Elisabetta and Massimiliano ( ML / Adult) (Complete)

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Deejonaise
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Elisabetta and Massimiliano ( ML / Adult) (Complete)

Post by Deejonaise »

Winner - Round 5

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Most Passionate/Romantic Love Scene

http://www.preymate.com/dee/images/lizamax.jpg

Author: Dee

Coupling: M/L

Disclaimer: I do not own Roswell and I'm thinking that's a good thing. I'm neurotic enough.

Rating: Adult baby! (I'm having fun with this one)

Summary: This story has no aliens. I was inspired for this fic a while back when I saw Diane Lane in Under the Tuscan Sun but the only similarities will be Liz's travel to Tuscany. Everything else is the product of my and mareli's imaginations.

So here's the story: Liz inherits a villa from her great aunt and she decides to move to Tuscany and live there. There's just one small problem, not everyone is okay with that decision, namely one Massimiliano Ricci aka Max Evans.

AN: This is my first real attempt at straight up fluff with plot. I'm actually looking forward to it but I'll be the first to admit I have no idea what I'm doing. Special thanks to mareli who will be helping me with the fine details of this story as well as putting up with my three million pms full of questions. I love you, mareli!



Prologue

“I’m going to live in Tuscany.”

Elizabeth Parker makes this blunt declaration to her best friend of twenty years over cocktails. Maria DeLuca, the aforementioned best friend, chokes on her apple martini. “What?” she sputters, blotting her berry colored lips with a napkin, “You’re doing what?”

“Well, you already know that my great Aunt Louisa died?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well her husband Roberto was very well off,” Liz explains, “And when he died he left everything to Louisa and now that she’s gone well…she left everything to me, namely a villa in Tuscany and all the acreage that goes with it. There’s a vineyard and everything, Maria.”

Maria blinks at her several times, clearly not comprehending. “How many fucking drinks have you had?” she balks.

Liz smiles. “I know I just sprung this on you out of nowhere--,”

“Damned straight--,”

“But I have a brochure,” Liz says, reaching into her handbag.

“Well, that helps!” is Maria’s tart reply.

“Give it a chance,” Liz implores, spreading the glossy, eight-fold brochure out across their table, “It’s a beautiful country, Maria. How can you not love it?”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” Maria replies glibly, “It is Italy for God’s sake! Who wouldn’t want to see it? So visit by all means, Lizzie. Go with my blessing. But living there? You’re out of your mind.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s been telling me to get up off my ass and to stop moping over Kyle,” Liz reminds her drolly, “Well…I’m doing that. I’m getting on with my life.”

“I was thinking something along the lines of new ass, Lizzie,” Maria retorts dryly, “You know…hours and hours of mindless, sweaty sex with one of those gorgeous co-workers of yours. Leaving the continent isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“I’ve got pictures of the house,” Liz offers, already digging into the confines of her purse for the evidence, “You’re going to fall in love with it, trust me.”

Maria reaches across the table to still her friend’s movements. “Lizzie,” she whispers, “I don’t want you to go.”

“I saw him just the other day, Maria,” Liz utters mournfully, “It’s like I didn’t mean anything to him at all. He’s already seeing someone else…he probably was before we even broke up. I feel like such an idiot for wasting the last two years of my life with him.”

“Kyle is a dick,” Maria agrees, “That doesn’t mean you have to totally revamp your life, quit your job and move to some foreign country to pick grapes! Lizzie, you don’t even speak Italian. This entire idea is insane!”

Maria’s words manage to penetrate Liz’s calm exterior but she stubbornly refuses to acknowledge her friend’s logic. Ever since the reading of her aunt’s will she’s been filled with a burning sense of discovery. This is her chance for a new beginning, an opportunity to heal her broken heart and she doesn’t want to pass it up.

“I’m going,” she declares firmly, pressing the photos and brochure back into her purse, “I’ve already put my notice into the gallery. I’m going to Tuscany, Maria, and it’s going to be great. I know it.”
Last edited by Deejonaise on Sun May 16, 2004 10:24 pm, edited 16 times in total.
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Chapter 1

“What the hell was I thinking?” Liz mutters as the taxi rumbles up to the crumbling gate of Villa Ricci. As she climbs from the backseat, she cringes inwardly as she notes the vines that have run amuck and are now creeping through the corroding iron and cracks of the once pristine granite. Liz doesn’t know what she had been expecting but it is clearly NOT this. She whirls to face the cabbie as he dutifully sets her numerous bags out in front of the gate.

“Uh signor…are you sure this is the place?”

“Si, signorina…Villa Ricci,” he says with a bobbing nod and holding out his hand for payment.

With a roll of her eyes, Liz presses a handful of bills into his hand. “Thanks for nothing,” she mumbles as he climbs back into his taxi and drives away. She’s wondering if Maria was right after all and perhaps she jumped into this venture without thinking it through. Heaving a large sigh, she turns back to survey the ramshackle gate surrounding the property. “So this is home sweet home,” she murmurs to herself, “What was I? On crack?”

She stoops to take hold of one suitcase and then her roll away before beginning the long trudge towards the house, muttering over her stupidity the entire way. However, as she emerges from the overgrown vines and thickets to spy the majestic stone house in the distance Liz forgets her annoyance. Dappled in the sunlight, she is sure that this villa, her villa is the most beautiful sight she has ever seen.

A one-story home of terra cotta and granite, Liz falls in love with it even at a distance. The wrought iron gate is misleading because beyond the dilapidated entrance is a treasure. The house is not excessively large but it possesses an intriguing quaintness, a simple beauty that dazzles her. Perhaps her decision to come here was not such a bad one after all.

“Now this is more like it,” she sighs to herself, hurrying off in the direction of the house, deftly dodging brambles and twigs along the way. As she advances closer, however, her smile begins to collapse into the beginnings of a frown as she notes the car parked in the cobblestone drive. She cannot remember asking the caretaker to meet her there. Her heart begins to trip with the beginnings of alarm.

Brushing back the sweaty tendrils of hair clinging to her face, Liz drops her bags into the driveway and tiptoes into the house. Once inside she finds no one immediately but she begins madly searching the various rooms for some sign of life. In a distant part of the house she can hear a faint rustling but her attempt to follow the sound only renders her hopelessly lost. When she attempts to go back the way she came Liz gets turned around very quickly and, before long, is wondering aimlessly through the meandering hallways.

“Hello?” she calls out helplessly, “Hello? Is anybody home?”

“You are trespassing, signorina,” a heavily accented voice sounds behind her.

Liz whirls about, prepared to put the stranger in his place and then completely forgets what she was going to say. He is, in a word, gorgeous. Now Liz has heard all the stereotypes about Italian men and their sex appeal but she is chagrined to realize that all of them, at least in this man’s case, are true. He is tall and lean and virile, with thick, dark hair and a strong jaw and commanding presence. So these are Roman features, she muses inwardly. Liz is impressed. As he regards her with penetrating green-gold eyes Liz feels as if she might melt through the floor at any given moment. Long lashed and mysterious, his eyes are hypnotic.

She can tell he is equally fascinated by her. His gaze travels languidly down the length of her body, lingering on her bare legs before beginning a slow ascent back to her face. She can see a flicker of intrigued desire behind his eyes though he does well to mask it.

“Can you speak,” he snaps suddenly and the disdain in his tone brings her back to herself.

“Excuse me?” she queries, shaking her head in confusion.

“You are trespassing,” he utters again, “You should leave.”

“Trespassing?” she demands with a haughty toss of her head, “I don’t think so, sir. You’re the one who is trespassing.”

Her intimidating tone does not leave him intimidated. Instead, he leans back against the doorpost and regards her with a half lidded stare. “Is that so, ragazza?” he mocks with an infuriating smile, “How do you figure this?”

“This is my villa,” Liz responds tartly, “I own it.”

His eyes narrow dangerously, as her implication becomes clear. “You,” he hisses in recognition, “You are the one.”

Liz suddenly wonders if it is altogether wise to be alone with this man. He is beautiful to be sure, but clearly unstable. And there is something menacing in the way he is watching her now, no longer with amusement but with barely concealed dislike. Liz forces herself to maintain his glare. “You should leave, sir, before there’s trouble,” she says again, cursing the slight tremor in her voice.

“No, signorina,” he counters boldly, “You should leave. This property does not rightfully belong to you.”

Liz levels him with a dubious glower, folding her arms over her pert breasts. “And how exactly do you figure?” she challenges; throwing his earlier words back at him.

But her rudeness only widens his irritating smile. She would like to smack it off his face. Her palm practically itches with the desire. “I am Massimiliano Ricci,” he states with flourish, “My great uncle Roberto owned this villa. It has been in my family for three generations.”

“Oh,” Liz utters, feeling some of her irritation deflate, “Oh my God! Then there must be some misunderstanding here, Ma…Massiam…Massima--,”

“You may call me Max,” he interrupts smoothly.

“Max,” Liz concedes with a smile, “Let me explain…my name is Elizabeth Parker. Louisa Ricci was my great aunt and she left me this villa in her will. So you see…it does rightfully belong to me.”

“No, I’m afraid not, ragazza,” he volleys back simply, “Because I am contesting your aunt’s will. Your deed to this place is void until a settlement can be reached. It still belongs to my family.”

“Contesting? A settlement?” Liz bleats with an affronted frown, “Wait! You…you can’t do that! I live here.”

“Not anymore, signorina,” he replies, “You may want to find other accommodations.”

“Like hell!” she snaps, “If anyone is leaving it’s gonna be you, pal!” She seriously doubts that her angry stance frightens him. He has, at least, a good ten inches on her and very probably outweighs her by a good eighty pounds. She would be no match for him physically and both he and Liz know it. He regards her now in open amusement, which only serves to anger her more. “I’m not afraid to have you forcibly removed from this property,” she warns hotly.

At last she penetrates his cool façade because his eyes suddenly leap with insulted fury at her threat. “I do not know how it is done in your country,” he sniffs disdainfully, “But I will not allow my boyhood home to be given to a straniera.”

“Excuse me?” Liz whispers menacingly, “A what-a?” She does not know for sure what this word “straniera” means nor is she certain of the other, “ragazza” but she is an intuitive girl. The haughty way in which he spits both words cannot be a compliment. Liz draws herself up tall and rigid, as if she is David about to face her very own Goliath. “Look here, buddy,” she clips, punctuating each syllable with a thumping finger to the middle of his solid chest, “I don’t care how you do things here or anywhere else for that matter! The law says I own this house and, that being the case, I want you out of it this second!”

Max stares down at the tiny woman and her offending finger before lifting his gaze back to the angry flushed beauty of her face. He does not like this woman. She is pushy and brazen and altogether disrespectful. But his body is not so immune to her. The flashing darkness of her eyes, the alluring curve of her mouth and the shining silk of her hair all of these things intrigue him. She fascinates him…attracts him… Max finds himself wanting to know more even as he’s assailed with the desire to throttle her stubborn throat.

He wonders how she will react if he tries to kiss her. Her mouth is very inviting, so soft, so pink… No doubt she will like it if he makes the attempt. Max senses that she wants him to kiss her. It did not escape his notice how she looked at him earlier. She wants him, Max is sure.

Without warning, he gathers her up against his body, startling a strangled gasp of protest from Liz as she unexpectedly finds herself trapped in his arms. Boldly, Max sweeps his hands up and down the length of her back, bringing her into vibrant awareness of his aroused body. “So, my little strega,” he whispers in flawless Italian, “I wonder if you are as hot in bed as you are out of it.”

Liz shivers as his warm breath ripples over her ear. She does not understand a single word he has spoken to her but the implication is quite clear regardless. He presses her boldly into his body. His large hands cradle her hips as he nuzzles the lobe of her ear. Liz swallows hard and her knees quiver as he begins to nibble her flesh. The recesses of her mouth become an arid wasteland as she gropes for the words to tell him off but only manages a squeaking moan instead. Max plunges his tongue into her ear, making her shiver anew.

She does not push out of his hold, but still Liz makes a pretense of protesting his advances. “Let me go,” she demands breathlessly.

“Shh. Shh, my Elisabetta,” he murmurs against her cheek, “Let us not fight anymore. Let us make love instead.”

And with that arrogant suggestion Liz regains her head. She shoves out of his arms, angry and proud. “In your dreams!” she scoffs but is met with only dissatisfaction when he merely smiles. The sound of her grinding teeth is audible. “I want you to leave,” she declares succinctly, “Do it now…before I call the authorities.”

He laughs, rich and deep, and the sound washes over Liz like warm honey. She does not want to be affected by him. He is arrogant and impertinent yet at the same time she cannot deny the fire he ignites in her belly. She cannot deny that she wants him.

“I am not leaving, ragazza,” he tells her now, “This is my home. No one will make me leave it, especially not you.”

“Well, I’m not leaving either,” she states mutinously.

Max merely shrugs his beautiful shoulders in response, unruffled as ever. “Fine,” he concedes, “We will let the courts decide.”

“Fine,” she seethes in return.

