Season for Love Read online

  Lark exhaled. “Sometimes I do have a hard time letting go of responsibilities. Every division of the company is near and dear to my heart. I guess some might call me a control freak. It’s just that I want every aspect of the new collection to be flawless. The competition in this industry is fierce, and we can’t afford to lose any market share.”

  “I understand. That’s all the more reason to go and oversee the samples. Besides, it’s not like you’re going away on vacation. It’s work-related. We won’t be away from the office for too long,” Dash said.

  “You’re right. What am I thinking? This is important. The new fabrics will definitely give us an edge.”

  “I’ll make all the arrangements and will call the plant manager to give him a heads-up.”

  “Thanks, Dash.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’m here to make the line the best it can be, and if that means going to Italy to manufacture custom bolts of fabric, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “I truly appreciate your help.”

  “I’ll email you with the details, once I secure our plans.”

  “Why don’t I have Angelica make the reservations?”

  “Don’t get me wrong—I think your assistant is extremely efficient, but Florence is my second home and I can handle the details with my eyes closed.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  Dash moved with purpose back to his office. Excitement began to fill his spirit at the thought of showing Lark the countryside of Florence and his family’s business. He hadn’t brought a woman to Italy since Heather, and he welcomed the female company. Although their visit would be brief, Dash planned to make the most of their time in Italy.

  Chapter 7

  True to his word, Dash had handled the arrangements for their trip to Florence. He’d booked the hotel and airline tickets. Dash had even arranged for a car to pick her up from her apartment. All Lark had had to do was pack her bags and meet him at the airport. Their evening flight had been uneventful, with them both catching a little shut-eye on the plane, resting from a long week of work.

  The morning sun beamed through the airplane’s window, disturbing Lark’s sleep. She blinked and peered around the first-class cabin. Dash wasn’t in his seat adjacent to hers, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want him to see her unwashed morning face. Lark unbuckled the seat belt, reached underneath the seat in front of her to retrieve her overnight tote and made her way to the lavatory.

  Inside the small space, she took a hand towel out of her tote, washed her face and freshened up. She changed clothes, replacing her jogging suit with a khaki pantsuit, a white sleeveless blouse and a pair of tan loafers. She combed her hair and touched up her makeup. Lark took in her reflection in the mirror. Now I’m ready to be seen. She tucked her hair behind her ears before unlatching the door.

  “Wow, you look like you’re ready to hit the ground running,” Dash remarked once she reached their seats.

  Lark moved past him and sat down. “For the sake of time, I thought we’d go directly to the mill and get started on the samples. I don’t want to waste any time. I need to get back to New York as soon as possible. We can check in to the hotel afterward.”

  “Sounds good.” Dash handed Lark a small tray. “The flight attendant came by when you were in the lavatory and I got you a cappuccino and a chocolate cornetto.”

  He’s so sweet! Lark thought as she reached for the tray. “Thanks.” She took a sip. “Mmm, that’s really good cappuccino.”

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it? Try the cornetto. It’s the Italian version of a croissant.”

  Lark took a bite of the buttery roll. “This is divine. I love Italian food, but I’ll have to watch my calorie intake while I’m here. Otherwise I’ll bring home a few extra pounds.”

  “You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

  He knows exactly what to say. Not only was Lark attracted to him physically, but she was discovering that Dash had a kind and giving spirit. His interior was just as beautiful as his exterior, and the combination was an aphrodisiac.

  By the time they finished with their light Italian breakfast, the pilot announced their descent into Florence. Lark peered out of the window at the aerial view of the ancient city below, with its cluster of rustic clay tile rooftops and winding narrow streets.

  After going through customs, they made a swift exit since neither had checked any luggage. Dash had hired a car and driver, who was waiting curbside to take them to the mill.

  “After you,” Dash said, taking Lark’s tote out of her hand and helping her into the backseat.

  “Thanks.” Lark watched as he carried her bag around to the back of the mustard-colored four-door convertible. Dash wore jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that accentuated his biceps. Lark quickly imagined his arms embracing her in a tender hug and drawing her in close. Lark shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. She was in Italy to conduct business, not to have a romantic rendezvous with a hot young designer.

  Once Dash settled into the backseat next to Lark, he instructed the driver in Italian. Lark listened as his native language easily rolled off his tongue. In New York, Dash didn’t speak with an accent, and Lark was surprised he was fluent in Italian. She was impressed and aroused as he spoke.

  The car drove through the centuries-old town of Florence, the birthplace of the Renaissance—hometown of Michelangelo, Galileo and Leonardo da Vinci—passing such treasures as the Piazza del Duomo and the Palazzo Vecchio. Lark peered out of the window and marveled at the city’s treasures. She had been to Italy numerous times, but she never tired of taking in its ancient architecture.

  In no time, they were driving through the wrought-iron gates of Migilio il Tessuti. A tree-lined driveway led to a hewn-stone building that appeared as if it had been built centuries ago. The driver parked and they stepped out.

