The Turning Point

by Marie Meyer

  “Those don’t sound like real restaurants…” My voice trailed off. He was messing with me.

  “Oh, honey. I assure you they are.” Lucas folded his arms across his chest and smirked, stepping closer to me, allowing an elderly couple to skirt around us to get a look at the well-endowed fresco behind me. “Although, I’m curious as to what job I’m applying for? I didn’t realize an interview was required to be your lunch date.”

  “I’m covering my bases. If you turn out to be a kidnapper whose sole purpose is to sell me into a sex trafficking ring, I want you to know that my family back home has your full name, DOB, and the restaurants you frequent most often.”

  “Want my social, too?” he offered arrogantly.

  I raised an eyebrow. “You just hand that information out freely? You’re an identity thief’s wet dream.”

  “We’re a fine pair, then, a sex trafficker and an identity thief. This lunch date has potential.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and laughed. It was a delightful sound that coaxed a smile to my lips instantly.

  “What?” I quibbled, still smiling. “I’m a female, traveling alone. I’ve got to be cautious.”

  “Ha!” Lucas unfolded his arms quickly and pointed at me. “I knew you were alone.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Ahh! I hadn’t meant to say that.” Dammit!

  “Well, rest assured, Sophia, I am not in the sex slave business.” He raised his hands, palms up, a sign of surrender. “Unless of course the girl wants to be my sex slave. I wouldn’t argue with that.” A wicked smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

  My mouth dropped open. Self-assured or not, I couldn’t believe he said that.

  “Joking.” He jabbed my shoulder. “In all honesty, it would be nice to have a conversation where I don’t have to translate every other word that comes out of my companion’s mouth. Lunch and good English conversation. That’s it. And your number.”

  I hesitated, still not sure this was such a good idea. He looked harmless enough, but…“Okay,” I answered warily. “And you’re not getting my number.”

  “We’ll see.” He winked again and my stomach twisted into a pretzel. Damn that wink. Damn that dimple. What the hell was my problem? I felt like my inexperience with guys was scrolling across my forehead like a stock ticker on Wall Street: Sophia hasn’t been out with a guy since high school. Then there was his comment about his willing sex slave. Mental images of a naked Lucas ordering a scantily clad version of me to perform various sex acts. I felt my cheeks warm to a brilliant pink, well on their way to red, as the veins and capillaries in my face dilated.

  Brushing my hands over my cheeks, I tried to regain my composure, but Lucas and his tall and well-defined body didn’t make that very easy.

  Lucas gestured toward the atrium. “Check out the rest of the house?”

  A weird mix of excitement and trepidation coursed through my system. “Sure,” I answered cautiously.

  No, he’s a stranger…and what is this feeling in the pit of my stomach? I am not allowed to be excited by this prospect…by him.

  Yet, I ignored the warning from my rational side and we walked into the atrium together.

  Chapter Nine

  I stepped back onto the Viocolo dei Vettii with Lucas right behind me. The street was drenched in sunlight and it took my eyes a second to adjust to the glare. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I glanced left, then right. I prided myself on my sense of direction, but I’d been turned around all day. The ruins were not easy to navigate. Fumbling with my messenger bag, I pulled my map free.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Lucas said, resting his right hand on the small of my back. He pressed close to me and leaned over my shoulder, getting a look at the map in my hands. My cheeks felt hot, and I was certain it didn’t have anything to do with the sun blazing in the sky.

  Throughout the Vettii house, Lucas found small ways to touch me. I didn’t know quite what to make of it. Was he overly friendly? Forward? Whatever it was, I wasn’t complaining. He could keep his hand on my back and his body hovering close to mine as long as he wanted. Lucas’s touch made me feel…things.

  He cleared his throat and pointed at the map with his right hand, which he’d moved from my back to rest it on my right shoulder.

  Oh, sweet Jesus, he smells good…a weird, intoxicating blend of citrus and mint, coupled with a heady masculine scent.

  “Where are we headed next?” he asked, his breath tickling my ear.

