Читать книгу Mail-Order Prince In Her Bed - Kathryn Jensen - Страница 9
Two
ОглавлениеMaria was delighted by the profusion of amazing hand-made pottery from Sicily, Taormina and Grottaglie. The brilliant colors evoked Mediterranean sunshine and made her feel cheerful just by looking at them.
Antonio bought a pretty glazed bowl and a small figurine of an ebony horse, and had them wrapped—for safe travel, he told the clerk. It seemed odd that he was purchasing items that had originated in his own country, but maybe he was too busy with his olive groves to go shopping very often at home.
He offered to buy Maria a pretty vase she had admired, but she politely refused after flipping over the price tag. “I’ll save up for it and come back someday.” But she knew she never would. Everything in the shop was gorgeous but way out of her budget’s league.
At last they drove back across the city as the sun set, and Maria felt as if she were melting into the limousine’s seats. She hadn’t felt so relaxed, so pleased with a day in as long as she could remember. If humiliating her had been her friends’ goal, their plan had failed miserably. This day and Antonio had been wonderful gifts.
The car pulled up in front of her apartment building. Maria sat up straight and was about to turn toward the passenger door beside her when Antonio’s hand closed around the back of her neck and easily guided her back toward him.
“Sei bellissima,” he murmured, then kissed her expertly, softly on the lips.
It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to draw a breath or protest. When he pulled back a few inches to observe her reaction, she was speechless.
“You still don’t believe me,” he said. “I can see it in your face.”
She shrugged, but the words came out in a froggy little whisper. “I believe you’re Antonio Boniface from Italy. It’s the prince part that’s still a little hard to swallow.”
“A pity you’re such a cautious woman.” He tapped one finger on her chin, her cheek, then the sensitive lobe of one ear.
“What’s wrong with being cautious?” she asked, mesmerized by his voice as much as by his touch.
“You will miss out on a lot of life’s pleasures.”
She laughed nervously, her heart thudding in her chest. “I don’t suppose we’re talking about chocolate cake or a good movie?”
“No.” He gave her an amused smile.
“Listen,” she said over a sudden dry spot in her throat, “I think I know what you’re getting at. I’m just not in the habit of sleeping around.”
“I know that.” His finger continued its path, tracing her lips, trailing down her throat.
She gulped. “You do?”
He nodded slowly. “You’re easy to read, Maria McPherson. You were an obedient child, and now you’re a careful woman. You don’t entice men, intentionally that is. In fact—”
He studied her face thoughtfully, then ran an experimental hand around behind her neck and brought his fingers up through the strands of her hair at her nape. The sensation was electric. She shivered deliciously.
“In fact, I wonder if you’ve not been too careful.”
“In, ah…in what way?” she asked breathlessly.
“In the way of totally avoiding satisfaction. By running from the joy of sharing yourself with a man.”
He was asking if she was a virgin. “This is getting way…way too personal,” she stammered.
He smiled apologetically but didn’t remove his hand. It felt pleasantly rough, not what she’d expected of gentry, if he was that. His fingers tangled playfully in her blond waves.
“Only an observation. I’m fascinated by your decision. If you elect to wait for your life mate, that is an honorable choice—one which any man should respect. I only wonder that a lovely woman like you shouldn’t be more eager to experiment a little.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t curious,” Maria blurted out, then realized she had made a tactical error in this matching of wits.
She suddenly wondered where the driver had gone. He was no longer in the front seat, but he didn’t seem to be waiting outside her door either.
“I mean, of course, anyone is curious about something they’ve never tried, something everyone talks about and requires at least one scene in every movie you see. That would be natural.”
“Of course,” he said. “Natural.” There, again, was that enigma of a smile. He didn’t insist upon an explanation, but she felt compelled to give one.
“Listen, my not wanting to have sex with you, a stranger, if that’s what you’re hinting at, has nothing to do with how attractive you are. Believe me, if I were to choose a man on looks alone, he’d be someone like you. On top of that, you have great manners and that super accent, and you’re fun to be around.”
“But you wouldn’t sleep with me?” He was teasing her, yet he was also serious. She could see mixed motives in the dark glitter of his oh-so-blue eyes.
