The Conti Place: Where Enemies Become Lovers, page 12
Elena nodded seriously. “You can’t know who you are until you know where you’ve been,” she said. “Our history is important. We must always tell the truth about it.”
She stood then and started gathering the tea things back onto the tray. Jane stood and began to help her, setting the delicate cups carefully alongside the cream and honey. Francesco took the tray to the counter before Elena could protest. The older woman swayed slightly on her feet, and Jane stepped forward to take her arm.
“We kept you too long,” Jane said, feeling guilty. No matter how much she had needed to know what Elena had told her, the fact remained that Elena was a sick woman and they had pressed her too hard.
Humor lit Elena’s eyes. “I’m not so broken and decrepit yet that I can’t tell a story,” she said dryly. “Even if I do have to take a break in the middle of it. No, dear, I am just fine, but I would thank you to maybe give me an arm on the way to the couch.”
“Of course,” Jane murmured. She left Francesco to finish clearing the tea things while she escorted Elena from the kitchen to the small, comfortable living room. Though they only walked a few steps, Jane could see the older woman’s energy flag by the time she sank down on the couch cushions. She curled onto her side and lay down, like a child ready for naptime. Jane found a small pillow to tuck under her head and drew a throw blanket over the top of her. By the time she backed quietly out of the room, Elena’s eyes had fluttered closed and her shoulders rose and fell evenly as she slipped into sleep.
Francesco found Jane in the hallway, looking in the door as Elena slept. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. She leaned back, resting her head on his chest.
“I hardly know what to think,” she said after a moment, breaking the comfortable quiet between them. “It was a pretty amazing story.”
She heard the laughter rumble in his chest beneath her ear. “Amazing is a good word for it,” he agreed. “I don’t know that we need to think about it one way or the other right now.”
“No?” she said, surprised. She craned her neck to look at him. “How can you think of anything else? Like right now. What are you thinking?”
He smiled, “I’m thinking it’s time to show you the rest of the house. I believe the wing where I live is the wing your father restored. I would like you to see it. Will you come with me?”
Confusion battled with excitement inside her, replaced slowly by a rising lust as his thumb traced circles on her hip. She leaned closer against him, “I would love to.”
Chapter Fourteen
They didn’t talk on the way back from Elena’s. They didn’t feel the need to. With their fingers linked across the center of the small car, each kept to their own thoughts. Francesco kept his eyes on the road, driving smoothly with one hand. Jane stared out her window at the passing scenery, reliving the story she had just heard.
It was incredible, wasn’t it? The idea that so much of who you were could be wrapped up in another person, just waiting for you to find them. She glanced discreetly at Francesco, his handsome face intent on his own ruminations. Was he for her like her mother was for her father? She shook her head. It was far too early to be thinking something like that.
Wasn’t it?
Francesco pulled into the long drive, and Jane felt a peace come over her. It was like coming home after a particularly trying day. The house stood, silent and proud, drowsy in the afternoon heat. He parked the car and they got out, heading for the porch. Before they reached it, though, Jane stopped.
“Can we walk through the gardens a bit first?” she asked, looking toward the cultivated oases in the long stretch of lawn.
Francesco smiled, “Of course, dolcezza.” He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. They strolled leisurely, coming upon the first floral island. It was shaped like a teardrop, with a small stone path leading to a wrought iron bench under an arbor lush with flowering vines. Everywhere was a profusion of flowers, every color imaginable rioting in tumbles and cascades of blooms.
“Francesco, this is beautiful,” she breathed, feasting her eyes on the glory of plant life. “There must be a hundred different varieties in this one bed alone.”
He laughed. “There are forty-six,” he said, pleased by her praise. “And I am happy you like it. It’s one of my favorites, too.”
“It looks like happiness,” she said. She looked up at him. “Maybe that’s silly.”