  “This building is lovely,” Lark said, standing in front of the entrance and gazing up at the structure.

  “It was built in the eighteenth century. When my family bought the mill, they had the building refurnished but kept the integrity of the original design. The mill still has the original antique handlooms we use today.”

  “That’s amazing. I can’t wait to see them.”

  “Come on inside.”

  Dash led the way through the entrance of the mill, where they were greeted by Marco, the plant manager.

  “Benvenuta, Signorina Randolph,” Marco said in a thick Italian accent and extended his hand.

  “Thanks so much for accommodating us on such short notice,” Lark said as she shook his hand.

  “No problema. Dash has told me about your dilemma. It is our pleasure to help in any way we can. This way.” Marco gave Lark a tour of the facilities. “Most of our weavers are second-and third-generation artisans.”

  Although the factory had been renovated, it still had the original wooden columns and vaulted beams, giving it an antiquated feeling. Lark looked around and felt as if she had stepped back in time. She could just imagine families of nobility having their silk brocade garments constructed there. She noticed a strange-looking apparatus. “What’s that?” she asked, walking over to the piece of equipment.

  “It’s a warping machine, and it’s based on a design by da Vinci.”

  She ran her hand over the surface. “Does it work?”

  “But of course,” Marco responded.

  “Our production process begins with hand-dyed, raw-spun Brazilian silk wound onto spools,” Dash interjected. “Not only were fabrics for clothing made here back in the day, but textiles for palaces throughout Europe were crafted here, as well. Even though the mill is old, we’ve modernized the facilities to keep up with technological advances.”

  Lark was impressed by Dash’s knowledge of the historic value of the mi
ll. “It’s good to know that Randolph on the Runway is in such esteemed company.”

  “Yes, the way we make fabrics has changed very little since the Renaissance,” Marco said.

  Lark reached into her tote, took out her sketch pad and handed it to Marco. “Here are the patterns I want to create.”

  Marco studied the drawings for a moment. “No problema. I’ll submit your designs to our textile designer. We’ll make strike-offs of your designs to make sure the color combinations are correct. You can come back tomorrow to give your approval.”

  “Awesome! Thank you so much.”

  “What time will the samples be ready?” Dash asked.

  “You come back late afternoon. Sì?”

  “Sì. Grazie mille!” Dash responded, thanking the plant manager.

  “Prego.”

  She shook Marco’s hand and they made their way back to the car. Inside the car, Dash once again spoke to the driver in Italian before they drove off.

  “Dash, thanks again for setting up the meeting with Marco. If you hadn’t suggested your family’s mill, I wouldn’t have had time to find another resource to produce the custom silk for the new collection.”

  “Lark, you don’t have to keep thanking me. I also have a vested interest in the success of the collection. After all, this will be the debut of my designs for RR.”

  “Guess you have a point. I’m hoping you’ll get a positive review from the critics.”

  “No worries there. Although I’m young, you can rest assured I’ll be the new King of Seventh Avenue!”

  “I like your confidence.”

  Lark felt at ease. She leaned back on the seat and took in the Florentine countryside dotted with olive groves and lemon trees. When they reached the hotel, the first thing she noticed was the vine-covered chapel on the property, which looked as if it had been erected in the seventeenth century. Colorful flower beds adorned the exterior of the hotel, giving the building a welcoming feel.

  Dash led the way into the hotel, which resembled an Italian villa, and went straight to the registration desk to check in.

  “Here’s your room key,” he said, handing Lark a keycard. “Can I help you with your bag?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got it.”

  “Are you tired?” he asked as they walked to the bank of elevators.

  “Not really. I’m too excited about seeing the sample run tomorrow.”

  “Why don’t we go out to dinner? There’s a quaint restaurant not too far from here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Let’s meet in the lobby in an hour.”

  “Okay, perfect. That’ll give me time to unpack and take a quick shower.”

  The elevator arrived and they stepped in. There was an awkward silence between them as they rode to their floor. Lark considered speaking, but she wasn’t much for small talk.

  When they reached her room, Lark stood in front of the door and fumbled with the key. She shifted the tote to her left hand.

  “Here, let me help you,” Dash said, taking the bag out of her hand.

  Lark slipped the key into the slot and opened the door. She walked in with Dash following behind. Lark glanced around the antiques-furnished room and noticed a golden silk brocade bench at the end of the bed. “You can put the tote on the bench.”

  Dash had his back to her, and Lark watched him intently. He had a tight rear end and she found herself wondering what his body looked like in the buff. She had seen his hairy chest in the picture on his tablet, but in that photo, he was only partially nude.

  “All right. See you in an hour.” Dash headed to the door.

  “Okay.”

  Once the door had shut behind him, Lark exhaled. She had to get a grip on her emotions. She wanted the young designer, but she was intent on keeping her feelings in check.

  Chapter 8

  Osteria delle Tre Panche was an old-world Italian restaurant not far from the center of town. Locals loved the quaintness as well as the delectable food of this tucked-away Florentine treasure, which was off the tourist track.

