Page 9

8

ALESSANDRO

A n entire day slips by without seeing Isabella.

After our encounter at dinner, she's been avoiding me. I’ll admit I’ve been avoiding her, too.

We passed each other in the hall a few times, both of us unsure how to approach the other. She eats in her room.

Carla is giving me questioning glances after breakfast when once again, Isabella was a no show.

I’m heading back upstairs, debating how to broach talking to Isabella, when I bump right into her, catching her arms to keep her from falling.

“Apologies, didn’t hear you coming,” she mutters.

She looks away, tucking a strand of her silky black mane behind her ear. The motion is smooth, drawing my eyes down her neck.

It was that neck, leading down to her full, perky tits that had me gripping my cock in bed the last two nights just to release some tension. I can’t let this go on or I’ll fucking lose it.

She’s already gotten under my skin.

“Isabella…” I have no clue what I want to say, but I want to say something . The thought of spending the rest of our stay here like this doesn’t sit well with me.

She’s seconds from running and I’ll lose my chance.

Say anything!

“Would you like to see the library?”

“I would like that.”

I turn quickly, heading up the stairs. The top level of the lodge only has two doors, the other leading to a small rooftop veranda that we definitely don’t want to open. “In the summer, we used to eat out there when Adriano and I were kids. The view is breathtaking.”

“I don’t think we’d see a lot right now,” she snickers, following me to the end of the hall.

I turn to look back at her as I open the door, catching the sunlight of her smile. Standing so close, I’m taken back to the other night. I shouldn’t want what happened to happen again so badly.

For her safety.

No one should get close to me. And yet, she’s right there across the hall every night…

“Alessandro…” I click back to the moment and she’s passing me, walking into the library with wide eyes. “This is beautiful. And incredible.”

All I can do is smile at her wonder. I felt the same way as a child visiting our vacation home. The library was and still is my favorite room.

A huge, exotic rug dominates the center of the room, encircled by old, but comfortable couches in a deep green. It matches the overall look of the room, the dark wood, the paintings of famous literary scenes highlighting the spaces between the floor to ceiling shelves.

And the whole room is brightly lit, even in the midst of the blizzard, by skylights and windows strategically placed to let in as much natural light as possible.

Isabella gives me a side eye as she scurries past me again, this time with a book in hand. She looks mischievous, like she’s getting away with something by being here, exploring erratically, jumping from one shelf to the next.

“There’s no rush,” I laugh.

“Of course there is! How am I supposed to read all of these?” Her exasperated stare has my guard slipping again, falling into my own perusal of the titles along one wall.

“There really are more books here than one person could hope to read in a lifetime.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try…” There she is, that tenacious, relentless interrogator from our first night here.

And just like that, we’re seemingly back to normal.

The knife to my throat and my violent outburst forgotten. Not wanting to lose the progress I’ve made, I head towards the door as she settles down on a chair, already engrossed in a book.

“I’ll leave you to your literary adventures. I need to get a few things done. And feel free to take anything you want back to your room, of course.”

The proximity to her and her vibrant spirit have me riding high. It’s foolish, dangerous, and silly of me.

So I head straight to my room to change and hit the gym.

An hour later, I’m pouring sweat and gasping for breath. Just what I needed.

Until she walks through the door wearing a sports bra and yoga pants, her cleavage peeking out the top of the bright purple material.

She looks positively mouthwatering. I can’t help following the line of her stomach from the base of her ribcage, down to the tight waistband of her ass-hugging black pants.

She's fit as hell and clearly takes good care of her body. Every inch of her exposed skin is a searing brand to my eyes, to my mind, instantly getting me rock-hard in my shorts.

With a little smile and a raising of her eyebrows she passes me, heading toward the treadmill. I almost choke when I see the way her ass is cupped by the fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“You all done?” she asks, looking from the settings on the panel back toward me. Her long ponytail flips as she does, two perfect curls of black hair framing her flawless face.

God dammit, I need to get my head straight.

