Loving Venus (Sally-Ann Jones Sexy Romance) (9 page)

     This was a woman who
’d been loved by a man, he was sure of it. And that man could only be Umberto Esposito. He’d seen how Annabella clung to his arm at the
Palio
, and how she was so looking forward to a romantic dinner with him.

      Feeling nauseous with jealousy, Alessandro crept away from the window and, once he was out of view of his second cousin, stood up to teeter down the hill, his senses alive with what he had seen, everything else blotted out.    

Annabella lay in the silky water, sipping her wine and watching the twinkling stars through the high window. She was more excited than she
’d ever been, now that she’d resolved to prove she could be a good manager of her great-grandfather’s beloved estate. In a few days, when she was more familiar with the way things were done around here, she’d go down to the cottage and ask Alessandro for the estate books. But they could wait. There were more urgent things to attend to. In the morning, Carlo from the village would come and together they’d tackle the weeds, the broken irrigation pipes, the tumble-down fences and walls.

     And Alessandro could put that in his pipe and smoke it!

Alessandro’s new year resolution that January had been to give up smoking – but since his second cousin had arrived at Casa dei Fiori he
’d done little else, he realized with a jolt. He knew he couldn’t expect to sleep tonight, having seen her looking so radiantly lovely and unselfconscious on the kitchen table, sipping wine and smiling rapturously. Even Claudia wasn’t at home to distract him, just a little, from what was becoming a ridiculous obsession.                                      

     Mentally, he cursed their great-grandfather. How could the old fellow had been so, so …What was the word? Downright annoying, that was it. For never in his whole life had Alessandro de Rocco been so angry and frustrated.

     He tossed and turned on top of the bed, not having bothered to get between the sheets for he knew there’d be no sweet dreams for him tonight. Only unwelcome memories of Miss Smith’s voluptuous body and even more unwelcome fantasies created, unwillingly, inside his own head. He knew she’d be only too happy to befriend him, to …. Damn their great-grandfather! Damn Annabella! Alessandro was far too proud a creature to allow himself to be used by that little upstart from the colonies. Let
Dottore
Umberto Esposito be worn out by her!

     Alessandro finally fell into a disturbed, fitful sleep just as dawn was breaking. But it was short-lived, disturbed by the roar of a car engine past the unsurfaced road close to the cottage. Because there had been no rain for more than a week, a gust of white, powdery dust blew in through the bedroom window, causing him to cough and splutter and wipe his eyes. He planted both feet on the floor in fury, wondering who could be visiting Casa dei Fiori at this hour. Peering out through the same window, he recognized none other than the doctor’s red Fiat.

     Alessandro had never suffered that most enervating of human emotions – jealousy – until his second cousin’s arrival in Tuscany. A beautiful, beloved baby, he’d been adored by his parents, great-grandfather and Tonia. As a school-boy, he’d been driven down to the village school by the old man every morning, sitting up beside him in the Bentley like a little prince. And that was exactly how the other children, and even the school’s two teachers, had treated him. He’d never been stung by a friend’s betrayal, never felt abandoned or alone. Even in the big high school in Siena, where he’d boarded, he was the most popular boy in his class. He was not only taller than most, he was effortlessly good-looking, confident, intelligent and brilliant at sports. And, because of having known love, he knew how to be lavish with it.

     His great-grandfather had been most proud of him not for the As and Bs he always received for his school-work, or for having been voted head boy in his final year. It was a simple comment on an academic report made by one of his teachers when he was fifteen, a time when, the old man knew, some youths are so eager to impress their peers they can be heartless.

     “Alessandro is a kind, compassionate and brave class-member,” the teacher had written.    

     The postman had delivered the report to Casa dei Fiori from the village post-office, having cycled up the steep hill on his rickety old bicycle. Tonia had, as she always did, given him cold milk and some of her delicious almond biscuits before allowing him to continue his rounds. She
’d taken the mail into the book-lined library where the old man was sitting at his desk, the dog at his feet. Alessandro was on holidays for a few weeks before returning to sit his final high school exams and was sprawled on an old leather sofa, thoroughly engrossed in a novel his great-grandfather had recommended.

     “
Grazie
, thankyou, Tonia,” the old man said, taking the pile of letters from the housekeeper. “More bills, I suppose?”

     “The postman says there is a report from Alessandro’s school among all the bills,” Tonia replied candidly. Nobody was ashamed of being interested in his or her neighbours’ business in this part of the world. She leant over the pile that her employer had put on his desk, riffled through the envelopes and drew out one from the rest. “Here it is,” she smiled triumphantly, peering interestedly over his shoulder as he opened it.

     The old man was used to Tonia’s slavish devotion to his great-grandson and didn’t turn her away. After all, when the boy’s parents had been killed, Tonia had been like a mother to him and she was entitled to enjoy his success at school.

     “More wonderful marks,” Alessandro senior said, smiling across his desk at the teenager opposite. “But here’s something interesting. Apparently, you are brave, as well as kind and compassionate. How so,
caro?”

    
Alessandro coloured under his deep tan and the old man’s curiousity was even further roused.

     “Well?” the elderly gentleman prompted.

     “I … er … I  helped someone, that’s all,” the youth replied, embarrassed.

     “Tonia and I would like to know exactly what happened,” the old man said. “Come on, boy, out with it.”

     “But it was nothing, really. I’d rather not…”

     “Alessandro,” his great-grandfather said firmly. “I am an old man and you are the most important and wonderful thing in my life. Give me the great pleasure of being able to boast about you to my friends in the village. Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

     The teenager mellowed. “All right,” he conceded with an amused shrug. “I will tell you, if I must.”

     “You must,” said Tonia, who had settled into a comfortable chair in anticipation of a story she, too, would enjoy repeating.