  His proximity made it difficult to formulate a coherent thought. “Umm…I think if we follow this street down, we’ll get to—”

  “The Lupanare Grande.” He jabbed his index finger on the light blue triangle near the center of town, cutting off my sentence.

  I peered over my left shoulder to get a look at his face. “Wolves?”

  A devilish smile turned up his lips and he winked. Grabbing my hand, he spun me around quickly and pulled me down the uneven street.

  Jogging to match his pace, I called after him, “Geez, where’s the fire?” My shoe caught on one of the stones and I nearly face-planted.

  “Your Latin’s not too shabby, Sophia,” he said.

  Out of breath, I glared at him. “I’m a med student. Latin’s kind of a thing in medicine. And you’re an expert on dead languages how?”

  Again, he looked my direction and smiled, his dimple on full display. Ugh, that dimple is going to be the death of me.

  “I took four years of Spanish in high school. Latin, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, they’re all similar. Although, I do enjoy the nuances of learning a new language. I’m a geek in more ways than one.”

  “How are you a geek?” I raised my eyebrows and gave him a sidelong glance. His definition of geek was clearly very different from mine. He did not fit the stereotypical definition of geek. No thick-rimmed, Coke-bottle glasses, no pocket protector or high-waist jeans. As a matter of fact, he looked like he could grace the cover of any of my favorite romance novels.

  He mimicked my smart-ass stare. “I design video games for a living. It doesn’t get much geekier than that.”

  Yep, again, not what I expected. “You don’t live in your mom’s basement, do you?”

  The dimple faded away as his smile disappeared, like I’d flipped a light switch off. His expression darkened. “Uh…no.” He shook his head. “Right now, my current address is Napoli, Italy.”

  He let go of my hand and pushed it into his pocket. His playful demeanor vanished, replaced with an awkward heaviness. I didn’t like that my comment was responsible for turning out his light, making his smile disappear.

  “I’m sorry, that was supposed to be a joke.”

  “Hey,” he chuckled, bumping his elbow against my shoulder, “no worries.” Displaying that gorgeous dimple of his again, the heaviness lifted.

  Our earlier hustle to get to the Lupanare Grande was replaced by a slow, steady walk down the ancient street.

  “So, you’re from California?” I asked, fidgeting with the map. I was glad to have something to do with my hands, a way to expend my nervous energy.

  He nodded. “I am.”

  “What brought you to Italy?”

  “Shit happened back home. I needed a break.” He shrugged. “Italy seemed like a good idea.” Glancing down at me, he smirked. “What about you? What’s your story?”

  “I don’t really have a story.” Not one worth sharing anyway.

  “Oh, come on. No offense, but you don’t seem like the ‘backpack across Europe’ type. What’s the deal?”

  Oh, just living the dream while I still can. You see, I may have a degenerative genetic disorder, Huntington’s disease. Sexy, huh? But that wasn’t something I needed to unload on a complete stranger.

  I nudged his arm this time, making a show of looking at his back. “I don’t see you sporting a backpack, either.”

  “Touché. Nope, not a backpack kind of guy.”

  “Hmm, that’s what I thought.”

  There was a lull in ou
r conversation. I sneaked a peek at him as we walked down the uneven street. He wore a distant, far-off mask, like he was remembering something sad. Then, out of the blue, he bristled and shrugged, like he was throwing an unpleasant memory off his back. “What about you?” he said, turning his head to look at me. “Do you live in your mom’s basement?”

  For a brief second, I saw a glimpse of heartbreak. Whatever brought him to Italy must have been painful. There was a pang of sorrow in my heart. I didn’t know this guy, but my heart wanted to open and carry some of the burden he buried deep inside. I didn’t like seeing him sad.

  “No.” I pressed my lips into a tight smile, trying to keep from laughing. Laughter is the best medicine, right? If I can make him laugh, will it take away some of the pain I just saw on his face? “I live on the main floor.”

  And there it was—the light switch flipped back on and his features brightened. “The main floor, huh?” He withdrew his hands from his pockets and reformed our connection, squeezing our joined palms for added measure.

