Under the Sicilian Sky Read online

  It had taken her most of the private flight from Palermo to Napoli to relax after the scene in the churchyard. She should have known Matteo’s return would reach the ears of law enforcement. As she’d hurried to get ready, she’d noticed her husband deep in conversation with Cristo. And, for once, she didn’t think Matteo was warning his friend about getting carried away with her. What if the police came and arrested Matteo while she was out? They could make him disappear again. And there’d be no coming back from the dead this time.

  “You’re thinking about him again.” Cristo’s deep voice snapped her attention back to her companion. He’d gone to a lot of effort for tonight and here she was mentally with someone else.

  “Sorry.”

  “He’ll be fine. Relax. Enjoy yourself for a change. You deserve a night off.”

  She smiled across her wineglass. What was wrong with her? From the moment a helicopter had landed in her paddock and Cristo stepped out with a dozen red roses, the date had morphed into a fantasy extravaganza. It was something she’d imagined Matteo doing to showcase his newfound wealth.

  Tonight was another side of Cristo. He wasn’t just her husband’s best friend and her shoulder in times of need. He was a man who ran his bank’s most successful division and yet remained down-to-earth enough to remember to pick up his mother’s favorite chocolate cake every Sunday. Except during Lent, of course, when Signora Bernini gave it up and everyone in the village stayed well clear of her.

  Cristo was gorgeous, a man most women would give their shoe collection to be with. His wavy, jet-black hair was brushed back but still curled against the collar of his white shirt. A hand-cut charcoal suit hugged his lean, tie-less form. A sprig of dark hair lured her fingers to open a couple more of his shirt buttons. His green eyes, often lit with laughter, were a surprising contrast to his swarthy skin. As tall and muscular as Matteo, he commanded attention wherever he went.

  But the thrill that raced through her whenever her husband came near was absent. Maybe that was a good thing? Matteo had the ability to turn her inside out and upside down with only a smile. It had been thrilling in her early twenties. Now she needed stability—someone she could lean on during hard times. So what if her heart didn’t race or her blood pound in her veins when Cristo walked into a room? She’d probably live longer if she didn’t put her body under such constant stress.

  “How’s your dessert?” Cristo leaned across the table and stilled her hand from where it was pleating the tablecloth.

  “It’s fabulous. Thank you for bringing me here. I’ve always wanted to visit the Amalfi Coast.” The sun was just dipping into the sea, showering the pastel-colored buildings on the hillside with a golden glow. Webster’s could use a photo of this place in lieu of a definition for romance.

  Cristo turned his head to take in the view but returned his gaze to hers. “I’ve been to this restaurant dozens of times, but only now, with you, does it seem special.”

  “Dozens of times, eh? That’s a lot of women.”

  He quirked his lips as he realized his slip. “Mostly on business, and any women who came with me were clients or spouses of clients and thus off-limits.”

  “Oh, come on. There must have been one or two dates you brought here. Convenient, too, with a five-star, discreet hotel downstairs.”

  His hand tightened on hers. “I’d hoped you’d notice that.” His voice dropped suggestively.

  She removed her hand from under his. “You know I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “Tonight,” he added, sotto voce.

  She ignored that. “Why have you brought me here, Cristo?”

  “To show you what your life could be like if you choose me.”

  Taking his hand in hers again, she softened her tone. “You will always—”

  “Please. Don’t tell me I’ll always be your friend.” He kissed the inside of her wrist. “I’ve wanted you for years, Bella. Even before Matteo disappeared. I left Sicily because I couldn’t stand to see you with him. Then when he was gone . . . I waited for you to be ready to date again. Waited too long, it seems.” A flicker of envy was quickly hidden behind a tight smile. He looked as though he was chairing a meeting and didn’t like the results being presented.

  “If Matteo hadn’t returned, I think, eventually, we could have made a go of it. But now . . . it would be cheating you if we married.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Because you deserve a woman who feels you are her world, the culmination of all her hopes and dreams. For me, you’d be the safe bet, the secure, wise choice. It’s not fair to you.”

