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    Fine as Wine
    Fine as Wine
    Fine as Wine
    Ebook155 pages2 hours

    Fine as Wine

    By Cristina Grenier

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Sela McBride and Cosimo Martinelli are from two different worlds. Sela is a stay-at-home mom whose husband died unexpectedly eighteen months before she meets a dashing Italian. Her freelance writing allows her to care for her son, but she isn't swimming in money. Cosimo is a billionaire, coming from old Italian money, made in his family's Piedmont vineyards. He is a force of nature, declaring his love for her before she is ready to feel anything but fear of him and his alpha male ways. Sela's late husband had been demanding, and she refuses to be trapped in another domineering relationship.

    Yet she also can't seem to control her desires around him, and he sweeps her off her feet every time they are together. The urgency and potency of his desire for her unnerves her...she has never had any man so totally focused on her pleasure, and on opening her up to her own unexplored sexuality. Her son Jeremy loves him, and Sela prays she can protect him from heartbreak, if things don't go well between her and Cosimo, as they may if she refuses to marry him. She knows he will leave and she will never see him again. Can she bear to lose him, though she is afraid to love him?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMonster Media LLC
    Release dateMar 7, 2019
    ISBN9781386503019
    Fine as Wine

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      Book preview

      Fine as Wine - Cristina Grenier

      Fine as Wine

      Cristina Grenier

      Want to receive a FREE copy of this

      full length BWWM Romance by bestselling author Cristina Grenier?

      Click the cover below.

      Chapter 1: Holiday Plans

      Buongiorno! Come sta? Buonasera! Mi scusi! Buonanotte! Ciao! Grazie! Prego!

      Sela repeated the Italian phrases as the sexy-voiced man said them, practicing her accent and intonation. Jem was asleep, and she had just put tomorrow’s meal in the slow cooker. She had a good six hours of uninterrupted time to get some writing done, but she would practice her Italian while she walked on the treadmill first. She thought back to the happenstance that had her buying a raffle ticket from the local Italian-American Association, who were fundraising for the senior citizen’s home. The prize was an all-expenses paid trip for two to Florence, Italy, for seven nights. The prize had been donated by an Italian billionaire with connections to the local association. She remembered her shock when Sergio Mancini had stopped by to visit, telling her she had won the prize and asking who she was taking with her. She smiled a little as she remembered how he had teased her.

      So, who’s the lucky guy, Sela? he had asked, grinning impishly at her. I know for sure it ain’t me!

      She had laughed, something Sergi, as everyone called him, always managed to make her do without even seeming to try.

      I keep telling you, Sergi, Jem is all the man I can handle right now! And a trip to Italy is going to severely try my patience, I’m sure, she said.

      Well, congratulations, Sela, you deserve a break! I’m sure our benefactor will be pleased to know that a worthy person has won. No one had been told exactly who this mystery benefactor was, and none of the board members of the IAA, who were the only ones who knew and of whom Sergi was one, was telling. She was just glad that at last something good had come to her without her having to struggle for it, and she thanked the man silently one more time. She repeated the phrases with gusto, trying to sound like the man on the training CD, and after an hour of exercising, she was tired and sweaty but sounding more Italian than before. Switching off the player, she went into her ensuite bathroom and stripped quickly, setting the water temperature while she brushed her teeth. Showering efficiently and giving her hair a quick shampoo to rid it of sweat, she dried off and wrapped herself in the soft terry bathrobe hanging behind the door. She would do some more work on the latest story she was writing, which she would have to finish before she took her week off, and then see about breakfast. After Jem left for morning pre-K, she would take a nap, and be ready for him when the bus dropped him back home at noon.

      When the clock sounded the alarm, she was just beginning to feel fatigued, but her story had moved along quite nicely, and she would sleep feeling less guilty. She saved her work, closed the laptop, and left the small bedroom she used as her office for the kitchen, which was a large chef’s kitchen furnished with stainless steel appliances. Jem was not a morning person, and he would only tolerate a light breakfast, which was a challenge for her, as she didn’t think cereal every morning was good for a growing boy. She decided to boil an egg, make a slice of toast, and cut up a small apple. She also poured him a glass of milk, which was the only thing she could guarantee that he would have, and then went to wake him and get him ready for his morning.

      She smiled when she walked into his room and saw him, curled around his Tigger toy, his gangly limbs tangled in the sheets. His black hair was tousled, and his mouth was open. He was breathing heavily, and she wondered if perhaps she ought to keep him at home, because he had been coughing and sneezing for the last three days, and had gone to bed with a runny nose. Reaching down, she touched his forehead lightly. He was warmer than usual, but she would need to see if that was just from the warmth of his bed.

      Jem, she said, sitting on the edge of his bed and shaking his shoulder. Wake up, honey!

      The little boy turned, and sniffled before opening his eyes. He looked dazedly up at his mother, and then said, closing his eyes again, Mama, I don’t feel so good.

      Sela sighed. It seemed the decision had been taken out of her hands. Jeremy never complained about being ill, and very rarely wanted to stay in even when he was actually sick. This was sufficiently unusual that she realized she might have to take him to see the pediatrician. Their trip would begin in five days, and she knew she couldn’t travel with him if he was sick. She sighed. Nothing was ever easy, she realized, but sometimes, she wished she could catch a break. She hadn’t slept at all as of yet, and if he was sick enough to need the doctor, she wouldn’t sleep for another few hours at least.

