A Taste Of Italy: Midwife, Mother...Italian's Wife. Fiona McArthur
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held out his hand to his wife. Emma nodded. ‘I’ll see you back at the bridal table, Tammy, after this dance. I want to tell you something.’ Then Emma smiled blithely at them, sighed into her husband’s arms and danced away.
Tammy looked around for escape but there was none. Trapped by her friend. Great. Leon held firmly on to her hand and steered her off the floor towards the official table. Unobtrusively Tammy tugged at her fingers and finally he let her hand free. She leaned towards him with a grim smile and, barely moving her lips, let him have it. ‘Don’t ever do that again or you will get more than you bargained for.’
‘Tut. Temper.’ He glanced down at her, amused rather than chastened by her warning, which made her more cross.
She grimaced a smile again and muttered, ‘You have no idea,’ as he pulled her chair out. She slipped into the chair and shifted it slightly so that it faced towards the dance floor and her shoulder tilted away from him.
When he returned with two tiny champagne flutes Leon was fairly sure she didn’t realise the angle she gave him lent a delightful view of her long neck and the cleft below the hollow of her throat…and there was that incredible drift of scent again.
He controlled his urge to move closer. This woman had invaded his senses on many unexpected levels and here he was toying with games he hadn’t played since his amorous youth.
‘Drink your wine,’ he said.
She turned to him and her eyes narrowed blue fire at him. ‘Were you born this arrogant or did you grow into it?’
So, her temper remained unimproved. She amused him. He shrugged and baited her. ‘Bonmaritos have been in Portofino for six generations. My family are very wealthy.’
She lifted one elegant shoulder in imitation. ‘Big deal. So were mine and my childhood was less than ideal.’
‘And you are not arrogant?’ To his surprise she looked at him and then smiled at his comment. And then to his utter astonishment she threw back her head and laughed. A throaty chortle that had his own mouth curve in appreciation.
Her whole face had softened. ‘Actually, I’ve been told I am.’
When she laughed she changed from being a very attractive but moody woman into a delightful seductress he could not take his eyes off, and when she shuffled her chair back and studied him for a change, he felt the shift in their rapport like a fresh breeze. A dangerous, whimsical, warning breeze that he should flee from.
He shifted closer. ‘So tell me, Tammy, is this your full name?’
‘Tamara Delilah Moore, but nobody calls me that.’
‘Delilah I believe. Tamara?’ He rolled the name off his tongue as if sampling it, found the taste delightful and he nodded. That suited her better. ‘There was a famous noblewoman called Tamara in Roman mythology. She, too, was tall and apparently rather arrogant. How ironic.’
‘Really?’ She raised those stern eyebrows of hers and Leon realised he liked the way she responded fearlessly to his bait. ‘What if I say you’re making that up?’
The music lilted around them playfully and helped the mood stay light. ‘I would have to defend myself.’
She glanced down at her hands and spread them to look at her fingertips as if absorbed in her French manicure. He almost missed her comment. ‘You nearly had to defend yourself in a more physical way earlier.’
So. More fire. He straightened and met her eyes with a challenge. ‘I had the utmost faith in your control. You’d exhibited control all day. It’s a wonder your teeth aren’t aching.’
She blinked, glanced at him with an arrested expression and then laughed again. He felt the smile on his face. A deeper more genuine smile than he’d had for a long time. It felt surprisingly good to make her laugh.
Not something he’d been known for much in the past but her amusement warmed him in a place that had been cold for too long. ‘Of course I also have a slight weight advantage.’
‘And I have a black belt in karate.’ She picked up one of the biscotti favours from a plate on the table and unconsciously broke a piece off, weighing it in her hand before putting it to her mouth. That curved and perfect mouth he’d been trying not to look at for the past ten minutes.
Karate. He searched for an image of sweating women in tracksuits he could call to mind, or the name of the white pyjamalike uniform people wore for martial arts, anything to take his mind off the sight of her lips parting as she absently turned him on.
‘How long are you staying before you head back to Italy?’ she said carelessly as she raised the biscuit shard. His gaze followed her fingers, drawn by invisible fields of magnetism and, unconsciously, he held his breath. Gi. The uniform was called gi.
Her lips opened and she slid the fragment in and licked the tips of her fingers, oblivious to his fascinated attention as she glanced at the dancers. His breath eased out and his body stirred and stretched in a way it hadn’t in a long time.
Then she glanced back at him and he had to gather his scattered wits. When was he leaving? Perhaps sooner than he intended if this was how tempted he’d already become. ‘Gianni and Emma are away for the first few days of their honeymoon, and then Paulo and I will join them at the airport before we all return to Italy.’ He was rambling.
He focused on the plans he’d finalised before he left for Italy. ‘We were held up.’ He paused. His grip tightened unconsciously on the glass in his hand and he looked away from her—that brought him back to earth. There was no time for this when the real world required constant and alert attention.
He shook his head and went on. ‘We were held up on the way over and arrived later than expected. It will give Paulo a few days to get over the “excitement” before we have to return.’ She nodded.
Jack appeared at her side and tugged on her dress. ‘Excuse me, Mum. Can we go and play spotlight?’
Tammy looked away from this suddenly much more attractive man to her son and the world started again. What was she thinking? She blinked again to clear her head and swallowed the last of the biscuit. ‘Who with?’ she asked Jack, and looked beyond him to the milling group of young boys and girls.
‘Dawn and Grace, and Peta and Nicky. And some of the older kids as well.’ He glanced at Leon. ‘And Paulo if he wants to?’
Leon frowned and looked across to where his son was talking to Grace and another girl. ‘What is this “spotlight”?’
Tammy shrugged. ‘Hide-and-seek in the dark and the seeker has a handheld torch or spotlight. The children play it all the time here when parties like this stretch into evening.’
Leon’s frown didn’t lighten. ‘Even young girls? Without parents supervising?’
‘They won’t go far.’ She looked at Paulo, who pretended he didn’t expect his father to say no. ‘Let him go. He’ll be fine.’
Leon hesitated, and she wondered if he’d been this protective since the boy’s mother had died. Overprotecting children made her impatient but she held her tongue, if not her expression, and then finally he nodded.
‘Perhaps for a short while.’ He tilted his head at his son and Paulo approached them. He spoke in Italian and Tammy looked away but she couldn’t help overhearing.
She had no trouble interpreting Leon’s discussion with his son. She’d been able to speak Italian since her teenage years in a dingy Italian coffee shop in Sydney, dark with dangerous men and a tall Italian youth she hadn’t seen since but wasn’t allowed to forget. Those memories reminded her why she wasn’t attracted to Leonardo Bonmarito.
‘Do you wish to play this game?’ Leon said to his son.
‘Sì,’ said Paulo, and he looked away to the other children.
‘Be aware of your safety,’ Leon continued in his native language,