“No!” she gasped. “I don’t even know you, Antonio. For goodness’ sakes, you could be married!”
“I’ve been honest, I told you my name and where I’m from. Now I add that I’m not married. Dio! I can see you still don’t fully believe me.” He sounded honestly frustrated. “How can we get to know each other? You tell me.”
She let out a long, weary breath. After all, she didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings. “Listen, come upstairs for a cup of coffee. I think I have a pound cake in the freezer. But this is just a way for us to talk, okay? I’m not luring you up to my apartment to have my way with you.”
“Certainly not,” he said, agreeably.
“Or to let you have your way with me,” she added, just to make things perfectly clear.
But she feared all her warnings were doing no good. The dangerous twinkle in his eyes worried her. On the other hand, she’d already decided he wasn’t a threat. And even if he were, the walls of her apartment were onion-skin thin. One scream would bring three sets of neighbors running to her aid with the police soon to follow. Neighbors looked after each other in Bethesda.
She opened the door that led straight into her living room and turned, by habit, to lock the door behind them. Almost at once, she felt Antonio move up close behind her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, warm, inviting her to turn to face him.
If she didn’t take evasive action, he’d kiss her again. She stepped to one side, ducked, maneuvered around him and aimed for her kitchen.
He didn’t follow her, as she feared he might. Instead, he strolled around her little apartment checking out her knickknacks—her collection of seashells, her dainty demitasse cups and saucers displayed on their own cherry wood wall rack—while she made coffee and nuked a Sara Lee.
Finally, they sat on her couch and sipped and nibbled in electric silence. She thought she could hear her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. Her palms were moist and hot.
It was she, despite all common sense, who returned to their earlier conversation. “It’s just that I believe sex to be only one factor in a complex relationship that develops, over time, into marriage. My mother had me when she was very young. She never went to college because of me. Her whole life was different than it might have been because I came along, because my father disappeared when she told him she was pregnant.”
“And she supported both herself and you on her own?” he asked.
“Yes. It must have been terribly hard for her. I just don’t want it to be like that for me, raising a child alone. I want a husband first, then children. Everything in its proper order, you see?”
He took a bite of cake then nodded thoughtfully. “I understand.”
“But, you’re right, a person can’t help being curious. I mean, at work every day, people tell jokes then look at me to see if I get them. They know, I guess, that I’m sort of…inexperienced, and it amuses them.”
“You’re charming,” Antonio murmured, a smile lifting the corners of his lips.
“And you have a one-track mind.” She rolled her eyes then laughed at his hurt expression.
He put his plate on the coffee table and leaned toward her, his wide hands braced on his knees. “I’m not as obsessed with sex as you imagine. I just haven’t had much time or desire to be with a pretty woman, not for several years now.”
She pinched off a morsel of cake to plop into her mouth. He certainly was an unusual man. Not at all easy to figure out. No woman in years?
“Are you telling me you’re no longer just trying to make up for what your former employee did? The time you’re spending with me now is personal?”
“It always was.” Before she could figure out what that was supposed to mean, he looked away from her so that she couldn’t read his expression. “Tell me, what will happen when you return to work?”
Maria grimaced. “Oh, they’ll bombard me with questions. They’ll demand to know everywhere we went and everything we did.”
“And you will say?”
“I’ll tell them about the restaurant and the lovely meal, about the clothes and seeing the beautiful ceramics.”
“But they will pester you for more, for they’ll want to hear what occurred later.”
“Yes, I suppose they will.” The thought made her uncomfortable even now. “But I’ll tell them nothing happened.”
He nodded. “Si. And they will laugh. Again.”
“I suppose.”
She stared down at her half-eaten cake, then impatiently shoved the plate off her lap and onto the table in front of her. A daring thought struck her.
“I could make up something. What do you think? Maybe if I told them racy tidbits about you and me in bed, then they’d leave me alone. They’d see that their plan to embarrass me had backfired.”
“How good are you at lying?” he asked.
She pursed her lips and considered. “Not very.”
“So you have a problem.” He stood up and walked to the only window in the room.