  Was it supposed to feel this nice, holding the hand of a man I’d just meet? I probably should have been more cautious, but something about the way Lucas touched me said that I could trust him. “Right between Mom’s room on the left and Nonna’s on the right.”

  He cocked an eyebrow but kept the lighthearted smile. “So, why is it okay for a twentysomething woman to live with her mother, but the second a twentysomething man says he lives with Mom, it’s frowned upon?”

  That was a good question and a total double standard. I didn’t have an answer, so I shrugged.

  “We’ll have to figure that one out later.” Lucas came to a halt and looked upward. “This is it, I think.”

  Following his gaze, I took in the large, oddly shaped building. It was a two-story structure whose smaller bottom half supported the larger top portion. “So what does this place have to do with wolves?”

  Lucas looked back to me. “Not wolves…she-wolves.”

  “She-wolves?”

  “It’s a brothel.”

  “Oh.” Turning my eyes back to the building, I slowly raised my head toward the sky.

  “Let’s go inside.” Still holding hands, we walked to the end of the line of people waiting to enter the brothel.

  The line moved quickly and as we approached the entrance, Lucas dropped my hand in favor of clutching my waist.

  Umm…I’m entering a brothel with a hot stranger and he’s got his hands on me. Yeah, this happens in real life…this isn’t weird or anything. My pulse sped up and I feared my heart would beat right out of my chest as we stepped over the threshold.

  Inside, the hallway was illuminated by track lighting, drawing the eye upward. Several lights were focused on ancient frescoes, a veritable menu of sex acts Roman prostitutes offered their clients.

  My cheeks flushed hot. The naughty pictures and Lucas’s hands were too much. In my mind, I knew how ridiculous this situation was. I’m mean, who picks up a stranger in a foreign country and touches her like this? But, dammit, my body’s reaction to him, his intoxicating scent of sunshine and man, and the way he hovered behind me, one would think I’d never been in the presence of a person with the XY chromosome. Pull yourself together, Soph.

  I needed something to take my mind off the way his incredibly large hands circled around my middle. With a deep breath, I reached into my bag, dug deep inside, unzipped the small pouch at the bottom, and withdrew my phone. I took Mom’s abundant warnings about Naples and pickpockets to heart. Before I left home, I made sure my bag was as thief-proof as possible. So far, I hadn’t had any trouble. I prayed my good fortune continued.

  Lucas’s fingertips pressed into the sides of my abdomen, guiding me to the right. My breath caught and a shiver ran through my body.

  Oh, good Lord, I do pray my good fortune continues.

  Lucas and I shuffled along, like all the tourists crowding into the small space. Maybe putting his hands on me was nothing more than a way to accommodate what little room we had in the ruin, or a way to make sure we stayed together. Yeah, that’s got to be it.

  My heart sank at the despairing thought, because as much as I didn’t want to like his hands there, as much as I shouldn’t like his hands there…I really really did.

  Shoving down my disappointment, I focused my attention on the paintings, the different sex acts: doggie style, girl on top, cunnilingus, each rendering more explicit than the next.

  “The Romans were a bunch of horndogs, huh?” Lucas whispered in my ear.

  I shuddered. His words and breath wielded an unspeakable amount of power over my body and rational thoughts. Or maybe it was his voice combined with the explicit paintings I was looking at. Whatever it was, my pulse was racing like I’d just passed the halfway point in a marathon. Give me my 13.1 sticker now!

  My throat was dry, yet I scratched out a weak response. “Apparently.”

  Like the other tourists, I aligned my phone’s camera, centering a shot of a fresco depicting a kneeling man holding on to a woman’s butt, her legs draped over his shoulders, and snapped the picture. Dirty paintings weren’t something I usually took pictures of, but this was history, so it’s okay…at least that’s what I told myself.

  Lucas and I moved to the next painting, and I clicked another photo. Everyone around us had cameras out, snapping away. All except Lucas. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t seen him take one picture. Who comes to Pompeii and doesn’t take pictures? I glanced over my shoulder and smirked. “Don’t want to remember any of this for later?” I joked, finding my voice.