“Uh. Yeah. She’s all yours.” I watch her for a few minutes, jogging easily while I do a set of curls.

“You should have told me you were going to work out. We could do sets together, pass the time,” she says a bit breathlessly, hopping down off the treadmill.

And challenge each other. I see the thought flash through her eyes as she traces a bead of sweat running down my neck into my tank top.

“Pshh, I doubt you could keep up with me.”

“Oh really?” She cocks her hip to the side, and I have to tense my neck not to look down.

I shrug. “I go really hard.”

“Hmph. I see that.” She flicks her gaze down.

I’ve never been one to embarrass easily, and she’s got me riled up. So, I crack my neck and stand straighter, letting her see all of me.

Tonguing the inside of her cheek she bends low into a stretch, watching me in the mirror. From there, she shifts from one side to the other, dipping one leg and dragging the other, side to side, bobbing that bubble butt up and down.

With a soft shake of my head, I fall into the movement myself, matching her.

“What are you working on today?” I ask.

“I thought I would do some yoga, calisthenics.”

I gesture to the mats by the wall. We have everything imaginable down here, I had Adriano make sure of that before our stay. Nothing keeps my stress levels manageable like lifting weights.

She tosses me a mat as she unrolls hers, nodding for me to follow suit.

“You want me to do yoga?” I scoff.

“Should be easy for a big strong man like you.”

Six squat-holds in, I'm gasping, my legs shaking.

“You’ve never done yoga, huh?” She swoops up into what she calls downward dog .

“Nope.” I grit through my teeth, struggling with the stretch and not gaping openly at her ass up in the air.

“Harder than it sounds,” Isabella teases, easing her knees down and pushing back.

“It's not as hard as some things I've done.” I can’t let her win.

“Not as hard as some things I’d like to do…” she mutters under her breath and I almost fall on my face.

Until she arches into a backbend and I slump to my knees, watching every curve and line of her body stretched to the limit.

“Fuck me…” I whisper.

“Give up?”

“You win. But to be fair, I already did a full workout before you got here.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She winks.

Jerking off to her doing yoga is going to help me sleep tonight.

I might or might not grumble something about needing a cold shower as I get up, toweling my neck and head. Isabella looks up at me, sticking out her hand for me to help her up.

Then she’s standing way too close, the heat of her body and scent of her perfume mixed with her sweat makes my head spin.

“What’s next?” She bites her lip. Does she know how fucking sexy she is?

Or how fucking hot she makes me?

“Next?” I ask, nonchalantly, resisting the urge to bend her over the bench right here and now. “We could play a game. In the study. After we shower.”

I have no clue where the thought came from, I all but blurt it out.

“You definitely need a shower.” She spins, dragging her eyes down my body quickly as she does. Just like that she’s gone, leaving me fully erect and standing there like an idiot.

“Fucking. Unbelievable .”

One ice cold shower later. I'm waiting in the study sitting in my chair, flipping through an old book. Isabella strolls in wearing a lightweight sweater, leggings, and fuzzy socks.

She plops down on the couch across from me. “What are you reading?”

“I'm not. I was just passing the time.”

“So, what are we playing?”

“Check the trunk over in the corner. Bound to be something we can try.”

I join her as she digs through the old board games, naming off several as she does. “Oh. My. Goodness. Clue.” She holds up the worn and beaten box.

“Ha! I hardly even remember how to play the game,” I laugh.

“It’s not too hard. Although, I’ve never lost a game. No one has ever beaten me.”

“We’ll see about that. I always liked a good mystery.”

An hour later I'm pulling out my hair, slamming my fists on the table. “You've gotta be fucking kidding me. How do you do that?”

“It's simple deduction, my dear Watson.” Isabella strokes an imaginary mustache. “You have to put the clues together and take a guess.”

“No shit. Every time I’m about to, you beat me to it!” I’m imagining the razzing Ciro would give me if he saw me losing a board game. Hell, he’d give me shit for playing one at all.