It overlooked the side of another red-brick building. He stared through the glass pane as if at a breathtaking vista. She knew his mind must be elsewhere, and she couldn’t blame him. They were of two vastly different worlds. He was probably bored to tears with her.
“Call your office and leave a message that you won’t be in tomorrow,” he said abruptly.
She laughed. “Why would I do that?”
He turned to face her, his eyes bright with fun, devious with mystery. “Because you’re having an affair.”
“What?”
“Because you can’t bear to leave the arms of the man who has made passionate love to you all afternoon.”
She choked over her response. “You’re insane!”
Rushing to her he pulled her off the couch. “Do you want to return to them as the meek, cowed Maria? The helpless target of their humor?”
“Well, no, but I’ll have to go back sooner or later. It is my job, after all. They’ll only need to look at me to know that nothing happened.”
“Exactly,” he agreed.
Maria thoughtfully chewed the tip of one fingernail, but it didn’t help. “If there were some way to learn what it is like…you know, to learn without actually doing it.”
“Well, there are certain films. But these aren’t the sort of things a woman of your caliber should be exposed to.”
“I’m not even sure I’d want to watch other people…you know.” She felt a wave of heat rise up her throat. “Well, I’m not going to give myself to any man unless we’re married,” she repeated, “so that’s that.”
“Not entirely.”
She squinted up at Antonio warily. Donny Apericcio came fleetingly to mind. “If this is a trick to get me into bed—”
“No trick, just a suggestion.”
She just glared at him.
He seemed oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm. “I assume you haven’t reached the age of twenty-two without being kissed?”
“I’m twenty-five, thank you. And yes, of course I’ve been kissed…and I’ve kissed back plenty of times,” she defended herself.
“Good. Have you touched a man and let him touch you?”
“You mean, petted?” She knew she was blushing furiously now. “Sure. A little. It was okay.”
“If it was just okay, you haven’t really been touched,” he said, his voice lowering to a husky mellowness.
If he’d been standing closer to her, she would have evaporated. Even at the distance of half a room away, a pleasant warmth rippled through her. She winced, willing her body to behave itself. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, exactly.”
“I’m offering to demonstrate to you how it is—between a man and a woman—without risking your virginity. I could teach you, cara.”
She swallowed, her eyes widening despite her attempt to remain composed. She suddenly felt as limp as an over-cooked noodle. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Even talking like this isn’t a good idea.”
She started to cross the room toward the door, having decided to ask him to leave. But Antonio moved quickly in front of her. She came to an abrupt and graceless halt within inches of his broad chest. He was so near she could feel the heat of his body through their clothing.
“I wouldn’t hurt you. I would stop immediately if anything I said or did offended you,” he promised.
She frowned. Why was this sounding like a win-win situation? Why was she even considering such an outlandish proposal?
Because, she answered her own questions, she liked him. And she really was curious. Had been for as long as she could remember.
She wanted to know what her husband would look like and do on the first night of their honeymoon. Wanted to be ready to respond to him appropriately, to please him.
At first, she had told herself that was one of the exciting things about getting married—not knowing, looking forward to the unpredictable, the new. But as time passed and she met no one who even remotely interested her in a serious, marriagelike way, she began to wonder if she was holding out for the wrong reasons. Was it only because she was afraid?
She looked at Antonio. He was watching her closely.
“Maybe if we’d known each other for a long time. Then this experiment of yours might be something to at least consider. There would be an automatic sense of trust.”
“Call your office,” he whispered. “Tell them you won’t be in tomorrow.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Couldn’t seem to draw another breath while she was caught up in the intensity of his gaze.
This is crazy, she told herself. This is impulsive and dangerous and…and, dammit, exciting!
Yes, she had to admit, she was intrigued by his proposition. And although she knew it sounded a bit crazy, she was reassured by the man who proposed it. There was something very agreeable about Antonio. He was serious, quiet, obviously well-educated and intelligent. And he was generous with his time and money. In short, he felt safe.
But aside from all that, she’d never met a man as physically appealing or as aware of his power over women. She’d seen the looks he’d gotten from women in the restaurant and shops they’d visited. She wasn’t the only one attracted to him. He knew it. But he hadn’t shown it.
She’d bet if anyone knew about making love, Antonio would.