But damned if she doesn’t glance longingly at his ass when he saunters past.
Last edited by Deejonaise on Wed May 05, 2004 2:07 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Chapter 2

Liz wakes in the morning and thinks it is all a bad dream. For a moment, she does not remember where she is and she thinks she is back in Roswell. But when she rolls over to snuggle next to Kyle’s warm body she encounters only cold sheets instead. That is when her memories come back in a painful rush. Her eyes pop open seconds later and she realizes that she is not back home safely ensconced in her boyfriend’s apartment but in a stranger’s room, a stranger’s bed. She is no longer in familiar Roswell, but foreign, far-away Tuscany and she feels alone.

However, before she can begin to feel sorry for herself Liz becomes aware of hushed voices coming from downstairs. Eyes narrowed with suspicion, she crams her feet into her slippers and creeps towards the sound. Signor Rossilini, the caretaker, and Signor Ricci are arguing furiously in fluent Italian in the middle of the kitchen. Their words fly past Liz’s ears without much meaning though she can pick out a few choice, colorful words here and there. Liz can tell from each man’s facial expression that both are angry. As Signor Ricci goes off on his tirade, he gesticulates wildly, causing his shirt to pull and bunch across the muscular expanse of his back. Her pulse quickens as she continues to eavesdrop around the corner and watch the alluring way his muscles bunch and flex. There’s not much else she can do seeing that she is gleaning nothing from the men’s heated exchange.

Unfortunately, Liz’s espionage is brought to an abrupt end when Max notices her slight movement off to his left. A tight smile flits over his sensual mouth. “Signorina Parker,” he greets formally, “We were just discussing you.”

Liz gives up all pretense at hiding, deciding to let her anger ride. “I’ll just bet you were,” she grates as she flounces up to Signor Rossilini, nightgown and all. “Signor Rossilini, this man will not leave my house,” she declares coldly, leveling a lone finger towards Max, “I demand you throw him out this instant!”

“My apologies, Signorina Parker, but I cannot do this,” Rossilini replies regretfully.

The beginnings of Liz’s smug smile twist into a mask of dismay. This is not the answer she was expecting. Her mouth falls open in shock even as Max grins condescendingly over the victory. “You can’t do it? Why?”

“What Signor Ricci tell you is true,” he says sadly, “This house no belong to you no more, signorina. Signor Ricci have the deed now.”

“How is that possible?” Liz cries in outrage, “My great aunt willed this villa to me! It’s mine! I have the papers!”

“I told you this already, ragazza,” Max cut in sharply, “I am contesting the will. The house is in probate until something can be decided and as long as that is true it belongs to me and my family. So you see…you are the one who should leave not me!”

Liz takes a menacing step in his direction. “Over my lifeless, rotting corpse,” she enunciates precisely.

“That can be arranged, strega,” Max sneers.

“Why you basta—,” Her attempt to launch herself at him is thwarted by the harried caretaker. He loops his arms around her flailing arms and drags her across the kitchen in an attempt to get her under control.

“Signorina, please,” he begs, “This no helping matters!”

“This is my house!” Liz cries petulantly, “He just can’t waltz in here and take over like I don’t matter! I’ll sue him. You hear me? I’ll sue him. I’ll sue you both!”

“Do what you must, strega,” Max tells her calmly, evidently unfazed by the fact she had just attempted to attack him seconds earlier, “But pack your bags and get out first.”

Abruptly, Liz’s angry bravado gives way to exhausted tears. “But…but I don’t have anywhere to go,” she sobs, “I sank all of my savings into this place. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Max, look what you do to this girl,” Rossilini admonishes his young charge, “How you treat her so bad? Where are your manners?”

Max cannot deny that the woman’s tears move him as well as Rossilini’s evident disappointment in him. The girl’s weeping is heartbroken and anguished. He suspects this latest thing with the villa is just the last event in a long line of misfortunes for her and his heart aches with pity. Though his instincts tell him to kick her out, this woman who threatens his generational home, his heart implores him to take pity…and he does.

“You can stay here,” he allows grudgingly, “Until you can find something else.”

Liz stares at him, caught between gratitude that he would make the offer and anger because he feels he has the right to give her permission to stay in her own house! No one seems to acknowledge that the villa is rightfully hers and she’s infuriated by the disregard. Consequently, her anger overrides any lingering softness she may feel over his generosity.

“Wow, you’re going to let me stay,” she grits out mordantly, “How very sweet of you, Signor Ricci!”

“That’s a good boy, Max,” Rossilini commends him, oblivious to Liz’s sarcasm, “This work out good. You want to thank him…yes, signorina?”

“No,” Liz utters, pushing out of the caretaker’s arms to glare at Max, “I’m not thanking him for one damned thing! Both of you can go to hell!”

“You see, Luigi?” Max snaps as Liz whirls from the kitchen, “This is what you leave me to deal with. Merda!” He follows his disgruntled complaint with a string of vulgar Italian curses, which leaves Rossilini cringing.

*******

Max finds her sniffling in her bedroom later that afternoon. She has not come out all day, not even for the noon meal. No longer is she in her nightgown from earlier that morning, but her rumpled khaki shorts and faded t-shirt is no better. He has begun to worry over her peculiar behavior. Max does not understand why the woman seems to cry so much. He raps once on the doorframe before strolling inside. “Elisabetta?” he asks softly, “Are you well?”

Liz lifts her tear-bloated face to regard him briefly. “Go away,” she sniffles plaintively.

She wants to be left alone to wallow in her self-pity. Belatedly, she realizes her move here was not a carefully conceived plan and now she is stuck. She cannot even lament her woe to Maria because the nearest working phone is fifteen miles away and she has no car. Liz has far too much pride to ask his majesty for a ride into town. She would rather chew broken glass.

Yet she should know he will not heed her command to leave. With his usual arrogance he saunters into her bedroom uninvited and plops himself down beside her on the bed. “I do not understand you,” he murmurs, “You have your way. You will stay in the villa as long as you want and yet you remain unhappy. Is this normal for American women?”

“Did it ever cross your mind that not all of my feelings revolve around this villa,” Liz grunts, “Now please leave. I want to be alone.”

“I do not believe you,” he tosses back arrogantly, “You wish to be alone so that you may cry? This makes no sense, Elisabetta. What troubles you so?”

“Like you care!” she snorts.

“I am here, aren’t I?” he questions in exasperation, “You are being ridiculous.”

“Well…if I’m so ridiculous,” she enunciates between clenched teeth, “Why don’t you just leave then?”

“No,” he refuses softly, his tone dropping an octave as he lifts his hand to smooth down the rumpled silk of her hair, “I think I will stay and make you feel better instead.”

Liz shivers at his unexpected touch but schools her face to remain impassive as she flops over onto her back with a sardonic sneer. “Yeah sure…you’ll make me feel better. You wi--,”

His mouth unexpectedly smothers the remainder of her sarcastic retort. Liz is too stunned to move. She is overcome by a myriad of sensations all at once. There is the fervent insistence of his lips, the unyielding hardness of his chest as he settles over her, his intoxicating scent. Her body tingles all over as they all assail her senses, leaving her trembling. She lacks the wherewithal to push him away even when his tongue begins tracing the delicate seam of her mouth, seeking entrance.

Shamelessly, she yearns for his kiss and so she parts her lips and allows him to plunge his tongue inside. The kiss then explodes. Max slants his mouth fiercely over hers again and again, his fingers tangling into the disheveled softness of her hair to hold her captive to his hungry assault. He scours her mouth, his teeth scraping her lower lip and nipping at her tongue.

Liz’s response is just as ardent. She wraps her arms about his neck and surrenders completely, fitting her body closely to his. Her breasts scrape against his chest provocatively, coaxing her nipples into aching hardness. Liz groans over the delicious friction his shirt creates against them.

Her body is wracked with such pleasurable sensation that Liz barely notices when the bed dips under Max’s weight as he shifts in beside her. He never breaks his kiss, his hands cradling her face as he samples her mouth, feasts upon it. But it is when Liz feels one of those hands travel down between their straining bodies to cup her breast that she comes to her senses.

With a shuddering sigh that is half arousal, half horror, she rolls away from him and scrambles from the bed. “Oh my God,” she utters, “What am I doing?”

Max lifts up onto his elbows to regard her in frustrated amusement. “Why do you leave, tesoro, when it just starts to get good?”

“This is not happening,” she states shakily, “I barely know you.”

The corners of his sensual mouth lift in a perfectly feline smile and he deftly rolls from the bed to begin stalking her around the room. “I can change that,” he promises.

“I don’t want you to,” she retorts.

His grin broadens. “Bugiarda.

“Huh?” she demands in shaky confusion.

“You are lying, tesoro,” he clarifies smoothly, matching each of her retreating steps with an advancing one, “I will prove it to you in three seconds.”

“Don’t ever kiss me again,” she warns breathlessly, staving him off as he advances, “Next time I’ll slap you…I swear it!”

“I think…I’ll risk it,” he murmurs, before taking her trembling body in his arms and lowering his head for another kiss.
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Post by Deejonaise »

Chapter 3

“Signorina Parker? Hello? Signorina Parker?”

Her name penetrates her passion-dulled senses but Liz is unable to focus as Max laves plundering kisses across the sensitive skin of her throat. His hands are beneath her shirt, pushing aside her bra to knead the supple fullness of her breasts. He twists her nipples between his fingers, creating an aching sensitivity that makes Liz want to scream with pleasure. Max seems to realize the effect he has because he does everything in his power to make her moan. His hands move over her flesh with the expertise of an accomplished pianist. Each crevice he strokes causes Liz to hum a discordant refrain of gratification. And then he’s kissing lower, his sensual mouth drawing ever closer to her turgid nipple.

“Signorina Parker? Are you home?”

Max covers one berry colored peak with his mouth and sucks hard. Liz responds with a hitching gasp, arching completely off the bed. She funnels fingers into his hair to hold his head captive, to force her nipple deeper into the hot vortex of his mouth. He receives the taste of her gladly, consuming her over and over, his tongue lashing fluidly against the aureole.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Elisabetta Parker! Liz Parker!”

Finally, Liz regains her head. It is the sound of her name being called in English that finally grabs her attention and holds it. There is someone in the house…specifically someone looking for her. That is curious in itself because no one knows her here. Liz makes the connection just as Max begins to inch his fingers into the waistband of her shorts, his fingers seeking the hot secret between her legs. She shoves him away with a serrated moan.

“I have to go,” she insists gruffly.

“Let them wait,” Max growls, ducking his head for another taste of her skin, “I need you, Elisabetta. Come to bed with me.”

“No,” she persists, rolling away from him quickly before he can trap her against the mattress with his body. Max is temporarily thwarted but not vanquished and Liz knows it. His golden eyes are full of hungry assurance. With one last groaning once over to his disheveled person Liz refastens her bra and smoothes a hasty hand down the rumpled length of her body.

“This should not have happened,” she declares huskily, unable to meet his enigmatic stare.

Max surveys her with a hooded look, shifting on the bed so that his arousal is plainly visible to her. He then takes hold of her hand and presses it to the swollen fly of his trousers. “We will finish it latter, Elisabetta,” he promises hotly.

“We won’t,” she refutes boldly, but when she tries to jerk away her hand but he won’t let her. He curves his hand over hers to cradle her palm over his erection.

“Why must you deny how you feel?” he murmurs gruffly, “I only wish to pleasure you, to make you smile. How is this wrong?”

“You don’t even like me,” Liz groans in exasperation.

“I like you too much, amore mio,” he counters.

“Well, I don’t like you,” she argues mutely.

“I think I can change your mind,” he replies with a smug smile. Max then leans forward so that his breath stirs against her cheek provocatively when he whispers, “You would never be sorry.”

It is because his offer and his body are so tempting that Liz knows she must put distance between them and quickly. She whirls away from him and scuttles from the bedroom but not swift enough to escape the sound of his mocking laughter. Liz makes it outside in time to spy her visitor trudging off in the direction of drive. She dashes out behind the caller; crying out a frantic, “Wait!”

The older woman halts in surprise when she sees Liz running towards her. As she leans heavily upon her walking stick she cannot quell her quickening heartbeat. For years she has listened to Louisa talk about this girl. She has never seen Liz other than in the faded photos Louisa always carried with her. But those pictures had been of a girl and the person before her now was clearly a woman. Dora Ricci’s craggy features stretch into a pleased smile.

“Hello, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Liz apologizes graciously, “I didn’t hear you call at first. You were looking for me, signora?”

“Elisabetta Parker,” Dora murmurs in wonder, “You are more beautiful than your aunt’s pictures gave you credit for.”

Liz frowns curiously. “I’m sorry…do I know you?”

The woman extends her hand. “I am Dora Ricci. I knew your Aunt Louisa,” she clarifies with a soft smile, “We were very good friends.” That is all the information Liz needs to clasp the woman’s hand warmly, despite the start she has when the woman reveals her name as Ricci.

“You were friends with my Aunt Louisa?” Liz whispers hopefully, “How did you know her, Signora Ricci?”

“My late husband and her husband Roberto were first cousins. When she came to live at the villa we became fast friends. My home is only fifteen miles down the road from here. We would visit much and she would just go on about you. She was especially fond of you, little one,” Dora tells the young girl, her eyes misting over with the memory of her dead friend. She blinks back the gathering tears in her eyes. “How I miss her so.”

“Me, too,” Liz murmurs, “I regret I wasn’t able to be here for her when she got so ill.”