  Even in the dim light I saw Lucas’s brilliant blue eyes flash. He tapped the side of his head with his index finger. “It’s all up here.”

  I shook my head, smiling, and went back to my picture taking.

  We were inching along through the crowd when Lucas pulled me to the side. “Check this out.” He ducked into a tiny room, and I followed him inside. There was nothing but a stone bed built into the back wall. Actually, the entire main floor was occupied with several rooms identical to this one.

  Lucas moved about the meager room, lightly running his index finger over some of the Latin graffiti etched into the wall. “Cozy,” he said facetiously.

  I sat down on the bed and held my phone out. “Will you take my picture?”

  He smiled, dimple and all, and I could have melted into a puddle right then. Taking the phone from my hands, his fingers brushed over mine.

  Crossing my legs, I folded my hands in my lap, tilted my head slightly, and smiled, ready for him to snap a quick picture so we could move on. I did not like being on display. I felt very exposed, like he could see all my secrets as he centered me in the camera’s frame.

  Lucas held the phone in front of his face. Lines of concentration creased his forehead. He tilted his head to the left, then to the right, and moved the phone from side to side.

  A dull ache bloomed in my cheeks, and I muttered through my forced smile, “Take the dang picture already.”

  “You’re in a brothel, Linebacker. You can’t sit on that bed and pretend you’re at a Southern cotillion.” Lucas motioned with his hand. “Give me something. Ham it up a bit.”

  “Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “There are too many people around. Just take the picture so we can move on.”

  He peered over the phone, grinning smugly. “Prop your feet up and toss your head back.”

  “Ugh!” I groaned, standing up. One stomp in his direction and I held my hand out for my phone. “I’ll take a selfie.”

  “Better yet, let’s take a selfie together.” He did that eyebrow-wiggle thing again.

  “Fine.” I turned and walked back to the bed with Lucas at my side. “You are really annoying. You know that, right?”

  He nodded enthusiastically, proud to have earned that distinction.

  We sat down and he put his arm around me, holding the phone out with the other arm. Moving his hand, he centered our faces in the screen. I plastered on a white, toothy grin, m
y ordinary “say cheese” smile. But when Lucas smiled, there was nothing ordinary about it. He had the most beautifully shaped lips. They turned up at the edges, framed by subtle laugh lines that sang of a past full of laughter and happiness. Right now, that laughter manifested as light shining from his wide, playful eyes. I could stare at him all day long.

  “Nope.” He dropped his hand. “This won’t do.”

  “What? That would have been a great picture.” I looked at him. “Who are you, Annie Leibovitz or something? I’m beginning to understand why you don’t take pictures.”

  “Here.” He scooted closer and hooked his arm around my waist and lifted me onto his lap, our faces an inch apart. My heart lurched. I looked into his eyes, falling into their endless blues. His gaze crashed over me like a heavy ocean wave while at the same time I was flying in a clear, cloudless sky.

  It was only when he licked his lips, drawing my attention to his mouth, that I was able to stop staring at his eyes.

  My arms had nowhere to go but to circle around his neck. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  He inhaled my whisper with his open mouth, pulling my expelled breath into his lungs. “Making this picture better,” he intoned, his voice deep, an edge to his words.

  Without breaking eye contact, he situated me on his lap and held the phone out again.

  Click.

  “See,” he uttered, lowering his hand. “Infinitely better.” His words made the wisps of hair against my neck flutter, and I shuddered.

  My jaw dropped. Holy. Freaking. Hell. Who is this guy?

  The temperature in the stone room skyrocketed. Each breath I inhaled burned a trail to my lungs and tugged low in my belly. I couldn’t think. Clearing my throat, I placed my hands on his hard shoulders and pushed back, sliding off his lap.

  Lucas’s eyes widened and he stood quickly, taking a large stride toward the wall, becoming very interested in the graffiti once again.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Um, yeah.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I’m good.” There was a pinch in his voice.

  “Thanks for taking the picture,” I said, joining him at the graffiti wall. I held out my hand, palm up. “May I have my phone?”