La Dolce Vita

Disclaimer: The characters of Jarod and Miss Parker are not mine. They are the property of Craig and Steve and probably a few other people sitting in well-furnished offices and wearing expensive suits. I'll be darned if I know who they are. Anyway, the following exists only for fun, no one is profiting here, and no infringement is intended. Oh, by the way, any other characters depicted herein are mine.


La Dolce Vita

By Ginger


The Beach
Giardini Naxos
Sicily, Italy

Parker could feel several sets of eyes upon her but did not open hers. That was one heck of a bikini she had picked up in Naples, basic black, elegant in its simplicity. She smiled contentedly and sighed. Man, she deserved this.

She couldn't believe she had gotten away with it: finally losing it, blowing up at them, and announcing that she would be gone for a week, maybe two. Jarod wasn't going anywhere; he'd still be there to chase when she got back. If he hadn't disappeared by
now, he wasn't going to, the annoying litshitshit.

"Scusa, Miss?"

Parker shaded her eyes with her hand and opened them to glance up at the young man standing beside her. YOWSA, she thought as her gaze traveled up his lean body to his face, which was none too shabby either. He had large dark eyes, that day's worth of razor
stubble all the pretty young Italian boys seemed to sport, and wavy dark hair, almost to his shoulders. This has all the makings of first-rate "Penthouse Forum" she mused as she smiled up at him.

"Yes?" she drawled.

"For you," he said shyly as he crouched down to hand her an envelope.

Propping herself up in a manner she knew would thrust her breasts at him, Parker reached up and took the envelope while casting him a devilish look. She was having fun.

"From you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," he replied, blushing and ing ing at the ground. "I am the messenger," he tacked on in a whisper.

He was all of nineteen and parts of her could really USE a nineteen-year-old. She foisted herself up into a sitting position and inspected the envelope. It was blank. Parker looked at the boy again and, with a warm smile, inquired,

"What's your name?"

"Angelo... Signorina," he answered with a sweet smile, lowering his eyes.

Parker stiffened as she was reminded of all she had left behind her, albeit temporarily, then silently chided herself: Get a grip, girl; it's hardly an UNCOMMON Italian name.

"Will you tell me who this is from?"

"So sorry, Signorina, but I cannot."

"Please?" she entreated, slapping on the most demure expression she was capable of wearing.

"Scusa, Signorina, but I do not make myself clear. I cannot say because I do not know. This morning, early, I open up our little shop... me, my family, we have in the town, and I find this..." He motioned at the envelope. "With note saying to bring here to you
at this hour. And a generous gift... most helpful to my family now... in our time of need... a miracle... from hands of Our Blessed Madonna." He crossed himself and kissed his thumb.

"Hardly," Parker remarked dryly as she straightened and dusted sand off her lap. "Grazie, Angelo," she offered wanly as she resignedly opened the envelope, the origin of which was now certain.

"Prego, Signorina," he replied with a nod before backing away from her deferentially and quietly disappearing.

With a heavy sigh, she slipped her fingers into the envelope to remove its contents. She didn't even try to conceal her disappointment. She had rather hoped for an invitation to a late night rendezvous with a mysterious admirer; what she got instead was another unsolicited communiqué from Rat Boy. Such was her lot in life. She speculated on the possible contents as she unfolded the sheets. Perhaps he'd unearthed another tawdry secret about her family and decided to use it to torment her, thereby ruining her
first real holiday in years. Perhaps there was an Italian connection to the twisted little family saga, why not?

She glanced down at the sheets and fro at at the photocopy of what looked to be a rather old document, a handwritten letter, and personal in nature. Not surprisingly, albeit unfortunately, it was in Italian. If it were in Russian, or any of a number of Asian
languages, she'd be golden. Years ago, Parker had taught herself enough Italian to get by, speaking and comprehending sufficiently to navigate train stations, order wine and a meal, negotiate while shopping, and tell a conquest to either put on a condom or fetch her
a taxi. She very much doubted any of those phrases would be of use to her here.

"Shit," she grumbled as she stood. Her day at the beach was over. "I'll make you pay for this, Jarod!" she snarled under her breath.

* * * *

Lobby
Villa San Michele
Taormina, Sicily

Parker leaned conspiratorially across the reception desk and said, "Judy, I'll make it more than worth your while if you'll translate this for me."

Judy was a young, bright, well-educated English woman, and one of the current crop of British ex-pats occupying the area just as generations before them had done. After completing her degree at Cambridge she had, much to her parent's chagrin, abandoned a
promising career in "The City" to live "La Dolce Vita" in Taormina, where she worked on and off in the tourist industry while publishing the occasional article in the travel
magazines back home. She loved culture and history and sun and romance, all of which were available in abundance in the shadow of the fierce and beautiful Mt. Etna.

A couple nights earlier, Judy had wandered into the hotel bar after her shift to find Parker sitting alone and asked to join her. A quantity of "grappa" later, Judy had shared her life story with her chic American acquaintance. Parker had, in turn, fabricated one to share with her. It turned out to have been an evening well spent because, among other things, Parker had learned that Judy was a fluent speaker of Italian and, as a naturally gifted linguist, was well versed in most regional dits. ts.

"Happy to," the young woman chirped. "Any idea what it is?"

"By the looks of it, a letter, and not recent, but it isn't dated. How soon do you think you can have it for me?" Parker asked as she slid the four pages across the desk.

Glancing at them, Judy replied, "Doesn't look like much. I'll have it to you in a jiffy. I assume you'll be in your room, getting ready? I'll ring you when I've finished."

"Getting ready?" Parker asked, puzzled.

