Amore and Pinot Grigio - a Guido la Vespa Christmas Tale [Guido la Vespa] (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) by Veronica Bell

used in the wine-making business. It also had a basement with many bottles of Totti family wines in racks and a small kitchen and bedroom area where staff could cook and sleep if they were working long hours.
    “Ah, so this is what you wanted,” said Sigrid, when she saw the bedroom.
    “Well, I also just wanted to spend time alone with you, but yes, it did occur to me that we could make love out here, away from my mother’s house, and therefore not breaking any of her rules. I am Italian, you know. We never want to insult our mammas .”
    “I know. And I think it is nice. I can’t imagine my brothers being so respectful, or rather, so respectful without complaining about it ad infinitum .”
    “Here, let me get you something to eat. Many of our employees are taking this week off for Christmas and Capodanno , New Year’s, so I thought we could have a picnic here. I changed the sheets on the bed here yesterday when you were getting settled.” He grinned.
    “You think of everything.”
    “I do.”
    And he had thought of everything: a clean tablecloth, paper plates, plastic cups, bread, cheese, cold pasta pesto left over from the night before, biscotti and a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio. “In honour”—Sandro winked—“of the little fellow who brought us together.”
    “I don’t know. Sometimes I think Guido really brought us together: if I hadn’t been out on him that night I never would have seen poor Pinot. And because of his ability to wind through narrow straights and weave around cars, I was able to follow Pinot. On foot I couldn’t have and in a taxi it would have been nearly impossible.”
    “I think your hormones are making you a bit crazy. An inanimate object brought us together? I know you have named it, but your Vespa does not have a soul or heart.”
    “I guess not, but he has soulful little headlights.”
    “You’re a very funny woman.”
    “Yep, I’m a regular Phyllis Diller.”
    “Who is this person?”
    “She was a very funny woman who was not so beautiful but used her looks as a way to make people laugh. And actually, she was very attractive. She just played up her oddness with wild hair and wacky clothes, and…”
    “Enough! I did not need a run-down of this Diller person’s entire life. You are beautiful and also funny. That’s what matters to me, right now.”
    “Well, thank you.” Sigrid surveyed the feast and the table. “Gosh, Sandro—if I didn’t know better I would say this was a very romantic move on your part. But we’re not about romance, are we?”
    “No, we are not. Who needs romance?”
    Sigrid felt her stomach lurch at the comment but she thought of Doug and of her pact with Sandro. Pride was the route to choose. “Not me. It never gets you anywhere.”
    They drank and ate and kissed and kissed and kissed until they navigated their way, all the while kissing, to the bedroom. For once, Sandro’s lovemaking was not frantic or aggressive or bossy, but sweet and slow and warm with so much kissing that Sigrid thought her lips would be raw for the rest of her life.
    Sandro was still virile, still dominant, but there was just something different, gentleness, stillness even, as he moved inside her and continued to do so until he sent her into a dizzying orgasm. Not once did he seem to take his eyes off her eyes. Not once did he let go of her. Not once did she sense he had pulled away emotionally, as she was certain he had the other times they were together, even as he remained inside of her physically and keen to start the next round.
    And today they had held hands.
    “You are always,” he said, in almost a whisper, still holding her, “so wet and tight and welcoming for me. Tell me it is only for me.”
    “I’m always only for you.” Ugh, so much for my pride, she thought.
    Sigrid wondered if she could tell him what she had been wanting as a Christmas gift: to be able to tell him that she was falling in love with him without having him scoff or laugh or