Searching for Beautiful(124)

Sweetness. Her knees weakened, and she slumped in his arms as his tongue slid between her lips and drank. He kissed her like she was precious treasure, fragile and worthy of the most exquisite tenderness. A whimper caught in her throat as he worshipped her with his mouth, and tongue, and lips, allowing his body to give her what his mind couldn’t.

Everything.

“Take me to bed.”

Her demand made a laugh escape his lips. He nibbled on her ear, bit her lobe, and caressed her back in long, sweeping strokes. “One last time.”

“One last time,” she repeated. The lie was easy to utter as he swept her up into his arms and carried her back to the house. She didn’t care as he made love to her with such care and attention. She fought off her orgasm so she could revel in every touch and kiss he bestowed. When he finally surged inside her, she let herself go, shattering around him, telling herself another lie over and over as he claimed her throughout the night.

She loved him enough for both of them.


“I’M NERVOUS.”

Wolfe looked down. She twisted her hands together, paused on the front step. Suddenly, the years whizzed past and the memory hit hard. Standing at Mama Conte’s door for the first time, in his nice clothes and stiff shoes, waiting for a family dinner he didn’t want or believe in. The resentment and misery of believing she’d mock him, or disapprove. The fear of going inside a real house with a real family and not being part of it.

He shook off the image. Julietta’s mother, Mama Conte, was a legend, and though Gen had been dying to meet her, he understood the sudden anxiety. Besides raising four children and being the founder of the family bakery empire, La Dolce Famiglia, she seemed able to focus in on a person’s secrets with a stunning ease. “She’s going to love you. Trust me. When Alexa and Nick visited a while ago, Alexa learned how to make homemade pasta under her instruction, and it may be good for you to do the same.”

That earned a grin and a punch in the shoulder. “Smart-ass. You just want to me to cook for you.”

“Damn right.”

He opened the door and they walked in. Gen drank in the scene before them, and Wolfe knew quite well what she was experiencing. He remembered it well, and the sights and sounds and smells always hit him hard every time he came to visit.

They’d taken the funicular up and walked to the large but intimate home situated on the hills in Bergamo. Wrought iron balconies held terra-cotta pots with bright geraniums and other flowers. The elaborate gardens twisted around the house and spilled into the backyard, leading to a patio where the family liked to sip wine and cappuccino, basking in the sun and the hills spread before them. The house itself held the Italian character he loved so much, from bare wood floors covered with braided rugs to photos lining the walls and cluttering the furniture, with all roads leading to the kitchen, the heart and soul of the Conte home.

Gen gasped. The solid pine table sat in the center. The stove and countertops were filled with fresh ingredients, from mozzarella and sliced tomatoes to bottles of olive oil and baskets of garlic. An herb garden lined the windowsill. Colorful towels were scattered about, and the table was already set with burgundy dishes and bowls in cheerful patterns laid upon a white lace cloth. The thick cutting board held fresh, crusty bread, and pots bubbled over, steam and an array of tantalizing scents fighting for dominance.

Nirvana.

There weren’t many places he felt completely at peace, but Mama Conte’s kitchen was one of them. The woman managing the dozens of pots at the stove turned, a welcoming smile curving her lips as she wiped her hands on her apron and moved forward.

“Oh, mamma mia, I didn’t even hear the door! Darn hearing. Don’t get old, my sweet boy. It is not good.”

Wolfe gathered her in his arms and almost laughed at the fierce strength of her embrace. Those weathered hands had kneaded dough for so many years that she was stronger than some of the gym rats he worked out with. Her cane leaned against the counter, which she’d been relying on a bit more because of her arthritis. Her long gray hair was twisted up in her usual bun, and she wore a red housedress, apron, and comfortable shoes. Wolfe knew she’d been a knockout once, obvious from the graceful lines of her face, high cheekbones, and laughing inky eyes that reminded him so much of Julietta and her sister, Carina. She snapped the towel at him with expert ease when he finally pulled away.

“Where are your manners? You bring a girl with you and don’t introduce her first?”

Heat flooded his cheeks. He cleared his throat and turned. “Genevieve MacKenzie, this is Mama Conte.”

Gen smiled and opened her arms. Mama Conte hugged her just as tight, and studied her figure with a sharp assessment that was part of her charm. “You are just as beautiful as Alexa. I was able to meet your nieces when Alexa and Nick came to visit and stay with me. It still is one of my favorite memories.”