     “A group of boys were picking on another kid and I stopped them, that’s all,” he said quickly.

     “How many boys?” the old man wanted to know.

     “Five,” Alessandro muttered.

     “
Scusi
, excuse me, what did you say? I did not hear you,” the great-grandfather asked.

     “Five,” he repeated.

     “You fought off five other boys?” Tonia asked, incredulous. “You were not hurt?”

      Alessandro smiled and shook his head.

      “And how old were these boys?” the great-grandfather demanded.

      “About seventeen. And they were teasing a classmate because he had a lisp. I just couldn’t stand it,” Alessandro explained, becoming heated as he remembered the injustice of the situation. “They were taunting him and he was close to tears. I told them to stop but they laughed at me too. So I swung a few punches and that shut them up. Then one of the teachers came to see what all the fuss was about, because a big crowd of kids had gathered to watch the fight. The bigger boys had blood noses and ripped shirts and at first, the teacher thought I had started it and he was very angry with me. But the kid with the lisp put him straight. And I suppose that’s why I got that comment on my report.”

     Alessandro senior’s brown eyes were brilliant with tears when he heard the young man’s account. “You make an old man very, very glad,” he said. “Tonia, I think this calls for the best wine. We must drink to our boy becoming a man. Here, take the cellar keys and bring a
Valpolicella
.” 

     After this, the youth was a local hero and an adoring group of other teenagers, boys and girls, vied for the privilege of basking in his company when he was home for holidays. At school, too, he was a champion. His popularity grew even more when he went to university in Florence to learn about the history of the art of which he had always been passionate. He seemed to draw people to him and he was never without a beautiful girl at his side.

      Now, however, the tables were turning. Here was Umberto Esposito speeding towards the villa to see his breathtakingly lovely relation. Alessandro remembered how she’d leant close to the doctor during the
Palio
and how happy she’d seemed that the two of them were to enjoy a private picnic rather than take up Signora Ferri’s invitation to lunch in the
palazzo.

    
There was no chance of going back to sleep now, he realized furiously, having tossed and turned on his rumpled bed for several more minutes. He might as well get up and try to fill in his time somehow, although now that the estate belonged to the stupid creature who’d cost him victory on Fulmine, he didn’t know how he’d spend the rest of his life, let alone the next few hours. He could go into Siena, he supposed, and find Claudia, or stay with Mario and his family. But, somehow, he knew he couldn’t tear himself away from the estate … and his surprisingly beautiful, if despised, second cousin.

     Tossing on yesterday’s crumpled shirt and jeans, he went into the dirty little kitchen to find something to eat for breakfast. But all he could find were the soggy, overcooked remains of the mostly uneaten pasta he cooked the previous evening. He
’d forgotten the bread and cheese Annabella had  put in the basket the previous night. Not even seeing the basket on the floor and feeling weak with hunger, he swallowed his pride and resolved to go cap-in-hand up to Casa dei Fiori where he knew his second-cousin would enjoy meting out more food to him, rubbing in the fact that he was now the poor relation.  

      He stumbled up the narrow road to the house, still groggy from lack of sleep, and saw, under the fig tree, Annabella and Umberto sharing a cosy breakfast, deep in animated conversation.

     She saw him, smiled and waved. “Come and join us, Al,” she called.

     He gritted his teeth and forced a smile he didn
’t feel, aware he was behaving churlishly but unable to control himself. He approached them, aware that their happy talking stopped as he neared.

     “Hello, Alessandro,” Umberto said, standing and shaking his hand.

     “Come and sit with us, Al. I made pancakes and there’s plenty for us all. Here, I’ll pour you some orange juice.”

     Alessandro couldn
’t help comparing his own appearance to that of the doctor, who was, as always, impeccable, in a well-cut, light summer suit, perfectly-pressed white shirt and expensive Italian silk tie. He knew he looked unkempt and dishevelled and remembered he hadn’t brushed his hair, or even cleaned his teeth. Annabella, too, looked radiant, in her clean shorts and T-shirt, her newly-washed hair gleaming like burnished copper in the morning sunlight. He had to force himself to look elsewhere, she was so naturally lovely. No other woman he knew could look like she did in the most basic work-clothes and without a trace of make-up.

     Gratefully, Alessandro accepted the delicious food she piled on his plate, and began to eat, although his appetite was half what it usually was at this hour. At least the pretence of being hungry gave him a reason to focus on his plate and not have to make clever conversation or look at his cousin, whose beauty would have tempted an octogenarian monk.

     Then, just when he was becoming more used to the presence of Umberto, who was sitting so close to his second-cousin he would have been able to feel the warmth of her skin, another male voice sounded from the road below. All three turned to see Carlo striding up the hill, a knapsack on his back, his jeans rolled up to the knees, his chest bare.

     Alessandro’s heart sank. Was Casa dei Fiori to be overrun with young men now? Not that he minded other men – he enjoyed playing sport and cards with his friends – but seven o’clock on a weekday morning was a little early to be entertaining guests, wasn’t it?

     He watched Annabella as she poured coffee for Carlo and urged him to try a pancake, although he protested that he’d already eaten a big breakfast. She was such a flirt!, he thought, sure she wasn’t wearing a bra. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat, his desire for her urgent. He’d definitely have to have a cold shower.

    “Before you go out into the sunshine and work all day, I want to make sure your head is quite better,” Umberto was saying to her. “Will you come inside with me and let me check you over?”

     Why didn’t I study medicine, Alessandro asked himself furiously as his second cousin stood up and companionably linked her arm through the doctor’s, leaving him with Carlo, who was, he noticed, probably thinking exactly the same thing. The newcomer was also staring longingly at the retreating form of Annabella. What Alessandro would have given, at that moment, for just a few minutes alone with her!