her piano, five clarinets, desk and computer.
When Rina put the cat down, Sabine leaped onto the desk chair, then to the top of the desk, as if to supervise.
Rina sat down in front of her computer. “Giancarlo probably didn’t fixate on me. In fact, chances are he doesn’t remember me.”
“Mmrrr?” Sabine responded, in a tone that sounded amazingly like, “You really think so?”
Rina chuckled softly. “Yeah. I mean, we were kids, it was so long ago. He’s in this whole music video thing, with gorgeous, svelte performers. Famous ones, up-and-coming ones. He’s successful enough that even if he’s still a skinny guy with a big nose, I bet he’s had more sex in a month than I’ve had in the whole time since I last saw him.”
No response from Sabine. The cat had gone to sleep.
“See, I even bore you, and you love me.”
Okay, time to stop stressing and procrastinating and get it over with. Rina typed in the e-mail address she’d found on Giancarlo’s website, then paused at the subject line.
Blast from the past
she finally typed. Then she tabbed to the message box.
I came across your name the other day, Giancarlo. It brought back memories of Banff, when we were both naïve young music students. Don’t know if you remember me, but I was the pianist who also played clarinet, who…
She paused. What on earth did she intend to say? Who you had sex with all summer? Nope, not good. Either he remembered or he didn’t. She backspaced over the last few words, leaving it at,
Don’t know if you remember me.
Then she added,
Anyhow, if you do and feel like catching up, I live in Vancouver and maybe we could get together. I see from your website you’re in town for a few days.
She stared at the screen. Jenny would say, be more assertive.
But that was Jen. Rina was the passive type. Set it up to give the guy the opportunity and see if he took it.
In other words, leave it in the hands of fate.
2
Giancarlo Mancini yawned as he unlocked the door of his room at the Opus Hotel. His bleary eyes barely noticed the blue walls and stylish, starkly modern décor. All he cared about was crashing on the king-size bed.
They’d done location shoots all day and into the evening, then followed up with a private party. He squinted at the clock by the bed. Three in the morning. Late, even for a night owl like him.
What time were they starting today? Fuck, he couldn’t remember his own shooting schedule. Better check, and set the alarm.
He turned on the notebook computer that served as his portable office. While he was waiting for it to boot up, he went to take a piss, wash his face and brush his teeth. He pulled off his shirt, noting that it stunk of smoke.
Yeah, the club they’d gone to was supposed to be smoke free, but his group had had their own room and their own special rules—i.e., no rules. Coke, primo BC marijuana, ecstasy, not to mention cigarettes, cigars and booze. Something to suit every taste. His own choice had been grappa, the Italian wine-based liquor his grandfather had introduced him to when he was a teen.
Yawning again, he went back to the computer to call up the shooting schedule. Yeah, right, he’d planned a short day in the studio. So the talent and crew could recover from the partying.
For him, the party scene he’d once thrived on was getting old. Still, it had been the first day on this project, and he was trying to build everyone into a team that could loosen up and have fun together. Videos took creativity, and creativity required trust and a sense of play. That was his philosophy as a director.
Hard work, a party, a slack-off day, then back to the hard work. As everyone worked through hangovers today, he’d strongly recommend an early-to-bed night.
His own plan was to look for a good Italian restaurant. He could sure handle a great lasagne. Something basic, not all fancied up. The kind of food his mamma used to cook.
The staff at his hotel would have a recommendation. They bent over backward to assist their guests.
Maybe he’d ask that pretty redheaded lighting assistant—what was her name? Tabbi?—to come along. She’d be up for dinner, a little action. Anything to get in good with the director.
He yawned so widely his jaw cracked and his eyes teared up. Nah. The meaningless sex had gotten old, just like the parties. He’d rather eat alone, really relax, get a good night’s sleep. That had its appeal too.
While he had the computer open, he figured he’d better check e-mail.
He skimmed subject lines, then paused and went back to one. “Blast from the past?” Well, damn. Rina Goldberg.
Banff. His first trip outside Italy. His family had scrimped and saved to send him to the summer music school a Canadian relative had recommended. And there he’d found himself in a village not so different from the one he’d left, tucked under mountains as spectacular as the Italian Alps. With a bunch of other eager young musicians with big aspirations.
A homesick kid, he’d laid eyes on Rina Goldberg and immediately felt better. Her coloring made her look Italian. And she was warm and generous, willing to befriend an out-of-his-depth foreign kid.
Sexy too. Man, she’d been sexy. A ripe body, huge brown eyes, masses of curly black hair. His dick pulsed, just remembering how she’d looked. What the hell had she seen in a scrawny runt like him?
He’d have been intimidated, except he’d quickly learned Rina was shy, naïve, as inexperienced as he. They’d both been virgins. And they’d learned about sex together.
Giancarlo ran a hand over his fly, cupping his growing erection. Hell, yeah, he remembered Rina Goldberg. He’d had more than one thought of her over the years. Missed her responsive, generous sexuality. Missed, too, the easy natural connection between them, the way they could talk about anything under the sun.
Did he want to get together with her?
He began to smile, not feeling so exhausted anymore. Lasagne at an Italian restaurant, gazing across the table into those melting brown eyes. She had hung on his every word. Lots of people did that now, but she’d done it before he became successful.
Was she still as sexy? Probably even more so, with maturity and experience.
Would there still be chemistry between them? He sure as hell could imagine himself and Rina rumpling the sheets of this huge bed. That sex wouldn’t be meaningless, it’d be damned fantastic.
He unzipped his pants and slipped them off, along with his underwear. His swollen penis begged for attention and he curled his hand around it.
Hell, he was getting way ahead of himself. A girl like her, some guy had probably snapped her up. She’d be married with a couple kids by now, have the life she’d dreamed of. He should take her at her word. All she’d suggested was a little catching up.
Yeah, sure. He might be tired but he wasn’t dead, and a guy couldn’t help but hope.
Memories of sex with Rina filled his mind as he slid between the sheets. God, had her breasts really been as full and lovely as he remembered? Who cared? His throbbing erection wasn’t concerned with accuracy, just with stimulation.
He pumped firmly, envisioning lush breasts, curvy hips, petal-soft skin. Thick, dark curls between her thighs. Pouty labia, swollen and wet, telling him she was hungry for him.
Moistening his hand with saliva, he returned it to his engorged dick and imagined sliding inside her. The way she took him in, welcomed him, moved around him as they both drove toward satisfaction.
The high, keening noise she made when she was close to coming. The way her