“Your letters meant all the world to her,” Dora says, “She would read them to me whenever I came for a visit. I think it helped to pass the loneliness after Roberto died.”

“So…does this mean that you have a stake in the house as well now that Aunt Louisa is gone,” Liz deduces dully.

Scusa?” Dora says with a bewildered frown, “Do you think I’ve come to make claim to the villa?”

“You wouldn’t be the first one,” Liz mumbles with a roll of her eyes.

“Ahh,” Dora says, her eyes widening with dawned understanding, “I suppose this means you’ve already met Max.”

“Yes, we’re acquainted,” Liz confirms tightly, “He says that the villa does not belong to me. He’s contesting Aunt Louisa’s will.”

Dora’s expression darkens with a mixture of horror and pity. “Please do not fault him for this, Elisabetta,” she pleads, “He is a good boy but he loved Roberto very, very much. He has not recovered from the loss. Holding on to this villa is his way of holding on to his great uncle.”

“Apparently,” Liz mutters in agreement, “And he’s holding on tight.”

A few moments later, as if on cue, Max saunters from the house with a wide smile of welcome for Dora. It is the first time Liz has seen him smile a genuine smile since arriving. Most times he merely smirks sardonically or sneers, but this time there is delighted joy bathed over his stunning features and illuminating his marvelous eyes. Before that second Liz has believed him only handsome but when she sees him smile right then she thinks he is beautiful. The sight makes her heart do a crazy dip into the pit of her stomach. Liz wishes he would smile at her that way even as she mentally kicks herself over the foolish thought.

Max fires out an enthused Italian greeting to Dora as the two enfold each other in a tender hug and exchange smiles. For a moment they carry on fluent conversation and Liz feels left out of their rapid exchange, even more so when she recognizes that she is their topic of conversation. Every so often their eyes will flash surreptitiously in her direction.

Finally, Max says to Dora in English, “You must stay for dinner. I will not take no for an answer. Isabella and Michele will also be here along with my parents. It would be a shame for you to miss them.”

“I will stay then,” Dora complies, looping her arm through Max’s and letting him lead her off towards the house, “And you will explain to me why you are contesting Louisa’s will. I am not pleased to hear this, Massimiliano,”

Liz trudges after them, feeling more and more like a third wheel as the seconds wear on. But she freezes mid-step when Max shoots an accusing look over his shoulder in her direction. “Dora, what has she been telling you?” he demands cautiously.

“That you are a bully,” Dora replies, “And this I already know about you.”

Max does not take his eyes from Liz as he responds to Dora’s gentle scolding. “I am letting her stay here,” he says gruffly, “Did she not mention that to you? I am not a beast.” But he belies that statement by directing a low growl at Liz.

Dora taps his arm when she notes the penetrating glare he is shooting in Liz’s direction. “Max, stop!” she admonishes, shaking her finger at him, “Elisabetta told me nothing bad. But I’m a smart woman. I can figure out what’s going on here.” Both Max and Liz blush furiously as her rheumy blue eyes slashes between them. Dora Ricci is eighty-five years old with cataracts and advanced arthritis but she can still sense attraction.

“I think I will go look at the gardens,” Dora announces slyly, “I will give you two time to talk. Perhaps Elisabetta will tell you of my offer.”

“Offer?” Max and Liz echo simultaneously.

“To have her come work for me,” Dora clarifies, “And she may stay with me in the meantime…until this matter over the house has been settled.” As she minces past a dumbfounded Max and Liz the old woman offers Liz a playful wink before limping her way towards the gardens.

“You will work for Dora?” Max demands in a low, controlled voice when they are alone, “You are leaving? When is this and where was I?”

He is upset by the news and the reaction stuns him. Only yesterday he would have gladly tossed her out of his home but today the prospect causes a physical ache in his chest. It is not merely because he wants to take her to bed because he does, but there is something more. Something draws him to her, compels him… He must know her better and that cannot happen if she leaves the villa…leaves his life…

Max is not concerned with losing the villa just now. He is sure that victory is certain for him. Instead he fears losing the tiny brunette before him and the foreign but exciting feelings she has awakened within him. With some surprise, he recognizes that he is willing to do almost anything to convince her to stay.

“I do not understand,” he says when his first question is met with silence, “I thought you wanted the villa. You have changed your mind? You will give up just like that?”

“According to you the villa doesn’t belong to me,” Liz replies in exasperation, deciding to play along with Dora’s unknown game for now, “There is little point in remaining here when it’s clear I’m an unwelcome guest. When the courts decide that the villa is rightfully mine then I’ll return.”

She expects the dig to spark his usual sardonic air but Max ignores practically everything she says except the part about being unwelcome. “Aspetta…aspetta…you are welcome here, Elisabetta,” he returns fervently, “I told you yesterday…I will not make you leave before you are ready.”

Liz gapes over his fervid reaction. “You were ready to kick me out before, remember, Max?” she reminds him, “You don’t want me here.”

“We both know this is not true,” Max counters quietly, “I want you to stay, Elisabetta.”

Her eyes flare wide with his meaning and she stumbles back several steps, wrapping her arms about her middle. “I’m not going to sleep with you, Max,” she whispers shakily, “What happened between us this afternoon cannot happen again.”

“Why not?” he asks in genuine confusion, “You enjoyed it just as I did.”

“Max,” she sighs plaintively, “I won’t pretend I’m not attracted to you. I am. But I’ve just come out of a really bad breakup and I’m very vulnerable. I can’t deal with getting involved with someone else right now.”

Now the reason for her sadness makes more sense to him and Max feels himself soften towards her even more. “il tuo cuore e’ stato spezzato?

“Huh?”

“You are hurting,” he amends quietly in English, “I did not realize this, Elisabetta.”

Liz smiles a little over his contrite response. “Would you have not hit on me if you’d known?” she queries wryly.

Now it is his turn to grin and it is the genuine smile Liz hoped for earlier, the one that lights his eyes to golden flame. “No, I would have hit on you still,” he replies baldly, “but perhaps I would not have come on so strong.” The two trade tentative smiles, marking the moment as something profound, something changed between them. “Elisabetta, I do not want to be your enemy,” Max whispers, “There is no reason you cannot take this job with Dora and still stay here.”

“Max, that would be…very awkward,” Liz argues uneasily.

“I will barely be in the house,” he tosses out as incentive, “I must work in my family’s café so I will be gone during the day. At night I will stay in my part of the house and I will not bother you at all unless…you want me to.”

“Now I’m the one who doesn’t understand,” Liz mutters in confusion, “Yesterday you wanted me gone and today you’re offering me the villa with no strings attached.”

“I am not giving it to you, Elisabetta,” Max corrects, “But you may live here for the time being…until the case is decided.”

“What if it’s decided in my favor?” she challenges.

“That will not happen.”

Liz tosses back her head to bark a short laugh. “You’re completely unbelievable,” she snorts, “What is your game exactly? Is this about pity? Do you feel sorry for me, is that it? Because I don’t need your fucking charity, Max.”

“There are many things I feel for you, Elisabetta,” he murmurs gruffly, “Pity is not one. You are welcome to stay here. The choice is yours.”

As he walks away Liz bites down against the impulse to call him back. She realizes belatedly that she’s argued herself into a corner based on a job and a home she does not have. She is still cursing her stupidity when Dora materializes at her side. “Did it go well?” the old woman asks.

“Why did you do that?” Liz demands in a humiliated huff, “Now he thinks I have a job! He wants me to stay at the villa and not with you and I practically threw his offer in his face! But you know what? I don’t have anywhere else to go! Because I don’t have a place or a job! Why did you play this game, signora?”

“Calm down, Elisabetta,” Dora soothes, unruffled by the younger woman’s ranting, “Listen to me. It is not a game. I do, indeed, want you to come and work for me. You will show houses to my clients. You are young, beautiful and you speak English. This is good. And you may stay with me at my home though I am hoping you choose to stay here with Max.”

“What?”

Dora nods off in the direction of the field where a lone tree stands, gnarled with time. “Louisa fell in love with Roberto right over there,” she tells Liz wistfully, “This place is…magia…magic, Elisabetta. You have only to let yourself feel it.”



AN: Aspetta means wait. I think the rest may be self-explanatory, lol.
Last edited by Deejonaise on Fri May 07, 2004 12:01 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Post by Deejonaise »

Chapter 4

Max’s family proves to be boisterous and smiling and very free with their kisses. Liz feels welcomed by them immediately even though, in reality, she’s a perfect stranger. Yet, they greet her like a good friend they have not seen in a long time with warm hugs and greetings and Liz feels some of her residual loneliness dissipate.

She watches their familial exchange and thinks of her own family, longs for home. Diana Ricci bustles about in the kitchen, brandishing a wooden spoon and periodically shouting Italian admonishments at her husband Filippo. He largely ignores her as he, his sons and his son-in-law congregate at a small table for man talk. But when he thinks no one is looking he offers his wife longing stares. Meanwhile, Liz is left in the company Max’s younger sister Isabella and her unexpected champion, Dora.

“Do you plan to stay in Tuscany very long?” Isabella asks Liz. She can’t help but notice how often the girl’s eyes stray over towards her brother. But then Isabella notices that Max’s eyes stray just as often in Liz’s direction. The heat that passes between them is palpable. Isabella smiles inwardly, her mind already working over the possibilities.

“She will be here for a while, I think,” Dora answers for her, placing a loving pat to the back of Liz’s hand, “Elisabetta is going to help me with my real estate business.”

“That is wonderful, meraviglioso!” Isabella espouses, “Louisa talk about you so much that I really look forward to getting to know you. I did not know if this thing with the house make you go back to America. I am glad you stay.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Liz admits, “I wasn’t expecting to have Aunt Louisa’s will contested this way. It sort of put a crimp in my plans to stay here.” Liz had harbored big plans for the house but since her legal troubles all her plans for renovation have been put on hold. She and Max do not talk about the house often because, despite the growing attraction between them, the subject continues to be a sore spot.

“We tell Max not to do this thing,” Isabella confides in a low tone, “But my brother has skull like rock. He don’t listen to nobody. We don’t be able to tell him nothing!” She flicks her brother with an exasperated glare. “Ahh…he not trying to be cruel to you, Elisabetta…he just love our Uncle Roberto so much and this house.”

“Dora’s told me the same thing,” Liz says with a small smile, “But still that doesn’t leave me in a very good position.”

“I talk to him for you,” Isabella offers, “He is not so bad as he seems.”

“No,” Liz protests, sliding a surreptitious glance in Max’s direction. He is presently laughing over something his brother has told him. His head is thrown back and his eyes sparkling like Liz has never seen them. The sight captivates her. “No,” she murmurs again, “I can handle Max.” She does not notice when Dora and Isabella trade secret glances.

“So, Elisabetta,” Diana Ricci calls from the kitchen, “What take you so long to visit? Louisa talk about you coming all the time.”

Liz colors a little at her blunt question. Many times before she died her aunt Louisa had pressed for a visit. However, Liz had always been too busy, first with work and then with Kyle. When she learned of her aunt’s illness she had gone so far as to buy a plane ticket but Kyle had pouted and sulked over the idea so severely that she had canceled her trip, foolishly thinking her aunt would recover. Six weeks later, Liz continues to berate herself for her lack of judgment and she feels shame over not being present when her dear aunt needed her.

“I had meant to get away,” Liz replies lamely, staring down at her hands, “But I never seemed to have the time.”

“That a shame,” Diana tsks, “Louisa would have liked to see you….one time before she die.” Diana clucks her tongue again. “You American women…always so busy. It a sad, sad thing for you both.”

Max becomes aware of Liz’s discomfort then, the way she fidgets in her seat and shifts her eyes. He suspects she is beating herself up for not being there when Louisa died and his mother’s musings are not helping matters. He decides to come to her rescue. Though Max knows his mother does not intend to put Liz on the spot or berate her he does not think Liz realizes that. Most likely she assumes that his mother is reprimanding her.

“Mamma, please…” he admonishes quietly before firing off a quick warning to his mother in Italian, “I know Elisabetta had a good reason for staying away and I’m sure Louisa understood. We should not judge her.”

Liz is startled by his unsolicited support and she cuts a sharp glance in his direction so that their eyes collide in a melting stare. “No…no, it’s okay,” she stammers quietly, “I should have come to visit long before now.” Liz ducks her head and blinks back the tears gathering in her eyes. “Now it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late,” Diana protests, an easy smile spreading across her face, “We be your family in Louisa’s place.” She does not want Liz to feel unwelcome or sad. Diana is aware of how much Louisa loved the young girl and wants to pay due respect to her deceased relative by treating Liz cordially.

Liz is again taken back by the Ricci family generosity and acceptance. Tears pricking the back of her eyes, Liz laughs a bit and stares down into her lap. “Thank you…for making me feel so welcome,” she whispers gruffly.

“You will always be welcome here, mia cara,” Dora tells her. She takes Liz off guard when she reaches forward to clasp the girl in an unexpected hug. Liz is further surprised when Isabella joins in the hug and she once again feels the inclination to cry. Her tears actually fall with Dora’s next words, however. “We are your family here, Elisabetta,” Dora says fervently, “We loved Louisa and we love you.”

“We will sit down for dinner now!” Diana announces loudly, clapping her hands sharply, “Everyone to the table!”