“I’ll call in!” The words burst impulsively from her lips, but she reined in her runaway hormones almost immediately. “We can spend tomorrow together. Doing fun stuff like today. But the rest of it…that demonstrating part…” She shook her head.
He nodded, his expression composed, revealing nothing of his thoughts. “As you wish. Tomorrow we will visit a few museums, have lunch, talk about life.” He gave her an encouraging smile.
“It sounds very nice,” she admitted releasing a breath she’d held so long she’d begun to feel lightheaded. “No more sex talk, right?”
“Not a word,” he agreed, solemnly.
She studied his expression a moment longer. She believed him.
So why did her body tingle as if his palms—as strong and weathered as the bark of his olive trees—were moving over the surface of her flesh? Why did she sense that they’d already entered a silent pact, whose terms she couldn’t yet read?
Antonio stood before the painting he had most looked forward to seeing that day. It was in a collection temporarily loaned to the National Gallery of Art—Portraits of Italian Renaissance Women. When he’d first seen Maria, this was the painting that had made him wonder if he’d met her before.
Now Maria stood beside him gazing up at the proud woman’s delicate features, and he was entranced by her reactions. She frowned, concentrating. Her arms were folded across her body, hugging herself.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She tilted her head slowly, side to side. “I don’t know. This one seems so real, so modern in a way. But I can’t put my finger on why. Is it because da Vinci’s style bridges the centuries?”
The picture was labeled, Portrait of Genevra de Benci, signed by the master. Antonio had viewed it many times in his own country. His mother had first pointed it out to him, as she and the model shared the same first name. There the resemblance ended.
The portrait was exquisite, not only because of the famous painter’s talent but because of the simple, natural beauty of the woman who sat for him.
“Perhaps,” he said, “it’s a combination of his artistry and the woman’s beauty. Tell me what you see when you look at it.”
Maria gave him a puzzled look but didn’t object to the exercise. He moved closer to her, as if to better hear her lowered voice in the museum’s hushed exhibit room. He liked the way she smelled of soap and baby powder. Simple yet erotic fragrances. He focused on the smooth curve of her throat, so similar to that of the portrait before them.
“Well,” she murmured, “her hair is shining and pale, elaborate braids woven with those strands of baby pearls and satin ribbons. And she wears a choker of gold chains clasped with a cameo at her throat. The blond hair—” She squinted thoughtfully at the graceful coils lifted above the subject’s head. “She must have been considered a rare beauty back then.”
“Yes, Italians are drawn to light complexions, to pale-haired women and children. Back then, before chemical hair dyes, they were probably rare for my part of the world.”
“Her dress is beautiful. A kind of rich brocade, with lace panels.”
“Another sign of her wealth,” he agreed.
“There’s something else.” Her frown deepened, intensified.
“Do you not yet see it?” he asked, moving still closer until his lips nearly brushed the rim of her ear.
Maria’s eyes slowly cleared then widened. “You’re not thinking that there’s a resemblance between her and me!”
“Most definitely, there is,” he said, pleased that she’d finally seen the similarity, although she denied it. He gently lifted heavy strands of hair from her neck and held them in a soft coil above her head. “Look at me, cara.”
She turned self-consciously. “Antonio,” she whispered, “people are watching us.”
“It’s of no matter.” He smiled. “I’m just looking at another Renaissance woman. The room is full of them.”
She laughed, embarrassed, and brushed his hands away. “I’ve been having so much fun today, I forgot that flattering a woman comes easily to you.”
She was wrong.
How long had it been since he’d bothered to even look at a woman with any interest? Not since Anna died had he allowed himself such pleasure. But Maria was more than physically attractive. He had felt very close to her since first seeing her. Only later had he realized why.
The painting.
The de Benci family was linked with his own through marriage. Genevra had wed a distant relation of his southern Italian ancestors. She, so the story went, came from the north, from a family of less wealth than the de Bencis. But her husband loved her deeply and had given her pearls, jewels, and expensive silks for her gowns. She had returned his affection by wearing his gifts every day—around her throat, in her blond tresses, on her fingers and curling round her tiny wrists.
