t the heart to reprimand her, nor to disobey her. Eduardo was painfully thin the last time he visited him, just before Annabella’s arrival on the scene. It didn’t bear thinking about to imagine him with even less flesh on his big bones.

     “I
’ve been almost sick with worry, you two,” Tonia continued, wagging her finger at them both. “What happened last night? Why were you not here?”

     “We ran out of petrol,” Alessandro explained patiently. “As you can see, neither of us is hurt.”

     My heart feels as if it has been put through a shredder, though, Annabella thought wryly.

     “I’ll go to Florence as soon as I have had a shower and changed my clothes,” Alessandro said, turning towards the cottage.

     “You must take Bella!” Tonia called after him. “You won’t be able to manage your brother alone.”

     Alessandro turned in his tracks and glared at both women. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders, as if the housekeeper’s words had sunk in, and said reluctantly, “OK. I suppose you’re right.”

     Annabella beamed at Tonia as if she had presented her with a wonderful gift. “I’ll have a shower too,” she said. “Ten minutes?”

     “Ten minutes,” he repeated grudgingly, amazed that any woman could be ready for an excursion in anything less than an hour.