“No, there’s nothing silly about happiness,” Francesco said, his eyes on hers. She couldn’t read his expression. She saw amusement, and heat enough to make her breasts tingle, and maybe some lingering sadness, too. She stepped close and lifted her face to his, gently brushing his lips with her own.
His hands clamped down on her hips, drawing her against him. His mouth moved over hers, turning her gentle kiss into something hot and dark, with enough power to sweep them both away. Her fingers curled into his shirt as she opened her mouth to his questing tongue. She made a small sound of pleasure in her throat, giving herself over to his kiss.
He pulled back, breathing heavily. “Perhaps we should take this indoors, bella,” he said, his voice husky. “I did offer you a tour, no?”
Jane laughed unsteadily, still clutching his shoulders. “It’s probably better to do something like this away from where the guests might see us,” she agreed. “Bad for business.”
He smiled and kept her hand as they turned back toward the house. “There are no guests at present,” he said. “Remo and Pippa checked out this morning, and our next reservation isn’t until Saturday. There’s always the chance of a drop-in, of course.” He led her onto the porch and held the door open for her.
Jane passed into the cool, airy entry room, thankful for an escape from the sun’s rays. “I must be keeping you from important work,” she realized as she passed the large, ornate clock on the wall. “Aren’t you needed on the farm?”
He shook his head, “No, we’re coming into the season of the riposo. Everyone is home right now. I will go over later, to help with the evening chores.”
Jane felt the nerve endings in her skin spark and come alive. “So we’re here alone?” she asked, turning toward him. “No guests, no staff, no one here but you and me?”
His eyes darkened, but he came no closer, “No one here, dolcezza. Does that make you nervous?”
She shook her head, taking a deliberate step toward him. “Not nervous, no,” she said, her eyes on his in invitation. “More like - thankful.”
A smile quirked his mouth. “And what are you thankful for?” he asked, taking a step toward her too.
“For the chance to do this again,” she said softly, closing the distance between them. She slid her hands up his chest, linking her hands behind his neck and lifting slightly on her toes to press her lips to his. She allowed the heat to flood her and overflow, until she molded her body against his.
His arms wrapped around her, his hands dipping down to cup her ass and press her even closer to his hard length. He kissed her with dizzying passion, their tongues dueling.
“Take me,” she whispered, as his lips traced a burning line from her ear to the hollow of her throat where her pulse raced madly. “Your bed or mine, whichever is closer. Just, please, Francesco. I can’t wait any longer.”
He straightened, looking at her with eyes clouded by desire. “Come with me, dolcezza,” he murmured. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the hall. Instead of taking the stairs to her room, he opened a door she hadn’t been through and led her into the east wing. His wing.
She didn’t see much more than impressions, she was so focused on him. A large, airy central hall, decorated in dark wood and splashes of color, ran the length of the wing. They passed a bright kitchen with a round table to one side, a living room furnished with comfortable, overstuffed furniture, and what she could only describe as a library. Francesco bypassed them all, heading straight for the wide wooden staircase in the middle of the hall.
“It isn’t far,” he said, stroking his thumb over her hand. She shivered at even so light a touch. She felt like a walking bundle of raw nerves. Everything he did, even his very proximity, set fire to her blood.
She counted only four doors up here. Francesco led her to the farthest one, pushing it fully open with his shoulder. Jane caught a glimpse of wide space, black wrought iron, ash wood, and cool color. Then his arms were around her, his mouth covering hers, and she thought no more.
She let her hands roam at will, thrilling at the feel of his strong muscles under her hands. She slipped her fingers under his shirt to feel his skin against hers. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to touch him, to feel him under her hands, to absorb him into her own skin. Making an impatient sound in her throat, she tugged at his clothes, pushing his shirt up and pulling at his belt.
“Let me help you,” he murmured. He shed his clothes, dropping them heedlessly to the floor around their feet. He stood in the muted sunlight, his erection jutting proudly between them.