  “Bella, I’m in banking. The safe bet is always the best choice. I could live with being that. Don’t discount me yet, tesori. Think about what you want from life. I’m willing to stay in Sicily. You can continue to run the farm and your other businesses. All I’m asking is to share your life, not take it over. Can the others offer the same?”

  He had a point. Kai wanted her to return to America to help raise his daughter. Matteo might not be able to stay in Sicily if the authorities continued to hound him. Even if they didn’t, his interests were spread all over the world, and, as he’d already said, he couldn’t run his empire from a farm kitchen. And she might not have a business to run if the allegations against him proved true.

  Cristo offered her what she’d wanted all along: to share her life, a warm body next to her in bed, companionship . . .

  He kissed her palm again before releasing her hand. He was gallant, caring, warm, and dependable. She could love him, given time—and no Matteo.

  Thank God her Internet date hadn’t worked out or she’d be up to her eyeballs in men.

  Complicated didn’t even begin to describe her life right now.

  • • •

  It was two in the morning before the cottage door opened and Bella tiptoed in. He would pretend to be asleep and not ask about her date. Better yet, he would moan and fake another headache so she spent the night in his bed again.

  “Were you waiting up for me?” she asked, spotting him standing in the doorway to his father’s old room. So much for that plan.

  “I couldn’t sleep until I knew you were home safe.”

  “I was with Cristo. You needn’t have worried.”

  “Bella—”

  “Go to bed, Matteo. I’m home. My virtue is intact, and I have to be up in four hours to milk a bunch of ornery goats. I’m going to sleep.”

  She padded into her room, shoes in hand, and a minute later her bed protested as she flopped onto it. He waited twenty more minutes to ensure she was asleep before he snuck in to turn off her phone and pull the curtains shut. He wouldn’t glance at the bed, couldn’t peek at her lying there. Because no way in hell would he be able to resist the temptation to crawl in next to her.

  He made it to the doorway when she snuffled and turned over, whispering his name with an aching longing. He froze then turned back to look. Bella snuggled the second pillow against her body, fast asleep. He could do better than a pillow, if she’d just let him.

  Her bare shoulder and the glimpse of hip where she’d pulled off the sheet confirmed she still slept naked. His cock hardened. It was going to be a short, sleepless night for him.

  The next time he heard his name slip from her lips she was stomping across the farmyard, her hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back, her T-shirt hitched up at one side, exposing her taut midriff, and her feet shoved into a pair of old rubber boots. If she were wearing a designer evening gown he couldn’t want her more.

  “Did you turn off my alarm and close my curtains?” She came right up to him, her boots toe to toe with his now incredibly disgusting shoes. First thing he was going to buy this afternoon was a pair of farm-friendly footwear.

  “Yes.” He couldn’t stop the grin that formed at her outraged gasp. Dio, you’d think he’d eaten her last square of chocolate, spilled her wine, or some equally heinous crime, not given her a few extra hours of precious sleep.

>   “It’s ten o’clock. I’ll never get done all I need to. I’ll have to cancel our date tonight.” She put her hands on her hips, which just stretched her T-shirt tight across her breasts. Merda, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples jutted out, begging for his touch. If he weren’t holding two very heavy pails of goat’s milk, she’d be pushed up against the barn wall, her T-shirt over her head two seconds from now.

  “You need more than four hours’ sleep to get done all you do in a day. So I canceled your alarm and did your morning chores for you.”

  She glanced at the pails of milk and then around the yard. The camel was fed and watered and put out in the pasture, a chicken atop his hump, both ignoring the newly milked goats that frolicked nearby. The horse and donkey had been brushed and stood staring at the chicken, no doubt, like him, wondering where on earth that had appeared from. The rabbits had new straw, and the dogs were fast asleep in the shade. He’d done good, if he did say so himself, even though milking had taken him almost two hours rather than the forty-five minutes it took Bella.