"Christ, I'd forget my head if it weren't bolted on! This was left for you earlier, the hottest ticket in town. How ever did you manage it?"

"Manage what?"

"A ticket for tonight's gala at the Greek amphitheatre, of course!" Judy replied as she slapped the ticket on the counter. "They use it for dramatic productions all the time but the local authorities only allow it to be used for one musical performance a year, my dear, and you're going to it."

"I am? I mean, I am. Oh, and I will be in my room. Thanks, Judy," she muttered distractedly as she turned away from the young woman and strolled slowly toward the elevator, pondering what the hell Wonderboy was up to.

* * * *

"Yes," Parker spoke into the receiver she propped between her head and shoulder as she used both hands to put a half-carat diamond stud earring in the other ear.

"It's me. Where did you get the letter?"

"It was hand delivered... via messenger."

"Well, then, I do believe you have an admirer in this town."

"Excuse me?" Parker uttered as she straightened her head and grasped the receiver with her hand.

"I've finished translating it."

"And?"

"I could use a cold shower."

"WHAT?"

"I'm due for my shift break. Why not join me in the bar? You'll have time for a cocktail before you leave."

"Okay, give me five, make that ten, minutes."

"See you then."

Parker strolled into the bar to find Judy sitting at a corner table with the sheets of paper in front of her. The young woman looked up at her American friend, who was decked out in a hot little black dress and sexy black sandals with ankle straps, and figured she had one hell of a night ahead of her.

"Your hair looks fabulous up like that. Could never quite pull it off myself," she remarked as Parker sat down across from her.

"Thanks," Parker replied, adding, "So, what's the verdict?"

"It's a love letter! Not only that, I think it may be THE love letter! And it's a HOT one at that!" Judy explained excitedly.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Parker demanded in a low voice, ducking her head and glancing nervously around the room.

"I'm not the first Brit to run away from home, you know. D.H. Lawrence once lived in the area and, it's been said, based `Lady Chatterly's Lover' on a real-life love affair that took place here. Nobody knows on whom it was based, but rumor has it, he stumbled across a love letter hidden in a prayer book whilst paying a visit to the Chiesa Santa Caterina."

Parker stared blankly at her and Judy elucidated, "The Church of St. Catherine. Imagine, finding something like this IN A CHURCH of all places. Then again, it might make the perfect location for elicit lovers to exchange secret, passionate missives. I mean, who in their right mind would ever think to look THERE? My guess is that, for whatever reason, it never reached its intended destination and, therefore, found its way into our man D.H.'s hands. He read it, was inspired, and who wouldn't be by a letter like this, and `Lady Chatterly' was the result."

"St. Catherine," Parker whispered under her breath before asking of her acquaintance, "What makes you so sure THIS is THE letter?"

"I'm not SURE; it's just a hunch. It is a bit of a legend in these parts, particularly among the Brits: the anonymous letter that inspired Lawrence. And if he has, in fact, located it, then he's one clever sod, your fellow."

"He's not MY..." Parker started to protest, a bit too loudly, and could feel her face warm.

"Well my guess is he'd like to be," Judy commented with a chuckle. "But I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions." She slid the sheets across the table and instructed, "You'll find my translation on the back. Oh, by the way, the last paragraph is a map of sorts, or rather directions to a location. It seems our lover was arranging an assignation with the object of his affection."

Parker looked up as she grabbed the sheets and quickly folded them then inquired, "I know this a long shot, and the place may not even exist anymore, but you wouldn't happen to..."

"Know where it is?" Judy interrupted with a glimmer in her eye.

Judy was enjoying this immensely, if vicariously. It was just the type of absurdly romantic adventure that had driven her to Sicily in the first place and witnessing someone else experience it was almost as much fun as experiencing it oneself. Besides, something about the sharp, beautiful American woman seated across from her who, by all appearances seemed to have everything, suggested that she could really use an absurdly romantic adventure.

"As a matter a fact, I do," Judy said with a broad smile.

* * * *

Parker strolled languorously through the ancient streets of the city, reading Judy's translation of the letter as she made her way toward the amphitheatre. A light breeze tickled her skin, further stimulating her already tingling nerve endings. She was far
from home, away from the prying eyes and unreasonable expectations of those she left behind, and Jarod was still pulling her strings, manipulating her. But it felt different this time; she felt different. She hadn't reacted with her usual infuriation or frustration; instead, she was finding his machinations strangely... enticing. What the hell was he doing and perhaps, more to the point, why was she enjoying it so much?

The letter was probably the single most sensual piece of writing she had ever read and she was tempted to stop and fan herself more than once along the way. It was written by a man who obviously felt passionate about its intended recipient and, in it, he proceeded
to explain, in no uncertain terms, precisely what he planned to do to her the next time they were together. It closed with a gorgeous and very detailed description of a specific view of the sea as seen from a balcony. That was the passage Judy was convinced contained the key to where the rendezvous was to have taken place.

Parker became aware of more congestion around her and looked up to see that she had reached the Greek amphitheatre. Built in the Third Century B.C. and still standing, she mused, while the roof I had put on the house only five years ago leaks like a sieve.

People were beginning to line up at the entrance, so she proceeded in that direction herself. Once seated, she looked around and smiled. It really was a spectacular site. Glancing down at the program, which was printed only in Italian, she was able to discern that it was a benefit and that the performance would consist of a selection of classical pieces by Italian composers and would close with a scene from Puccini's "Turandot."

"Good evening, Signorina," crooned an elegantly deep, accented male voice.