Liz follows Dora and Isabella into the dining room, murmuring in anticipation over the rich aroma wafting from the kitchen. “It smells divine,” she tells Diana as she enters, “What is it?”

This is evidently the question to ask Diana because she positively beams when she answers. “For antipasto we have salami and for the main course we have pasta in meat sauce, roast beef I slow cook all day, and salad with fresh tomatoes from my garden!”

“So much food, Mamma! I will burst!” Michele Ricci teases as he brushes past his mother. He grabs hold of her and plants a playful kiss to her cheek. “You did not forget dessert, did you?”

His mother gives his cheeks an exuberant pinch, which startles a blush from her smiling son. “Oh, you…I never forget dessert!”

Liz watches the exchange with a fluttering heart. She does not have any siblings and spent much of her childhood alone because her parents were always working. She is both intrigued and envious of the easy camaraderie among the Ricci family. They are obvious in their love for one another and not ashamed to show it.

She starts to pull out a chair at the far end of the table, not wanting to break up the family by sitting in the middle, when Filippo lays a restraining hand against her forearm. “You sit next to me, Elisabetta,” he decrees, “We get to know each other better.”

Liz is stunned by his insistence and is nervous over the prospect but can do nothing more than follow along behind him when he takes hold of her hand. At her back, Michele and Max exchange thoughtful smirks while Diana Ricci narrows her eyes pensively. The family takes their places at the table with Filippo at the head, Liz and Max off to his immediate right and Michele, Isabella and her husband Alessandro off to his left. His wife sits at the opposite end of the table with Dora off to her left. The table is heaped with food and brimming with animated conversation.

“It is good to have you here, Elisabetta,” Filippo whispers, giving Liz’s hand a happy squeeze, “We hope you stay for a long time.”

Liz smiles, tears renewing in her eyes because she never expected to feel so welcomed. When she made her plans to come to Tuscany she was fully prepared to go it alone. Doing so would be nothing new for her. Growing up, Liz had only Maria to keep her company and those happy, though infrequent times when her great aunt visited. The Ricci family’s acceptance of her is an unanticipated but welcome surprise. This is the first time Liz has felt at home since arriving in Tuscany. She is beginning to think her decision was not such a bad one after all.

Once Filippo says a blessing over the food, Diana begins serving up the plates. But she does not let the task deter her from sizing up the girl who has obviously won her husband’s approval with so little effort. She has also not missed the fervid glances passed between Liz and her son.

“Elisabetta, what is it you do in America?” Diana queries boldly, as she passes dishes around the table.

Again Liz blushes in response to Diana’s unrepentant bluntness and Max groans. “Mamma!” he admonishes with a sharp glance, “Why you put her on the spot? You make her feel uncomfortable!”

“No, it’s okay,” Liz murmurs serenely, shifting in her chair to regard Diana fully, “I was an art buyer.”

“Art buyer?” Diana echoes in confusion.

“I bought and sold pieces of art for a living,” Liz clarifies simply.

“And you make good money to do this?” Filippo asks with a surprised frown. He cannot imagine that a person can make a livelihood selling pictures but Liz shocks him when she nods.

“But you then you leave it all to come to Tuscany?” Isabella wonders enviously, “Why you do this?”

“Well, when I received the letter from Aunt Louisa’s lawyer about her willing the villa to me coming to live here just seemed like the right thing,” Liz explains softly, “I was looking for a change and the letter just…came at the right time.”

However, following her statement the table falls into uncomfortable silence. Everyone knows what a sensitive subject ownership of the villa continues, especially because Max harbors no remorse for contesting the will. He believes he is right. Consequently, a concerted effort must be made to avoid talk of it altogether. Dora does an impressive job of restoring the humor to the table by launching into a detailed recount of her latest business dealings. Before long the table is once again alive with conversation and laughter.

Liz, for the most part, keeps quiet unless she is asked a direct question. She is content to watch the Ricci family in their element and enjoy their rich laughter and rapid flow of conversation. But Max is made uneasy by her silence and mistakes her quiet demeanor for discomfort.

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” he whispers into her ear as Alessandro and Michele launch into a spirited debate over who can eat the most. For the most part, his exchange with her is ignored.

Liz flashes him a nervous smile. “No, it’s perfect,” she whispers back, “Your family is perfect.”

“They are fond of you already,” he tells her proudly, “You wrap them around your finger in no time.” Just like me, he adds silently. The thought makes him nervous because he never expected to feel for this girl or to be so moved by her. The longer he is acquainted with her, the more he wants to know. “My mamma…she not gonna be so easy to know,” he confides in a low tone, “But I’m sure you win her over soon.”

Liz was not so sure of that, especially when she catches sight of Diana’s narrowed gaze from across the table. She quickly averts her eyes and drops them into her lap. “I don’t know about that,” she mumbles.

Max shoots his mother a quelling glare but Diana’s expression remains innocent, as if to ask, “What?” He tosses his mother one last exasperated glance before returning his attention to Liz. Hoping to put her at ease, Max plucks up his glass of wine and passes it towards Liz. She darts a suspicious glance from the wine to his face and back again.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” she says, shaking her head.

Liz is not being coy. Even those times when she and Maria would go out for drinks she would rarely order one for herself. Alcohol always tends to go straight to her head, whether she’s eaten or not. To take the sting out of her refusal, however, Liz offers Max a small smile. “I’m sure it tastes divine though,” she compliments gamely.

“Elisabetta,” he murmurs laughingly, “Just try it…one sip. It is very good.”

She stares at the glass doubtfully for a few seconds more before yielding to the boyish pleading on Max’s face and plucking the glass from his hand. Her fingers glance over his as she does and the brief contact causes a shiver to rumble through her extremities. Liz wonders if he feels it, too. She meets Max inscrutable gold stare with an audible gulp. “What is it called?” she whispers, before lifting the rim of the glass to her lips.

“Chianti,” he whispers in return, “It is from the vineyard here and aged to perfection.” His tone becomes a breathy murmur as he leans closer. “Taste it,” he urges.

As his words quiver through her body Liz lifts the glass obediently and takes a sip. She nearly moans aloud at the taste. He is right. The wine is rich and smooth and very heady. She gladly takes another sample. However, after only a few sips she feels lightheaded and very warm. She favors Max with a soft smile, one tempered with desire that, in her loss of inhibitions, she does not think to hide.

Max’s eyes dance with her reaction. “It’s good, no?” he queries smoothly.

“Hmm…” Liz hums with a nod of agreement, her eyes drifting down to his mouth, “Very good.”

Yet, Max has the distinct impression she isn’t talking about the wine. He realizes then that the drink has gone to her head. “That is enough for you, I think,” he laughs, taking the glass from her fingers and setting it back against the table.

“I feel a bit dizzy,” Liz mumbles, groping against the edge of the table to stop the mad spinning of the room.

Max laughs again, amused by her reaction. “I will take her out for some air,” he tells his family, already scraping back his chair. He stands and pulls Liz back from the table as well. “Come with me, Elisabetta.”

They walk out onto the terrace, with Max holding Liz fast against him to keep her steady. She giggles the entire way, her guard relaxed completely. Max is attracted to this new side of her, this girl who smiles so easily and who clasps him so close as if it is the most natural thing in the world to her. The fresh air goes a long way towards clearing Liz’s head. She steps away from Max to lean over the railing and take in great gulps of air.

“You really are not much of a drinker,” Max laughs as he comes to stand beside her, stroking her back in soothing circles.

“I told you,” she admonishes without rancor, slapping her hand against the middle of his chest before falling into him completely. She giggles contentedly and snuggles closer into his body when she feels his arms band around her. “Oh God…” she moans into his shirt, “Did I make a complete fool of myself?”

Liz feels his fingers tunneling through her hair, massaging her scalp and she swallows back an aroused moan. “You were fine, Elisabetta,” he murmurs into her hair, “Do not worry, amore mio.”

She tips back her head at the sultry timbre of his words, her emotions churning. As she regards him through a half lidded stare, she can’t help but marvel over the confusion he incites within her. “Max…” she mutters, nonplussed, “What are you doing to me?”

Ironically, Max appears just as confused when he answers her. “I wonder this same thing, Elisabetta,” he whispers, “I wonder this same thing.”
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Post by Deejonaise »

Chapter 5

“I will show you the countryside if you want.”

Liz starts guiltily, hastily scrubbing her cheeks free of tears before she lurches around to face him. “Max!” she gasps, acutely aware that her attempts to regain her composure are lacking, “I didn’t hear you come up!”

Cristo santo!” he cries as he advances, “You are crying!” He strokes his fingers down her damp cheeks, collecting the moisture he finds there. “Why? I thought you have a good time with my family tonight!”

“I did,” she says mournfully, “It’s just…”

“Just what, Elisabetta?” he prods in a murmur.

“I don’t understand you. Why are you being so nice to me, Max?” she whispers carefully, “Is it only because you want to sleep with me?”

Max strokes her hair back from her face, savoring the feel of the soft strands against his palms. “That is partly the reason,” he admits with a seductive smile, “The other part is very simple…I like you, Elisabetta Parker.”

Liz smiles in response to his simple reply, but shrugs out of his arms before he can kiss her. Though she wants him with a fervor that she finds unfathomable Liz is also very vulnerable. She does not want to do something she will regret. And, as sexy and interesting as she finds Max Ricci, she still knows next to nothing about him. Foremost, he is the reason her future is so uncertain yet she continues to forget that. Liz feels overwhelmed by her body’s unprecedented reaction to him. She didn’t even fall for Kyle this hard and fast.

In an effort to regain control of her irrepressible emotions, Liz turns back towards the scenic hills before them, surveying the beautiful landscape dappled in pale moonlight. “I’ve never seen anyplace like this,” she murmurs in awe, “It’s like a whole other world.” And she doesn’t mean just the surface beauty but the people, the smells… Liz feels like she’s tasting life for the first time.

“This place is only a small part of Tuscany, Elisabetta,” Max tells her, “You must see it all, little one. I will take you whenever you want.”

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” she murmurs.

“It would be my pleasure,” he insists huskily. Liz blushes at his tone. She gets the distinct feeling that showing her the countryside would not be Max’s only “pleasure.” There is more going on behind the wide, innocent smile he bestows. Her suspicions are heightened when she glimpses the look he is giving her…like he wants to gobble her up or have her right there on the balcony. Liz is of the mind to let him and the realization panics her. She deliberately directs her gaze back over the landscape.

“I could look out on this place all night,” she whispers.

Max falls into a meditative silence at her evasion, studying her preoccupied expression from the corner of his eye. “So who is this foolish man who broke your heart?”

Liz pins him with a sharp glance. “Why did you ask me that?”

“This is why you keep me at arm’s length, no?”

“Nooo,” Liz replies drolly with an eye-rolling smile at his arrogance, “I keep you at arm’s length because I hardly know you, Max.”

He leans down close against her, his breath stirring at her temple. “Do you want to know me?” he whispers, “Because I can change this very easy, Elisabetta.”

“Max…”

Ti voglio.” She does not need to ask what he has said. Liz has a good idea what he means when he starts to pull her into his arms to nuzzle against her cheek and jaw. “Baciami, Elisabetta,” he murmurs, tracing his fingers along her full lower lip, “Let me taste you. Kiss me…” And she does, despite all her reasoning to the contrary; she opens her lips to him with a small whimper of surrender when he leans down to seal his mouth to hers.

At the first surge of his lithe tongue Liz’s knees nearly buckle with sensation and she wraps her arms about Max’s neck, pressing into his body for leverage. Max is pleased with the change in her. He groans into her mouth and sweeps her even closer so that there is no space between their bodies at all. They are flush, melting into one another… Hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart.

In spite of his insistent ardor and the driving motions of his tongue, Max’s touch is infinitely gentle as he skates his fingers over her cheekbones and jaw and throat. Her skin is like velvet beneath his fingertips; every ensuing touch of her makes him want to lose himself within her. He wants to wrap himself up in her, to feel her pressed all around him until he has no consciousness of anything but her. The need drives him and Max consumes her mouth, as hungry for the kiss as he is for her response to it.

Her sweet return is his undoing. The way she twirls her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. The catchy, breathless sounds she makes into his mouth. The enticing way she reflexively rolls her hips against his all conspire to make Max lose control. He has the fierce desire to lay her down right there, to bury himself deep and never, never stop.

The desire leaves Max staggered. This is not who he is. He is quite experienced in pleasuring women. They do not make him lose control. He makes them lose control. Yet as the kiss goes on it becomes apparent that Max is no longer the master in this regard, but is quickly becoming the slave. He is shivering under her assault now and is caught up in emotions he cannot understand or bridle.

Without breaking the kiss, he sweeps up Liz’s hands and flattens her palms against his chest, desperate to feel her touch against his skin. “Touch me,” he gasps into her mouth, “Please, Lisa… Voglio sentire le tue mani su di me.

As if she understands his softly murmured words Liz lets her fingers slide down his throat in a deliberate caress as their lips crash together once more. She traces a meandering path down the open vee of his shirt before finally letting her hands come to rest at the first button. Only when she slips it from its eyelet does she deliberately slide her lips from his. Liz kisses a hot trail down the column of his throat, towards his chest, following in the wake of her fingers.

