Out of the Dark (2 page)

The flight attendant approaches, and I snap out of my hypnosis when she places my stemmed glass on the tray table, pours a small amount, and then stares at me.

I can already smell the sweet aroma, but I glance up, perplexed by her actions.

“Why don’t you have a taste?” my handsome neighbor suggests.

I’m an idiot
.

I pick up my glass, taste, and then nod at the attendant to confirm my choice before she pours a full serving.

“Enjoy. And if you have any questions about the wine, you may want to ask Mr. Savano here.” She grins and winks at him again.

He clears his throat, and I sip the chilled wine while I collect my rattled thoughts. I’m mortified by my ignorance and overwhelmed by my intense attraction to him.

Wine makes everything better, right?

“Are you enjoying it?” he asks.

“Yes. Very much, thank you.” The words the attendant said sink into my mushy mind. “Why did that woman tell me to ask you about the wine?”

He shakes his head and seems irritated. “I wish she hadn’t, actually.”

“Oh. I’m sorry . . .”

He reaches over the armrest, placing his hand gently over mine, and the innocent, unexpected touch electrifies me. “Don’t apologize. She said that because I own the vineyards that make these wines.”

My parents warned me more times than I could count about getting close to strangers while travelling. I know I should be conservative and keep to myself, but I enjoy being close to this man, our hands touching, and his eyes on mine alone.

A voice of caution screams inside me, but I’m enthralled.

He amplifies his hold when he leans closer. “So, you see, your enjoyment is very important to me. It’s of the utmost importance, actually.” His mouth is so close, and when I catch him looking at my lips, I feel as if I’m on the verge of passing out.

A powerful rush of desire washes over me, but he leans back in his seat and steals my opportunity to continue to ogle his gorgeous face up close.

“What’s your name?”

“Carina.”

He chuckles, and I’m confused and a bit hurt.

“Is that funny?”
 

“No. No, it’s perfect. In Italian your name means ‘darling.’ ”

Our eyes lock again, and I believe he’s talking about more than just my name. Seconds pass by with an excruciating lag. It feels like hours, and I’m trapped by his compelling gaze.

“I’m Stefan.” He extends his hand, and when I take it, he brings my fingers to his lips and kisses them.

The heat I feel in my face moves lower. It spreads everywhere, like a tidal wave threatening to drown me.

Before this moment, I’d never been able to fathom what people meant when they spoke of love at first sight. The idea of lightning striking and feeling an immediate pull to someone always seemed so silly to me. Ridiculous. Impossible.
I’d never understood it, but when I look at Stefan’s face, my heart thuds and my pulse quickens.
 

“It’s a pleasure,” he says.

I couldn’t agree more.

We should spend the overnight flight resting, but we don’t. Our conversation flows, and by the time we land, I feel as if Stefan is no longer a stranger. He may have drawn me in with his looks, but he captivates me with his charm and intelligence.

We chat as we walk through the crowded airport together.

“So, Carina, you said you just graduated. What did you study?”

“Culinary arts. Pastry, actually.”

“That’s intriguing.” He looks me over as though sizing me up. “You’re very slim for a chef.”

I smile. “Well, I’m not
really
a chef until I get a job.”

He nods. “That’s very true. Will you be studying while you’re here in Italy?”

“No. Well, my plan is to experience the cuisine, but no formal study. This trip was a graduation present from my parents. I’ve never been outside the US.”
 

I think about how excited I was to receive this extravagant gift from my parents, although it was not accepted without hesitation. I labored over the decision to let my parents undertake such an expense, especially since we are working to pay off my mother’s medical bills. She insisted I take it—and my mother is not to be trifled with when she sets her mind to something. I conceded to the thrilling idea of coming to this country alone, with plans of backpacking and seeing and doing everything available to me. But somehow, the past few hours have distilled those wishes into one—spend more time with Stefan.

“Are you originally from New York?” he asks. “You have a different accent.”

“I’m from Michigan. Detroit, actually.”

“Ah, yes, that’s it.”

The crowd around us rushes past, but we move at an idle pace. Perhaps we’re both trying to savor these shared moments because we know our time together is fading. Slipping away.

We approach the baggage carousel and I reach for my suitcase, but Stefan won’t hear of it. He’s traveled light with just a small black shoulder bag and sleek leather briefcase. He looks silly dragging my old, rolling suitcase with the squeaky wheel, but it doesn’t seem to faze him.

Even though he is kind and chivalrous, the voice of caution screams inside me at my lack of protest. I shouldn’t be so trusting. Every rule I’ve ever learned about staying away from strange men rolls through my head like a series of bright red warnings on a screen. But I made a vow to myself when I decided to take this trip
—take risks, be brave, live
. A flight filled with polite conversation may not be enough time to know someone, but I can’t help the powerful draw I feel or the intoxication of rioting sensations brought on by his presence.

I know I should be marveling at the sights and sounds of my first minutes in Italy, a place I’ve always dreamed of visiting, but my eyes are fixed on this stranger as I scramble for something to keep our connection going.

“So, are you here on business?”

He sighs and nods. “My business demands all of my time and will have me here for quite a while.”

The sunlight guides us out of the bland fluorescence of the airport like a beautiful beacon, but the closer I get, the more I dislike it. When we pass through those doors and emerge into the day, we will have to say goodbye. I’ll take a cab to my hotel and begin my vacation, and Stefan will go about his business. I’ll never have the pleasure of being in his company again.

He’s quiet, and I have to wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Probably not.

He’s handsome, smart, and kind, and I’m just a forgettable young girl he sat next to on an airplane.

