young man, so I do the traveling and make sure everything is running smoothly. Apparently, I have a good rapport with people.”
“Buongiorno, signor Marchiano,” said a hotel valet who walked by us. His smile was friendly as he gave me a polite nod.
“Buongiorno, Filippo.” He went on to speak in Italian with the employee for a few minutes before a gentle hand to my lower back encouraged me to move forward. This time I managed to step further into the hotel.
“Rozalia, I will be unavailable for the rest of the day, would you phone Luciano and tell him I will call later tonight?” The woman behind the counter smiled and nodded, her eyes drifting to me for only a moment before turning to the task at hand. Peiro continued to lead me towards one of the giant archways that led to the beachside of the hotel.
“If you are busy, I don’t mind doing this another time,” I tried to argue.
“I am not busy,” Peiro said with an air of nonchalance. “The hotel is not going anywhere. The calls I need to make are international and are usually conducted at night to allow for different time zones.” We followed steps down into a luxurious poolside area, filled with tropical plants, a long, well stocked bar, which I studiously ignored, and more of those cozy deck chairs.
“What do you call a deck chair in Italian?” I wondered out loud, needing to put this mystery to rest. Peiro gave me an arched brow which clearly meant he had no idea what I was talking about. “These,” I put my hand on the back of one. “In America, we call it a deck chair; it doesn’t sound fancy enough for you Italians, so what do you call these?”
He chuckled as he pushed my shoulders down, forcing me to sit in the chair. “Sedia a sdraio.” God, I loved listening to that. I could sit and listen to the man speak in Italian all day long. I wouldn’t understand a word, but I’d be happy. “Or in English, chaise lounge, or deck chair.”
“Well, it sounds better with an Italian accent,” I murmured.
“I will be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
I sat under the warm sun, taking in my surroundings. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, and the pool was virtually empty. I would imagine most guests would prefer to carry on down the stairs to the immaculate beach below. Even I felt the draw to the natural wonder of the glass like water and warm sand beneath my feet. “Here you go,” said Peiro with that confidence he seemed to wear as easily as his immaculate suit. He handed me an icy glass filled with a red icy liquid. I simply stared at it, my heart suddenly thumping a painful assault in my ears. “Cranberry juice with crushed ice,” Peiro explained, no doubt thinking a woman freaking out over a drink was a tad unusual. “You like?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I’ve never had cranberry juice before.” I took a sip and was pleasantly surprised by the rich fruity flavor. When my eyes rolled and I moaned with unbidden fruity desire, Peiro chuckled.
“I take that as a yes.” He sat down on the deck chair opposite me, looking completely at home in the tropical surroundings, while wearing a business suit. “I would go change, but I don’t want to miss spending time with you.” My nervous gaze darted to his, and he smiled, still looking as self-assured as ever. Peiro loosened his tie and my eyes followed his actions that, though quite innocent, suddenly seemed completely erotic. I imagined him carefully peeling away the layers of that suit and wondered what strong, handsome physique would lie beneath. I barely noticed my tongue dash out to wet my hungry lips. When I noticed the pleased look in Peiro’s eyes, I was fairly sure he knew what I was thinking, and somehow I forced my gaze onto the safety of the pool beyond. Only it wasn’t so safe either. My eyes came to rest on a tall, young, athletic man stepping from the pool, water sluicing down his bronzed skin which was in plentiful view as he wore only a tight,
“Buongiorno, signor Marchiano,” said a hotel valet who walked by us. His smile was friendly as he gave me a polite nod.
“Buongiorno, Filippo.” He went on to speak in Italian with the employee for a few minutes before a gentle hand to my lower back encouraged me to move forward. This time I managed to step further into the hotel.
“Rozalia, I will be unavailable for the rest of the day, would you phone Luciano and tell him I will call later tonight?” The woman behind the counter smiled and nodded, her eyes drifting to me for only a moment before turning to the task at hand. Peiro continued to lead me towards one of the giant archways that led to the beachside of the hotel.
“If you are busy, I don’t mind doing this another time,” I tried to argue.
“I am not busy,” Peiro said with an air of nonchalance. “The hotel is not going anywhere. The calls I need to make are international and are usually conducted at night to allow for different time zones.” We followed steps down into a luxurious poolside area, filled with tropical plants, a long, well stocked bar, which I studiously ignored, and more of those cozy deck chairs.
“What do you call a deck chair in Italian?” I wondered out loud, needing to put this mystery to rest. Peiro gave me an arched brow which clearly meant he had no idea what I was talking about. “These,” I put my hand on the back of one. “In America, we call it a deck chair; it doesn’t sound fancy enough for you Italians, so what do you call these?”
He chuckled as he pushed my shoulders down, forcing me to sit in the chair. “Sedia a sdraio.” God, I loved listening to that. I could sit and listen to the man speak in Italian all day long. I wouldn’t understand a word, but I’d be happy. “Or in English, chaise lounge, or deck chair.”
“Well, it sounds better with an Italian accent,” I murmured.
“I will be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
I sat under the warm sun, taking in my surroundings. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, and the pool was virtually empty. I would imagine most guests would prefer to carry on down the stairs to the immaculate beach below. Even I felt the draw to the natural wonder of the glass like water and warm sand beneath my feet. “Here you go,” said Peiro with that confidence he seemed to wear as easily as his immaculate suit. He handed me an icy glass filled with a red icy liquid. I simply stared at it, my heart suddenly thumping a painful assault in my ears. “Cranberry juice with crushed ice,” Peiro explained, no doubt thinking a woman freaking out over a drink was a tad unusual. “You like?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I’ve never had cranberry juice before.” I took a sip and was pleasantly surprised by the rich fruity flavor. When my eyes rolled and I moaned with unbidden fruity desire, Peiro chuckled.
“I take that as a yes.” He sat down on the deck chair opposite me, looking completely at home in the tropical surroundings, while wearing a business suit. “I would go change, but I don’t want to miss spending time with you.” My nervous gaze darted to his, and he smiled, still looking as self-assured as ever. Peiro loosened his tie and my eyes followed his actions that, though quite innocent, suddenly seemed completely erotic. I imagined him carefully peeling away the layers of that suit and wondered what strong, handsome physique would lie beneath. I barely noticed my tongue dash out to wet my hungry lips. When I noticed the pleased look in Peiro’s eyes, I was fairly sure he knew what I was thinking, and somehow I forced my gaze onto the safety of the pool beyond. Only it wasn’t so safe either. My eyes came to rest on a tall, young, athletic man stepping from the pool, water sluicing down his bronzed skin which was in plentiful view as he wore only a tight,
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