Chapter 17 Valentina
VALENTINA
As sparks of an orgasm ignite, my lips tingle and my heart thunders in my chest. I’m trapped in a vortex where nothing exists but Giovanni’s hands in my hair and the soft, hungry press of his mouth on mine as he screws me senseless.
Then an unsettled and deliberate cough slices through the night.
I freeze in horror as Giovanni’s body tenses against mine. He whirls, instantly on guard, and his cheeks burn with fury.
“Who the hell—?” Giovanni’s voice is a possessive Sicilian thunder, but his words fall short when his squinted gaze lands on the person approaching us.
Awareness dawns on his face when a man with polished dress shoes and an immaculately tailored suit clears the shadows of the lemon grove.
Even though he covers his eyes with one hand and turns his body away from us with exaggerated modesty, I still want to disappear. I press my back against the rain-sodden ground and silently pray to melt into the blades of manicured grass.
Sensing my unease, Giovanni’s stance shifts. With his body alone, he protectively shields me from further embarrassment while telling our interrupter to leave.
“I’d rather stay,” the man says, amusement curling through his words.
Clearly, he has a death wish. Giovanni’s anger is evident, yet it doesn’t diminish the impressive size of his penis. It’s still pulsating inside me, and it steals my embarrassment as easily as it does my morals.
“We need to talk.”
“Now?” Giovanni’s reply conveys an edge of authority.
It isn’t the same commanding tone he used while speaking with Dr. Di Petro.
He addresses this man as if he is just as high up the food chain.
As if he is his equal. I learn why when he adds, “I know it’s been a while for you, Brother, but I’m kind of in the middle of something. ”
The brother’s deep laughter drowns out the husky chuckles of three other men concealed in the darkness. “Yes, Vanni, now. It’s important.”
Giovanni’s growl brings to mind the compromising position we were caught in, but the only thing that deflates my excitement when he slowly withdraws is disappointment.
The determination on his face when he entered me signaled that our exchange would be an all-night affair. Now, he dresses me as hurriedly as he’d removed his cock from his pants.
Once my clothes are on and straight, Giovanni’s hands gentle despite the tension still hardening his features, he assists me to my feet.
Upon hearing the shuffle of my unsteady feet, the stranger drops his hand and twists to face us.
In seconds, I notice multiple Caruso resemblances.
Giovanni’s brother shares his determined jaw, dark hair, and relaxed self-assurance.
And don’t get me started on his natural arrogance.
He’s not at all bothered that he interrupted us. If anything, he looks pleased.
“Is this what you’re doing with your nights now, Vanni? Playing hide-and-seek in the orchard?” While shaking his head, he laughs, his eyes sparkling with playfulness. “You always said you were too busy for games. Looks like you finally found a reason to play.”
Giovanni scowls and his jaw is rigid. “Not now, Dante.”
Although Giovanni’s tone is a distinct warning, Dante’s grin only intensifies. He’s clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the others you’ve gone soft. Or maybe I will. Depends on how much you’re willing to pay to keep me quiet.”
“And me,” pipes up a voice from behind, before another two comparable requests follow it.
I can’t help the strangled laugh that escapes me. I’m a mess of nerves, but I am also amused. I’ve never had siblings to bicker with. Being an only child is the only part of my childhood I wish I could change.
Giovanni shoots me a look, but there’s a softness in his eyes, too. He’s grateful my laughter demolished the barrier between us.
His relief doesn’t linger long. Dante’s expression morphs when he looks at me, and humor fades from his face. A subtle gleam in his eyes reveals he has more walls to knock down than Giovanni.
He studies me as if he’s searching for proof that I’m an opportunist. His caution is understandable. Not only are the Caruso brothers drool-worthy gorgeous but they’re also obviously wealthy. Dante’s watch could cover my property tax arrears and several decades in advance.
As I start to tell Dante that greed will never motivate me, he hooks his thumb toward the main house. “Come on. The old man’s out of bed. You’ll want to see this.”
With Giovanni’s hand warm and steady on my back, I walk through the orchard this time instead of running. The sight of three men snickering as we turn toward the main house sends a shiver of embarrassment up my spine. The Caruso brothers, though different, share distinguishable genetic qualities.
Out of all the people to catch us, why did it have to be Giovanni’s family?
