The Sicilian's Proposition (6 page)

“Okay, calm down, keep your hair on, darling…” He dug his hands in his pockets and jangled some spare change, something that continued to irritate her about him.

Joanne let out a breath, “Look, do me a favor. Just stay out of my way while we’re here. You do your job and I’ll do mine or else…”

Byrne took a step forward in a threatening manner, but she stood her ground. He sneered. “Or what, darling?”

“Or else I might be inclined to mention you have an interesting penchant for attractive flight attendants the next time I encounter Mrs. Byrne at one of our office parties.” Byrne flushed from the neck upwards. He appeared about to explode. “You need to calm down a bit; have you taken your blood pressure tablet today?” Joanne batted her eyelids at him.

“You wouldn’t dare do something like that…”

“Try me.” Byrne looked as if all the air had been sucked out of his body. She was in no mood to be messed around with.

The sound of a horn alerted them to the fact Dante’s car had drawn up just outside reception. They got in and travelled in silence for the twenty-minute ride until they arrived at the vineyard. It was a long ascent up a dusty track leading to row upon row of green heavy-laden vines.

There was no sign of Dante when they drew up outside. Instead there was a short, stocky man wearing white rolled up shirtsleeves and a stained apron. “Hello…good to meet you, Joanne,” he said, walking toward her and giving her the strongest hug she had experienced in her life. For one so short and quite elderly, he was a powerhouse of strength.

“Hello…but how do you know who I am?”

He laughed, lighting up his tanned and wrinkled face. “I am Dante’s papa. My name is Vito.”

She looked at him and smiled. Of course, this was the papa Dante had told her about, the poor man who had lost his dear wife a year or so ago. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “So pleased to meet you,” she said. “But where is Dante?”

“He’s still in a meeting but will be here soon. I am to show you around the vineyard.” Her heart slumped, but she fought not to show Vito her disappointment.

Jackson Byrne unloaded his camera equipment and came over to talk to Vito, totally ignoring her, which suited her fine.

“You’re going to need that hat,” Vito said, pointing to the large straw hat she held in her hand. “I am going to show you around and I understand photographs will be taken?”

Joanne nodded; it was nice of Vito to give up his time.

“Here, let me take you to see our vineyard,” he said, linking arms with her. Although she had never met him before, she felt very much at ease, as if she had known him all her life. He reminded her a little of her own father, someone she could trust. Vito chatted along the way, showing her various vines and telling her they grew five different grapes at the vineyard, while Byrne snapped photographs hither and thither.

Joanne turned as a tractor headed toward them driven by a young man. It passed a couple of yards in front of them and then pulled up to a standstill. Two children jumped off the back, a boy and a girl aged about eight years old.

“These are my grandchildren,” Vito said, his pride obvious. “They’re twins. Salvatore and Natalia.” They ran over to him and he ruffled their hair. “They are Angelina’s children. They like to help me sometimes.” He pointed to the red plastic crates of grapes loaded into the back of the trailer attached to the tractor. The young man dismounted and came over to stand beside them. “And this is their older brother, Ricardo.”

Ricardo smiled. He was very handsome and looked a little like a very young Dante. “
Buona sera,
Joanne.” He took her hand, and for a second it seemed like he was going to plant a kiss on it. He shook it instead. He looked around eighteen years of age and was no doubt already breaking some girl’s heart somewhere.

Vito said something in Italian to all three of his grandchildren; they waved and got back on the tractor, but not before Jackson had fired off some shots with his camera.

Joanne quirked a brow.

“I just told them they could go home for the day,” Vito explained. “They have been here for hours. I know they are coming here to keep an eye on me and not the other way around,” he joked.

That might well have been the case. The whole family was probably concerned about him since Mamma Maria had passed away. She was just about to pass on her condolences when she saw a cloud of dust thrown up in the distance as a car headed toward them. As it drew closer she recognized the driver wearing shades as Dante. He was here at last. He stopped the engine and her heart skipped a beat as if a magnetic attraction drew her toward him. She hated herself for feeling this way when she should be concentrating on work, but the pull was too great. He got out of the car, closed the door, and headed toward them.

“I hope Papa has been telling you all about the vineyard?” He removed his sunglasses. He looked devilishly handsome in a short-sleeved navy cotton T-shirt and denim jeans.

“Yes, he has. It was so kind of him. Anyhow, weren’t you at a meeting?” She removed her sunglasses to look into his eyes. It was as if he could see into her soul. She fought to break eye contact for a moment. It was like standing nude in front of him when he gazed into her eyes like that. She replaced her glasses.

He nodded. “I have. It was quite an informal one. I should have liked to have got back a bit earlier, but you know what meetings are like, they sometimes run on a little.” He grinned. “Hop into the car and I’ll take you over to the winery.”