His skin has a faint, salty flavor, which Liz finds appealing. The spicy scent of his cologne as well as the burning heat radiating from his body make her feel lightheaded with desire. She nuzzles against his bared flesh, spreading his shirt wide so that she can have greater access. His skin is tanned and smooth. Liz drifts her fingers over one muscled pectoral, delighting in Max’s reflexive gasp of pleasure. She can touch him like this all day.

He is that beautiful, Liz thinks. Max reminds her of the rolling, golden splendor that is Tuscany. This man embodies his country well, the landscape's wild magnificence is echoed in his body and Liz wishes to pay homage. She pushes his shirt completely from his body so that the soft linen drifts to the stone floor in a whisper. Their serrated breaths mingle and break the stillness of the night.

Max watches her every movement intently, fire leaping in the magnetic depths of his eyes. However, when Liz leans forward to swirl her tongue tentatively over his right nipple Max emits a pained groan and abruptly sweeps her up against him, grasping her hips in a hold that is both rough and tender.

A moment later Liz is pressed into the granite façade of the balcony, the rock biting exquisitely into her back as she and Max kiss like two people starved for one another. Liz shamelessly wraps her legs about his waist, locking them at the ankles to hug him close. Max rocks into her body, fitting his erection snugly into her humid center, his hands skating over her skin in a maddened dance. He pushes her wispy skirt up the length of her thighs, bunching it around her waist before curving his hands beneath her to cup her bottom.

However, when Liz feels the rush of air against her exposed skin as Max impatiently removes her blouse she abruptly comes back to her senses. Liz then realizes that she is half naked on a semi-private balcony with a man she has known all of two days and shame tidal waves through her body. She shoves him away with a whimpered cry, swallowing back her sudden tears.

Max is understandably stunned by her unexpected reaction and can do little more than stare dumbly as she begins grappling behind her back to refasten her bra. When she stoops to retrieve her blouse, though, Max finally regains his ability to speak. “We are stopping?” he demands dubiously, his dark brows drawn together in a befuddled frown.

Liz finishes refastening her blouse but when she looks up at him again her shame doubles. He is clearly confused by the change in her. She feels like a tease in that second. No. She is a tease. How could she let things go so far before calling it off? There is no disputing that she wants him, even now her body is tingling form his torrid kisses, but she is afraid of the consequences. Sex with a perfect stranger, even if it is mind-blowing, heart stopping sex, still does not promise good results. Yet in spite of that certainty Liz still wants him. She is confused by the intensity of her feelings. They frighten her.

“I…I never meant for things to go this far…” she stammers lamely, dropping her eyes from his face, “I’m sorry.”

Max has to take several calming breaths before he can speak. “Elisabetta,” he begins in a tone of barely concealed frustration, “I like to think I am a patient man but I do not like these games you are playing.”

She feels guilty over his accusation but is too prideful to admit it. Consequently, she takes refuge in her offended anger. “Games?” she spits out tartly, “I’m not playing games! You’re the one who keeps attacking me at every turn!”

“Attacking you?” he scoffs, “A few minutes ago I would have had to peel you off of my body! This is not attacking, Elisabetta!”

Liz blushes at the accusation and is more infuriated because she cannot deny it. “You bastard,” she seethes.

“You are playing games, ragazza,” he declares again, bending to scoop up his shirt and shrug into it, “And I do not like it.”

“There you go again!” she accuses, “You’re calling me names, you asshole, and I do not like it! I don’t know what ragazza means but I’m smart enough to know it’s not a good thing! If you can’t refer to me by my name then don’t speak to me at all!”

“I have other names for you,” he interjects smoothly as he buttons his shirt, “Would you like to hear them?”

“Why you…” She starts to hurl every known American vulgarity she can fathom at him, as well as a few choice words she knows in Spanish. She realizes that Italian and Spanish are not identical languages, but they are similar enough for him to get the gist. However, at the last moment she thinks better of it. That is exactly what he wants. He will probably relish in her loss of control while he maintains his unaffected demeanor through it all. Liz decides she will not give him the satisfaction.

“You know what I think?” she charges softly, refusing to be deterred when his response is nothing more than a bored yawn, “I think you’re doing all of this just to butter me up. I think there’s a very good chance I’ll win this villa and you’re hoping to win me over to your side of things just in case. Well, it’s not gonna work, buddy!”

Liz hardly expects his next reaction. Max bursts out laughing. Not merely amused chuckles, but his head is thrown back with roars of hilarity. He laughs so hard that by the end of it he must wipe the tears of mirth from his eyes. “Oh Lisa…” he chortles, “You are very funny. My interest in you has nothing to do with this villa. I simply want to fottere…or how you say in English…fuck.” Liz gasps at his unapologetic crudity, her cheeks flaming brightly in the darkness. “And I tell you something else,” Max continues smoothly, “You never have the chance to win this villa.”

She lifts her chin to a haughty angle. “What makes you say that?” she demands with a flash of bravado, “I have the law on my side, remember? Aunt Louisa willed this property to me. You really don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“But she promised it to me,” he counters flatly, “A verbal contract, Elisabetta.”

This is news to Liz, such surprising news, in fact, that she does not think to hide her shock. “What are you talking about?” she queries carefully.

“Louisa promised me this villa,” he tells her, “She know how important this house is to me and when I go to her and ask her to leave it to me she say yes…because I want to bring my family up here…I want to make a home here.”

“You’re lying,” Liz utters in disbelief.

“No, it is not a lie,” Max insists, “Louisa give me this house. I have no reason to think otherwise until they read the will and say that the villa belong to you.”

Liz is torn by his startling revelation. She does not know whether to believe him or not. However, she can think of nothing he would have to gain by lying. Though she was flippant when he said she had no chance of winning the villa, Liz harbors that secret fear. After all, she is not Italian and she does not have the ties to the house that Max does. And, if what he is telling her is true, then he has every reason to hate her. Liz is sure she would hate him if their roles were reversed. Yet, in spite of their first awkward meeting, Max has been kind and welcoming to her even when he would be well within his rights to view her as an interloper.

She hangs her head as her anger deflates from her body leaving only humiliation and remorse. “God, Max…” she mutters, “Those things I said to you…they were uncalled for…”

“Why did you say them?” he whispers. Max also regrets the things he said in the heat of the moment as well, but he’s not quite ready to confess that to her.

“You confuse me,” she whispers in a small voice, “I’m…I’m scared of the things you make me feel. It seems easier to lash out at you than to give into something that, frankly, scares the shit out of me.”

Max grins a bit over her admission, tugging his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully. He is well aware that he has been pushing her and feels an unprecedented stab of guilt over it. He knows her heart is vulnerable. If he were to continue to make such strong advances Max knows he would be taking advantage of that vulnerability and he does not want that. When he and Lisa come together he wants it to be because she wants him and not because she is trying to dull the ache in her heart. Max is surprised that it matters to him at all, but it does.

“Perhaps it will help if we take things slower, no?” he suggests after a thoughtful moment, “I can agree to this…can you?”

“Yes,” Liz agrees eagerly, “Yes, I can. Slow would be very good!”

“Okay…we start over then.” He thrusts out his hand to her, knowing she will appreciate the gesture of friendship. “I am Massimiliano Ricci,” he says formally, “But you may call me Max.”

Liz gladly takes hold of his hand and pumps it with an answering smile. “Liz Parker,” she replies gamely, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

But the tingling in her palm when Liz releases his hand lets her know that friendship with Max Ricci will mean more than she ever dreamed.


AN: Here are the meanings of the words I used in this part.

Cristo santo = Holy Christ
Baciami = kiss me
Ti voglio = I want you
Voglio sentire le tue mani su di me = I want to feel your hands on me
ragazza = little girl

Hmm...I believe that covers it, lol.
Last edited by Deejonaise on Mon May 10, 2004 12:02 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Post by Deejonaise »

Chapter 6

“…so he said Louisa promised him the villa,” Liz tells Dora as they await the arrival of her latest client, “Do you know anything about that?”

Dora falls silent at Liz’s question and she wonders if guilt is traceable on her weathered features right then. She thinks not since Liz’s eyes remain as wide and guileless as ever. Her young companion suspects nothing. In fact, Liz appears genuinely confused over the information Max has given her, as if she’s been puzzling over it for some time now.

“Perhaps he is confused,” Dora evades, “When Louisa was sick it was crazy…no one like to remember that time clearly because we love her so.”

“Max seemed so sure,” Liz considers thoughtfully, “He was adamant that Aunt Louisa promised him the villa. But then why would she do that and then will it to me? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Dora knows the answer to that but she also knows that Liz is not ready to hear it. Most likely she will think her aunt was some foolish old lady and will also lump Dora into that category for helping with Louisa’s schemes. The knowledge will definitely not help matters along with Max. The two young people already have a myriad of obstacles between them based on their own personal issues alone. Dora does not think they need yet another.

She gives Liz’s hand an affectionate pat. “I will talk to Max for you,” she offers, “and clear up this misunderstanding.”

“No, don’t!” Liz implores, “We just established peace between us. I don’t want to go stirring up contentions over the house again because we just argue ourselves in circles. I’ll just wait for the courts to decide.”

“You might have a long wait, Elisabetta,” Dora warns direly though she is secretly pleased by the prospect, “Italia’s justice is very, very slow…” She shrugs. “Who knows when your case will be decided? It could be years.”

“Years?” Liz groans. She couldn’t conceivably share the villa with Max for years, could she? NO! No, of course not! But the idea of leaving makes her heart ache. After only three days she has fallen in love with every nook and cranny of the house. She is like Max, wanting to build her future there and raise a family… Liz does not simply want to hand it over to Max without a fight and, at the same time, she does not wish to fight him at all.

But then she can see no clear solution. Max wants the house and so does she. There is no compromise to be had. For the umpteenth time Liz wonders what her dear, sweet aunt was thinking when she created this mess.

Wanting some distraction from her thoughts, Liz glances down at her watch and notes that the client is more than forty-five minutes late. “I don’t think he is coming, Dora,” she says, “Perhaps we should call it a day.”

Dora nods her agreement over this. “I did not believe he was so serious anyway,” she mumbles and she and Liz head back over to her car. However, as they climb into the seats Max zooms up alongside them in his sporty red convertible. Liz can’t suppress her smile of surprised delight when she sees him. “Max!” she gasps, “What are you doing here?”

“I finished at the café early,” he says, “I wonder if you still want the tour I promise you.”

“Max, I’m working,” she reminds him uneasily, nodding towards Dora, “I can’t go with you today.”

“Nonsense!” Dora interrupts, “This is our last client of the day. You can go with Max. I will not mind it.”

“But…but you have to get home,” Liz stammers in protest.

“We take Dora home,” Max says gamely, “Then we go see Tuscany.” He flashes her a brilliant smile and Liz cannot say no. She doesn’t want to.

Half an hour later Dora is standing on the doorstep of her villa, watching with a secret smile as the two young people speed away. “It is working, Louisa,” she whispers to her departed friend, “Just as we hoped.”

“So where are you taking me,” Liz asks Max as they speed down the stretch of long, dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake.

He flashes a smile. “That is a surprise, Lisa.”

“Can’t you give me a little hint?” she wheedles.

“No hints,” he declares, “I want to see the look on your face when you see it.”

They drive on for hours, talking about everything and nothing. Liz learns that Max does not merely pitch in time at his family’s café as he led her to believe but he is, in actuality, half owner of the business. At twenty-six Max has acquired a degree of success but still he finds that there is something missing in his life. No amount of recreation, wealth or success can fill the gradual and growing void within him. He has grown weary of the playboy’s life. He wants something more but he cannot figure how to reach out for it.

Liz listens to him talk about his seemingly fabulous life but she can sense that there is something missing. He is looking for something more, she can tell. She easily recognizes the yearning because it mirrors her own. Her search brought her halfway across the world. She wonders where Max’s will take him.

She is still pondering over the enigma Max Ricci is when he says, “Okay, Lisa…we are almost there.”

“And where exactly is ‘there’?” she laughs.

“Here.”

The first thing she sees is a gorgeous field of bright sunflowers, spilling across the rolling landscape like petals of sunlight. Beyond that she can make out the clusters of vineyards and olive grove plantations. Even from the distance she can smell their pungent scent in the air. And then she sees the city beyond, majestic stone buildings worn with history and surrounded by cobblestoned walls. Liz sucks in an awed breath. “Max,” she sighs, “What is this place?”

He smiles at her. “San Gimignano. It is a medieval town, full of many sights,” he tells her, “But there is something in particular I want you to see.”

“What?” she asks, mesmerized by the deep cadence of his words.

“The Piazza Cisterna,” he says, “It is a famous walk in San Gimignano and in the piazza there is a beautiful fountain there that I want to show you.”

“A fountain,” Liz murmurs with unconcealed pleasure, “It sounds romantic. You wouldn’t be trying to charm me, would you, Massimiliano Ricci?”

“Is it working?” he laughs.

“Not in the slightest,” she says but the enamored look she gives him belies her words. She is obviously charmed beyond measure. “Is that why you brought me all this way,” she teases, “To show me a fountain.”