The mansion looks straight out of a fictional fairy tale. It’s alive with light and laughter. Giovanni’s father is in the courtyard, surrounded by a handful of well-wishers. Even though his body is frail and weak, he is full of energy as he converses with his guests.
He looks nothing like the dying man I imagined.
I avert my eyes from a man I’d guess to be mid to late fifties when Giovanni brushes his lips against my sweaty temple.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” He breathes in deeply, as if obsessed with our intermingled scents.
“There are drinks by the entryway, and waitstaff will serve hors d’oeuvres shortly.
Make yourself at home. My casa is your casa, Valentina, and you’re welcome to anything your heart desires. ”
His wish to make me comfortable in his domain has me desperate to reacquaint our lips. I hold back the urge—barely. His brothers are waiting for him near the large outdoor space, and Dante’s foot is tapping with impatience.
Giovanni waits for me to nod before he joins his brothers for an impromptu Caruso family meeting. Things seem tense between them, but nothing can detract my focus from the patriarch of the Caruso dynasty.
Giovanni’s father’s lively interaction with his guests makes me hope my mother will one day be as animated. He seems happy and content, as if nothing can bring him down.
I’m not the only one noticing his spiritedness.
Even with all his brothers speaking to him at once, Giovanni’s eyes rarely drift from me. On the odd occasion they do, it is to take in his father.
Several long minutes later, the patriarch’s gaze settles on me. His watch is curious and direct. “And who’s this fine young lady?” His accent is thick, and contradictory to his age, it brims with natural flirtatiousness.
Now I know who Giovanni inherited his charm from.
“Hi. I’m Valentina R—”
Out of nowhere, Valeria appears at his side. Her smile is bright when directed at Giovanni’s father, but the instant it lands on me, it turns brittle. “This is the surrogate I was telling you about, Papa.” Her tone is light-hearted, but her eyes are cold.
Giovanni’s father raises a solid brow. “Surrogate?”
Valeria loops her arm through his and steers him away from me before launching into an explanation of surrogacy, as if that is all I am to his son. A vessel of conception. “A surrogate is a woman who carries a baby for someone else. It’s all very modern…”
Humiliation flushes my face as the odds of a stomach ulcer intensify.
Giovanni knows I didn’t deliberately set out to deceive him, but that’s only the beginning of the issues we still need to work through.
It wouldn’t be an issue if I didn’t immediately lose focus the instant he dragged his thumb over my nipple.
Too angry to remain around over two dozen people, I seek the closest exit.
Giovanni isn’t the sole recipient of my anger. I’m more mad at myself than him.
I barely get two steps away when Giovanni foils my attempt to get some air by snatching up my arm. Violently, I yank away from him, and the pop my arm makes draws a crowd of curious onlookers.
“Not now, Valentina.” Giovanni’s voice is as cold as ice. “I can’t chase you right now.”
My anger is already at a pinnacle, but it escalates into uncharted territory when he turns to face a nearby maid and orders her to take me to my room.
Her head barely reaches my chin, and she’s so tiny a breeze could carry her away. She’s no competition for me, and I’ll make sure she knows that the moment we’re alone.
“Make sure she gets there safely.”
This time, Giovanni’s barked command isn’t for a five-foot-five maid with cutesy curls. It’s for one of the men lurking in the shadows earlier. The biggest and baddest looking of the four interrupters we faced only twenty minutes ago.
His beard is the same cropped style as Dante’s, but he has sleeves of tattoos, and a menacing glint lightens his murky baby blues.
I glance at Giovanni, hopeful eye contact will force him to see sense through the madness.
All I hit is a brick wall. He works his jaw side to side while loosening the cuffs on his jacket as if he’s preparing for battle.
His anger is no longer simmering beneath the surface like mine. It’s about to boil over.
Still, I step forward as desperation rises from my stomach to my throat. “Can I please talk to—”
He doesn’t register my words. He’s already pursuing Valeria and his father, who are retreating inside.
After how intimate we were only minutes ago, his rejection stings worse than a thousand bees, and it lodges a hard lump in my throat.
I startle when the maid gently touches my arm. She wordlessly apologizes before gesturing to the entrance Giovanni just stormed through. “This way, signorina.”
I shake my head. I can’t breathe, so how can I be expected to walk? The walls close in on me as secrets and over-the-top expectations make the room feel claustrophobic.
I need air so badly I’m willing to undertake a second marathon.