Antonio imagined strings of tiny pearls woven through Maria’s pale hair. He closed his eyes and was nearly overcome by a wave of desire. He snapped his eyes open immediately.
Why now? Why two long years after losing Anna was he allowing a stranger from another country to affect him this way? This was not a woman to have an affair with. This was not a woman to soothe his tormented soul. She was looking for a husband, and he would never marry again.
A cold hand closed around his heart. He set his jaw and moved away from Maria. After a moment, she followed him to stand before a bust of a patrician lady. She was silent, as if thinking thoughts as deep as his.
Neither spoke again while in the museum.
They drove next to the private Corcoran Gallery. Antonio silently led her through rooms displaying rare Greek and Roman antiquities.
She spotted several examples of brilliantly glazed Italian majolica of a more recent era. “They’re gorgeous!” She traced a bunch of rich purple ceramic grapes with one fingertip. “You only have to look at these to be happy,” she bubbled.
He stared at her, amazed. It took so little to make the woman happy? But yes, he could see it in her soft gray eyes—pure gladness, simple joy over an exquisite bowl. He wished life could be that easy for him.
For several minutes he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. The atrium into which he’d stepped went dark around him. He stood gazing out at the gardens without seeing them. The sadness was suddenly overwhelming.
After some time, he became aware of Maria standing beside him. He hadn’t heard her approach.
“Are you all right? Did I say something to upset you?” she asked cautiously.
He couldn’t speak for a moment. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry if I’ve spoiled your day.”
She laughed. “You haven’t spoiled my day at all. Listen, I haven’t had this much fun in as long as I can remember. Ever maybe. You’re great company, Antonio. I just wish I took the time to museum crawl more often. I should. It’s not as if it costs much.”
“I should too,” he said, testing his voice, relieved to find it didn’t break. “I should live again.”
“What?” She frowned at him.
“Never mind, cara. Let’s have lunch. I know just the place. You will love it.”
He took her to Coeur de Lion, a popular city restaurant he hoped to make one of his first American clients. His plan was to introduce Boniface Olive Oils to the U.S. market through fine restaurants.
The Coeur de Lion’s vaulted ceiling with its sunshine-filled skylight brightened his mood. Besides, he was determined to not rain on Maria’s day, a continuation of her birthday celebration.
They sat on tufted chairs at a table apart from the others, covered with a heavy white damask cloth. He told her stories of Apulia, his ancient homeland in Italy, and she listened intently.
Tomorrow, he thought, I will be gone. He’d rescheduled his flight again, but would delay his return no longer than that. Now that Marco had been dealt with, he needed to return to the groves. Although it was still barely spring in Washington, already there was important work to be done in Carovigno.
By the time they left the restaurant and had driven back to her apartment, it was nearly three in the afternoon.
“I shouldn’t have had so much wine.” Maria giggled as she fumbled her key into the lock. “I’m going to be sleepy before dinnertime, though I don’t think I could eat another bite all day. Oh, that was delicious!”
He smiled, took the key from her and let her into her apartment. She spun around twice before flopping like a little child on her couch and laughing to herself—a final comment on the fun of the day before letting her eyes drift drowsily closed.
“You’re leaving now, aren’t you?” she asked without opening them.
“Yes,” he said, with honest regret, “I should.”
She nodded. “Probably best.”
“Probably?” He frowned. Was she sending him a different message now? “I thought you didn’t want my company other than as a touring companion.”
“Didn’t…don’t…not sure anymore.” She sighed and opened her eyes with obvious effort to nibble at a corner of one fingernail, her brow delicately furrowed. “Must be the wine talking. It’s just that I was thinking last night, after you left— No, I can’t say that.”
“Say what?” he asked, smiling indulgently at her confusion.
Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. But the concept…the theory of being coached, so to speak… Well, it appeals to me.”
He laughed softly but felt a nearly forgotten masculine tug down low in his body. “Does it now? But you said you’d have to know me better to trust me.”
“Yes, I did.” She seemed to be having trouble remembering her earlier statements through the wine. “I definitely said that. And it’s true, you need to trust a person to be intimate with them. Don’t you?”
“It’s wise,” he agreed, walking closer to her and dropping her keys on the coffee table in front of her. “Especially for a woman.”