“There is much more to do than that, Lisa,” he volleys back with a smile, “We can go hiking to see the landscape, we can visit the churches, and we can shop. This appeals to you, no?”

“Yes,” she whispers, unable to wipe the smile of happiness from her face, “This appeals to me very much.”

Liz does not think of Kyle as they walk together through the narrow streets of San Gimignano. She forgets that she is in a foreign country without family or friends. She forgets that the man with whom she keeps company holds her very future in his large hands. Liz forgets all this because she is too enamored of her surroundings to care. The tall buildings, narrow alleyways, and looming churches all fascinate her. None of the terrain she has glimpsed so far prepares her for the sight of Tuscany from San Gimignano’s rolling hills. As she looks out on the scene before her, Liz feels tears prick the backs of her eyes.

“You should see it in the wintertime,” Max whispers into her ear, “When the hills are covered with snow…bellissima…” He cups her cheek, nuzzling against her temple.

“Max,” she moans, turning against his hand, so that their noses bump.

He brushes his lips across her eyes, lingering there before creating a meandering line across the bridge of her nose. “And you are. Tu sei bellissima, amore mio.”

“Max…you promised,” she reminds him shakily though her heart is fluttering at his husky compliment.

“What?” he breathes into her hair, “I cannot tell you that you are beautiful, Lisa?”

“Do you have to stand so close when you do it?” she groans.

He smiles into her hair. “Does it bother you?” She stares up at him, forcing herself to maintain eye contract. His eyes are dangerous enough but Liz knows if she lets her attention slip to his sensual mouth it will be all over. He is all too tempting. Max recognizes the determination in her dark gaze and he expels a heavy sigh before obligingly retreating back a step. “Fine…I will give you your space, Lisa,” he whispers, “But I do not think you really want it…”

The sexual tension between them is still thick when they stop for lunch in the market square. They chew their food deliberately, all the while trading covert stares of mutual yearning. They spend the remainder of their afternoon touring the historic churches. Liz marvels over the architecture, awed by the high vaulted ceilings and medieval facades. Max has a story for each church and the reason for their narrow windows. He tells her how, in the past, Italy was not so peaceful and the narrow streets and windows helped to deter invasions because so few people could enter. His commentary makes the tour all the more entertaining.

Afterwards they wander about the piazza, perusing the various vendor stands there. Liz finds herself enamored with a white gold charm bracelet, made of delicate chain links. It glows orange-yellow in the setting sunlight. She fingers it longingly but shakes her head negative when the vendor makes an offer. Her money situation is still very uncertain and she cannot afford any unnecessary spending.

Yet as she walks off for the next stand, Max speaks something rapidly to the vendor in Italian and when Liz’s back is turned the vendor quickly wraps up the bracelet for Max. Without Liz ever the wiser, Max slips the package into his pocket and joins her at the leather stand.

By they time they make it to the Piazza Cisterna twilight has fallen. They have been walking all day but Liz does not feel tired. Not many people loiter the streets now and San Gimignano seems to be winding down. Golden streetlight gleams down onto the craggy stone steps, giving the fountain an almost ethereal presence. Max takes a hold of Liz’s hand and leads her over to those steps and pulls her down to sit beside them.

“So what do you think?” he whispers, his tone low but vibrating with excitement.

“It’s beautiful here,” she sighs, “This whole place is just…indescribable.” She looks over into the translucent water to glimpse her shimmering reflection.

“Hmm…” he murmurs, feeling inundated by his sudden, romantic mood. He feels a bit shy because of it but he can hardly quell the emotions swelling within him. He needs to be close to her. He needs to share himself with her, even if it is only in a small way. “Being here reminds me of a story I once heard. Do you mind if I tell it to you, Lisa?”

Again Liz finds herself captivated by his honeyed tone. “Go ahead,” she permits with a dreamy nod.

“It is the story of Narciso and Eco,” he begins intensely, “Narciso was a mortal, so wonderful and good-looking that people who met him fell instantly in love. But he was a vain fool and too enamored of himself to care for their feelings. One day, a ninfa called Eco, saw Narciso and fell in love with him. Afterwards she followed him wherever he went.

“But Narciso was unmoved by her devotion,” he continues direly, “Not only was he indifferent to her feelings but he treated her very bad. He was annoyed by her insistence. Poor Eco was heartbroken and she did not eat for her sorrow. Day by day she wasted away until only her voice remained. The Gods took pity on Eco and put her on high in the mountains where her voice could always be heard and that is the Echo. As for Narciso…the Gods punished him for the way he mistreated Eco. They made him fall in love with his image in the fountain water. He wandered for days and days looking at the wonderful image never realizing it was himself. In the end, he died and from his body sprouted a flower: the Narcissus.”

Finally Max looks up at her, noting the enraptured smile on her face. She has hung on his every word, absorbing the details of his recount like a sponge. “You are probably wondering why I tell you this story, no?” he surmises sheepishly, “Simply put…it is not being loved that is the blessing, but the giving of love. Being loved brought Narciso nothing but Eco was rewarded for her open heart.” He reaches inside his jacket pocket then and extracts the small package housing her bracelet. “You have opened my heart, Lisa,” he whispers, pressing the gift into her hands, “And I wish for you to have this…to thank you.”

With shaking fingers Liz unfolds the wrapping to reveal the precious trinket beneath. “Max,” she breathes shakily, “This is the bracelet from the market.” She jerks a tear brightened glance to his face. “You did not have to do this.”

“Shh…” he admonishes, pressing his fingers to her lips for silence, “I have not been so nice to you these last few days but I want you to know that I am glad that you are here, Lisa, more than I can ever express. I am glad you came to Tuscany.”

“Max--,”

“I know you say you want to be friends,” he continues with unrelenting softness, “and I want to respect your feelings but… But I do not think I can do this thing. I do not think I can be just friends with you, Lisa, not when I want so badly to be your lover.” He covers her mouth with a soft kiss before she can protest. Her lips yield beneath his, parting like the petals of a flower in the sun. “Please…do not make a decision now,” he cajoles against her lips, “Wait and think on what I have said to you first.”

Liz manages a nod just before he settles his lips on hers once more.


AN: Special thanks to mareli for her information on San Gimignano and her story of Narciso and Eco. Her contribution helped to make this part perfect!

Tu sei bellissima = You are beautiful.
Last edited by Deejonaise on Tue May 11, 2004 1:42 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Post by Deejonaise »

Chapter 7

She watches him when she thinks he is too preoccupied to notice, studying him from beneath her lashes as she carries on unconsciously half-hearted conversation with Isabella. They sit together on the veranda while the men folk work hard within the house. Diana Ricci helps to relieve some of heat exhaustion by serving tall, chilled glasses of Limoncello. Liz only takes a few sips before the drink has gone to her head. Mellowed, she feels free to watch Max to her heart’s content.

Despite the villa being suspended in legal limbo she and Max have decided to go through with renovation plans. It is disconcerting and refreshing to learn they had similar ideas about the changes in the house. And since, as Dora informed her, Italian justice is rather slow neither Max nor Liz saw any reason to delay further.

Now he works with the contractors as they knock down a wall separating the kitchen from the dining area. Max has discarded his shirt long ago, leaving Liz with a tantalizing view of his naked back and chest as he works. He is mouthwatering.

Her pulse quickening, Liz cannot help but notice the alluring way his trousers hang low on his hips, accentuating his corrugated abs and muscular chest. Each movement he makes cause his glistening muscles to ripple and flex in the sunlight as he hauls the broken remnants of stone and granite from the house. Liz feels faint from the heat because it is no longer merely external but coming from within her as well. Her lips part slightly as she follows a trickle of sweat down the small of his back with her eyes. She wishes devoutly she could be that trickle.

“Elisabetta?” Isabella passes a hand before Liz’s distracted features. “Elisabetta? Are you listening to me?”

Finally, Liz jerks back around to her. “Huh?”

“You were staring at my brother again,” Isabella clarifies smugly.

Liz blushes hot and bright. “I was not!” she denies but her vehemence seems forced.

“You were,” Isabella insists, “But I do not think this is a bad thing. Max is also staring at you.”

“He is?” The prospect so delights Liz that she drops her cool, reserved veneer altogether. “When?” she asks excitedly, “When has he looked at me?”

Isabella laughs easily over Liz’s enthusiasm. “He is doing the same thing you are,” she tells Liz, “He only look when he thinks you are looking away.”

At Isabella’s blunt reply, Liz’s cheeks practically burst into flames. She considers if her feelings are so effortless for Isabella to read Max must be well aware of them also. The thought causes an inward groan.

Max has done well about giving Liz her space since the night at the fountain. He has kissed and touched her just as always but he is nowhere as persistent as he had been in those first days. Liz admits in the secret part of her heart that she misses his determination.

“My brother like you very much,” Isabella interjects quietly, cutting through Liz’s internal musings, “If this is what worries you.”

“It’s not that so much,” Liz whispers, “But I just recently broke up with my boyfriend back in the States and… I’m just not eager to have my heart broken again.” She looks over at Max. He is laughing with the contractors and helping himself to another glass of his mother’s Limoncello. God, he is sexy even when he’s not trying to be, Liz thinks in exasperation. “And your brother seems like a heartbreaker,” she murmurs to Isabella pensively.

Isabella laughs at this. “Yes…” she agrees slowly, “He can and has been a heartbreaker. Both of them have.” She nods in Michele’s direction. He and Max have gotten into a playful shoving match. “I remember when I was a girl in school,” she recounts in reverie, “All the girls would want to be my friend. I never know if they like me for me or if they try to get close to my brothers. Very distracting.”

“So then he is a man-ho,” Liz mutters to herself.

Scusa?” Isabella queries, her smooth brow crinkled in a tiny, confused frown, “What is this…man-ho?”

Liz pulls her lower lip between her teeth to keep from laughing out loud at Isabella’s question. “I’m just saying…he doesn’t get serious about women,” she amends with a smile.

“This is very true,” Isabella confirms, “He does not usually get serious about women. But this…what he is feeling for you…I think this is different.”

“Why do you say that?” Liz wonders.

“Because of this,” Isabella says, sweeping up Liz’s wrist so that the charm bracelet Max purchased for her the week before catches the sunlight, “My brother has always been very generous with women but not this generous. This gift is special. What he feel for you must be special, too.”

“I don’t know…” Liz hedges.

“I help you surprise him,” Isabella offers excitedly, “You can make him dinner…his favorite…”

Liz is already bolted upright on her lounge chair and shaking her head wildly before Isabella can even complete her sentence. “No, Isabella,” she protests wildly, “That would be a very, very bad idea. I am a disaster in the kitchen. Now…ordering take out? I can do that. But actually preparing a meal…eh, eh… Believe me when I say it would be a terrible idea.”

“Nonsense,” Isabella says, waving away Liz’s misgivings, “I help you with everything. It not so hard, Elisabetta. Trust me.”

What is it about these Italians and persistence, Liz grouses inwardly. She favors Isabella with a wan smile. “What is his favorite dish,” she sighs in defeat.

“Pizza.”

Liz actually has to laugh at the simple answer. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Isabella replies, “He love pizza. He drive Mamma crazy because he want it all the time.”

“I can make a pizza,” Liz mumbles more to herself than to Isabella.

“It is not like American pizza,” Isabella warns with a grimace of distaste, “That is not so good.”

Liz ignores the dig at American pizza in favor of the newest tidbit that Isabella has been to America. “You’ve been to America?”

“Only once,” she says with longing, “It was when I consider going to the university but I decide against it and I come home. That is when I meet Alessandro.” She directs a smile over towards her husband where he is working hard alongside his brothers-in-law. “We met here at the villa. He is a distant cousin of Dora’s and we have a big family gathering. I take one look at him and I know he is the one for me always.” She looks back over to Liz to find her friend rapt, her beautiful features soft with yearning envy. “This villa…it is fashioned for love.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Liz mumbles, wilting back against her lawn chair.

“Because it is true. You will find love here, too,” Isabella returns simply and then her expression becomes sly when she adds, “Why do you not go and offer Max another glass of Limoncello. It is very hot. That would be nice, no?”

Liz realizes she is being conned but because she is rather lonesome for Max’s company she complies with Isabella’s obvious plan. Plucking up the pitcher from a nearby table, she saunters over to where the men stand and walks straight up to Max. He catches sight of her when she’s halfway there and Liz watches with pleasure as his eyes darken upon her approach.

“Would you like more?” she queries, lifting the pitcher towards him with a secret smile.

His reply is cut short when one of the workmen utters a laughing comment in Italian. “Vieni qui bella,” he says, “che ti faccio vedere il Paradiso.

Liz has no clue what the man says but her inclination to brush it aside is stifled when she notices the lascivious look he is giving her. Making matters worse, the workers around them begin to laugh and issue catcalls. Reflexively, Liz glances over at Max to gauge his reaction. His features grow red with gathering rage.

Quicker than she can blink, Max fires out a clipped reply at the workers, his eyes flashing dangerously as he does. He is clearly furious, if his wild gesticulations are any indication. Michele actually steps between Max and the worker, for fear a brawl will ensue. Most of the conversation goes over Liz’s head but she has enough sense to step back from the verbal melee.

A moment later Max is plucking the pitcher from her fingers and grasping hold of her forearm to lead her away. Liz follows along beside him helplessly otherwise she risks being dragged. His demeanor alarms her and she begins to worry that perhaps the worker said something horrible.