“Jesus Christ, you’re beautiful,” she whispered, running her hands over his broad expanse of chest and shoulder. His muscles rippled under smooth skin at her touch. She trailed her fingers down the flat plane of his stomach, his hip. He closed his eyes and groaned when she wrapped her hand around his shaft.
She stepped close, stroking him slowly. “Kiss me,” she said quietly, and he obliged. His mouth captured hers, moved over hers, his tongue delving into her mouth to taste her. She kissed him back, allowing all the pent up desire to spill over as she stroked her hand down his long, thick shaft, squeezing a little when she reached the base. He twitched, his fingers gripping her shoulders more tightly.
Jane smiled to herself. Who knew she was capable of making a man like Francesco tremble under her hands? A rush of power filled her, intoxicated her. Any remaining thought for the outside world fell away as she took a step back from him. He opened his eyes and watched her strip off her clothes, one piece at a time.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his eyes dark, intent. “You’ve gotten in my blood and I cannot shake you.”
“Is that supposed to thrill me or scare me?” she asked, stepping out of her panties and closer to him. The air moved silkily over her bare skin, and she shivered in anticipation.
“Both,” he said.
He reached for her, drawing her close, one hand cupping her breast as he claimed her mouth once more. He rolled her nipple between thumb and finger, making her gasp as heat flooded her. She wrapped her fingers around him again, stroking his shaft. She pressed her breasts against his chest and moved slowly, her sensitive nipples shooting sparks of desire through her as they rubbed against him. Slowly, she slid down his body, pausing to rub her breasts against his cock as she dropped to her knees.
Francesco groaned aloud when Jane slid her mouth over his thick head, taking in as much of him as she could manage. She stroked the base of him as she worked her mouth up and down his length, circling with her tongue. His hands fisted in her hair. Heat pooled between her thighs. God, the sounds he made inflamed her. That she caused them made her burn.
Francesco stepped back, breath ragged. In one smooth motion, he dropped to his knees and swept her into his arms, kissing her hungrily. He lowered her to the rug and lay opposite to her, with his face at her navel. He laid a burning trail of kisses from her belly button to her thighs. She trembled with heat, desire for his touch drowning all thought. He slid his hands around her ass, lifting one leg over his shoulder, and lowered his mouth to her.
She bucked beneath him, letting out a gasping scream of pleasure. He took his time on her, kneading her ass with strong hands while he licked her slit and sucked her clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive nub. He lay next to her so his cock was within her reach, and she stroked him, lifting up on one elbow to take him in her mouth.
Jane felt herself pushed closer and closer to the brink as Francesco feasted on her, dipping his tongue inside her before returning to long, slow licks and teasing sucks. She loved the feel of his hard length in her mouth, doing her own licking and sucking until he quivered under her touch. Heat built inside her, hotter and hotter. He wrapped an arm around her thigh and sank two fingers deep inside her, swirling his tongue around her clit at the same moment, and she was lost. His cock slipped from her mouth as she cried out, bucking beneath his mouth, her muscles clamped around his fingers in rhythmic spasms of pulsing light.
Francesco moved then, pulling Jane to her knees and pressing close behind her. “I want you, Jane,” he whispered in her ear. His hands cupped her breasts, toying with her nipples as quakes still rocked her. One hand trailed down her belly and dipped into the wet heat between her legs. He slid a finger inside her and she whimpered. “You are so hot, so wet for me. Do you want me inside you, dolcezza?”
His words made her shiver, even as his touch lit the fire anew. “Yes,” she said, widening her legs for him, thrusting her breast into his palm. “I want you inside me.”
“What do you want me to do to you?” he asked, his stroking fingers exploring her velvet folds.
Oh, God, what didn’t she want him to do to her? “Everything,” she said, her voice growing hoarse. Her head lolled against his shoulder as his fingers squeezed her breast, stroked her heat.
“Say it for me,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want. I want to hear it.”
She reached behind her, between them, and stroked his shaft with a trembling hand. “Francesco,” she murmured. “I want to feel you inside me. Fuck me, Francesco. Sink your hard cock inside me and fuck me until I’m screaming.”
