Docking In An Italian Port
Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Renee Alexis
Word Count :44723
Publication Date :2014-02-16
Series : #
Heat Level :
- Product Code: 978-1-77111-818-7
The last thing Johannes Cain expected to find on his final tour of Navy duty in war-torn Italy is love, but does it come with a price? Does it also come with a scandal?
The lovely Darcella Sporelli, the love interest of many a sailor, is caught in the middle. She finds herself in love with Johannes—but with reluctance. What is she hiding from Johannes? Can their relationship withstand the uncovered truth?
Words not fit to welcome him to a land he'd wanted to visit for years. Johannes was months shy from taking an early retirement from the Navy, having entered at seventeen—quitting school to enlist. Once seeing the orders to rebuild in Italy, how could he not go, retire with a bang, see the land he dreamed of? Then, this predicament came up. He looked at the house again, holding his suitcase in one hand and stalks of broccoli in the other that he purchased from a street vendor in exchange for asking directions to where he currently stood.
So, there his choices were—sleep in Emil's and pay to keep sex partners away while at the same time breaking his sick mother's heart, sleep in the streets, or sneak in nights on the U.S.S Territorial and risk being found out by his superiors. Then there was the home of the widow Sporelli.
He shrugged, deciding the entire deal was preposterous. What the hell, he needed somewhere to stay and he had plenty of money to pay. Besides, what could an old woman do to him? Surely, he could take care of himself against someone so frail—from the way the men spoke of the widow.
He took another deep breath and strolled up the multi-colored stone walkway. The entire place was beautiful, looking more like something out of a wedding book instead of the home of an old woman. He sat the suitcase down and balled his fist to knock on the beautiful brown mahogany door engraved with painted yellow roses. There was a small peephole, but before knocking, he stopped, feeling as if someone was already watching him. He figured it was simply his imagination, letting the words of the day affect him, and so reached to knock.
Before he could do so, the door flew wide open. The woman standing at the entrance peered into his stunned face. "Who are you and why are you here at my house? Has someone sent you here?"
He was speechless for a few seconds, but the sight of the woman floored him. This was no old woman. In fact, the person standing before him had to be the most beautiful, breathtaking woman he had ever seen. Her dark brown hair cascaded across her petite shoulders and lingered down her back. Her slight, yet curvy frame housed a background beige slip of a dress with blue and red flowers all over it. Her features…God, the woman's features were taken straight out of those erotic novels he had to hide and read as a curious child or else get in trouble over.
Her eyes were large dark pools of desire and her mouth, succulent to the very layer of existence. There was a flower in her hair, one that matched the dress. No! This couldn't be the widow Sporelli. This woman was no more than twenty-five. No old woman resided in that body—or in that immaculate home. This was a home for lovers. Maybe he'd taken a wrong turn and followed another path. If that were the case, he'd be glad to lease a room from her.
"Well? Who the hell are you, already?" The woman asked.
Johannes cleared his throat and picked up the suitcase. "I'm—I'm looking for the widow Sporelli. Is this her home?"
"It is," the woman remarked snidely.
"Ah, good. Then I didn't take the wrong path. Can you tell her I am a young man looking for a place to stay? I'm no trouble and will be at work most—"
"She already knows you're here, but now she knows why."
That stunned the already confused Johannes as he continued to stare into her deep eyes that so much represented seduction and desire. She had to be the woman's granddaughter. "M—May I speak to the widow please?'
"You already have."
His eyes widened over the admittance. "Are—are you—the widow?"
"I am, and I have no room to rent." Then she looked at the stalks of broccoli he held tightly in his almost shaking hands. "That's a strange gift to bring to a home you hoped to inhabit. I don't like strange sailors or broccoli, so you and your vegetables may leave my property."