She turned to see a distinguished looking older man, with a well manicured gray beard and beautiful clothing, taking the seat next to hers. She asked politely, "Excuse me, but do I know you?"

"No, you do not, nor do I know you. But that should not stop us from enjoying a fine evening and beautiful music in this magical place. Do you not agree?"

"Jarod sent you, didn't he?"

"Jarod? Who is this Jarod?"

"Oh, never mind," she muttered with a sigh and redirected her attention to the stage, as the concert was about to begin.

And it was lovely, the orchestra playing well into the evening. As night fell and the stars came out, the place did indeed have an air of magic about it, and Parker found herself enjoying the experience immensely. When it was time for the grand finale, the man
beside her leaned in and inquired,

"The opera, do you know it?"

"No," she replied out of the corner of her mouth.

"Ah, so it is new to you!" He clasped his hands together. "And they are performing my favorite scene, from the second act. You see," he explained in a loud whisper as the performance commenced on stage. "The Prince Calaf has become smitten with the
beautiful Princess Turandot, even though she possesses a cold heart. In order to win her, he must answer three riddles. If he fails, he will die. She has sent many to the grave before him but he is undeterred. He has, as you say, guts, does he not?"

"Hmmm," was her only reply as she folded her arms, her brow furrowing.

"Listen now, she poses her first question: What is born each night and dies each dawn? Ah, he gives his answer: hope. There, he has passed the first test. She looks a little nervous, no?" The man chuckled; Parker bristled.

"Now she asks: What flickers red and warm like a flame, yet is not fire? Blood, of course. Again he answers correctly!"

"Lucky him," she remarked sardonically.

"Ah, but here is the most important question of all: What is like ice but burns? Ah, look at his smile as he declares `Turandot!' And look at her face! Beautiful! Beautiful!" the man exclaimed, chuckling gleefully as the entire theatre erupted in applause.

"Splen" P" Parker stated, rolling her eyes.

"Did you not enjoy the finale?"

"It's a fairy tale. And I suppose that in Act Three, the prince wins the princess's heart and everyone lives happily ever after."

"Yes," the man replied with a shrug, adding, "but only after the princess incites the mob to violence, orders torture, and compels one of her subjects to suicide."

"A woman after my own heart," Parker commented with a smirk.

* * * *

Speeding out from the center of town in a taxi, Parker wondered what the hell she was doing. What if Judy were wrong and she wound up on the doorstep of strangers, Sid and Mindy Lipschitz of Great Neck, Long Island, celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary with a dream vacation?

Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten dinner. In fact, she'd hardly eaten anything all day with everything hurtling somewhat beyond her control once she'd received the letter from Angelo. She sat back in her seat and sighed. He'd be there alright; the entire fucked up day had Monkeyboy's paw prints all over it.

When the taxi turned up the long driveway, Parker's eyes grew wide. Even in darkness, she could tell that the place was spectacular, perched high on a hill overlooking the city and the Mediterranean. The grounds were extensive but the villa itself seemed rather cozy. Pulling up to the entrance, the driver turned and asked,

"Shall I wait, Signorina?"

"Won't be necessary," she replied cordially as she handed him his fare and a generous tip. "Grazie."

"Prego... Prego... Grazie, Signorina," he muttered back at her as he glanced skeptically up at the villa. Cabbies knew more than just about anyone about the comings and goings around town and he hadn't heard a word about its being rented for that week.

Parker stepped out of the taxi and walked gingerly up to the entrance. Hearing the taxi pull away behind her, she glanced at the doorbell and considered a moment before shrugging and trying the door, which opened. The moment she stepped inside, the odor hit her and she hummed with approval. Someone was cooking and it smelled wonderful.

She strode up the wide, airy hallway toward the back of the house where she had spotted large wooden and glass paned doors that opened to a balcony and flickering candlelight. Looking around as she passed, she observed that the place was elegantly beautiful, with its white washed walls and dark wood, not to mention the tasteful furnishings and artwork scattered about the place.

There was still no sign of life when she reached the doors to the balcony, except for the beautifully set table and the delicious smell wafting throughout the place. She could hear the sound of the gentle surf below and, with a smile, stepped outside and crossed over to
stand at the wrought iron railing to gaze out into the nighttime horizon.

"Bellissima."

Parker dropped and shook her head at the sound of the familiar voice coming from behind her. She didn't turn around immediately but inquired in an even tone,

"May I assume you are referring to the view?"

"You may assume anything you like, Miss Parker."

She sniffed then turned to face him, crossing her arms. "You mind telling me what this is about?"

"About?" he repeated as he moved around the table to fill their wineglasses. "I don't know that it's about anything, in particular. Can't a man cook a woman dinner on a fine summer evening just for the heck of it?"

"Sure, a MAN can cook a WOMAN dinner anytime, but a renegade LAB RAT cooking dinner for the person charged with returning him to his cage is quite another story."

He chuckled and, motioning for her to take a seat at the table, replied, "That's not who we are here and you know it."

"Who we are here?" It was her turn to do the repeating as she strolled over to the table.

Parker eyed him warily as he offered her a seat and she took it. He looked very nice and smelled nice too. He was wearing a classy black v-neck and black slacks and had adopted that perfectly unshaven look from the Italian boys. He wore it well.

When he took his seat across from her, she continued, "So, this is some sort of twisted little simulation that you've decided to involve me in?" She cocked her head, considered a moment, and tacked on, "Or, perhaps it's a continuation of the one we began years ago."

She looked fiercely at him, her eyes issuing a silent challenge across the flickering candlelight. He smiled and said, "On the contrary. Here we're just Jarod and Parker. It's
back THERE that we are forced to play roles that are not of our own choosing." He then raised his glass and announced, "A toast. To living `La Dolce Vita.'"

