Seduction by Various

pouring into a big jug. The sweet potent aroma made Caterina dizzy. She put down the heavy crate with a loud rattle and arched her aching back. He’d been out in the rain. His black hair curled on his neck. His wet shirt stuck to his spine and ribs. She could see muscles flexing as he breathed. Oh God! She could imagine that big body rearing up over the prostrate form of the sister in Venice, hidden in their vineyard, the busy canal just the other side of the wall, the boat that brought him every day rocking on the dirty green water. Her imagination homed in on the image of those strong arms propping him up as he tilted his buttocks, clothed in those blue trousers – she couldn’t allow herself to imagine them naked, how they would look, round, firm, tanned, taut, tensing between the nun’s white open legs, her brown apron and skirt askew, her arms outstretched as she offered herself like a sacrifice . . .
    Silently he turned the tap off and squatted there on the dusty floor, sniffing the liqueur expertly before taking a deep swig.
    Caterina’s legs trembled as she went to stand in front of him. He swilled the liquid round his mouth, staring calmly up as if he had been expecting her, then swallowed. She massaged her fingers, strained from carrying the crate. His hair was wet, and a drop was elongating at the end of one curl, ready to fall onto his forehead. The silence and the heat and the still-falling rainhummed in her ears. All those nights of deprivation in solitary and her good intentions shrivelled because of the way he was looking at her. He studied her knees, which were on a level with his face, the his gaze travelled up her legs, resting briefly on her lap, where she was kneading her fingers, before moving up over her bound chest to her blushing face.
    â€˜I’m here to help you,’ she croaked, and coughed. He waited, staring, again, at her mouth. She touched her lips, and they felt as if they were burning. ‘They’ve punished me by keeping me silent for a month. Like you, I suppose!’ She felt laughter sliding dangerously inside her, and waved her hand around the shed. Her sleeve brushed his hair. He started to smile. She took the labels she’d designed, reluctantly approved by Mother Mary, out of her pocket. The outline of a nun from the back, curvaceous in a ridiculously tight-fitting habit, reaching up to pluck a grape. He glanced at the image. ‘I’m renaming the wine La Religieuse. Means nun, in French.’
    He nodded. He stood up and came very close to her, then paused for a moment, waiting, maybe, for her to move away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She could feel the wall of warmth between them. The way he stared at her mouth as if he wanted to eat it. Then he lifted his hands and she held her breath, waiting for him to touch her. But instead he sketched her hidden curves with his big hands, tracing the same shape as her design, and she gasped as her nipples tingled in response.
    The rain drummed on the roof. The drop fell off his hair onto his nose. Her veil was weighted with water. Zorzi took the hem of it, squeezed water out of it. Heat radiated out of him, even at arm’s length. Caterina’s mouth was open as she tried to breathe, and as he looked again at her mouth he yanked her veil right off and held it up disdainfully. Caterina slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the shriek. She tried to grab at the veil, but he tossed it behind the barrels. As she flailed frantically for it he blocked her way. She put her hands up tohide the roughly chopped, hideous remains of her blonde hair, but he took hold of both wrists in one hand, wound a rogue strand of her hair round the finger of the other and rubbed it under his nose as if it were a herb or a petal. She could see her reflection, two miniature Caterinas in each of his dark eyes.
    â€˜Oh, God,’ she croaked, as he tugged at her hair and her scalp prickled. ‘I used to love