  “The nannies let you milk them?” She reached for a pail, but he moved back, careful not to slosh his hard-earned liquid. “And when did you learn to milk goats?”

  “I Googled it. They were reluctant at first”—he’d been butted and tossed on his ass more than once, and he was pretty sure he’d have a massive bruise on his thigh from where one of the goats tried to take a piece of him—“but then I discovered they like to be sung to as I massaged their teats. Your goats have very questionable taste in music. They prefer Italian songs about dirty sex.”

  Bella’s eyes widened and a flush crept up her neck. “You sang raunchy songs to my goats as you milked them?”

  He hoisted the pails hip level. “Yup, and I got two buckets full. I seem to recall yesterday you got only one and a half.”

  Her laugh rang out over the farmyard. “I think you’ve just found your new calling.”

  If it was making her happy, then yes, he had. “I’ll put these in the urn for the dairy to collect. Why don’t you go inside and start breakfast? I’ll be there as soon as I’ve had a shower.”

  “I can—” She reached again for a pail.

  “The only way I’m going to let you take this milk is if you agree to shower with me.”

  The challenge hung in the air between them, and for a second he thought maybe she’d agree. Then she pulled her hand back and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. “I’ll make breakfast.”

  “Will you do one more thing?” he asked before she could move away.

  “What?”

  “Unless you want to be ravished on the kitchen table, put on a bra. After six years, I have only so much restraint left.”

  He turned before she could answer and went to find the empty urn the dairy had dropped off yesterday. Was it wrong to pray for your wife to ignore your request?

  • • •

  Bella wiped damp palms down her jeans as she trudged up the hill toward the cottage. Two burly men had arrived, courtesy of her husband, to construct a proper stone fence rather than the wooden one she’d ordered. It would last for years and not need repair. She could have wept to know one task at least was completed right and off her list.

  Matteo had done an amazing job on all her chores this morning. Deep down, there was still a farmer in him somewhere. Damn, but she’d have liked to have heard him singing sexy songs to the goats. Maybe she could ask for a reenactment tonight. She wiped her palms again. She was going out with her own husband. Why was she so nervous?

  Probably because she’d stood in the kitchen for five full minutes this morning convincing herself that putting on a bra was the wise and sensible thing to do, while her body clamored to shuck all her clothes and wear only the white, lace-edged apron that had been a joke wedding gift from one of her society friends in New York.

  But she hadn’t. She’d dressed sensibly and cooked breakfast and kept all her clothes on as she sat across from her husband. And spent the whole day wishing to hell she hadn’t.

  Tonight, however, was another matter. And after last night’s latest erotic dream installment, featuring Matteo and a jar of honey, she was as horny as the ram had been yesterday. Having sex with him, however, would sway the jury too far in his favor. She needed to make a rational decision about her future.

  Although there was a lot of merit in a passionate sex life.

  He also hadn’t told her where he was taking her. He’d asked about her date last night with Cristo but seemed content only to know where they’d gone and what they’d eaten. She refused to tell him that she’d spent half the time thinking about him.

  When she crested the hill, the driveway was full of cars. God, she was not in the mood for a party. Her steps slowed until Matteo appeared at the back of the house. He’d disappeared around lunch, saying only that he’d be back by five o’clock for their date. He still wore his jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt but had new, sturdy boots to replace the handmade leather shoes she’d seen in the garbage can earlier.

  She half expected him to whisk her away to some exotic destination and show her his world. After three late nights in a row, she was too tired to even drum up any excitement.

  “Have you finished?” he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her toward the cottage.

  “Yes, I got the sheep moved into the other pasture while the men work on the fence.”

  “Good. Then it’s date time. I’ll see you in a little bit. Enjoy.” He flung open the door to the cottage and ushered her inside then closed it behind her.

  She stood for a second in the kitchen. This was her date? At home? Alone? Like I haven’t done that a thousand nights in the past three years.

