Innocent in the Italian's Possession(31)

Unfortunately Stefano had yet to relax. For one, he hadn't expected his  friend to continually steer the conversation back to one flaxen-haired  beauty who was never far from Stefano's mind.

Four months had gone by without him seeing Gemma. Four months in which  he was certain she'd call him for some reason that required his  immediate attention. Four months of silence when he'd been certain he'd  planted his seed in her belly that last night on his yacht.

She would have the decency to let him know. Except she hadn't phoned  him. If Jean Paul could be believed, she was still a slender beauty with  all her curves in just the right places.

Her silence infuriated him. He wanted to know how miserable she was  stuck in Manarolo. He needed to know that she missed him dreadfully and  that she was sorry as hell for turning down his offer of marriage.

He couldn't go there of course, nor would he phone her to assess her  mood. So he'd done the next best thing. He'd prevailed on his friend to  visit the inn for much needed R & R after crashing his Peugeot at Le  Mans.

He had not expected Jean Paul to fall in love with Gemma!

Since she was Stefano's former lover, he couldn't fault her if she found  favor with another man. But did it have to be his best friend?

"I regret that I didn't buy Cardone's shares of the inn for myself,"  Jean Paul said after the bartender replenished his empty martini glass.

Stefano set his teeth, well aware his friend was determined to bait him  again. "You are a Formula 1 driver who thrives on speed and power. What  the hell would you want with half ownership of an antiquated inn in  Cinque Terre?"                       
       
           



       

Jean Paul let out a long, satisfied sigh and smiled. "You have to ask?"

"No."

He knew what his friend would want with the inn and the woman running  it. It was the same fantasy that kept him awake night after night, only  he had lurid memories of him and Gemma tangled in the throes of passion  that made it all the more tormenting to his peace of mind.

Not that he was likely to forget her with his sister asking about Gemma  at every visit. She'd badger him twice as much after he moved her to  Viareggio next month.

For now those jaunts tormented him more than enough. They reminded him  of Gemma and her insistence that he move Rachel into the Marinetti  mansion. That family was something to be cherished. Every damned thing  reminded him of Gemma!

She was everything he despised and everything he desired. She was his bane and his salvation.

There was no way to rectify the two opposites.

Which wasn't far from the truth. Between the launch of his new  superyacht and seeing that his father's needs were met, he'd had little  time for anything.

Stefano squinted toward the east where the faint haze of the rugged  Ligurian coast was just barely discernible. He'd never given Cinque  Terre much thought before he met Gemma. Now he couldn't get the five  tiny lands and one enticing woman out of his mind.

Jean Paul swung his feet over the edge of his chaise and sat up, staring  at Stefano with cool blue eyes that were far too perceptive. "You must  know that Gemma is nothing like your sister-in-law."

"I know, but I can't abide deceit."

Jean Paul frowned. "Apparently she can't, either. She was protecting her family, too, or at least trying to."

"That changes nothing."

He'd gone over it countless times and his anger still flared out of  control when he thought how her family had used her. They'd still be  using her if he hadn't interfered.

"You haven't forgiven her then?"

"No."

There was a long beat of silence that scraped over his nerves. "You are  an ass," Jean Paul repeated, having come full circle in their  conversation yet again.



Like she had done every morning since she'd returned to Manarolo, Gemma  stepped out onto the balcony of her inn. At this hour before dawn, the  lights from the settlement spilled over the fishing boats pulled to  shore and spread out onto the tranquil bay in splotches of yellow and  green.

There was nothing quite to compare with the beauty of a village coming  awake. The night fishermen were just coming ashore while others that  made their living by the light of day ambled down the winding lanes and  steps toward their boats. Sounds of activity in the market intruded on  the hush of morning as dawn slowly welcomed the new day.

The artificial lights of the night would fade as the sun rose, like a  heavy wash on a watercolor painting. Her gaze swept over the village  with a tumble of houses painted in salmon, dusty blue and old gold.

They clung to the deep crevice above the tiny cove as they had for  generations. It was these moments where time seemed to stand still. It  was then old memories returned and that she allowed herself to cry.

She could imagine that one of the fishing boats was her papa heading out  to begin his day's work. Whenever a yacht dropped anchor near Manarolo  for the night, her heart would race with anticipation that Stefano had  finally decided to visit her.

She missed him dreadfully.

She missed all those she'd held close to her heart. Mamma and Papa had  their lives taken from them too soon. Emilio and his wife had left Italy  and she hadn't heard from them in months.

Dear Cesare had cheated death and, according to Rachel, was learning to  walk again. The young girl phoned her weekly to update her with news  about her papa, herself and Stefano. Always Stefano, who according to  Rachel was far too busy with his businesses to enjoy life.

Up until one month ago Gemma had continued her weekly visits to Milan to  see Rachel, too, being careful to go well before Stefano arrived.

But she would be denied that for Stefano had decided to remove his half  sister to the Marinetti mansion in Viareggio. Wonderful news for Rachel,  but it was just another person she'd loved who'd been removed from her  life.

Gemma wiped the tears from her cheeks and lifted her face to the rising  sun. The rattle of pots and pans echoing from the kitchen far below was a  sign that Nonna was up as well.

The routine rarely changed. Even at times like now when they didn't have  a boarder, her grandmother busied herself in a kitchen that was  woefully outdated.

If only her brother had used the money Gemma had sent Nonna for the much  needed restoration of the inn. If only she'd realized that giving him  that much money was a powerful temptation to try his luck at the big  casinos.                       
       
           



       

Gemma shook her head, saddened that she hadn't opened her eyes to the  truth long ago. Stefano had been right-her brother had to learn to sink  or swim. She couldn't continue to support him and his addiction.

Gold and pink bands of sunlight kissed the rooftops and stretched into  the water, pushing back the last remnants of night. The azure sea  glistened like a mirror, the tranquil expanse broken by the occasional  fishing boat and the presence of one very large ship.

Her heart raced as she squinted at the superyacht anchored offshore. "Don't get your hopes up," she chided herself.

It was likely just one of the wealthy that came to play in the  Mediterranean. Or perhaps it was Jean Paul who'd promised to return once  his new yacht was completed.

She liked him, but she couldn't tolerate another visit where he outrageously flirted with her while extolling Stefano's virtues.

Stefano. If she could just get him from her mind.

Gemma tightened her shawl and headed downstairs. The restless energy pulsing inside her was driving her crazy.

In Viareggio she'd taken a long walk to work every morning. That habit was too ingrained to give up now.

She stepped from the inn and walked down the twisting lanes of the  village to the main path to Riomaggiore. The entire walk took twenty  minutes, but most days Gemma worked off the bulk of her excess energy  midway.

Not so for today. Even with the sea crashing onto the cliffs at her  right and the tidy vineyards and fragrant herbs growing profusely up the  mountain on her left, her thoughts kept straying back to that huge  yacht anchored offshore.

How long would she pine for Stefano? When would this intense longing leave her?

She reached the outcropping much sooner than usual, but she was still  too keyed-up to stop and rest. But the second she stepped into the tiny  cleared niche she came to a dead stop.

Gemma blinked but he was still there standing tall and unyielding and oh so handsome. "Stefano?"

"You're early, bella."

For a heartbeat she couldn't breathe. How would he know that?

Jean Paul, of course. He'd been privy to Gemma's morning walks to clear  her mind. He would've told his good friend about her odd schedule.

But why he'd kept Stefano updated didn't matter. A greater question begged to be asked.

"What are you doing in Manarolo?" On Via dell'Amore?