The photographer was about to follow after them, when Dante turned and said, “Oh it’s okay Mr. Byrne, you can carry on taking photographs here, and then my father will show you the old farm house.”

Byrne nodded, his lips set in a line. He was irritated. Probably because he wouldn’t get a chance to taste the wine and she would. As if Dante somehow sensed what was going on, he called back over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring a couple of bottles of wine back for you to take to the hotel.”

Byrne raised his hand as if accepting the kind gesture. For the time being it might appease him.

There was a chill in the air in the wine cellar. She placed her shades on her head, too dark to wear them in here. There was row upon row of oak wooden kegs. Every time they spoke, their voices echoed off the walls.

“Which is your oldest wine?”

“Those bottled ones there.” He pointed to one of the dusty shelves. “There are several from the years each of my brothers and sisters were born, including myself. They were good years.”

She smiled. Indeed, it must have been a good year Dante Alphonso was born. The man was an absolute inspiration with all he had achieved so far. “So, have there been any bad years?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately yes. There were a few years that almost wiped out some of the crops; there was a virus that attacked the vines. Papa had to import some new vines from America and graft them to the old to strengthen them. It goes like that sometimes.”

He leaned over one of the kegs and inserted a long piece of tubular plastic, withdrew it, and held it inside a glass, allowing the liquid to flow. “Here, taste this, tell me what you think?” He passed her the glass. She tasted the amber liquid cautiously. “Just have little sips. Take your time.”

She did as instructed. “It’s quite sweet. I’m guessing it’s some kind of a dessert wine?”

He nodded. “Your guess is correct, Joanne. Any idea which wine?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

“It’s a marsala wine. It’s Italy’s answer to sherry.”

“Yes, it did taste a little like sherry.”

“It’s used mainly in cooking, particularly dishes like
zabaglione
,
tiramisu,
and so on. You like?”

“Yes, but it’s a little sweet for my taste.”

He laughed. “There are different levels of sweetness. Some are dry.” He stepped a little closer.

Her heart beat, hard and fast. Mouth dry, she took another sip from the glass and then put it down on top of the keg. “Oh?”

“Yes. There is a semi dry…” he stepped even closer, the heat emanating from his body. His broad chest was inches away.
What did he look like underneath his T-shirt?
She tingled at the thought of tearing it open and running her hands over his chest.

“Really…”

“Oh yes, and then there is a
dolce
version…” He stepped even closer and cupped her face in his hands.

“W…what does that mean?”

“Sweet…” he whispered. “Sweet but full bodied and full of juice…” He lowered his head and his lips met with hers. Her head was spinning as she felt his tongue flick over her lips and enter her willing mouth. He had her pressed up against the cold cellar wall, taking her breath away, and she didn’t want to come up again for air. She felt consumed.

The magnetism was stronger now. Where had this come from for the both of them? Never in all of her life had she experienced such powerful chemistry. So that night on his hotel balcony he’d been feeling it too.

“Oh Joanne,” he murmured. “I want you and I want you now…”

He watched the flickering flame of desire in her eyes. There was no doubt about it; she wanted him too. He reached out and drew her close to him, pushing his hardness into her thighs. She yielded to him and groaned. He stroked her face and outlined her lips with his thumb. They parted to reveal her pearl-white teeth, and that pink tongue, so wet and warm, awaited him.

“
Bella
, Joanne.” he murmured. “Please let me have you, here, right now.”

She nodded and he brought his hand to her throat and stroked it and then blazed a trail to her breast. He gently cupped it and then pulled her closer for a kiss that went on and on. He tasted the sweetness of her lips and wondered what other parts of her would taste like.

He removed her cotton overshirt and let it slide to the floor, and then he slowly hooked both thumbs under her strappy top and let the straps fall over her shoulders, revealing the most beautiful décolletage he had ever seen. He drew in a breath. Not even the coastline of Sicily or even Naples was as beautiful as the sight before him. He was just about to unhook her bra when he heard a voice call out.

“Hello!”
The photographer!
“What time are we going back to the hotel, then? I feel like my throat has been slit. Where’s the wine you promised me?”

Dante watched as Joanne shook her head and covered herself up, replacing the straps on her shoulders, recovering the discarded overshirt, and slipping it back on. “Damn Byrne,” she whispered under her breath.

“Never mind,” Dante said, softly stroking her cheek. “There will be other opportunities.”

He straightened as Byrne descended the wooden stairs.

“Ah there you are,” Byrne said, striding toward them.

“I haven’t forgotten your bottles of wine,” Dante said, handing him a couple of bottles from the shelf behind him.

Byrne grinned. “Thanks, these shall do nicely. How much longer will you be? Can I fire off some shots down here?”