      When she took his temperature, it said 100.1F. She didn’t panic, but after she dressed herself, she hurriedly dressed him, and called the clinic while she force-fed him the toast, which he only ate because she smeared strawberry preserves on it, and made him drink some of the milk. She also gave him two children’s ibuprofen, and then packed him into the car. The drive to the clinic was fairly quick, and she was thankful that they had early hours, because if she was lucky, she would make it in before their first scheduled appointments began to trickle in. Dr. Magaly was waiting for her when she walked in, and ushered them back immediately. The pediatrician was a tall, bony woman with a pretty face and a beatific smile, which she now bestowed on Jeremy, who smiled back wanly. Sela didn’t think anyone could resist this woman’s smile.

      So, little man, what seems to be the trouble? she asked, after Sela set him on the examining table.

      Sela liked that she always addressed him first, getting his explanation of his symptoms before asking her what was wrong. She understood why the doctor did it, and it made her love the woman even more. Jem might only be four, but he was smart enough to be able to explain how he was feeling.

      My throat feels all scratchy, and I can’t stop shivering, he said hoarsely.

      Well now, that doesn’t sound good, Jeremy. Anything else?

      The doctor waited patiently while the little boy thought about what else he was feeling.

      My nose hurts, and my head, he finally said.

      She turned to look at Sela, who said, His temperature was 100.1 when I left the house.

      The doctor nodded, and began her examination. She did all the expected things, and at the end told Sela that his sinuses were beginning to be infected and she would need to watch him closely. She prescribed an antibiotic and a decongestant, advising Sela to keep him warm but in loose clothing and to keep him indoors for the next three days at least. She suggested a steam treatment before bed to help him breathe better.

      You’ll be off to Italy in a while, not so? she asked as she typed on her computer.

      In five days, Sela replied. Will I need to cancel the flight? She hoped the disappointment she would feel if she had to do that didn’t sound in her voice. She didn’t want this woman to think that her own pleasure was more important than her son’s health.

      He should be well enough to travel by then, the doctor assured her. Just keep him hydrated, and make sure he takes all his meds for ten days.

      After picking up the prescriptions from the pharmacy, Sela took Jem home and settled him in front of the television, with his toy box next to him, under a light blanket, and lay back on the wide settee to sleep. She gave him a dosage of amoxicillin and set out water, the apple from earlier, and a small bag of Welch’s fruit snacks for him, so that he would be fine until she woke up. She had the full set of DVDs for Gulla Gulla Island, Lamb Chop’s Playalong, Barney and Friends, and The Muppet Show -- which she knew wasn’t really meant for him but for her -- and Fraggle Rock, and she always let him choose what he wanted to watch. She had taught him how to use the remote, and she was happy he was such an independent little boy. She needed to get some sleep, as she could feel her body shutting down.

      Wake me up if you need anything, okay, Jem? she instructed him sleepily.

      Yes, Mama, he said, not taking his eyes off the screen, where Kermit was just announcing It’s ‘The Muppet Show’!

      When she woke again, Jem was asleep on the carpet beside her, the blanket wrapped securely around him. He looked so much like his father that some people who didn’t know them thought she was his nanny not his mother. Where her skin was a creamy chocolate, her son looked like he had been painted with caramel, and with his black hair and dark green eyes, he was a reflection of his mixed heritage. David McBride had been fiercely Irish, and even now, as she watched her son sleep, a wave of mixed emotions swamped her. He had been dead for a year and a half, and still she could not process the feelings she had for him at the end. She had thought that she had loved him with her whole heart and soul -- he was the kind of man who drew the love from you, with or without your permission -- but by the end of their first year together, she had seen a side of himself that he had hidden from her, the side that demanded her absolute and unquestioning compliance with his every wish and desire, and that treated her like a child.

      Looking away from the small boy curled up on the floor, she recalled the many arguments, some of them bitter and painful, in which she fought for her right to be an equal partner in their marriage. By the end of the second year of their marriage, she knew she could not live with him for much longer. Maybe it had been wrong to marry him because she was pregnant with his child, and he refused to father him from a distance. He had swept her off her feet, had seduced her, and before she knew it she was in his bed and insatiable for his body. And because she enjoyed his sense of humor, his practicality, his independence, and because he had encouraged her to get back into her writing, she had called her feelings love and allowed him to persuade her that marriage to him would just continue what they had found.

      Not wanting to think ill of the dead, and because on some level, he had been her first real love, she rose from the couch, taking care not to disturb the child, paused the video, and went to relieve herself, before heading to the kitchen to make some chicken soup for Jem. Cooking always calmed her, and as she prepped the items she would use in the soup and got the stock going, she rehearsed in her mind the plans she had for her seven-day vacation. Her friend Elia Montez had vacationed in Tuscany only the year before, and she had come back full of the praises of the region...its vineyards, museums, quaint villages, and most of all, the hot Italian men who lived there.

      She chuckled as she remembered how Ellie had urged her to stock up on sexy bikinis and sundresses, and to have a sexy negligee in case some hot Italian seduced his way into her bed.

      Ellie, she protested laughingly, you forget I have a built-in seduction inhibitor named Jeremy McBride!

      Italian men love babies, Elia insisted. Watch how that kid gets you more attention than a hot bod!

      Which I don’t have, either, girlfriend, so I guess I’m shit outta luck! had been her amused retort.

      Now, as she stirred in the last ingredients, and added some Jamaican soup mix, she thought about how she was afraid to trust again. How could she know who a man was when he wasn’t hiding important parts of himself from her? She had been without a sexual partner for almost two years, and had not even had a date in all that time. She sometimes woke up in the

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