Parker shifted in her seat and glared for a moment or two then curled her lips, lifted her glassed, and tapped it to his. The wine was perfect, of course.

"You must be starving. I'd better get dinner. Hope you like Fra Diàvolo!" Jarod chirped as he jumped up from the table.

She loved Fra Diàvolo. She hadn't even addressed the topic of the letter yet. It was going to be a long night. Parker took another sip of her wine then another then another. By the time Jarod reappeared with two salad plates and a basket of bread balanced on one arm, and a steaming bowl of pasta in the other hand, she had all but drained her glass.

"You're nearly empty," he remarked with a smirk as he set down his burden. He promptly refilled her glass.

"Trying to get me drunk, Wonderboy?" Okay, apparently we're flirting now, Parker thought to herself as she heard the words leave her lips.

He didn't respond, shooting her a playful look out of the corner of his eye as he arranged their meal on the table before retaking his seat across from her. And, thus, they commenced enjoying their dinner in companionable silence, which to anyone who knew the circumstances of their lives might have appeared extraordinary but didn't seem to faze either one of them.

Parker was having a hard time containing herself. Everything was just so good. The dish was full of succulent seafood and the sauce was richly spicy but not overpowering. In fact, the entire meal was prepared precisely to her liking. Jarod had mastered the art of
Italian cooking. It was perfect.

His efforts in the kitchen were rewarded with the privilege of watching her enjoy the meal, the pleasure of it apparent in her expression, despite her best efforts to conceal it. Parker kept her eyes lowered most of the time but, occasionally, they would meet his
and what he saw in them would make him tremble. All the passion he had always known she possessed, but which she had submerged for so long, appeared to be bubbling to the surface. After a while, Parker emitted a heavy sigh, sinking back in her chair and lifting her wine glass to take a sip before commenting,

"Compliments to the chef."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"And while I'm complimenting you, I really must applaud your choice of messenger service."

She cast him a knowing glance and he shrugged, explaining, "Angelo and his family are good people who have suffered through some very hard times recently. His older brother was killed in a car accident last month, leaving behind a wife in the late stages of pregnancy. The baby is due any day now. As if that weren't enough, the family business has been struggling and he had negotiated a refinancing deal right before the accident. Unfortunately, nothing had been signed yet and, since the entire deal hinged on a local
banker's confidence in his ability to run the business, the loan offer was, unfortunately, withdrawn after his death, leaving them in a rather tight spot."

"Angelo," Parker observed. "Nice touch."

"I thought so," Jarod replied. "But that's not why I chose him. I had already decided to help them..."

"Compliments of the Centre," she interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

Ignoring her remark, he continued, "And I knew I could trust him with the errand. He's such a shy, retiring young man. Someone else might have..."

"Hit on me," she said with a smirk. "You should have seen him; he was so cute. He's just a boy, really."

"I believe the sight of you in that black bikini may have been a bit too much for him. I wouldn't be surprised if he needed to lie down afterwards."

"Why, did you?" Parker quipped, not the least bit surprised to learn that Jarod had been watching her exchange with the young man. Of course he had.

"Oh, I had too much to do. All this..." He motioned around him. "The dinner, oh, and it was quite a trick getting a ticket to tonight's performance. Fortunately, Signore Festa was most generous."

"The man seated next to me," Parker stated with a sigh.

"Yes, a man of considerable influence in the area."

"And a real opera buff." She rolled her eyes.

"Didn't you like the finale?" Jarod asked in a deep, silky tone that sent an unanticipated shiver up her spine.

"Never been a fan of opera," she replied tersely then stood and strolled over to the railing to gaze out into the night. She wasn't quite ready to accept the reality of what was happening, to confront the choice that now lie before her. Besides it really was a spectacular view.

Jarod didn't make a move toward her, but just watched her bathed in moonlight, the soft fabric of her dress rustling in the evening breeze. He knew. He knew how the evening would end and he would not push her. Whatever he wanted, he would have only on her
terms. Eventually she broke the silence.

"Why?" she asked softly, almost whispering. "Why now?"

"Because, you took a stand. You stood up to them and did something for yourself. That's all I ever wanted you to do, something for yourself. It's never been about me, really. Well..." He chuckled and added, "That's not entirely true."

He stood and strolled slowly toward her. She could feel him approaching, the electric current in the air, but still she did not turn around. He stopped only a couple inches behind her and grasped the railing on either side of her body, thereby encircling her but
not yet touching her.

"When I found about out what you had done," he continued in a smooth, low voice that reverberated throughout her body, "I was surprised and amazed and very curious, so I came to see for myself. I don't know what I expected, really, except to get a peek at Miss
Parker letting her hair down. I guess I also wanted to make sure you were okay."

Parker's lips curled into a smile. Of course, she thought, he'd probably assumed I'd finally gone off my rocker. "Well," she inquired in a wry tone. "Your assessment?"

"You appeared fine. Better than fine, actually, better than I'd seen you in years."

"And that's when you decided to..."

"No," he broke in as he leaned in closer to smell her hair. "I had heard about the letter and decided it might be fun to find it and use it to send you on an adventure of some kind. I thought you might even let your guard down enough to meet ... maybe, get to know...
someone... nice."

Playing matchmaker again, she thought with a sad smile. Oh, Jarod.

"But then I found the letter. And, believe me, I hadn't anticipated its effect upon me: the sheer power of it. In that instant, as I read those words for the very first time, I knew."

