Chapter 28 #2
"Sciocchezze!" (nonsence!) the old man exclaimed. "La vita è troppo breve per la paura. Fidati di un vecchio—l'amore e il buon vino non dovrebbero mai essere rimandati."
(Life is too short for fear. Trust an old man—love and good wine should never be postponed.)
I ducked my head to hide my smile, continuing my examination of the foal with deliberate focus. James clearly had not expected me to understand the exchange, and I decided to keep that knowledge to myself—at least for now.
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity—additional examinations for the mare and foal, routine vaccinations for a herd of goats, and an emergency consultation for a local family's ailing pet rabbit.
Through it all, James maintained his watchful presence, his eyes tracking me constantly, particularly when Marcus or the other interns were nearby.
By the time we headed back to the beach house, the sun was setting over the Mediterranean, painting the landscape in shades of gold and rose. James drove in silence, his profile rigid against the kaleidoscope of colors outside the window.
"Thank you for helping today," I said, breaking the silence. "With the mare."
He nodded once, eyes fixed on the winding coastal road. "It was necessary."
"You're good with animals. I wouldn't have expected that."
A small furrow appeared between his brows. "There's a lot you don't know about me."
"Whose fault is that?" I countered softly. "You're not exactly forthcoming."
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "It's not relevant to my job."
"And if I want to know, anyway? Not as your client, but as...," I hesitated, unsure how to define what we were to each other now. "As someone who cares."
He did not answer; the silence stretched between us until we reached the beach house. As we entered, the evening air was still warm; the interior was cool and welcoming after the dusty heat of the farm.
"I'll be in the adjacent room as arranged," James said immediately, his voice clipped. "Protocol for a typical evening."
I nodded, understanding his need for space. "I'll shower and change."
Under the cool spray, I finally allowed myself to process the day—the exhilaration of the successful birth, the satisfaction of putting my training into practice, and beneath it all, the constant awareness of James.
His hands had been so gentle, considering the mare was frightened.
How his body had tensed whenever Marcus approached me.
How his eyes had darkened when Signor Rossi spoke of my beauty.
By the time I emerged, wrapped in a light sundress with my hair still damp, the sun had set completely.
Through the open terrace doors, I could see James sitting by the pool, the underwater lights casting blue reflections across his pensive face.
He had changed into more casual clothes—shorts and a t-shirt that revealed the muscular arms usually hidden beneath his tactical gear.
I tiptoed across the terrace, bare feet silent on the smooth stone. He did not look up as I approached, though I knew he must be aware of my presence.
"You're slipping," I said lightly. "A proper bodyguard would have heard me coming."
His mouth curved slightly. "I heard you open the bathroom door, walk to your closet, select that dress, and step onto the terrace."
Of course he had. Nothing escaped his notice, especially where I was concerned.
I sat on the edge of the lounger next to his, letting my feet dangle in the cool water of the pool. For several minutes, we remained in companionable silence, listening to the distant sound of waves breaking against the cliffs below.
"Signor Rossi is quite the character," I said finally, my heart beginning to race with what I was about to reveal. “He is very forthright in his opinions.”
James made a noncommittal sound, still looking out toward the darkened sea.
I took a deep breath, then switched to Italian. "Penso che abbia ragione, sai. La vita è troppo breve per la paura."
(I think he's right, you know. Life is too short for fear.)
James went completely still, then slowly turned to face me, his expression a mixture of shock and something darker, more heated.
"You speak Italian," he said, his voice rough.
"Un po'," I replied with a small smile. (A little.) "Enough to understand what Signor Rossi was saying about me. About us."
The muscles in his jaw jumped. "How much did you understand?"
"Everything." I held his gaze steadily. "That I'm beautiful. That a woman like me won't wait forever. That if you don't take me, someone else will—specifically Marcus with his 'hungry wolf eyes.'”
James stood abruptly, moving to the edge of the pool, his back to me. The tension radiating from him was almost palpable.