He nipped her throat with his teeth, then licked the tiny wound. “As you wish,” he whispered in her ear. He leaned her forward and thrust himself deep inside her, setting off an instant orgasm.
Jane screamed in pleasure as he drove himself into her quaking core. His hands held her hips and he pounded himself inside her so hard her breasts bounced with each thrust. She pushed back against him, matching his rhythm.
“Yes,” she cried, throwing her head back as the heat built inside her yet again. She had never felt so free, so wild. “Oh, God, yes, Francesco! Harder, fuck me harder.”
He groaned and leaned forward, one hand catching her breast and squeezing as he pounded into her again and again. Fire licked up her spine, igniting her core and sending a scorching heat out through her fingertips. She screamed his name again and fell over the edge into oblivion.
Later, when she came to herself again, she found they were still on the floor, limbs entangled and her head cushioned on his chest. His heart galloped under her ear, and his chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. She lifted her head and looked at him. She couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face.
He caught sight of her grin. “What?” he asked, grinning back.
“That was the most mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had,” she answered. She stretched languidly against him. “We’re a pretty good team.”
He laughed. “Maybe next time we can make it to the bed,” he said, stroking a hand down her arm. “You deserve a bed, dolcezza.”
“I don’t know,” she said, laying her head against his chest once more. “The ground has been pretty good to us.”
Francesco rolled her to her back and kissed her deeply. “Imagine what we can do other places,” he said suggestively, and stood, heading for a tall armoire across the room. Jane sat up and pushed her hair out of her face.
“What are you doing?” she asked, watching him rummage in a drawer. With a sound of satisfaction, Francesco held up a folded piece of paper and brought it back to her.
“Just in case there were any lingering doubts,” he said dryly, handing it to her.
She unfolded it curiously, then laughed aloud when she saw what she held. It was his birth certificate.
“Very funny,” she said, handing it back to him. “But your aunt already convinced me. Do you think we would have done what we just did if I had any doubts?”
Francesco shrugged. “You strike me as a meticulous woman,” he said. He put the birth certificate away and held out a hand to her, pulling her to her feet. “But now that we have that out of the way, I want to show you something.”
They dressed in comfortable silence. Jane found her eyes returning to him again and again, and a constant smile curved her lips. Often, she met his eyes, too, as he was looking at her. Tiny bubbles rose and burst inside her, like champagne on the tongue. Had she ever been this happy before?
When they were decent again, he led her down the stairs and into the living room. A wide fireplace dominated one wall, with the furniture arranged around it. There was no television that she could see, no electronic equipment at all. Just a cozy fireside place to relax, and a small piano in one corner.
“I believe this is the place where the last confrontation happened,” Francesco said quietly. “It is the only room in the house that fits the description my aunt gave. Which means that this room was refinished by your father’s hands, many years ago.”
Jane looked at it with new eyes as Francesco began to point out the places he thought her father had redone. Careful patching on the plaster walls, so smooth now it was hard to see them. Elaborately detailed wainscoting, just slightly different from the other corners of the room. The stone facing of the fireplace, and the large mantel over it.
“I believe he also put in the wood floor,” he finished, gesturing to the glossy dark planks beneath cushy rugs. “The windows and doors were updated a few years ago, of course, so whatever he did there was taken out when the new ones were installed. Same for the roof. But the interior work was all him, I think. At least in this wing.”
“Is this where you grew up?” she asked, walking slowly around the room. She tried to see everything at once.
“No,” he said, his voice sad. “This wing was closed off when I was a child. I began to update it when I opened the bed and breakfast. Even then, though, my mother wouldn’t set foot in this wing, not even when I brought her to live with me after she got sick. She insisted on her old rooms in the west wing, never mind that it was open to guests and strangers now. I thought she was displaying an odd sentimental streak, but now I wonder if she just couldn’t bring herself to face what had happened here.”