He moved in closer, his body now just grazing hers as his hands moved together on the railing, his encirclement evolving into an embrace. Parker closed her eyes. It felt right.

"Knew what?" she whispered, her voice quivering with anticipation as she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck.

"That there was no way in hell I'd be sending you on any romantic adventure that didn't include me. I realized how strongly I identified with the sentiments contained in the letter and how much the feelings and desires expressed mirrored my own. And, since I had
just crossed an ocean to follow you on your vacation, rather than taking advantage of the fact that you'd be off my back for a week or two, I guess I figured it would just be silly to continue to delude myself."

"Delude yourself," she repeated with a soft chuckle. She knew all about delusions; she could write a book on delusions.

"Yes, delude myself. Waste another minute trying to convince myself that I didn't want to..." Jarod reverted to perfect, unaccented Italian as he whispered words that Parker recognized from the first line of the letter,

"Cio' che hai fatto alla mia anima fai anche al tuo corpo: divoralo come un lupo affamato."

*"Do to your body what you have done to my soul: devour it like a hungry wolf."*

Having already committed the translation of those melodically beautiful and intensely passionate words to memory, Parker sighed, wondering at what point she had reached a decision. Was it the moment she learned of the letter's contents from Judy or when she read the translation herself? Was it during the exquisite concert in a place of ancient beauty, as she watched the Prince Calaf unravel all of Turandot's riddles? Was it when she entered the villa and felt such pleasure at just being there or when she heard his voice or when she turned to face him? Was it during dinner, a perfectly executed meal prepared expressly for her enjoyment, or was it just now when his body touched hers for the first time?

Who knows? Maybe she had decided a long time ago and, now that an opportunity was presenting itself, she was simply acting on the long-held resolution. Didn't matter, really, the only thing of which she was certain was that she couldn't detect even the slightest hint
of a reservation. She leaned back, resting her body fully against his, in response to which he hummed contentedly and asked,

"Are you sure?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"That didn't answer my question."

"Well, it wasn't much of a question, was it?"

"You have a point," he conceded with a smile as he moved one hand from the railing and slid it around her waist, pulling her even closer. "Will you spend the night with me here, Miss Parker?"

"Yes, I do believe I will."

Grinning, Jarod wrapped his other arm around her, and hugged her tightly against him. Parker reached up behind her with one hand and caressed the back of his neck before her fingers slipped into his hair and massaged his scalp. He sighed and nuzzled his face against her soft hair. She emitted a soft chuckle.

"What?" he whispered through a smile she could hear.

"Nothing."

In truth, she was amused by their complete, instantaneous ease with each other's bodies. Their caresses, lacking any hint of nervousness or awkwardness, weren't like those of new lovers. They knew exactly how to touch each other, almost as if they'd been doing
so for ages. Parker smiled to herself as it occurred to her that Jarod had been touching her for years, most of her life really. He was finally getting around to using his hands, that's all.

"Any dessert?" she asked throatily as he rocked her gently in his arms.

"Yes, but I thought we might have it inside..." He placed a warm, soft kiss behind her ear before adding, "Upstairs."

Parker nodded in approbation then groaned in protest as Jarod released her from his embrace. He quickly took her hand to lead her inside, stopping along the way to blow out the candles on the table. When they stepped into the house, he turned and smiled at her, a
completely open and vulnerable smile she hadn't seen from him since they were children. She smiled back and he quickened his pace, tugging her toward the staircase, which led up to a beautiful master bedroom with a balcony of its own.

She grinned approvingly at the elegantly minimalist room, which contained a large bed with a simple canopy off which streamed fabric of a sheer white that contrasted beautifully with the dark wood, a small rectangular table next to the bed, and a tall wardrobe of the same dark wood as the bed. There was another, smaller, set of doors
out to a smaller, more intimate, balcony, which were opened slightly to let in the lovely evening air. Jarod had scattered an impossible number of candles about the place and there was a tray on the bedside table bearing their dessert. On the floor next to the bed Parker was delighted to find a bottle chilling in an ice bucket.

"Make yourself at home; I'll just be a second," Jarod whispered into her ear as he moved past her and set about lighting all the candles.

Parker strolled over to the balcony doors and opened them, stepping once more into the pleasingly breezy night air. She smiled as she heard the pop of the champagne cork. Jarod emerged from the bedroom and stood behind her once again, his arm winding around her body, his hand bearing a flute of champagne. She took it from him and began sipping as she felt him effortlessly unclasp the delicate little hook at back of her collar. Men generally had so much trouble with such things but not him. The butterflies she had carried around in her stomach for hours began to flutter feverishly when she felt the crisp
night air against her back as he slowly lowered the zipper to her black cocktail dress. It was finally happening; she could really, truly have this.

He grinned like a schoolboy and emitted a quiet, gleeful chuckle at the sight of her bare skin, contrasting beautifully with the black satin of her bra. Parker turned her head to glance back at him and smiled invitingly. Jarod slipped his hands inside the soft fabric of
her dress to caress her and, as he tickled the sensitive skin of her back in a most delicious way, again began murmuring in Italian. She had no idea what he was saying but even if it had been, "Oh, look, Mt. Etna is erupting and we're probably going to be vaporized," she doubted she'd have cared.

He traced a path up either side of her spine until his hands came to rest on her shoulders then gently slid the fabric down. Parker deftly switched her glass of champagne from one hand to the other to slip her arms out of the dress. Bending to slide the garment further
down her body, Jarod smirked as he found himself at eye level with her black satin panties and the perfectly rounded little treasures contained therein. Unable to resist, he gave a playful nip that elicited the most delightful yelp of surprise from her before she
stepped one foot, then the other, out of the dress.

