it?'
Antonella laughed. 'The turning.'
A rutted track cleaved a slope of towering sunflowers, falling sharply toward a bowl in the hills, and an oasis of dense, dark trees.
'Follow me,' said Antonella, abandoning the car at the tree line and setting off on foot.
He smelled it first, another odor fighting with the sharp, sweet scent of pine sap. It was the smell of decay, of something dead and done for. Antonella walked on, threading her way through the trees. He was a few paces behind her when they entered the clearing.
'Wow,' he said quietly.
The walls of the rectangular pool were made of travertine blocks, some of which had been dislodged by the roots of encroaching trees. A narrow flight of steps led down into the water, which was chalky white, somehow both clear and opaque at the same time. Bubbles rose lazily to the surface at intervals, and the smell of sulphur hung heavy in the air.
'From Monte Amiata,' explained Antonella. 'There are lots of thermal springs in the area. But this one is special. It's very old, probably Roman.'
Her uncle Emilio had shown it to her and Edoardo when they were younger. He had told them they could only share the secret with one other person, one person each. He had made them swear. She appeared a little embarrassed by this confession.
'Am I really that person?'
Antonella gave a sheepish smile. 'Actually, you're the fourth.'
He laughed, taking her in his arms and kissing her gently on the lips. 'Well, thanks anyway.'
'Let's go in.'
She kicked off her shoes, then turned her back on him, pulling her long hair aside. 'Do you mind?'
His hand was trembling slightly as he undid the zip of her dress. She eased it from her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the ground. She wore matching underwear—plain, simple, startlingly white against her amber skin. She stood all but naked before him, surprisingly unabashed.
'You're staring.'
'I don't think I've ever seen anything quite so beautiful.'
She removed her bra and stepped out of her panties.
'Okay, so I was wrong.'
She smiled. 'Your turn.'
His fingers fumbled with his belt buckle. The sulphurous vapors coming off the pool no longer stung his nostrils; they washed over him in heady waves, intoxicating.
When he was done, and his clothes lay bundled at his feet, she stepped toward him and pressed her lean body against his, dark skin against pale. They kissed, hands roaming, growing in courage as the same restless urge consumed them. She gripped his wrist and guided his fingers to the warm cleft of her thighs, the hair already matted with moisture. She let out a long, low moan as he eased a finger inside her. Her hips moved, setting the rhythm for him.
'Don't stop,' she purred, 'I'm very close.'
A few moments later, she came, shuddering against him, their mouths locked together, stifling her cries.
She hung limp and drained in his arms. 'Thank you. You're very gentle.' 'Am I?'
'Yes.'
She kissed him tenderly, her long fingers briefly closing around him, caressing him. Then she took his hand and led him silently to the pool. The stone steps stopped just below the waterline, and they lowered themselves down till their feet sunk into the soft, viscous mud coating the bottom. The water was hot, but not uncomfortably so.
They swam in slow circles, heads bobbing on the milky surface, stopping every so often to stand in the shallower parts. The therapeutic waters would cure him of every ailment known to man, apparently, although everything seemed to be in working order, she added, reaching for him beneath the surface. She didn't let go. They kissed hungrily. He raised her up, dipping his head to kiss her breasts. She hooked her legs around his waist and reached behind her, guiding him into her. That's when he lost his footing and they both went under. They came up laughing.
The steps offered the perfect support. She carried her weight on her elbows, facing him, her eyes never leaving his. At first he just stood there, relishing her tight, oily grip, the primordial sludge oozing between his toes. Then he began to move slowly, his hands clasping her narrow hips. Whorls and eddies spiraled off around them. She spurred him on with breathless words until he was driving into her. She came again, just before he did. His own release hit him so hard that he had to seize the steps behind her to steady himself.
Later, bumping along back up the track to the gravel road, their clothes clinging to their damp bodies, Antonella turned to him. 'You're very quiet. Say something.'
'Whenever I smell sulphur I'll always think of you.'
She punched him in the arm.
There was no time to see Montalcino, or anywhere else for that matter. Antonella had promised her grandmother that she'd have him back at Villa Docci by eight o'clock for his farewell dinner.