"It was just an old man's nonsense," he said dismissively. "He doesn't understand the situation."
"Doesn't he?" I stood too, moving to stand beside him at the pool's edge. "Because from where I'm standing, he sees things more clearly than either of us will admit."
James turned to face me, his eyes dark and turbulent in the blue-tinged light. "Evangeline..."
My name was both a warning and a plea on his lips. I stepped closer, emboldened by the day's success, because Signor Rossi had spoken, and because I knew our time in Sicily was limited and precious before duty would reclaim me back in Bellavista.
"Tell me you don't feel this," I challenged softly, close enough now to feel the heat radiating from his body. "Tell me you don't think about that night in Bellavista every day. Tell me you don't want me, and I'll walk away right now."
His breathing had quickened, his control visibly fraying. "What I want doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." I reached up, my fingers brushing his jaw with feather-light pressure. You matter to me in every way.
With a sound like physical pain, he caught my wrist, preventing further contact. "We can't do this. You know we can't."
"Why?" I pressed, not pulling away from his grip. "Because you're my bodyguard? Because I'm going to be queen? Because you're afraid of what happens when this ends?"
"Yes!," he growled. "All of that. I've been fighting this since the moment I met you. I'm not sure I have the strength to keep fighting anymore." With obvious strain, the words came out accompanied with a core coiling growl, desperation dripping along his forehead.
If James was fighting for his life. I would be the one to save him this time. The raw honesty in his voice made a shiver run down my back, this sensation was not fear but everything to do with a deep seated desire and hunger to explore the body of James Banks.
"Maybe I don't want you to fight it," I whispered.
My world tilted as he grasped me, stealing the ground from beneath my feet, his desperate kiss a plea I couldn't refuse.
He pulled me against him, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that stole my breath. This wasn't the carefully restrained man who'd kept his distance since that charged moment in Bellavista—this was raw need, declaration, surrender all at once.
My arms wound around his neck as I pressed myself against him, responding with equal fervor.
His hands slid down to my hips, lifting me effortlessly until my legs wrapped around his waist without breaking the kiss, he moved us away from the pool's edge, pressing me against a nearby column. I gasped at the contrast of cold stone against my back and his burning heat against my front.
He swallowed my gasp, as if it had been a meal his soul had been craving.
James gently lowered me down, my feet meeting the smooth cool marble, sending a cold electric charge up my legs.
A stark contrast to the intoxicating delicious fire that was growing in my stomach. Grabbing his hand, I pulled him towards the balcony overlooking the pool. Once up there, our breathing laboured, sucking in air as quick as we expelled it. I would be the one giving orders tonight.
“Hold on to the railings,” I ordered him.
I took a step away from him, my eyes trailing down him.
I took in the vision of a sunset backlit James with his hands wrapping the balcony railing, fingers desperate to grip anything that would hold his crumbling restraint to obey me, the dominant in him, clawing at the edges trying to take over and consume me - this was a delicious thought, but not as delicious as having James at my mercy.
My eyes drank James in as I moved back towards him, our bodies close enough that the fabric of our clothes brushed together — a thin veil separating us. As our eyes locked together. I placed the tips of my fingers against his chest.
The rapid beating of his heart was so powerful it made my fingers tingle.
"I may become queen, but you are the only one I will bend the knee for." James's eyes went wide with realisation. As I trailed my fingers down his chest, lowering myself to the ground.
Our eyes were still locked together, while my fingers curled around the waist of his shorts. I started to pull them down.
My own arousal now soaked through my underwear. The inside of my thighs now coated with my arousal, now moved with ease as I positioned myself at the feet of James.
“What are you doing, princess?” he whispered.
I said nothing, stretching the fabric of his shorts, the pads of my fingers tracing over his taut and muscular carved waist. I released his king sized cock.
His shorts slid down his legs, gathering around his ankles.
He was hard as steel, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to fit him into my mouth.
As I leaned forward, my swollen lips opened, letting my tongue swirl around the head of his cock.