"Watch it, Rat Boy," she teased seductively. "I may have left my gun at home but I know about 100 ways to kill you without it."

"I'll bet you do," he replied huskily as he stood.

Parker loved that he was undressing her outside in the open air, the night breeze dancing against her skin and heightening every sensation. When he turned away from her briefly to drape her dress over the back of the only piece of furniture adorning the balcony, a
chaise lounge, she seized the opportunity to spin around. He turned back to her and smiled approvingly as he took in the sight of her.

"I must look ridiculous standing out here in my underwear and high heels," she commented playfully.

"Ridiculous, no..." he replied in a low voice as he moved forward and reached for her.

She shook her head and, pressing her free hand firmly against the center of his chest, stopped him in his tracks. She lifted her glass to his lips and gave him a sip before gesturing toward his shirt. He wasn't seeing, or touching, another millimeter of her skin until she saw some of his. Parker watched intently over a long sip of champagne as, with a shrug and a smile, Jarod unceremonious pulled off his sweater and tossed it aside to join her dress on the chaise.

"Better?" he inquired amusedly.

"Definitely," she purred as she reached out to trace her index finger g thg the contours of his beautifully sculpted pectoral muscles.

They looked into each other's eyes and exchanged a broad, conspiratorial smile like those they had shared as children just before they would sneak off together on an adventure. In some ways it was as though no time had passed except, of course, that it was glaringly apparent that they weren't children anymore and that this adventure was most definitely of an "adult" nature. And this time their smiles were illuminated by moonlight, something about which Jarod had only dreamed as a boy, with the aid of Miss Parker's vivid descriptions of course.

Parker fed Jarod another sip of champagne and gulped down the last bit herself before casting him a devilish look then tossing the empty glass over her shoulder and off the balcony. He chuckled and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and just holding her for a time.

"Thank you," he whispered as he rocked her in his arms, reveling in the sensation of her bare skin against his and drinking in her scent.

"I can see you're easily pleased," she teased despite the fact that she was equally moved by the experience. "I haven't even done anything to thank me for yet."

"Yes, you did," he responded as he slid one hand up into her hair and commenced deftly removing the pins hel held it up, all of which he unconsciously slipped into the pocket of his slacks. Parker registered this and considered it adorable; any other man would just toss them carelessly away.

"You came back to me."

"YOU followed ME here, remember?" she remarked with a smirk as she pulled back to look him in the eye.

"But only after you told them to `go to hell'," he challenged as he lovingly ran his fingers through her soft tresses, now liberated and falling loosely, beautifully about her face. "And only after you told them that it was pointless to try to stop you because I would
never, ever engage in the chase with anyone else so they might as well let you have your vacation. I was never entirely sure you understood. It is such a relief..." He sighed and leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers before tacking on, "To know that you
do."

"Please... let's not," Parker entreated, not wishing to ponder the larger implications of their present actions within the context of the past or future circumstances of their lives. "I don't want to talk anymore."

"Neither do I," Jarod murmured softly into her ear and she emitted a faint whimper at the sensation of his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck.

Then he pulled her tightly into his embrace, crushing her body against his, and kissed her. His kisses were exquisite, conveying both tenderness and raw hunger. His lips were soft, his tongue masterfully engaging in an erotic dance with hers. They both chuckled breathlessly when, as he employed his teeth to gently nip at her full, inviting lips, she quickly gained the advantage and latched onto his bottom lip with her teeth, tugging it playfully.

Jarod's hands were seemingly capable of being several places at once, as Parker could sense the heat of his touch all over her body. She responded in kind, alternating between caressing him softly and dragging her nails lightly across his skin. He seemed to enjoy the contrast and she delighted in his deep, sexy groans as she felt his growing erection pressed between them. Her own arousal was quickly escalating, the ever-increasing wetness and that ache deep within her, which she had complete faith in his ability to relieve.

"Divoralo ..." Jarod panted as he somehow managed to simultaneously assault her neck with his lips, tongue and teeth and unclasp her bra at the back with one hand while using the other arm to haul her off the ground. As far as Parker was concerned, he was free to devour away.

Spinning them both around, he propelled them into the bedroom, awash in a warm amber glow from the myriad candles, the subtly sweet smell of the finest beeswax present in the air. He set her gently down on the bed and she fell back, closing her eyes, spreading her arms wide and running her hands over the decadently smooth silk of the ivory colored sheets.

"Oh, God, yes..." she purred.

Jarod looked down at her and smiled. The straps of her open bra had slid down off her shoulders to about the middle of her upper arms, while the cups had made their own journey south, the tops of them now just barely, tantalizingly, covering her nipples. He kicked off his soft Italian loafers, which he had worn without socks if for no other reason than he hadn't yet worked out at what point in a seduction a manld sld safely stop to remove his socks without breaking the mood. While it wasn't a problem in Sicily in the
summertime, this quandary could be the source of some discomfort should he ever be fortunate enough to pay Parker a visit during the winter months. It can get awfully chilly in Delaware that time of year. She had a lot more experience with these things; she would know what to do. Perhaps he'd ask her about it later. Much later.

He then bent down to remove Parker's sandals. Glancing up to watch her chest rise and fall with every breath, he unbuckled one sandal and slid it off, lovingly cradling her bare foot in his warm hands and pressing a soft and lingering kiss to her instep before letting it drop and repeating the process on the other side.

"Planning on joining me TODAY?"