“
Un momento, prego
!,” Dante said looking into Joanne’s eyes. What was she saying to him? Dante exhaled. “Yes, go ahead if you like, take some photographs. Joanne and I will head back to the car.”

Byrne frowned. “Oh, I was hoping to take some shots of you checking the kegs, that kind of thing.”

“It’s okay, Dante.” Joanne had already started walking back up the stairs. “You don’t need me. I’ll wait in the car until you’ve finished.”

Did she mean literally, that she didn’t need him? He needed her very much. She was beginning to consume his thoughts night and day. “As you wish, Joanne. I will be driving you back to the hotel myself, please get into my car. Mr. Byrne, my chauffeur, Bruno, will take you back to the hotel.” Dante noticed Byrne staring hard at Joanne; it was obvious there was some bad blood there the way she seemed to tense up in the man’s presence. “If you like, I will leave Bruno at your disposal for the rest of the evening. He will take you anywhere you want to go.”

Byrne brightened. “Thank you, Mr. Alphonso. Sorry if I…er…interrupted anything earlier. I might visit a couple of bars this evening.”

Dante thought he heard Joanne mutter something under her breath as she finished walking up the steps.

When the photo shoot was over, Dante joined Joanne, who was already sitting in the passenger seat, arms folded. “What’s the matter?” he asked, sliding into the driver seat beside her and closing the door.

She threw her hands in midair. “I’m sorry, Dante, but that man really is insufferable. He’s a married man and he gets up to all sorts of mischief, chasing women behind his wife’s back.”

Dante shook his head. “Yes, I know the type, but really, you mustn’t let him get to you like that. You must not let him spoil your stay on this beautiful island.”

She turned to face him. “Do you know you are absolutely right? Stuff Jackson Byrne!”

Dante quirked a smile. “That’s the spirit. Now, I’m not taking you back to the hotel just yet. I want you to come somewhere with me.” He started the engine and drove off down the dirt track road, a cloud of dust thrown up in the air, surrounding the vehicle.

“Oh please tell me where we’re going?”

“No, Joanne, it is a surprise. You like surprises, don’t you?”

“I suppose so, as long as they’re nice ones.”

“Oh believe me, this one is nice, very nice.”

So in other words, expect the unexpected.

***

He drove down into the valley and near the coastline. The sun was just beginning to set and crimson, cerise, and apricot fingers melded into the skyline, and buildings and trees became silhouetted against the twilight sky. He pulled the car up outside a small restaurant near the sea.

“Come on,” he said, his eyes locking with hers.

For a moment, they just looked at one another, unable to break the spell, until Joanne spoke. “But where are we going, Dante?”

“Inside of course, or we can sit outside if you prefer. You are hungry, aren’t you?” He ran his hand through his tousled hair. It was always well-styled, but she had to admit she liked this wild look of his. Yes, she was hungry; it had been several hours since she’d last eaten at the hotel.

“Yes, I’d like that, thank you.”

He got out of the car and opened the door for her. When had a man last done that for her? He closed the car door and took her hand as they walked into the restaurant. She trembled from his touch.
Did he know how much she wanted him?

“This is the seafood restaurant I mentioned earlier.” He gesticulated as if it had appeared from nowhere by magic.

She smiled. “Don’t tell me—the one where the fish is so fresh you can see the fisherman handing over his catch.”

He nodded. “Well, not all the time of course, but every now and again.”

“And don’t tell me, your brother or maybe a sister owns it?”

He laughed. “No, neither. It’s owned by a friend of my father’s, Luigi.”

She found it unusual that everyone seemed to know everyone else around here. In London it could be most impersonal, where people ignored one another. Where people sometimes looked at you as if you were a demented fool if you dared smile at them. It was so refreshing, reminding her of life back in Wales in the small village where she’d been born. Everyone knew everyone and she missed that kind of thing. It wasn’t until now she realized it.

“Ah, Dante!” A short wizened man stepped forward to greet them as they entered the restaurant. “Your usual table?”

“
Buena sera,
Luigi!” Dante hugged the old man. “Er no, I was thinking of sitting outside on the balcony. This is Miss Joanne Smith from England.”

“
Buena sera
,
signorina
,” He greeted her.

“Hello, Luigi.” She smiled at him.

“So, you know my name? What has Dante been telling you about me? All good I hope.”

She laughed. “Yes, all good so far. He told me you are a friend of Vito’s.”

“Ah yes.” The old man’s eyes lit up. “Vito and I have been friends since school days. There’s always a table here for him or a member of his family. Please come this way.” He led them out onto a small balcony overlooking the sea where a few diners were eating and settled them down on a small table with the most fantastic view.

Joanne drew in a breath. If ever there was a heaven, this was it. Who could fail not to feel happiness in this country?

