Page 48 of My Dark Ever After
It was not an unfair comment, though the idea of Guinevere keeping secrets from me did not sit right. She was honest, my Vera, straight through to the bone, even when she was deluding herself into thinking she was not aroused by the very thing she claimed to be repulsed by.
“Ludo is checking out her parents,” I confessed in a hushed voice as I turned my attention back to the vines. “John Stone was originally from Italy, but all we know is that his given first name was Mariano Giovanni. Though Ludo has already discovered her mother, Elizabeth, was born in Albania.”
Martina sucked a breath in through her teeth, thoughts turning like gears behind her dark eyes. “Does Leo know? He warned you that she could be a plant, and I know we thought he was being ridiculously paranoid, but Raffa ... Italian and Albanian parents? When both are involved in our troubles?”
“It does not look good,” I admitted, my head jerking up at the sound of Guinevere’s shriek as Maximo, Vitale, and Mattia joined Zacheo in pulling her to the ground for a tickle war. “But you have spent time with her—do you really think she is capable of such duplicity? To seduce meto destroy me and mine?” The idea was so absurd I almost could not speak it without laughing, and there was nothing much to laugh at. “You think she was waiting in the grass at the side of a random Tuscan country road to throw herself into the path of my Ferrari so that we could meet?”
Martina’s jaw flexed. “Well, no. You are not the only one who fell in love with her in the summer. But this is too strange for coincidence, no?”
“No,” I agreed. “There is something there. A connection between Gemma, at least, and the Albanians and maybe the Grecos. Otherwise, why would they have her cross? The man in the tower told her that he was a friend. I do not like the idea of someone trying to get to Guinevere because of Gemma.”
“You think she could have owed the Albanians drug money,” Martina surmised. “Not a bad possibility. It’s hard to imagine a sister of Guinevere’s doing something so foolish.”
I arched a brow. “She is more reckless than she would like anyone to think. I just have to prove it to her.”
Martina watched me watch Guinevere for a moment and then clucked her tongue. “You have thirty minutes until dinner, and the sun is already dipping. No one will notice if you go off together. We can discuss business tonight when we have finished here.”
“I told her the next time we touched it would have to be because she begged me,” I explained. “I will not go to her.”
“No,” Martina mused, her eyes pinned over my shoulder. “But I think she is coming to you.”
I turned my head again to track Guinevere as she made her way up the row of vines two over from where I stood, walking north, farther up the hill. Just as I was about to respond to Martina, Guinevere turned, her gaze locking unerringly with mine across the dozens of yards between us.
“Vieni,” she mouthed clearly before turning on her heel and moving deeper into the vines.
My mouth went dry when she untied her apron and dropped it to the ground behind her, and my heart almost stopped as she reached the top of the incline and flipped one of her buttoned straps open and over her shoulder so that material gaped between her shoulders and—no doubt—at the front.
She disappeared over the crest without looking back.
But I was already stalking after her, thinking that my little fawn was smart enough to lure a predator into any trap.
The air was heavy with the sweetness of ripe fruit and the sharp tang of the sunbaked limestone protecting the bases of the vines. I cut through the field on quick strides, eating up the space impatiently, eager to get my hands on Guinevere once again. The thought of her seducing me with my family and friends only a field away was making me half hard already, but when I conquered the hill and started down the slope, I did not find her waiting for me.
Instead, she had paused a handful of yards down the row, on her tiptoes, the hem of her skirt rucked up in her hands to expose her slim, pale legs. Her dress gaped open on one side, revealing the edge of a pale breast topped with a hard nipple the same shade as the red wine grape stains saturating my hands. As soon as I caught sight of her, a wicked grin curved her mouth, and she took off, sprinting through the vines away from me.
Without hesitation, I followed.
Leaves whapped against my shoulders as I raced down the narrow gap between trunks. My heart was sprinting even faster than my body, churning blood so hard through my veins it burned. Or maybe it was the violent edge of desire that heated me through to the bone as I chased after mycerbiatta. There was something primal and unbelievably erotic about having to hunt her down and earn her capitulation. Sweat broke out on my brow, and my erection pressed uncomfortably against my trousers as I ate up the space between us.
Finally, blood roaring in my ears, I was close enough to swipe at her.
My fingers passed through the ends of her silken hair, and she laughed.
Bright and crystalline like a nymph leading a god on a merry chase, intoxicated by the unusual power shift.
A growl sneaked up my throat and rent the air a second before I reached for her again, lunging to wrap both arms around her small waist, encompassing it entirely. Our joint momentum carried us forward to the ground, but I twisted to take the brunt of the fall, landing on my shoulder and back with Guinevere plastered to my front. Her breath whooshed out of her in a rush of exhilarated laughter. The thick, dark length of her hair curtained our faces, blocking out what remained of the sun at the base of the vines. In the shadows, her smile glowed.
“Well, I have hunted you down,” I rumbled, arching up to nip at her chin. “Now do I get to enjoy the spoils?”
“I think you’ll find it was me who huntedyou,” she corrected haughtily, gathering my hands away from her hips to pin them above my head in the grass. “I was the one who set the trap. You were just theuomo scioccowho ran headlong into it.”
Pride and warmth crowded inside my chest, making it momentarily hard to breathe. It did something to me to hear her call me silly again and to know she was comfortable enough with me to play coy once more. “What are you insinuating?”
“I watched you play with your nephews all day, chat with your sisters, and help some of the elderly townsfolk with their work. A man with money and power like you would never have to do an honest day’s work in his life if he didn’t want to, and yet I saw you tend to each bundle of grapes you clipped as if it was a religious experience.” She paused to dip closer to me, an elbow in the ground on either side of my head, her nose near enough to bump mine. When she spoke, it was through a smile that made her dimples flash. “I recognized you today. As the man I used to know, the one I ... liked very much.”
Her fingers tightened on my wrists, pressing my hands deeper into the earth as her expression shuttered.
“It helped to see that side of you, that sweetness you like to pretend isn’t there. It ... it reminded me that I have the same tendency, but reversed. I was raised to be a good person, but the truth is, everyone has a little darkness, and I do more than most. I-I killed a man yesterday, Raffa.” She sucked in a quivering breath, and I drew the tip of my nose down the line of hers to give her comfort. “And I think I would do it again. To save Ludo or Martina or Zacheo or ... or you.”