He smiled at the hint of impatience he detected in her voice, so typically Parker, and stood up, pausing another moment to gaze down at her and commit the moment to memory. She opened her eyes and looked up at him expectantly. Raising her eyebrows, she warned,

"I'm giving you another 30 seconds then I'm going to find Angelo."

"Patience never has been your strong suit, has it?" he said softly as he leaned over her and placed his hands gently on her waist to propel her body all the way onto the bed. This action sent her bra further south and his eyes grew wide as he was able to see the beginnings of her da fle flesh. She tracked the movement of his eyes and teased,

"What is Wonderboy looking at?"

"Your exquisite breasts," he whispered as he climbed onto the bed and straddled her legs then continued in Italian,

"Mi nutriro' di te come un'agnellino. Il tuo corpo mi nutrira' dandomi la forza di affrontare un mondo malvagio ed un futuro incerto."

Despite her limited knowledge of the language, she got the gist; it was another line from the letter and a damn good one at that: *"I will suckle like the lamb to the ewe, and will be nurtured. Your body will feed me, giving me the strength to face a cruel world and an uncertain future."*

Parker sighed and smiled, closing her eyes and arching her back slightly in anticipation. Jarod leaned forward and pressed feather light, teasing kisses to the warm swell of flesh just at the edge of the black satin fabric then used his superbly stubbly chin to edge the fabric down further to grant him accto tto the rosy treasures beneath. He eyed his bounty approvingly then raised hiad tad to gaze deeply into her eyes as he slipped the scanty garment off her body. He tossed it to the floor with a sideward glance, careful to avoid any of the lit candles. It would be none too slick to start a fire with Miss Parker's
brassiere and thereby destroy a local landmark. Any faux pas involving the removal of socks would pale in comparison.

He redirected his attention to the woman beneath him, she the embodiment of a dream, white light and heat, unrestrained passion. He fixated on the rise of her chest with every breath she drew and slowly lowered his head to place a sweet, demure kiss on each nipple
before taking a moment to rest his head against her to listen to her beating heart.

Those kisses, almost chaste in character, were imbued with irony, the innocence of the delivery heightening the eroticism. Jarod was right; Parker was not by nature a patient woman. In fact, she was more often than not the one to tire of foreplay and demand that her partner get on with it already. But not this time: every moment was a delicious torture that she was in no hurry to terminate. As long as he was touching her, she could endure it. She reached up to tenderly stroke his hair and he lifted his head to give her one of those smiles that could melt the polar ice cap. Then, without further ado, he leaned forward to close his mouth over her sensitizedsh ash and commenced doing precisely what he'd said he would.

Parker whimpered and moaned as he moved from one breast to the other. At one point, he emitted a small chuckle of glee at his unbelievable good fortune and she craned her neck to cast him an amused look. He may have been the suave, beautiful, sexy man who had so expertly seduced her but, at his core, he remained the same Jarod she had always known, childlike and full of wonder, and for that she silently thanked every major deity that came to mind. She placed a hand over one of his and guided it down her body to an area screaming for attention.

He groaned as he detected heat and wetness through satin. Pushing himself up and sitting back on his heels beside her, Jarod slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugged. She raised her hips to assist him as he slid her underwear down and off her
body, tossing them aside to join her bra on the floor. Again, he took another agonizing moment to just look at her, his dark eyes glittering with desire and adoration as they roamed every inch of her bare skin bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. Parker had never felt so completely naked in her life. It was a little frightening, this feeling of vulnerability, but also highly erotic. She feared she might die of arousal.

Jarod's demeanor could indeed be described as both that of a ravenous wolf and an innocent lamb. He was both at the moment; it was a sensation beyond all reason. He slipped his hand to the inside of her leg, just below her knee, and tickled the skin there. Her soft cry was a reward in itself but he wanted a more substantial prize. Locking his eyes on hers, he slowly glided his hand up the inside of her thigh, increasing the distance between it and the other one. She began trembling in anticipation and groaned in frustration when he stopped just at the point where he sensed heat and damp and felt the
tickle of silky soft hairs.

Parker cast him a defiant look as she reached up to stroke him through the slacks he still wore. He emitted a deep chuckle and grabbed her wrist, shaking his head and grinning evilly as he pushed her arm back on the bed and climbed over her to kneel between her
legs, parting them further.

"I'll d...die before I beg," she cried out haltingly, arching her back as she attempted to propel her body against his.

"Fortunately, you won't have to do either," he whispered back as he pinned her arms and leaned forward to kiss her roughly, his nose bumping artlessly against hers as he invaded her mouth with his lips, tongue and teeth.

He let go of one her hands, which immediately found its way to his skin, and reached down to unbuckle his belt. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned and unzipped his fly then let go of her other hand to frantically divest himself of his trousers. He had very much enjoyed looking at and touching her nude body, teasing her and increasing her
desire for him. But his body would not pe fur further delay, his yearning to be inside her, fully and deeply, having completely overtaken his senses. He again murmured in Italian, his voice shaky and hoarse, sounding as though he were delirious with fever.

"Mi tuffero' nel profondo del tuo mare caldo e brillante fino a perdermi completamente nella sua profondita'... verro' stravolto dall'emozione e tu impazzirai con me."

*"I will dive into your warm, briny sea again and again and again until I am lost in the sea forever... until I succumb to the madness, and you go mad with me."* It was yet another passage from the letter and Parker certainly appreciated its sensual beauty. But her patience was all used up.

"Stai zitto e scopami!"

*Shut up and fuck me* was one phrase in Italian she had managed to retain over the years, the words barked out as she reached down to help him pull his slacks and black silk boxers off his waist and down his thighs.

