Private Desire - Innocent Sin E-Book

Gabriella Giacometti

• Herausgeber: Bastei Lübbe
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Serie: International Passion Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 145

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

A young art history researcher, Livia’s had her fill of emotions and feelings. Especially when it comes to love. After all - she tells herself - the kind of love that takes your breath away only exists in books, not in real life. But one day, the foundation she works for asks her to show Viktor Ivanov around town. The charismatic bestselling Russian writer has come to Italy to research his next book. That day changes everything for Livia. Vital, passionate and with an irresistible and magnetic charm, Viktor represents everything that the ethereal, cerebral and demure Livia tries to avoid. The charming writer spins a seductive web around her - a web she’s unable to escape from. So Livia discovers not only Viktor Ivanov’s many secrets, but also another side of herself - one that’s hidden away, consisting only of emotions and desires ...

Sizzling love stories packed with erotic suspense - this e-book series features self-contained erotic love stories in picturesque settings.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

About the Series

About the Book

About the Authors

Private Desire — Innocent Sin

Copyright

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

Next episode

Footnotes

About the Series

Sizzling love stories packed with erotic suspense — this e-book series features self-contained erotic love stories in picturesque settings.

About the Book

A young art history researcher, Livia’s had her fill of emotions and feelings. Especially when it comes to love. After all — she tells herself — the kind of love that takes your breath away only exists in books, not in real life. But one day, the foundation she works for asks her to show Viktor Ivanov around town. The charismatic bestselling Russian writer has come to Italy to research his next book. That day changes everything for Livia. Vital, passionate and with an irresistible and magnetic charm, Viktor represents everything that the ethereal, cerebral and demure Livia tries to avoid. The charming writer spins a seductive web around her — a web she’s unable to escape from. So Livia discovers not only Viktor Ivanov’s many secrets, but also another side of herself — one that’s hidden away, consisting only of emotions and desires …

About the Authors

Elisabetta Flumeri & Gabriella Giacometti are a tried and tested creative couple. They write for radio and advertising, as well as television, with TV series such as Incantesimo, Carabinieri e Orgoglio.

Elisabetta Flumeri&Gabriella Giacometti

Innocent Sin

Translated by Monica Bay

BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT

Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG

Copyright © 2013 by Sperling & Kupfer Editori S.p.A.

Published by arrangement with Grandi & Associati

Title of the original Italian edition: “Scrivilo sulla mia pelle”

Copyright © 2016 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany

Written by Elisabetta Flumeri & Gabriella Giacometti

Translated by Monica Bay

Edited by Sasha Lovejoy

Project management: Sarah Pelekies

Cover design: Christin Wilhelm, www.grafic4u.de

Cover illustration: © shutterstock/Svetlana Prikhnenko | shutterstock/elisekurenbina | shutterstock/AS Inc

eBook production: Urban SatzKonzept, Düsseldorf

ISBN 978-3-7325-1565-3

www.bastei-entertainment.com

1

Gemini women dream of romantic love,and their fervid imagination feeds on fantasies.

The train slows down as it reaches the station. I am waiting on the platform, standing still. Emotions penetrate every fiber of my body, making me feel alive like never before. The cars slide along the rails, then silently stop. The doors open and the passengers start getting off. I feel like my voice is broken and my lungs cannot get enough air. My gaze moves from one person to the next, looking for him. At times I am sure I’ve seen him, at times I am terrified he might have changed too much. It’s been twenty years … Sure, there are pictures on Facebook, but now that he’s about to leave cyberspace for me, which is no longer enough, the idea of finding a man instead of the sweet loving boy who used to hold my hand makes me feel a thousand things. Desire, fear, expectation … The words he wrote last night fill my mind and unsettle me: “Tomorrow morning I’ll see you … Tomorrow morning I’ll touch you … Tomorrow morning I’ll kiss you … Tomorrow morning …”

I closed my eyes and sighed.

To be able to feel that way! Overwhelmed with emotions, losing your breath and your mind … It could never happen to me, I thought. I’m too cerebral. Too focused on my books.

Too busy looking for the perfect combination of mind, body, and spirit, as my friend and colleague Luisa would always say, blaming it on the fact that I’m a Gemini. Too much, too many things. A love like that, made of thrills and passion — which part of me secretly dreamed of — was yet not for me. I told myself such a thing couldn’t exist in real life, anyway. And yet I hoped that one day someone would prove me wrong …

I opened my eyes. My cat was stretched across the keyboard, staring at me inquisitively. I looked at the screen. The essay on Templar Knights in the Lazio region was waiting for me. I hesitated, then put the computer in standby. I took the book that had been distracting me. That day I felt I needed my “dose” of dreams — a bit like when you’re low on sugar. My rational side kept telling me that I, underpaid researcher Livia Camusi, could never experience anything like that — but every now and again, I chose to believe the opposite. To lose myself in emotion. Even if they weren’t mine, I felt them, too.