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

“Says the woman who wins every goddamn round.”

“Shall we play again?”

“I think not. Another loss and I’ll throw the whole damn board out into the snow.” I lean back onto my hands as she packs up the game. “What now?”

“You’re not sick of me yet?”

Not even a little. I don’t want this to end, not that I’d tell her that.

“How about a movie?”

“I was thinking about that earlier. That theater room is ridiculous.”

Crossing the foyer toward the stairs we both pause when the east wing door opens, Adriano stepping out and stopping as he spots us. He looks at me, then Isabella, then back at me.

“What?”

One eyebrow cocks upward, his expression vacant.

Isabella widens her eyes at me and heads down the stairs with a nod to Adriano.

“Don’t give me that look,” I snap.

“What look?” Adriano schools his smile.

“The judgy one. She’s our guest.”

“What’s to judge? You can spend as much time with our guest as you want.”

“Against better judgment, right?”

“I clearly have no say in the matter,” he sniffs, turning to go back to his room.

“Wait, what have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in two days.”

“Just in my room. Keeping busy.”

“You're just in there jerking off to porn.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It's not like I want to be out here playing a third wheel.”

“She's actually very charming. You might like chatting with her.”

“I'll take your word for it. Just be careful Alessandro.”

“Careful? I’m always careful.”

“I mean…don't fall in love.” His mocking tone is offset by the stern look in his eyes.

“Go back to your cave, Adriano,” I growl. “And ask Ava to make us some popcorn!”

He snickers, rolling his eyes a final time before he heads down the kitchen.

The enormous TV is already on when I get to the theater room. “What are we watching?”

“Well,” Isabella says, “It’s one of my favorites. We used to watch it all the time growing up.”

“That does not answer my question.”

Her eyes dart to the side, like she’s avoiding my question. “Don’t make fun…”

“I won’t!”

“It’s Death on the Nile .”

“What’s to make fun of? That’s a classic.”

“Some people think old movies are corny.” She shrugs, plopping down onto the recliner love seat. I guess we’re sitting together…

Watching a detective movie where the bad guys are a lot like me makes me wonder what her reaction would be if I just told her. Who I am, what I do.

“I love old movies. Reminds me of my childhood.” I leave it at that, and she doesn’t pursue it, giving me space. Like she learned her lesson from the other night.

A twinge of guilt shocks me as I settle in beside her, but I hit play to shift through it.

I know it's only a matter of time before she's questioning me again, probably pissing me off, putting the screws to me.

But for now, we can just watch this movie.

We’re sitting so close to one another, Isabella curled up in a blanket.

“What's your favorite old movie?” She whispers as the opening credits roll.

“Hard to pick. I love this, though. The long intros. The ambiance. The music. I love the way they took their time to set up the mood.” Tone. Style. Patience. The same things I pride myself on in my own life.

“I know what you mean. It feels more like going to a live theater show.” She slides a little closer to me. “You didn’t tell me your favorite, though.”

“I mean, I love the classics. Casablanca , Singing in the Rain .”

“You’re hedging…” she sings, narrowing her eyes at me.

“I really like The Sound of Music .”

The look of shock on her face makes me want to laugh. Or leave the room. “Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s an amazing film. Great music.”

She stares at me like she's never seen me before. “No, there’s nothing wrong with it. I like it too. I just?—”

“Didn’t expect someone like me to like it?”

“Something like that.” Isabella frowns, lost in her thoughts. “I’m more curious about why you like it.”

“It’s a family run out of town. They have to stick together and sing their way out of a jam. I wish things could be that way in real life.”

“You wish that you and your family had to run from Nazis?”

“No!” I nudge her in the ribs. “I just mean the importance of family. Sticking together, especially when you are on the run.”

I can hear Adriano's voice in the back of my head shouting for me to shut the fuck up, that I’m going to slip up and tell her too much.

She takes my explanation in stride and our attention drifts back to the movie.

I find myself drawn towards her. The warmth of her body.