“I will send a waiter over to take your order,
pronto
. Please enjoy.” He left them with a couple of menus and the promise of a bottle of wine on the house.

A string of white lights strung across the balcony came on, casting a glow on Dante’s face. It was touching he chose this place for them to dine.

“So, Joanne,” he said when he’d given her time to study the menu, “what would you like to have?”

She laughed. “Aren’t you going to choose for me this time?”

“No, this time I would like you to choose for us, and I shall be happy with your choice whatever that happens to be.”

In the distance, she heard some shouts. She straightened up, her pulse rate sky rocketing. “What was that?”

“Oh my dear, Joanne.” Dante laughed. “It’s the fishermen down below, they’ve just landed and handed their catch over. It’s probably the last boat of the day as it’s getting dark. Why are you so frightened? Have you been watching too many
Godfather
movies?”

She relaxed. “Probably. It was so peaceful, I was surprised.”

He took her hand in his. “There is nothing whatsoever to fear, particularly when you are with me. I shall protect you. Now then, what shall we have?”

“I quite fancy the lobster linguine with tomato and chili.”

“Then that is what we shall have.” He clicked his fingers and a waiter appeared. He spoke to him in Italian. Joanne was impressed with the way he commanded respect and became authoritative.

He was a leader of men. Even though he was the youngest child, he was born to take charge.

Luigi appeared at the table with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I have taken the liberty of choosing this for you to go with your meal,” he said. “Please enjoy with my compliments.” They both thanked him and he uncorked the white wine and poured it into the glasses.

While they waited for their meal, Dante’s eyes took on a concerned look. “Joanne.” He reached out and took her hand. “There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

“Oh?” she took a large gulp of wine. What did he want? Was this something to do with what happened between them at the winery earlier?

“I noticed the evening we dined at my hotel suite, a flicker of pain in your eyes when you mentioned holidays at the seaside with your parents?” She nodded. “You mentioned something about painful memories…”

Oh dear, this was going to be difficult. She swallowed the lump in her throat that was threatening to choke her. “I don’t know if I can talk about it, Dante. It’s difficult…”

“That’s okay,” he said, squeezing her hand, with a touch of reassurance. “Maybe some other time.”

She nodded and then let out a composing breath. That’s what she loved about him, he was so kind and caring, yet at the same time, he had that brooding quality about him. He was the sort of man who stood out from the crowd, the sort of man both men and women admired.

“Yes, one day I might feel able to tell someone, but not right now. Let’s just enjoy the evening and one another’s company.”

He nodded, looking deep into her eyes. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel he could see into her very soul. Something that told her he knew what made her tick.

This was what mattered right now; she was with such a delightful man, sitting outside at sunset, and she heard the tide ebbing ever near to the shore. All she cared about was here, right now.

When they’d eaten and drank their fill, he paid the waiter, leaving what appeared to Joanne to be a very generous tip, and he took her by the hand. “Come with me,” he said. He led her down some stone steps and a narrow path until she found herself on a small beach.

“Is this the private beach you mentioned?” she asked.

“Heavens, no.” He threw back his head and laughed. “No, this could never be considered private. There are too many fishing vessels landing here during the day and boat trips too, but on a moonlit night such as this, it’s often deserted.”

She looked up at an indigo-brushed sky sprinkled with stars and the largest moon she’d ever seen. Maybe it was the effect of the wine or maybe something else, but the evening had a magical quality about it.

“Wait a moment,” she said, and she removed her sandals. “I want to feel the sand beneath my toes.”

“Really, Joanne, you are such a simple person.”

“Simple?” What did he mean by that?

“I meant you are easy to please. So uncomplicated. That’s what I love about you.”

“Oh?” Maybe the other women in his life, especially Carla, had expensive tastes and were a little bit demanding. She’d learned to not expect too much out of life because just when you were at your happiest, things could go wrong. She reflected back to that fateful day at the seaside and bit her lip. “So, your other women were complicated, I take it?”

“I suppose you could say that, yes.”

He picked up a pebble from the beach. “Here, hold this.” Then he put it in her hand. “How does it feel to you?”

She closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Smooth. Yes, very smooth.”

“Aha, yes. This pebble is rounded, it has no rough edges, Joanne, and that is you.”

“Well, thank you. I suppose I should be flattered, though no one has ever compared me to a pebble before.” She giggled and slipped it into her trouser pocket.

He drew up close to her, swept back a lock of hair from her face, and cupping her chin, drew her to him and brought his lips down on hers. She’d never experienced such passion, such intensity in all of her life. This man was doing things to her she had never known before. Maybe he would throw her on the sand and make love to her. Instead he drew back and mumbled something that sounded like
amore
under his breath.