Free Loving Venus (Sally-Ann Jones Sexy Romance) by Sally-Ann Jones

luxuriated in the suds. Sure there was nobody in the house except the two dogs, she walked naked down the staircase to the entrance hall, then turned to the right where the kitchen and, underneath that, the wine cellar, were. She enjoyed the feeling of the tendrils of her long hair brushing against the small of her bare back as she moved and the soft warmth of the summer air wafting close to her unclothed skin.
         A single light burned in the kitchen, where she planned to cook her evening meal as soon as she was clean. She didn ’t really want carbonara if her second cousin wouldn’t eat it with her, but she refused to let his absence prevent her from enjoying it. A wooden trapdoor in the stone floor, easily pulled up with a round brass handle, led to the wines. Really thirsty and keen to celebrate her new-found resolve, Annabella lifted the trapdoor and flicked on the light switch inside. She selected a local v in santo and climbed up with it, placing the bottle on the kitchen table while she found the corkscrew.
         In seconds, she had the wine open and was sipping her first glass, savouring its cool, blond fruitiness. She sat on the kitchen table, unaware of her nakedness, bewitched by the moonlight garden she glimpsed through the window. Italy had certainly caught her in her spell. But Annabella wouldn ’t confess, even to herself, that while she sipped she was remembering, again, how wonderful her cousin had looked on the bare back of the black stallion the day of the Palio . All she was willing to admit was that vin santo was the perfect drink after a long, hot day spreading manure in the orchard, the distilled essence of Tuscan sunshine, birdsong, and the cheerfulness of the villagers.
         She smiled as she recalled walking down to Fortezza Rosa with Tonia that morning. Earlier, she ’d come across the housekeeper crying silently to herself as she hung a load of washing on the line and, putting her arms around her, Annabella had asked her what was the matter.
         “It’s my sister, Bella,” Tonia wept. “She ’s not well. And she lives all alone in a house with many stairs. I’m afraid for her.”
         “Then you must go to her, Tonia. I have some money I can give you if you need to take a taxi or a train.”
         “She lives down in the village. Only a short walk away. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind if I popped down to see her for a while?”
         “Not for a while, Tonia. Stay until she ’s better. I can look after Casa dei Fiori.”
         Tonia’s face shone with joy. “You are so kind, Bella. Thank you a million times. May God bless you, cara .”
         “Can I walk with you? I can help carry your things.”
         “Of course you may. I’d be glad of your company. Shall we eat breakfast and then go?”
         “ Si . That’s what we’ll do.”
         The walk down the hillside was spectacular. There was a little rocky path that wound between cypress and ilex, offering beautiful views of the scenery with every twist and turn. Beside a rocky grotto the two women stopped to cross themselves with holy water which lay in a little pool under a small statue of the Madonna. Fresh flowers were strewn around the statue and, in the darkness deep inside the cave, thousands of candles glowed.
         “People visit her every day,” Tonia explained. “And they light candles for their loved ones.”
         “May I light one?” Annabella asked. “I ’d like to thank my great-grandfather for bringing me here.”
         Soon they were on their way again, entering the cobbled main street of the tiny medieval village whose small but tall three and four storey houses were so old they leaned together over the narrow lanes. Each house was a different colour of peeling, faded paint – palest blue, green, pink and yellow – and from every window-box tumbled bright geraniums. Cats sunned themselves on walls and steps and, in the tiny market