Maybe it's the snow outside. Maybe it's been so long since I've been intimate with anyone.

But I find myself relaxing around her and her presence.

At the same time, every fiber of my body is extremely aware of exactly how close she is to me.

She leans in closer about halfway through, resting against my arm.

“I always wanted to be a detective, you now? Like Poirot.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Just like my father.” It’s offhanded, distracted. Until she realizes what she said, throwing me a look like she slipped up.

The hairs on the back of my neck shoot up, a warning. Why would she be nervous to tell me that?

Unless …

“My family’s been in law enforcement for as far back as I know. So I always thought I would too.”

“Like an obligation?” I ask, not wanting to give away my suspicions, and not wanting her to stop sharing with me.

“To honor them.”

“I know what you mean. I went into my family business, too. Not that I had much choice,” I admit.

“Mine was a choice. And the fact that my mother forbade it…” Her brow furrows for just a second. “Oh, I love this part!”

And just like that she’s back to her snappy, controlled self, the vulnerability and hesitance gone.

I let it lie for a few moments before I scoot a little closer, adjusting in my seat.

“You know, you're clever enough to be a detective.”

“Oh, am I now?”

“Too clever. I’ll bet you could even guess my favorite movie.”

“I noticed you still didn’t tell me.”

“So?”

“Hmm. I suppose I should list the clues…”

“Indeed, detective.”

“Well, you're secretive,” she says and my eyes narrow at her.

“Your family is very important to you.”

“True.”

“Business rules your life, so to speak. And you value loyalty above all else. Rules dominate everything in your life.” Isabella is gaining steam, her tone matter of fact. “And you have passion, anger, rage all bottled up inside, ready to spring forth at a moment's notice.”

I've completely forgotten about the movie, caught up in her words.

She's turned in her seat, studying me.

My arm on the back of the couch brushes her shoulder and she leans into it.

“And you never let anyone in.” It's almost an accusation the way she says it.

“Supposing you’re correct about all of the above…” Her fingers brush against my hand.

“I am.”

Her leg presses up against mine.

“What does that have to do with my favorite movie?” Her body is right up against me, my heart is pounding.

“Just like the rest of your privacy, it’s something you keep hidden. I doubt anyone knows the answer.”

“So, you give up?”

“No. Because you also told me you love musicals. And the first book you picked off the shelf upstairs, the one you were reading in the den…” Her eyes lock with mine, our faces inches apart. “It was by Victor Hugo.”

“Those could all be coincidences.”

“True. There are too many movies to choose from, but I know I’m right. Are you going to admit it, or do I have to say it?”

“Are you going to laugh at me?”

A smile pulls at the edges of her lips. “Absolutely not. Anyone would be far too scared to laugh at you.”

“I wish my brothers felt the same way.”

And at that she laughs, her nose crinkling, making it hard to think of anything else. “Ah, the trials of a man beset on all sides by his little brothers. Truly comparable to Les Misérables .”

“You’re incredible,” I mutter, and suddenly I realize how close we are, our bodies completely pressed together, her curves nestled into me perfectly.

Our lips are an inch apart, her eyes wide and inviting.

When Ava walks in with a refill of popcorn and drinks. “ Mi scusi… ”

We both sit back immediately, like we just got caught.

Still, Isabella stays pressed against me, taking the bowl of popcorn and biting her lip, trying not to laugh. The rest of the movie, neither of us say a word.

Even as I turn off the system and walk her to her room, we stay close to one another, unable to make a move, but equally unable to resist staying near.

Finally, at her door, I manage to speak.

“Goodnight, Isabella.”

“Goodnight, Alessandro.”

I lay in the dark for hours, replaying the sensation of her against me, the thought of kissing her. It riles me up, turns me on like nothing has in a long time.

Until other, darker memories invade, smothering my arousal.

What would Catalina think?

Would she want me to finally move on?

More importantly, can I allow myself the idea of such a thing when my family comes first? And when death follows me wherever I go, waiting to take everything away before finally taking me.