My heart skips a beat. The same beautiful smile, the same hazelnut eyes with a hint of green, the same carefree look … He’s a man now, but he hasn’t changed. I watch him get closer, unable to move or make a single motion. The feeling paralyzes me. He’s here. Without a word, he takes me in his arms and kisses me, holding me tight. I feel his strong muscles in his sweet and passionate grip. I let his lips look for me, explore me, taste me …and the noise of the station, the crowd around us, the announcements — it all disappears. There’s just us, our mouths unable to release each other, our feelings building up a barrier that no one and nothing can cross …

At first I only sensed an annoying interference at the back of my mind. Like the muffled sounds of the station in the book. I tried to ignore it, but it turned into a persistent and obsessive sound: the phone was ringing. I shook myself and, with great effort, picked up the phone.

“Dr. Camusi?”

I immediately felt nervous: it was the director of the small Art History Foundation I worked for, but he had never called me at home before.

“Good morning. I need to speak to you urgently. Can you please come to the office?” I froze. I visualized the most horrible scenarios. Being called in like that could only mean one thing: my precarious job was about to be cut altogether. The only question was when. I thought, there’s no point in procrastinating. Sticking my head in the sand would have been no use — better to face the truth.

“I’m coming,” I said.

I hung up.

I was very nervous. I knew that the foundation wasn’t doing well, but there had been no talk of firing people.

I put something on, took the first bus and got to Largo Argentina. I walked through the Jewish ghetto, thinking of all the things I’d done in the past few days. It was true that sometimes I got in late, but my articles were always ready on time, and I had reorganized all the books in the library so that now they could actually be found. So why would they let me go? I racked my brain, but in the end couldn’t find a good reason for them to fire me. They can’t. They’ll see. I’ll stand up for myself — I kept saying to myself, trying to be brave. But when I got into the office, my heart was beating furiously and my hands were shaky. Panic attack? Worse … I needed that job, I couldn’t lose it.

I opened the door and walked in. Luisa was already there, and ran towards me.

“Cuccoli is waiting for you in his office. What’s the matter?”

“I was hoping you could tell me …”

Luisa smiled and helped me take off my jacket.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” she said. “Use your skills, smile and don’t give him the time to object. As a Gemini, you’re really good with words!”

I stared at her blankly.

“Yeah, well, today I feel empty — just like my bank account. I …”

Luisa didn’t let me finish, instead pushing me toward the director’s office.

“Exactly. Defend yourself. Don’t let him fire you, even if it means being paid a little less …” and she opened the door with a big smile.

“Mr. Cuccoli, Livia is here.”

She pushed me inside the orc’s den. I was shaking.

I was ready for anything — except what came next.

Cuccoli was a tall, big man with a dark beard and little hair. We had never really hit it off. He made me feel uncomfortable with his seriousness. He never smiled, and if you cracked a joke, he would glare at you. I guess he didn’t know what irony was.

“Dr. Camusi, I am so happy to see you!” He got up and walked up to me with a smile. I was very suspicious: what was the meaning of that? What did he want to say? He put an arm around my shoulders and motioned me for to sit on the 1920s couch next to the big desk.

The alarm bells now rang wildly. Unusual behaviour. Forced smile. Friendly attitude.

I knew he was about to screw me over.

“Take a seat,” he said dropping on the couch. “I have a favor to ask you …”

???

I stared at him blankly. A favor?

“Are you okay?”

I forced a smile and sat next to him, keeping the distance. He still made me feel uncomfortable.

“What is it?”

Cuccoli nodded.

“You are surely aware of who Viktor Ivanov is …”

I was lost. I tried to think: archaeologists, professors, art historians … No. That name didn’t ring a bell. It was pointless to pretend I knew, I only risked looking stupid.

“Should I be?” I asked suspiciously.

He gave me a sorry look.

“To be honest, I didn’t know him either, but I don’t count. I only read historical essays …”

I felt better.

“Is he a writer?”

He nodded, then, looking uneasy, he added: “He’s very famous, too, apparently. His books are bestsellers.”

I still didn’t know what the point of that meeting was. What did I have to do with this Russian writer? Cuccoli preempted my question: “You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come here and why I’m telling you about Viktor Ivanov …”

I nodded with a smile. He smiled back.

“Livia, my dear,” he started. There was surely something wrong: it was the first time in seven years that he called me that. I had always been “Dr. Camusi.”

“This is a great opportunity and we can’t pass it up,” he went on with a soothing tone. “Ivanov wants to set his next novel in Italy — here in Lazio.”

So?, I thought, but kept it to myself. The director seemed very happy about this choice of Mr. Bestseller’s.

“Don’t you think it’s a great idea?”

I tried to sound convincing. “Well, it could surely help tourism … Maybe, if we found some funds, we could organize some events …” I started, but he interrupted me straight away.

“Livia, we don’t have any money. We must seize this opportunity and I’m sure you can help.”

My complete bewilderment must have showed on my face. What did he want from me?

“You know I’ve always been happy to help, but frankly I can’t see how this would help our research center …” There you go, I said it. But I didn’t get the desired effect. The director kept looking at me smiling under his moustache.