  “I hope you don’t mind sharing a table with other people,” Dash said as they sat nearly elbow to elbow with another couple.

  “No, not at all. I love the laid-back atmosphere.” Lark glanced around. “It’s extremely cozy. I can’t believe there are only three benches in the entire place. It’s a refreshing change from some of the cavernous restaurants in New York.”

  “Actually, tre panche translates to ‘three benches,’” Dash told her.

  “Well, that explains it.”

  “I hope you like truffles,” Dash said, peering across the wooden bench at Lark. He took in her sexy dress, which was made of black lace with a nude underlay. Dash imagined her wearing the dress without the slip underneath. He could picture the fabric accentuating her curves, her ample breasts poking through the lace. Dash couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Lark. His attraction toward her only got stronger the more time they spent together.

  “I love truffles.”

  “Good. We’ll start with the beef tartare, foie gras and a bottle of wine. And then we’ll have the white-truffle risotto and the cheese ravioli with shaved truffles.”

  “There goes my diet,” Lark said with a chuckle.

  Dash’s eyes roamed her body. “Lark, trust me. You don’t have anything to worry about. Even if you did gain a few pounds, you’d still be perfect.”

  Her cheeks blushed a rosy color. “Oh, come on. You have to say that... I’m the boss.”

  You can boss me around anytime, he thought. But what he said was “Since we’re here, we have to order the osso buco. It’s so tender and flavorful—the best I’ve ever eaten by far.”

  “That’s just way too much food for two people.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll space it out. We’ll have wine, talk and mangia. Eat! Eat!” Dash said.

  It may have indeed been too many dishes, but now that Dash had Lark all to himself, he wanted to relish their time together and not rush the evening.

  After the waitress had brought the appetizers and a bottle of Lambrusco, they dug in. Neither had eaten anything since the in-flight meal and both were starving. Before long, they had polished off the foie gras and the beef tartare.

  “Wow...that was delicious! I guess I was hungrier than I thought,” Lark said, dabbing the sides of her mouth with a cloth napkin. She picked up her glass of wine and took a sip.

  “The food here is orgasmic.” Dash studied Lark’s face and noticed her cheeks turning crimson once again.

  “Yes, it is. So...I didn’t know you were fluent in Italian.”

  “Even though I grew up in the States, I spoke Italian before I spoke English. My parents made sure I knew their native tongue, and I’m so glad they did. Being bilingual really comes in handy when dealing with Italian vendors.”

  “That’s true. I’m actually thinking about taking a beginners’ course. I’ve been meaning to do it for years, but have had too many things on my plate to take the time for a class.”

  “Forget about a class. I’ll be happy to teach you.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “It’s not an imposition. As a matter of fact, we can start now... Say buongiorno.”

  “Oh, that’s an easy word. It means ‘good morning.’ Banjurno,” Lark said, pronouncing the word with an American accent.

  “No, you have to form your mouth into an O shape,” Dash instructed. “Now try it again.”

  “Banjurno,” she repeated.

  He reached across the table, took her chin in his hand and slightly pulled down, opening her mouth wide. Dash let his fingers linger on her soft skin. Touching her made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Now try it.”

  “Buon...gior
no,” Lark said, this time using the correct pronunciation.

  He released her chin and clapped. “Perfetto! I think we’re going to need more wine with our lesson.” Dash refilled their glasses and touched his to Lark’s. “Salute—Sah-loo-tay!”

  “Salute,” she repeated, saying the word perfectly.

  As the evening unfolded, they drank not one but two bottles of wine, during and after dinner. Two and a half hours later, they were completely satiated and slightly tipsy. When Dash pulled out his credit card to pay the bill, Lark objected.

  “This is a business trip. You don’t have to pay with your personal card unless you’re going to expense the meal.”

  “I don’t plan to get reimbursed for the pleasure of your company.”

  “Thank you. This was a lovely dinner. I’ll definitely come back the next time I’m in Florence.”

  “You are more than welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed one of my favorite restaurants.”

  After the bill was paid, they moseyed out of the restaurant toward the waiting car, nearly leaning on each other. Their spirits were high.

  “This was really fun!” Lark said with a lilt to her voice.

  Dash opened the passenger door for her. “It sure was.”

  Once Lark settled in the backseat, she blurted out, “I’m not ready to go back yet. Let’s go dancing.”

  “Dancing?” Dash asked, a bit surprised.

  “Yep! I need to work some of this food off!”

  Dash glanced over at Lark and noticed her tight office demeanor was completely gone, having been replaced with more of a free-spirit attitude, which he found welcoming. “Dancing it is.”

  He spoke to the driver in Italian and the car began winding through the narrow city streets. Before long, they pulled up in front of a popular nightclub for locals and tourists alike. The exterior of the club was abuzz with people impatiently standing behind the velvet rope, trying to gain entry.

  Dash stepped out of the car, reached for Lark’s hand and helped her out. He held her hand tightly as he made his way straight toward the entrance, not looking twice at the crowd of partygoers waiting in the long line.