"Come vuoi, Caterina Mia!" he growled as he finally managed to kick the remaining clothing off of and away from his body.

His eyes burning into hers, he carefully, deliberately, slid one arm under her knee and brought her leg up to rest against his shoulder, allowing the other to remain, slightly bent, on the bed. Positioning himself at the delightfully soft, slippery entrance to her body, he
repeated softly, in English this time,

"As you wish, My Catherine."

Biting his lip and wincing, but not closing his eyes for an instant, he entered her with one strong, steady stroke. She was warm and wet and rather tight, but her body soon acquiesced, welcoming him and encouraging him to go further, which he did with small circular motions.

"Shit, Jarod!" she gasped, her eyes rolling back, her forehead knotted with tension.

"Shhh..." he soothed as he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on the spot right between her eyebrows, while forcing her raised leg back against her body. This change in position was enough to make her moan as she felt him shift within her.

Raising himself up on his free arm, he braced himself, careful not to let his hand slide on the soft silk of the bottom sheet. He then commenced a slow, steady rhythm... devastating, relentless as it increased. Parker was rendered completely helpless and incoherent, moaning and whimpering as she clutched frantically at silk. As his pace increased, Jarod wasn't making too much sense himself and was largely reduced to animalistic grunts and growls as he felt the pressure build.

It was as if all the energy available in nature were now exerting itself at one specific moment in time and space, at one singular point of contact, where their bodies joined. Everything else seemed to disappear, the villa, the room, even the bed, leaving only her beneath him and everywhere around him. He concentrated on her eyes, which grew even wider as he felt an unbelievable sensation, like a billion tiny explosions inside her body. In the distance he heard her cry out, a deep guttural cry torn from somewhere deep within her, a primal place, and, for an instant, thought it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Then, as his own body exploded in release, he thought of nothing at all, but shook so violently that his hand did indeed slide on the silk sending him toppling down on her, his body crushing hers into the bed, his other arm slipping out from under her leg to let it drop down and come to rest next to one of his.

His awareness returned slowly. There was warmth as she wrapped her arms around him, the pounding of her heartbeat against his chest and then a beautiful sound and a pleasant rumbling beneath him. He realized she was laughing softly and raised his head to look at her.

"Holy shit, Jarod," she managed between breathless chuckles.

"Holy shit, indeed," he replied, smiling as he leaned in to kiss her sweetly before rolling over to relieve her of his weight and scooping her into his arms. As she settled comfortably onto his chest he glanced over at the night table and asked,

"Care for dessert?"

"I thI thought that WAS dessert," she joked, raising her head to kiss his stubbly chin.

* * * *

Parker stretched and sighed as she ascended into consciousness. She could hear sounds of the sea, the distant bells and birds and surf. She could smell the fresh morning air and feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. She felt fabulous.

What a night it had been. After a rather auspicious start, they had fed each other Italian chocolates and marzipan, sharing hot, sweet kisses in between. They also employed the remaining champagne glass, Parker taking a swig and surprising Jarod with a vivid
demonstration of just how good tiny bubbles can feel against certain sensitive stretches of skin. Not one to be outdone, Jarod had a flash of inspiration and scampered down to the kitchen to return with a jar of his favorite new discovery, Nutella chocolate-hazelnut spread, and immediately struck upon a new way to enjoy it. Smacking his lips afterwards, he announced to a panting, bleary-eyed Parker that it was also very good on bread or crackers.

Parker chuckled throatily then realized that she felt an odd, but far from unpleasant, sensation, like dozens of light kisses being pressed to her skin at once. She opened her eyes and glanced down to find she was lying in and covered with flower petals. Just then, the doors to the terrace opened wider and Jarod stepped into the room, wearing only silk pajama bottoms and looking like a god.

"Good morning, sleepy head," he said in a deep voice that was as soft as the petals.

"It sure is," she replied with a sigh, casting him an inviting look.

He smiled and strolled over to the bed, reclining next her and propping his head up on one arm to gaze down at her. He scooped up a handful of flower petals and sprinkled them over her face and neck. She closed her eyes and hummed in contentment then remarked,

"I wasn't sure you'd be here when I woke up."

"Why? Where would I go? This is where I'm staying."

"I thought reality might have sunk in and you'd have split."

He pressed his finger to a petal that had come to rest in the hollow of her throat and glided it across her skin, over her collarbone to her shoulder then down toward her breasts. Meanwhile, he replied,

"As I told you last night, this is what's real. We left the absurd role playing back there."

"This isn't real," she said with a sigh and a smile as he continued to push the flower petal across her bare flesh. "This is a fantasy, a holiday from reality. Daily life isn't like this, not for anyone, including people who lead far less complicated lives than we do."

"I know THAT," he said rolling his eyes and momentarily ceasing movement. "And, frankly, I'm glad it isn't. While it was definitely worth it... man, was it ever worth it, if you don't mind my saying so, all this romance stuff is a heck of a lot of work. And, of course, there's the whole sock issue to grapple with."

"What?" She raised her head slightly and cast him an inquisitive look.

"Never mind," he sighed. "I'll explain later. I'm just saying that all the hearts and flowers in the world can't create what happened here last night if the connection isn't there between the parties involved." He commenced tracing the soft petal over her skin.

"Mmmm..." was her only response as the flower petal came to rest on a nipple.

"Which isn't to say," Jarod intoned seductively, "that we can't live `La Dolce Vita' a little while longer... say, another week or so. What do you say, Parker? What do you say? ...Catherine?"

"I'm with you, buddy, on that one. I'm with you," she murmured then moaned as his tongue replaced his finger on the petal.


FIN