“Yes, and espe—” She had trouble getting that word untangled from her tongue. “—es-pe-cially when that other person has had a lot more experience than you. Experience in activities that might cause him to be exposed to dangerous viral things and such.”
“You needn’t worry about that with me,” he assured her.
“Why not?”
He loved the way she scowled at him, her lips pouting, her brow wrinkling, a shadow of the little girl…inside the body of a woman. He ached to kiss her, but wouldn’t take advantage of her. The wine’s effect hadn’t yet begun to wane.
“Because I have been very careful,” he stated. Because, he could have added, there has been no one to share my bed in two full years. And for the five years before Anna died, he’d been only with her. “Let’s just say, I’m safe. But if the situation arose, I’d still use protection to ease your concern.”
“Of course you would.” She pulled a tasseled pillow toward her and hugged it so hard he wondered if the seams might pop. She squinted up at him speculatively. “If the situation arose,” she echoed him. “But your teaching…well, it wouldn’t include that arising stuff, right?”
He laughed delightedly and shook his finger at her. “Signorina, something definitely would rise, but we wouldn’t go all the way, as you say in this country.”
Her brow smoothed. “That’s right. We wouldn’t. So there would be no need at all to worry. Would there?”
“None.”
“All right,” she said, looking suddenly wide-awake and sober as she pushed the pillow away. “Let’s go for it.” She smiled up at him.
He was shocked. “Aspetta un momento! I thought you didn’t want to…that you were saving yourself for—”
“I am. Of course I am. I just want you to show me what I need to know. Everything except the end part.” She looked up at him solemnly.
He roared with laughter. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve had too much wine, Maria. Tomorrow you’ll regret asking this of me.”
“I will?” She pouted again, and he nearly dragged her into his arms then and there.
“Yes,” he said softly. He took her hand, sat on the couch beside her and drew her close. “We will sit quietly together, let the wine wear off. If you feel the same way after another hour, we’ll do whatever you decide.”
She looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. “All right.”
Maria wasn’t aware of the moment when her eyelids floated shut, or when she first awoke. The subtle lingering scent of a man’s aftershave came to her, then the sense that the surface beneath her was shifting.
Her eyes flashed open. “Antonio!”
“Yes?” a deep voice answered from above her.
She rolled over to discover that she’d been lying with her cheek pressed into his lap. She sat up abruptly, causing him to lift his arm, which had been draped protectively over her.
“You’re still here. What time is it?”
“Nearly five-thirty,” he said.
“I slept for over two hours?”
“Si. I took a little nap too. Sitting up.”
She had slept with a stranger in the room…with a stranger under her. Unexpectedly, the intimacy warmed rather than frightened her.
“Thank you for staying,” she whispered.
“I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye,” he assured her.
“Then you are leaving?”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He tenderly touched the tip of her nose, just once, with his long finger. “Do you remember what you asked of me before you fell asleep?”
She did. Vividly.
And, strangely enough, the only thing that had changed was her confidence that she could handle the lessons she’d requested of him.
“I remember,” she said, watching his expression. “I’d still like you to show me. I’m just not sure how.”
He observed her for a long time before answering. “It’s up to the man to know how. It’s up to you, the woman, only to say yes or no.”
A rush of heat swept through her body. When she tried to speak, the words dried up before crossing her lips. At last she managed the only ones that seemed important. “Then I say…yes.”
He nodded solemnly, no longer questioning her. Gently, he lifted her out of his lap. He stood up. “Then we must do this right.”
She watched from the couch as he put on his coat and moved toward the door. A wave of panic and disappointment swept over her. “Where are you going?”
“Shopping,” he said, scooping up her keys. “I’ll be back in an hour. While I am gone—” He returned to drop a kiss on her upturned forehead. “—you will take one of your long, hot baths. But you will not read a book.”
“I won’t?”
“No. You will think of me.” Looking deeply into her eyes, he kissed her again quickly on the lips. “Imagine my body and your body. Think about kisses that last so long you become faint with lack of oxygen.”
Then he was gone.
Maria stared at the door—her throat parched, hands trembling, heart racing.
Good grief. What had she done?