“Max, what is it?” she asks anxiously when they’ve gained a private spot in the shade away from the house, “What did that man say to you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Max mutters, “I just…need to do this.” He cradles her face in his hands and then seals his lips to hers.

His kiss is scouring, possessive, his tongue sweeping in and out of her mouth in hungry lunges. Liz is taken off guard by the assault, her senses overwhelmed by his scent, his touch, his ardor. Yet, she returns his kiss helplessly and wraps her arms around his neck, tangling her tongue with his. Her passion fuels his own and Max pulls her into his body as if he means to absorb her into his skin. The kiss goes on and on, gaining momentum, intensity…

Max cradles Liz against him so that she is pinned between his demanding body and the unyielding bark of a tree. He undulates against her, bringing her into pulsating awareness of his aching hardness. “Toccami, Lisa,” he orders roughly, “Toccami…” She murmurs his name in a mixture of desire and confusion, wanting to please him but having no idea what he is asking for. “I show you,” he whispers, uncurling her fingers from his hair and bringing her hand down between their bodies to cup his rigid arousal.

“Touch me here, amore mio,” he coaxes hotly, “I need to feel your hands on my skin.”

Rather than being put off by his boldness Liz is aroused by his demand. She needs to touch him just as badly as he needs to be touched. Their lips meet in another desperate kiss as Liz deftly unfastens the button at the waist of his trousers and lets her hand slip down into the burning confines of his boxers. Her fingers barely glance his fiery skin before Max is arching into her, muttering hot words of Italian against her cheek. When she curves her fingers around his fevered hardness his entire body jerks in reaction and he emits a low, serrated moan of pleasure.

This provokes another string of mutters, more torrid than the last. One word she recognizes and Liz rears back from him with an impish smile, her ministrations temporarily halted. “I know that word, Max,” she murmurs, “Is that what you want?”

“Hmm…Lisa, please,” he replies gruffly, rocking his hips against her fingers, silently begging for her touch, “Don’t stop.”

“Tell me what you want,” she insists in a seductive whisper, “Tell me in English.”

“Touch me,” he utters again, reaching down to curve his fingers around hers and lead them back to his erection, “Stroke me…hard…”

She does as he commands, cupping him in her hand and sliding her fingers down his erection, root to tip. His skin is like silk over burning hot steel. With each stroke he hisses into her ear, murmuring over and over how beautiful she is, how good she makes him feel, how he never wants her to stop… “Oh dio…mi fai morire…,” he mumbles into her mouth, “Harder…Lisa…”

Liz begins to comply, tightening her fingers around his throbbing cock as their mouths converge in another rapacious kiss when the sound of his name being called drifts over to their ears. It is his mother. Liz releases Max as if she’s been burned and whirls out of his arms with a blush of mortification. Max makes a desperate grab for her but groans despairingly when he comes up empty. He quickly refastens his trousers when he hears his mother’s voice grow closer, pressing his forehead painfully into the tree trunk as he does so.

Merda!” he mutters in frustration, banging his fist against the rough bark of the tree, “Merda! Merda!” He notices then Liz is staring at him in concern and he offers her a weak smile. “I will be fine in a moment,” he tells her.

“We…We’ll finish this later,” she prods shyly, “Right?”

He has to kiss her again for that question. It doesn’t matter that his mother is nearly upon them. Liz is simply too adorable to resist. “Yes,” he promises fervently, “We will finish it later.”


AN: Translations
Viene qui bella, che ti faccio vedere il Paradiso = Come here, baby, and I'll show you Paradise.

Toccami = Touch me

Oh...dio..mi fai morire = Oh God, you're making me die!

Merda = Shit

Thanks mareli! You rock, woman!
Last edited by Deejonaise on Wed May 12, 2004 6:25 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Post by Deejonaise »

Chapter 8

“Something smells molto buono,” Max announces as he steps into the unfinished kitchen, “What have you done, Lisa?”

She pivots around to regard him, leaning back against the countertop. Though her stance is relaxed there is a near imperceptible rigidity to her shoulders. “Your family just left a few minutes ago while you were showering,” she says as he checks the oven for the baking pizza, “Your mother told me that you fired the contractor, Max. Is that true?” He snaps upright at the mild admonishment in her tone, but utters not a single word in his defense. “Why did you do that?” she asks when he makes no defense for himself.

“They were disrespectful,” he answers simply.

“To who?” she demands, “Me or you?”

“Both.”

She scrutinizes him closely. “What exactly did that worker say today?” she asks, “It must have been something terrible for you to react this way.”

“It does not matter,” he dismisses.

His refusal to tell her only adds fuel to her already simmering anger because he decided to fire the contractor without consulting her first. “It matters to me!”

“He made a pass at you,” Max explains shortly, “And, worse than that, he did it right in front on me! He is lucky I did not beat him senseless!”

Liz wants to strangle him in that moment. “That’s it?” she bleats, “He made a pass? He didn’t say anything lewd or vulgar? He just made a simple pass and you fired him for that? Who is going to finish the kitchen, huh?”

“That was enough!” he tosses back sharply, “You are mine, Lisa…no one else’s. I will not allow another man to talk to you that way!”

“Excuse me?” Liz whispers in dubious affront, “Possessive much? Since when do I belong to you, Max? Since when do I belong to anybody?”

Tu sei mia! You belong to me,” he declares implacably. The jealousy simply erupts out of nowhere. Max suddenly realizes that he has no real hold on her. They are not married. They are not even lovers…yet. There is nothing to bind her to him technically, yet he feels that she belongs to him anyway. She is his. He will share her with no one. “You were much too flirtatious with those men today! You are so beautiful they cannot help but look at you! Maybe I should keep you in the house from now on!”

“What?” Liz guffaws, caught somewhere between anger and laughter over his ridiculous threat, “You’re fucking cracked if you think you have any say at all in what I do!”

“You don’t think I do,” he challenges brusquely.

“Max, you’d better watch what you say before you can’t take it back,” Liz warns smoothly, “I am nobody’s property, pal…especially yours. This machismo crap doesn’t go over well with me so maybe you should try another technique! And on that note…you can dine alone tonight. I’ve lost my appetite for dinner and dessert!”

However, when she starts to brush past him Max snags hold of her forearm and swings her back around to face him. “Tu sei mia! Don’t you understand what is between us? I’m not letting you go that easy, Lisa…this is meant to be,” he murmurs before jerking her against him for a breath-stealing kiss.

She makes a feeble attempt to beat against his shoulders and chest but when he slides his tongue between her lips all struggles cease. Her body goes liquid and Liz moans as he plunges his fingers into her hair to hold her captive to his plundering mouth. She is vaguely aware of him walking them backwards until the backs of her knees finally knock against something. And then he scoops his hands beneath her and sets her on the dining room table, all without taking his marauding lips from hers.

His hands roam over her in rough urgency, splaying over her back, smoothing down her breasts, creating tiny flames of need wherever he touches. “Mia... sei…mia,” he whispers again, but this time his words are lush with desire, “Let me have you, Lisa.” She moans at his whispered plea and with very little effort he scoots between her thighs, dragging his lips from her mouth to slide down her throat in a tantalizing path. He sucks and bites at her tender skin, heating her blood, heating his own…

“Max…Max…don’t stop…”

“I want you right here,” Max whispers gruffly, licking at the underside of her jaw. He tugs her shirt up over her head without preamble and tosses it away. He needs to see her skin, to taste her. It is not something he can deny…not anymore. “I cannot wait, tesoro.” He slides his hands up her inner thighs, spreading them even wider. Liz shivers in eagerness for what he will do next and, unable to wait, she takes hold of his hand and places it between her legs. He rubs his open palm against her damp center, moaning aloud when he feels her wetness seeping through the crotch of her panties. “I want to take you, Lisa.”

Liz rides his hand, groans of pleasure gurgling from her throat. “Then take me,” she invites, meeting his provocative stare through the canopy of her lashes. She grasps him by the lapels of his shirt, pulling him closer so that she can feel his hardness and his hand wedged against her. “Take me right here.”

He doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of her invitation and dips his head to sample the silken skin of her collarbone even as he skillfully unhooks her bra. Max smoothes his hands across her back as he pushes aside the wispy scrap of lace. He cannot believe how hot her skin is…like fire. Max doesn’t realize his skin is just as hot, that he is burning just as hot. He pulls back to lock his eyes with hers and pushes the delicate straps from her shoulders so that her bra falls neatly into her lap. Only then does he drop his eyes.

Max has never studied her naked breasts before. Kissed and caressed them, yes, but he has never marveled over their perfect beauty. Round, firm and sprinkled with freckles Max does not think he has seen anything more spectacular in his life than Liz Parker’s bared breasts. Her nipples are a dusky, cinnamon color, which makes him wonder if she tastes as good as she looks.

She grows nervous under his scrutiny but all thoughts of squirming are banished when he finally cups her in his large hands. They both gasp at the skin on skin contact. He palms her gently, rotating his thumbs over her hardening nipples. Liz bites down against the whimpers of pleasure rising in her throat, but she loses the battle altogether when he lowers his head and lifts one turgid tip towards his mouth.

Liz moans aloud when the hot vortex of his mouth consumes her. He doesn’t suck her roughly, but rather he laps his tongue across her nipple in long, sensuous strokes. She quivers beneath him, leaning back against the table and giving him no choice but to follow her down. Plates and glasses crash loudly to the floor as they scoot up onto the table but neither of them pays the shattering dinnerware any heed.

The awkwardness of their position forces Max to release her long before he’s ready. Liz uses the opportunity to position herself lengthwise on the table while Max looms before her spread thighs. His lips curving in a feline smile, Max slowly lifts her long, tapered leg and begins unlacing the strap to her high-heeled sandal. Once he has removed it, he drops it to the floor with a definitive thud. Max then turns his attention to her other foot, this time pausing to kiss her delicate ankle after removing her shoe.

He then sets both her feet back down against the table, so that her knees flank his hips. Max lingers for a moment, trailing his fingers down her bare shins and then smoothing them up her thighs, gathering her skirt up around her waist as he does. She is dying for him to touch her more intimately, Max can tell, but still he takes his time. He touches her throat, her shoulders, her belly…fascinated by the fire gathering in her dark eyes.

Liz becomes wise to his game very quickly, however, and she lifts one slender foot to rub back and forth across his straining arousal. “I want this now,” she whispers thickly, “Will you give it to me, Max?”

He gulps audibly and grasps hold of her teasing toes. After pressing a fleeting kiss to her fidgety digits he sets her foot aside to begin removing his shirt. Max watches her intently as he unfastens his shirt buttons before shrugging from it completely. “Mi fai impazzire,” he whispers and then translates, “You are making me crazy.”

“Same here,” she mumbles with a small smile, her eyes locked on his fingers as they fall to the waistband of his trousers. She licks her lips in anticipation, yearning for the moment when he will finally remove them. But he does not. He keeps her waiting deliberately because, when he finally takes her, Max wants her to come apart in his arms.

“I felt you watching me this afternoon,” he whispers as he stretches over her again to kiss a path down the valley of her breasts, “Did you want me, Lisa?”

“You know I did,” she gasps, arching into his mouth as he laves her skin with his tongue.

“What did you want me to do to you, tesoro?” he murmurs, “Tell me.”

“What…what you’re doing now!” she says, her toes curling when he plunges his tongue into her navel, “God, Max!”

“Is this all,” he whispers into her skin, “You don’t want more?”

“Yes,” she says tremulously and she has to drag the reply from her throat.

“What else do you want?” he queries, dragging down the seam zipper at her hip so that he can pull her skirt from her body. Once he’s rid her of it Max wastes no time hooking his fingers into her panties and dragging them over her gorgeous hips. When she is completely free of all clothing Max roams his eyes over her nude glory. For a moment, he lets his stare linger with unconcealed longing on the curly triangle between her thighs.

He has dreamed of touching her there, wanted almost since that first day but something has always happened to prevent him. Max fulfills his fantasies now, sifting his fingers through the coarse tendrils. He studies Liz’s expression as he finds her clitoris hidden beneath those curls and coaxes it into swollen arousal. She writhes beneath his touch, rotating her hips up into his hand.

“Max…Max…please…”

“Tell me,” he insists softly, “Say the words for me, amore mio.”

“I…I want you inside me!” she gasps.

“Where?” he teases relentlessly, “Show me…”

“Max!”

“Show me,” he says again, “Adesso, amore mio. Show me now.”

Blushing furiously over the prospect but unable to ignore the clamoring needs of her body, Liz slides a lone hand down between her legs. “Here, Max,” she whispers hotly, “I want you here.”

He covers her hand with his own and surges a single finger into her creamy depths. “This is mine,” he whispers as he adds yet another, pumping his digits purposefully, “You are mine, Lisa…mine…” He pushes his fingers higher, his erection twitching as his fingers are made sticky with her arousal. “You are so wet, tesoro,” he grates out, “Is this all for me?”

“Yes…yes…” she moans, tossing her head fitfully against the tabletop.