  “Buongiorno, Signora.” A woman dressed in white pants and top gestured Bella into the sitting room. The coffee table had been pushed across the doorway to Matteo’s room and a massage table set up in the middle of the empty space.

  She’d died and gone to heaven.

  The woman massaged Bella for a full hour and a half, liquefying her muscles. She hadn’t been so relaxed in, well . . . ever. When the massage was done, another woman appeared and gave Bella a facial and then applied a little makeup and brushed and curled her hair, leaving it down. Matteo had always loved her long hair. Nowadays it was just easier to pull it into a ponytail and keep it out of the way. Bella couldn’t believe the transformation in the mirror. Gone was the exhausted harridan, replaced by the woman she’d been years ago. On the outside, anyway.

  “When you’re ready,” the woman said in a soft voice, “your husband has left a dress to wear on your bed. He’s waiting for you at the beach.”

  She floated from the sitting room to her bedroom, expecting some sexy little outfit that would barely cover her ass. Instead a long, white, flowing dress lay there, the elasticated neckline probably meant to wear off the shoulder. One small problem: she had no white underwear. At least the overlay of lace across the top would hide the fact she wouldn’t be wearing a bra. Not that she figured Matteo would complain despite what he’d said that morning.

  The second problem was whether she had enough muscle strength to make the trek down to the beach. The massage had been so relaxing, all she wanted to do was collapse on the sofa. But she stepped out of the cottage in her new dress and comfy sandals, her friend Angela’s husband, Tony, who occasionally helped around the farm when she needed him, stood next to Akbar the camel. Instead of the drab old rug she’d inherited with him, however, Akbar now stood proudly wearing a bright red and blue blanket and a padded saddle. Estella, the vet’s pet chicken, eyed her warily, daring Bella to come near her love.

  Tony had the camel kneel as she approached, and, for once, Akbar didn’t protest having to earn his keep. Estella plonked herself in Bella’s lap as though she were the queen and Bella just added cushioning. This was one for the record books—arriving for a date atop a camel, clutching a chicken. Even for Sicily it was odd.

  As she swayed side to side atop th
e grumpy animal, her body tingled in anticipation of what Matteo had in store for the rest of the evening. He met them at the edge of the beach and, after helping her down, sent Tony, Akbar, and his chicken love back to the farm. He held her hand and just stared. Not that she wasn’t equally checking him out.

  He’d changed into a white short-sleeved shirt and had left three buttons undone. His tan pants had been rolled up to just under his knees and his feet were bare. She licked her lips; his eyes traced the movement.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered as though he couldn’t get his voice to work. “As amazing as on our wedding day.”

  They’d married here on the beach. Just a few of Matteo’s friends and a justice of the peace because the priest wouldn’t perform the ceremony as Bella wasn’t Catholic. It had been a beautiful early summer day, one filled with such hope and love. The same sensations flowed through her now. Her chest filled with warmth, and Matteo’s hand in hers felt strong and sure.

  He smiled. Was he caught up in the memory as well? “Come, eat.” He led her over to a small table set up in the sand, a padded bench on one side so they could sit together and watch the waves roll onto the beach. How many evenings had they lain here on a blanket, tracing patterns in the sand, sharing their hopes and dreams?

  Matteo placed a bowl of Manhattan clam chowder in front of her before sitting down. The only thing she’d eaten today had been the late breakfast omelet she’d cooked at ten thirty. And even then she hadn’t eaten much, too distracted by fantasies of Matteo ravishing her on the table.

  “This is so good,” she said between spoonfuls. She finished her bowl the same time as Matteo, who she’d often accused of inhaling his food. “Have you been in the water yet?” Because that might just be the perfect end to a perfect date—her husband skinny-dipping while she waited on shore to warm him up.

  Matteo froze while getting their second course out of the huge picnic basket a few feet away.

  “I don’t swim anymore.”

  “Why not?” He’d been a supreme swimmer, going in every day no matter the temperature of the water or the outside air.