“It is not for you to understand. This Ivanov is willing to pay a large sum for you to accompany him in the Lower Lazio for a week, or ten days at most. He’s read your essay and loves it.”

What?! A tourguide? I was speechless.

Cuccoli stood up and, with a big smile, concluded: “I knew we could count on you. We’re all very grateful.”

Without giving me time to object, he walked to the door and opened it, assuming that I’d agreed. But he was wrong. I pushed the door and closed it, decided to stand up for myself.

“I am sorry, Mr. Cuccoli, but I do not intend to be a tourguide. It’s not my job: I’m a librarian.”

Simple, clear, concise.

His face clouded. The smile disappeared. His dark eyes became even darker.

“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear, Miss Camusi.” Suddenly I was no longer “Livia, my dear.”

“You can’t say no. Ivanov has offered a sum we cannot possibly reject for your kind collaboration. You know very well that we have been struggling for the past few years. So tomorrow you’ll go to the airport and do whatever he asks you to.”

I didn’t know what to say. I played the language card.

“My English is very basic! And I don’t speak Russian …”

Cuccoli smiled.

“Don’t worry. Ivanov speaks Italian very well.” He opened the door again.

“I need to finish the article …” I tried to say as my last resource. Cuccoli glared at me.

“Don’t worry about that, you can hand it in next month. Take today off, I think you’ll have to work on Saturday and Sunday.”

That was it. He had framed me. I had to look after Mr. Bestseller for a whole week!

I left the room feeling enraged. Luisa was waiting for me.

“So?”

“I have a new job: babysit some Russian guy who wants to know the region.” She stared at me blankly, so I added: “No comments, please, I’m not in the mood.”

“Can you tell me who it is?”

“Viktor Ivanov.”

Her eyes widened.

“I cannot believe it! Lucky you!” I stared at her menacingly.

“Over and out. Today I’m off.”

I didn’t let her say anything. I was furious, I felt used. But the real question was why on earth that damned Russian wanted me as a tour guide. Okay, I had written an essay on the five cities of Saturn. So what? I was an art historian, writing essays, dealing with serious studies: what did that have to do with Mr. Bestseller? The very idea of having to spend the day with him made me cringe. I could see him in my head: a haughty yokel full of himself. But I forced myself to make the best of a bad situation: perhaps mine was just a stupid prejudice …

When at home, I prepared an herbal tea to relax, then I turned on the computer. I wanted information about him. I hated “googling” people, but in this case I had to know the enemy to know what to expect.

I quickly typed: “Viktor Ivanov.”

I was speechless. It was much worse than I thought it would be. Mr. Bestseller did not just write commercial literature … he wrote erotic mystery novels! Now I wasn’t annoyed at the idea of spending a week with a stranger: I was appalled. I didn’t want to know Mr. Bestseller.

Erotic novels! No way!

2

Gemini women are restless.They want to know their enemies.

I wanted to kill myself, or rather, I wanted to kill Cuccoli for putting me in that absurd situation. I got out my phone and called Luisa.

“Livia, what’s up?” she asked, hearing my agitated tone.

“SOS. I don’t want to go. I just found out this guy writes porn novels!”

She giggled. “Don’t get carried away. Ivanov’s books are mystery novels with a hint of eroticism, that’s all …”

Luisa was much more easy-going than me. She was not nearly as shy about sex.

“I don’t want to show for Mr. Erotic Bestseller!” She giggled again.

“Have you seen him? He’s smoking hot. I’d gladly take your place…”

Actually, I hadn’t seen his pictures yet. What I had read was enough.

“Can’t I ask the boss to find someone else to do it? Maybe I can suddenly get ill or something … You can go instead of me. How would he know, anyway?”

“Honey, you also have an online presence. Forget it. He wants a historian who knows about this region so, I’m sorry, but you need to go. But I’m so jealous …”

She was right. Damn the Internet!

There were only a few things able to make me lose my temper, and one of them was when I felt like the situation was out of my control. I felt like I was being forced to do something against my will, but I could only surrender and get ready for the tour de force with this ignorant, uneducated Russian, who was all about sex and muscles.

In the end, I searched for “Viktor Ivanov” on Google images. What I found didn’t make me feel any better. Thick, dark, wavy hair, a muscular body, and the look of someone who has the world at their feet. In the pictures he was either besieged by his fans, mainly horny older groupies, or next to beautiful and icy women. I turned off the PC and went to sleep with the unpleasant feeling of being trapped.

The next day I went to the airport with the same feeling. I had chosen not to write “Mr. Ivanov Erotic” on the sign I held in my hands — something told me he wouldn’t appreciate the joke. I was wearing my most serious “scholar uniform”: buttoned up jersey and blouse, dark trousers, black flats, and a Michelin-man type jacket. The last thing I wanted was to be mistaken for one of the many bimbos who’d fall at his feet. I wanted to make clear that it wasn’t the case with me, even aesthetically.