The sight of her in the throes of such pleasure is too much for Max. He has incited a tidal wave of lust in himself while trying to stir her. Quickly and with fingers made clumsy from need, he fishes around in his back pocket for his wallet and removes a condom. After tossing it to the table, he shimmies from his trousers and boxers awkwardly, kicking them off along with his shoes.

Liz rises up onto her elbows to watch him rip open the foil package, but takes hold of his fingers before he can slip it onto his distended length. “Let me do it,” she offers huskily.

There is something indescribably arousing to Max watching Liz roll the latex down onto his hardened cock. The sight and the feel of her fingers against his fevered skin are nearly enough to make him come right then. However, he restrains himself long enough to urge her back against the table and settle between her legs.

Max seals his lips to hers in one last desperate kiss before thrusting himself home. They both arch with the shock of his entering her, the sense of being joined as one. Max fills her with his turgid length, stretching her inner muscles in a fit that seems fashioned especially for him. There are no preliminaries between them. Just frenzied bucking, grasping need and whispered words of promise.

Liz opens her legs wide as Max pounds within her, drives to the very core of her. He pistons into her liquid heat again and again in no discernible rhythm. Her body swallows him, consumes him, envelops him with stunning, silken heat until Max can form no other coherent thought than to come and make her come with him. Their bodies become slick with sweat in his effort, slapping and popping together with his every penetration. “Così. Così,” he murmurs against her cheek, “That’s it, tesoro, vieni per me Come…come…”

She quivers beneath him, her muscles contracting wildly as her orgasm begins to take hold. A moment later she’s compressing him between her thighs as she shatters, gasping out his name. Even through the latex Max can feel the warm deluge of her climax and it drives him over the edge. He rocks against her desperately, seeking release; wanting to be buried so deep inside her he can feel her heartbeat. He thrusts deep one last time, burying his cock to the hilt before coming inside her with a staccato groan of satiated pleasure.

Max comes back to himself first, wearily pushing up from her sticky body and rolling off onto her side with an exhausted sigh. “Dio…My God…” he mutters breathlessly.

“Ditto,” she gasps in a laugh. However, as she descends from her sexual high she becomes aware of the damage they have done to the kitchen, the flatware digging into her shoulder, the fact that they just made love upon the dining room table and something else… Liz sniffs the air in a panic. “What’s that smell?” she bursts out, “It smells like something is burning.” Max shrugs in unconcern only to have Liz knock him aside with a groaning cry as she leaps from the table. “Oh no! The pizza!”

She dashes over to the oven and yanks open the door but it is too late. The kitchen has already begun to fill with black smoke. She shuts off the oven and removes the destroyed pizza with a frustrated groan, so agitated she does not realize that Max is watching her harried movements with a concupiscent smile. “It’s ruined,” she pouts to Max as he comes to stand behind her, “Now what will we do for dinner?”

“I do not know, mia cara,” he murmurs, pulling her into his arms and nuzzling her neck as he pulls her down to the floor, “But watching you run around so naked and beautiful I think I am more in the mood for dessert anyway.”



AN: Translations:

Tu sei mia = You are mine!
Adesso = now
Così = That's it.
Vieni per me = Come for me

I think the rest is self-explanatory...at least I hope they are. :oops: :oops:
Last edited by Deejonaise on Wed May 12, 2004 2:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Deejonaise »

Chapter 9

“It is much better in my bed, no?” Max whispers against her bare shoulder many hours later.

After making love in the kitchen twice more, they cleaned up their mess, dined on a light supper of cheese and Chianti and then retreated to his bedroom to make love again. Now they are tired, bone weary from all their activities, and spooned lazily amid the rumpled sheets.

Liz snuggles back closer into Max’s warmth, marveling at how perfectly he fits her body…or maybe how perfectly she fits him. “Hmm…much better,” she yawns in agreement.

“You are not sleepy, are you?” he asks a moment later, sifting his lips in the rumpled softness of her hair. Liz can tell by his tone that he is NOT sleepy and that is the very reason he is asking.

Liz pries open one reluctant eye when she realizes that her lover is feeling chatty. She shifts in his arms so that they are lying face to face. “Max,” she moans in mild exasperation, “You have to be up early tomorrow morning to go to the café…and I must meet Dora for work… Aren’t you tired?”

“Not at all,” he hums into her throat, “I am too excited to sleep. You are lying here beside me and all I can think about is making love to you again.”

She tangles her fingers into his hair, guiding his nibbling kisses along the column of her throat as her center becomes liquid at his words. “I can see that,” she teases him, “Just look at this smile…” Liz traces her fingers over his curving lips. “You’re grinning from ear to ear.” Her hands curve upward to finger his lobes. “And what ears they are…”

“Do not tease about the ears,” he warns laughingly.

“I think they’re sexy,” she whispers, “You know what they say about men with big ears, don’t you?”

“No,” he breathes, nuzzling against her, “What do they say?”

“I don’t think I’ll tell you,” she considers drolly, “Your ego is already big enough. You already think you’re God’s Gift to women.”

“Am I not?” he returns hotly, but his expression is uncertain. He tries for a bit of bravado by adding, “You seem to think so.”

She smiles at him, feinting a kiss against his lips. “Maybe…”

Grazie, tesoro,” he rumbles in a low tone, whisking his tongue across her lips, “Mmm…Lisa…I want you so…”

“Really…do you want me again, Max?”

“Yes,” he groans, seeking out her lips. Liz rises against him hungrily, whimpering when she feels his hot erection brush her thigh. But when she tries to guide the head of his cock into her body he evades her attempts. “Shh…we will rest for now, Lisa,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I know you are tired, amore mio. I thought we could talk this time…perhaps.”

Liz tips back her head to regard him in frustrated surprise. “You want to talk?” she echoes dubiously, “Now?

A lazy smile drifts across his beautiful features. “I am capable of this,” he laughs.

“But…I don’t understand. You’d rather talk than make love?” Liz questions in disappointment. She is exhausted but she isn’t that exhausted. She is drunk off Max’s touch and kisses and not quite ready to sober up.

“Perhaps we talk first,” he whispers against her lips, “and then we make love.”

“How about if we make love first,” she counters huskily, trailing her fingers down the naked expanse of his chest, “and then we talk later?”

Between them his cock begins to stir to life. Her hunger for him consumes her, renders her insatiable even in spite of the numerous times they have made love tonight. Liz knows Max must feel the same because his eyes darken considerably as she scrapes her fingers over his awakening erection. He hisses a curse when she smoothes away the creamy fluid leaking from the tip. Talking is not so foremost on his mind anymore either.

Yet, when she tries to grasp him fully and to stroke him as she did earlier, the way Liz has quickly learned he likes, Max groans and catches hold of her hand to bring it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Lisa…please…” he murmurs, “This means much to me, tesoro. I feel like I know so little about you and… I want to know it all. Tell me…”

She sighs her acquiesce. “What do you want to know, Max?”

“Why did you really come to Tuscany?” he queries boldly.

He has wondered this many times. Though it is apparent to him that she truly did love her aunt Louisa, nothing had brought her to visit before now, not even Louisa herself. Max has a hard time believing that a mere villa would do it. He can’t help but wonder if she came for something more.

“Why did I really…” she parrots with a frown, “You know why, Max…because Aunt Louisa left me the villa.”

“But this is a foreign country to you,” he reasons, “That you would leave the home you have known all your life to come here to a strange place…” He strokes a lone finger across her cheek. “What makes you do this, Lisa?”

“I guess…I wanted a change,” she whispers candidly, “My life was…not going as I had expected and I needed to get away.”

“You mean from this man who broke your heart,” he concludes quietly.

“Yes,” she confirms, “His name is Kyle. We were together for two years. I thought we would get married. Things changed.” She looks over at Max then, feeling sheepish at having revealed so much. “You don’t want to hear about this,” she laughs lightly.

“I do,” he murmurs, “Tell me everything.”

“I’m surprised you’d want to know,” Liz says, “Most men would rather dig out their own eyes than hear about their girlfriend’s ex-lovers.”

A slow smile dawns over his face at her words. “Girlfriend?” he whispers in pleasure, “Is that what you are to me, Lisa? Are you my girlfriend now?”

“If that’s what you want…” she returns shyly.

His grin widens. “But I thought you said that you do not belong to anyone,” Max teases.

“I don’t,” she replies haughtily.

“Not even to me?” he prods.

“Not even to you,” she declares.

“And what about this Kyle?” he wonders, scooting back from her a bit to study her expression, “Did you belong to him? You were going to marry him.”

“Kyle was my first love,” she whispers in evasion, “My first real boyfriend… I liked him ever since we were in high school together but he never noticed me until I began working at the gallery. After we got together I didn’t think I would ever be with anyone else. But then he cheated on me and all of that changed.”

“And now you are here with me,” Max murmurs in consideration, “Is it because of him, Lisa? Are you only with me to mend what he has broken?”

“You mean like I’m on the rebound or something?”

“I guess this is what I mean…yes.”

Liz can’t help but smile over his uncertainty, especially because she never expected someone with such a playboy lifestyle to be concerned about that sort of thing. “Max, I’m not on the rebound,” she reassures him in a whisper, “When I’m with you I don’t think about Kyle at all.”

“You don’t?”

She shakes her head against the pillow. “I can’t…thoughts of you consume me.”

He kisses her for the declaration, hard and deep. “I would never cheat on you, Lisa,” he vows fervidly, “It is a cowardly and spineless thing to do. I could never disrespect you that way.”

His avowal tickles Liz’s ears but she is not so sure if she can believe him. Max is a smooth talker. She has learned this from firsthand experience and his family. Several times he has managed to coax her into things she would not have dreamed of doing before. She finds him irresistible and that is dangerous. Though she does not doubt his sincerity about wanting to be with her she has a difficult time believing that he is ready to commit to her seriously. And she cannot give him her heart, not when there is such a great chance that it will be broken.

Max, on the other hand, is just as leery of Liz and her intentions. He can feel himself growing possessive of this woman not merely because she is his bedmate but because…he is falling for her in a very profound way. She is refreshing and challenging and wonderful. She’s makes him feel like the most powerful being on the planet and as weak as a newborn kitten all at once. Somehow she has wiggled her way into his heart without his being fully aware of her doing it. But he cannot let himself fall for her further, not when she may still harbor latent feelings for her ex-fiancé, not when his chances of being left alone and broken are so great.

He does not want to pressure her or give her cause to run away. She is like a delicate flower. Give her too much water and sun and she will wilt, don’t give her enough and she will die off. Max is terrified of holding on too tightly to Liz but he is also reluctant to release his hold on her. He tries to reassure her and himself with his next words.

“I have no expectations of you, Lisa,” he whispers now, rolling over onto his back and taking her with him, “I only want for you to enjoy yourself…to be happy during this time we are together…”

“I want that, too,” Liz whispers back, leaning up over his body.

Their shifting movements make whispers against the sheets as Liz positions herself over his arousal and deliberately slides down over him, engulfing him into her slick heat. She moans with the sensation, as does Max.

“Do you know what we are doing right now, Lisa?” he gasps as she starts to rock against him, “Dio…

“M-Making love…” she stammers breathlessly.

Si. Fare l’amore,” he whispers, “Say it.”

Fare l’amore,” she echoes obediently, riding him hard. The old iron headboard creaks and groans beneath their straining movements.

Non fermarti, tesoro,” he murmurs deeply. His body quivers with each breach into her wet center.

“Yes…yes…!” she cries.

Perfetta, mia cara. Sei perfetta per me. Vieni qui, Lisa. Baciami.

She leans down and does what he asks. Her Italian is still very limited but Liz has learned the word for “kiss” rather quickly. She eagerly joins her lips to his and dips her tongue into the warm recesses of his mouth. Max groans and surges deeper inside, holding her hips captive to his penetrating thrusts. “Do you still think I’m a ragazza, Max?” she whispers boldly as he begins his impassioned muttering.

His eyes fly wide. “Lisa…who…who teach you this word?” he gasps.

Liz clamps her inner muscles around him, milking his expanding cock within her. “I asked Isabella,” she replies flippantly, “and she told me.” She nips at his chin, flexing her muscles once more. “So…do you still think I’m such a little girl?”

“No,” he moans, quickening his thrusts, “Not a little girl. But you are most definitely a strega. You are casting a spell on me, Lisa.” He plunges into her in quick, jerking movements, his body erupting seconds later. Liz quivers around him as well, following him over the edge.

The first thing Max realizes as his head clears is that they did not use protection. This is not like him for he has always been careful in his sexual encounters. He mentions this to Liz, but without any real concern over the matter. He’s not seized with panic at the thought. Max is quite relaxed about the fact even before she buries her face into the crook of his neck and answers with a drowsy yawn, “Don’t worry. I’m on the pill.”

But what Max finds alarming as he drifts off to sleep is that the reassurance doesn’t fill him with relief as he thought it would. What he feels instead is a vague sense of disappointment. He spoons behind her body, holding her close.

“I want you to belong to me, Lisa,” he murmurs to her sleeping form, closing his eyes to follow her, “I want it so much.”


AN:

Non fermarti = Don't stop.
Perfetta, mia cara. Sei perfetta per me. Vieni qui, Lisa. Baciami. = Perfect, my darling. You fit me so well. Come here, Lisa. Kiss me.
Last edited by Deejonaise on Thu May 13, 2004 12:09 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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