There’s no wedding ring on his masculine hand but what does that mean? He could still be with a woman.

A beautiful Italian woman.

The bright sunshine is almost painful as the doors slide open and the blustery wind pulls us forward. I squint to adjust my eyes and fight to tame my long, dark hair. As the automatic doors close behind us, the muted thud marks the end of our time.

He stands as still as a statue beside me. “Carina?”

I lift my eyes to meet his. “Yes?”

He clears his throat. “I want to ask you something, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to say yes.”

“Okay.”

“Would you like to—I’d like it if you’d accompany me to the vineyard, to my home. I feel . . . I don’t know quite how to say this, but I want to get to know you and I’m not ready to say goodbye. You can, of course, say no. If this is making you uncomfortable then I’m sorry.”

I blush, flattered that he wants to be around me as much as I do him.

That pesky voice of caution shouts about how crazy this is. I just met this man a few hours ago. I have a vacation planned. He could be a serial killer. My rational mind knows it’s a bad idea, but every other part of me—my heart and my body—are urging me to say yes.

Say yes.

“I . . .” He touches my face and brushes the hair out of my eyes, and my knees wobble. I look at his face. “Yes. I’ll go with you,” I whisper. I want him to keep his hand on my cheek. Each touch he has given me has made me want more and more. More words, more touches, more of him, more Stefan.

“Wonderful.” He smiles and extends his hand.
 

My fingers slide between his, and I fight a smile.
 

He grabs the handle of my bag once more and my heart pounds with anxiety but it feels natural in a strange way, and I walk beside him through the parking lot.
 

I’ve never been interested in cars, but my father is, and when I see the direction Stefan is heading, I freeze. My dad would drop dead if he could see the gunmetal gray sports car parked at the curb. White leather interior. Sparkling silver rims.

There’s someone standing next to it, but
man
isn’t even the right word. As we get closer, he looks more like a grizzly bear—an enormous, frightening grizzly bear in a gray suit.

The bear snaps his phone shut as Stefan approaches and he stands at attention. His gaze darts down to where Stefan is still holding my hand and then up again.

He glances at me with curiosity before greeting Stefan with a deferential nod, almost a bow. “Mr. Savano.”

“Hello, Rocco. This is Carina. She’ll be accompanying me home. I’d like you to have a car take you back to the vineyard.”

Rocco smiles politely. “Hello, Miss Carina. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shakes my hand nods toward Stefan again, and disappears into the crowded airport parking lot.

Stefan opens the trunk, places our bags inside, and then guides me to the passenger door. He helps me in and closes the door.

I watch as he walks to the driver’s side. The way his body moves is so . . . sexy. He’s so in control. My heart is pounding again.

“Does that man work for you?”

“Yes. Rocco is my assistant and head of security.” He slips on a pair of silver aviator sunglasses, starts the car, and tears away from the curb so fast that my body is pressed into my seat from the gravitational force.

It occurs to me that Stefan’s description of Rocco’s position is a nice way of saying bodyguard. I’m not sure why a vintner would need one, but the thought floats away as we race through the narrow roads of Tuscany.

As we travel, we’re surrounded by low stone walls as they wind through fields and rolling hills of green and yellow into the horizon. Tall, thin trees of no great majesty pop up here and there, as do small cottages resembling tiny castles. The countryside is both strikingly old-fashioned and pleasingly unfamiliar at the same time, and everything I imagined it would be.

We’re periodically forced to pause for livestock and shepherds to cross, and I take the brief opportunities to indulge in studying Stefan further. He manipulates the high-powered machine with ease, one hand commanding the stick shift and the other gripping the wheel. He must know the roads because his movements seem automatic.

Music flits and stutters through the air at the touch of a button on the steering wheel until he settles on one song.

A harpsichord begins, and then a high soprano voice accompanies it. The words are in Italian and it’s beautiful—stunning—but I don’t recognize the tune. The feminine voice wraps around me as we fly through this new country at impossible speeds.

Stefan relaxes and his hand leaves the shift as he loosens his tie.

For the first time, I notice pink scars on his knuckles. A strange detail that I choose to ignore for the moment since I’m content to be at his side with the wind rushing through my hair and my vision filled with warm sunlight. Green and yellow, the world is a splendid rushing blur. My head is spinning, swimming, and when I turn and face Stefan, I see his smile and my own beaming face reflected in his sunglasses.

Chapter Two

“That’s the vineyard up ahead.” He points to the right, toward rectangular fields lying side by side in endless succession.

Atop a hill are several buildings, each the color of straw, with rust-tinted roofs. They’re breathtaking, and I can’t believe this is our destination.

Stefan presses his foot on the accelerator, as if he’s anxious to be home.

The dazed high that I’ve been the victim of since I first met Stefan dissipates like a lifting fog, and I come to terms with reality—my hotel reservation is unanswered and I’m about to enter a strange place with someone I’ve just met. I feel a burn of nervousness in my stomach and begin to regret my decision to accompany him here. I’m in a strange country with no idea where I am or how to get to my hotel.

We drive through an ornate gate and along a cobblestone driveway leading to the largest building on the estate. Before the car comes to a stop, a gorgeous woman in a conservative, knee length black dress descends the few stone steps to greet us. Her honey blond hair is pulled into a tight ponytail and thick-rimmed, oval-shaped glasses adorn her flawless face. A crisp, white eyelet apron is tied around her waist.

I can’t decide if she’s family, or an employee.

She stands at attention in the same manner as Rocco when Stefan gets out of the car.

He kisses her on both cheeks.