Chapter 23
1578 Words
Chapter Twenty-Three
A couple of hours later, after I set my things in the wardrobe and bathroom, and take a long icy shower, here I am, sitting at a large, long and charming hewed kitchen table with Salvatore and his brothers, in their mother’s kitchen.
Paola Di Luca, a tiny woman dressed in black but with vivacious dark eyes that miss nothing, lives in a house a few yards away from the main house, with Anna.
The young woman is the same I met at the winery door on the first day, who I now know to be Anna Milo, and she’s eyeing me with the same distrust as she did when Salvatore introduced me earlier when we all gathered here. I just want to know why.
There is also an aunt, Zinnia Di Luca, sister of Salvatore’s father, who is visiting.
We agreed on him not revealing my true identity. I am but a French girl, Chloé de la Fleur—the less we lie, the better, non?—that he met in the manor and not the baroness that he had seduced.
Not that I minded the seduction.
“And you are from England?” his aunt asks, her fingers distractedly drumming a tune on the table.
“Non. I am from France, but I lived in England for a while.”
“You traveled all this way for our Salvatore?” Anna insists.
I hear Salvatore blow out a breath, but I put on a gracious smile. “Yes, I did. He told me of his plight to return to Italy and I vowed to follow him as soon as I could afford it.”
“You are most welcome, Chloé, to our home.” Paola states, slapping her hands on the table. “La nostra casa e la tu casa.”
I incline my head, the thought of being under the same roof as Salvatore and Enzo nearly causing me to lose my mind. I can’t wait until I have another moment alone with Salvatore so that I can show him again just how much I missed him and also—oh, the dread—I have to gather my courage to tell him about Enzo and I.
As much as I like Enzo, it’s not so much that I have to confront making a choice. I came here for Salvatore, and he is still the owner of my heart—at least the part that isn’t dedicated to Enzo. But, oh, how delicious it would be if I didn’t have to choose just one.
“Well, my guest must be tired,” Salvatore says, pushing away from the table.
I say my goodbyes and we cross the backyard to his house, just the two of us as his brothers remain in their mother’s house.
I follow him up the stairs and my heart is already hammering in my chest, my blood simmering just under the skin as we enter a bedroom facing the vineyard. His bedroom. While the view is breathtaking, I only wish to see one thing and one thing only.
Salvatore.
“I cannot believe you are here, Cara,” he says softly, closing the door behind him. “In the flesh and not in my dreams.”
I give him a saucy smile. “Were they at least naughty dreams?”
“Very naughty.” He chuckles as he pushes away from the door. “You have no idea what I wish to do with you.”
I shiver. I know exactly what I want him to do to me.
My body is electrified and I am pulled toward him like a puppet on a string.
There are sparks in the air. I know they will grow into a fire that will spiral out of control. It always does whenever I am with Salvatore.
I’ve imagined so many times being under his roof with him, but only now it’s heightened by his scent and closeness…and the closeness of Enzo, too.
Two lovers under one roof.
I must be mad. Mad. Completely mad.
But though this is Salvatore, my love, I can’t tell you how excited I am, knowing that Enzo might hear me making love to his brother. My pulse dances as Salvatore touches me, and I think of Enzo, wishing he was in his brother’s place.
Or…the two of them here. Together.
I could never have imagined s*x with Salvatore could get better, but it does.
We kiss, Salvatore’s hands roving under my blouse, unhooking my bra. As I begin to unbutton it, I hear voices outside, raised in anger.
Salvatore curses under his breath. “I must go. Sometimes I do not think they can manage without me. Wait for me.”
I blink and watch him open the door and disappear.
Sighing, I sit on the bed and I pull off my blouse. I pinch my n*****s, imagining Salvatore’s hands on me, and then I hear a groan.
When I look up, the younger brother, Angelo, is standing at the open door, staring at me.
Does he hate me?
It would fit well. And yet, it doesn’t.
Because his eyes do not show hate now. Oh, non, pas du tout. No, no way. It is something quite different.
He says something in Italian I don’t understand and pivots away.
Gasping, I pull on my blouse, and gripping it closed with a hand, I run after him. I find him lying on a couch, in a kind of lounge-hall, a family room, his legs crossed, with the remote control in hand, like he’s been there all that time, relaxing.
He gives me a stony look as I screech to a halt and shoot him a dark stare.
“Something wrong?” he asks, as if he has no idea.
“Are you a peeping Tom?” I demand. But I am not completely sure of my accusation. He could have seen me without any malice.
He is the quiet brother and I haven’t been able to have a conversation with him yet. He has been avoiding me like the plague.
I watch his eyes harden. I can see branches and brambles of wine vines growing between us, feel the thorns where they try to push me out.
“Are you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I frown at the ridiculous words that spout from my mouth and he raises a blond eyebrow at me. “You’d like me to leave. Is that it?”
He wants to dislike me. He wants to hate me. I recognize the cold, hollow feeling in my gut when he looks at me. And I brace myself because it wouldn’t be unfair.
“You want to know what I would like?” His gaze roams leisurely over my body, stopping on my breasts, which, without the bra, are quite visible from the thin silk fabric of my blouse, and back to look me in the eye. He palms his erection and in a strange, raw voice, he tells me, “I want to f**k you, Farfallina. That’s what I’d like. Hard.”
My eyes fall shut.
What are these feelings inside me? Relief? Disgust?
And…it feels almost like gratitude.
He wants to f**k, like every other guy. He’s not here to expose my identity, not here to force me back. He just wants to get his rocks off.
“That’s not up for discussion. I’m here for your brother. That’s it.”
His eyes narrow as if he doesn’t like being turned down. Perhaps because he’s used to making such crude requests and always being accepted. He is a magnificent male specimen. Blond, with wavy hair, and beautiful blue eyes, his muscular body must be coveted by all the women on the island.
It’s probably a weapon he uses—it’s clear he’s the one who is used to doing the fighting—but I also know how to wield my weapons. Besides, I can’t possibly accept another brother in the fray. It’s madness.
Or…is it?
But there is something more in this man I am not seeing…something I cannot quite pinpoint. It’s as if he wants to scare me off. But it has my parcel of guilt here, too. I have seen him m**********g and instead of leaving him alone, I stood there and watched. Plus, I am not being very welcoming to him, though I do want to.
But I have already Salvatore and Enzo on my plate and it’s more than I can deal with already.
Until I figure it—him, them, me, us—ugh, everyone plus one—out, I beat around the bush.
“I’m Salvatore’s…” Erm…what am I to Salvatore? “I’m here for Salvatore and Salvatore alone.”
“I don’t think so.”
His voice is soft and controlled, as if he is…non. Is he…scared? Is it possible that this handsome young man is frightened of me?
“You don’t?” I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. Does he know about Enzo? I lift my chin. “Well, whatever you think, you’re wrong.”
His eyes drift down to my breasts again and he licks his lips.
Maybe I should apologize for my appalling behavior at the ferry but before I can organize the words in my head, he cuts me off.
“Tonight, Farfallina, when you’re f*****g my brother…you’ll be thinking of me,” he whispers, his voice uncertain, raw and low, so in contrast with his words and stance. So, in contrast with everything he has shown me so far.
But I am too outraged—with him and with myself—to stay and say another word. Apology or not. So, I storm back to Salvatore’s bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
Oh, I hate to think about it; remember his words!
Because it didn’t take until the night. Right now, in bed with Salvatore as he takes me from behind, hammering his c**k in me…oh! I am such a naughty girl.
It turns out, Angelo is right, I am thinking of him as I scream out my climax.
Oh, mon Dieu, how will I ever live under this roof with three such beautiful, fuckable men?
- Writer
