“So you’re telling me you don’t use and abuse women for your pleasure?”
“Honest to God, what type of reporter are you? I thought you were with a reputable newspaper. But this line of questioning is so beyond the pale,” he said as he pounded his fist into the wall, which hurt like hell since they built walls a lot sturdier a few hundred years ago when this place was built. “But no, in answer to your offensive question, I have never used or abused even one woman for anything. I’m not even sure how one would do something like that. If I’m with a woman, I am respectful and courteous and treat her with kind consideration.”
“What about the woman who was all over you at the fashion show, then?” Larkin placed the tip of her pen between her lips and despite himself, Luca couldn’t help but stare as her tongue played with the end of it, thinking that damned tongue could be put to far better use than lobbing false accusations at him. His patience was running out even though he couldn’t help but feel a little turned on by her. Is this some weird, latent, chase-me-beat-me streak I’ve got going? he wondered.
He tried to even remember that woman’s name but it escaped him. So that wasn’t a shining example of relational steadfastness, that one. But still, not like he was skanking around Europe, manwhoring himself, or whatever the hell she wanted to believe. Besides, he and what’s her name had a lovely time and she wasn’t looking for anything more than a little fling as well. Besides, they never even consummated things! Not that it was any damned business of this miserable reporter. But then it came to him...
“Ohhh...” he said. “Now I get it.”
Larkin creased her brow. “Get what?”
He pointed at her. “You’re jealous,” he said, rubbing his hands and smiling with glee. “You, Larkin Mallory, cub reporter, are jealous.”
Chapter Ten
Her eyes widened, and her jaw went slack. She hadn’t expected her line of questioning to be turned right back against her.
“Jealous?” she said, sounding a bit shrill even to her own ears. “Jealous? Of you? Are you mad? Why would I be jealous of you?”
Though if she were to be honest, she was probably jealous on so many levels: of him, of his lifestyle, of his handsome good looks and effortless life, and of his endless stream of gorgeous women, all of them popular and beautiful, something she’d never be. Of course, she’d maybe been a bit jealous of all that. But she’d never acknowledge it, let alone truly recognize it.
“Ah,” he said, wagging his finger at her. “I’m not saying you’re jealous of me. Rather, you’re jealous of them.”
“Them being?”
“All these droves of women you think I’m sleeping with, of course,” he said. “Why else would you make a federal case out of absolutely nothing, unless somehow it stuck in your craw? Because you want to be them. With me.” His face broke into a wide grin as if he’d won a heated battle and had entered celebration mode.
It was Larkin’s turn to stand. She was apoplectic and for a second wondered if the top of her head could ever actually blow off the rest of her skull from the building pressure—like in one of those cartoons. Was that even a physical possibility? She sure hoped not because it felt as if it was impending at the moment, and at the very least, it would be pretty humiliating (not to mention painful). Not that she would care what he would think. She could throw up on his shoes and it wouldn’t faze her. Not that she was the type of girl to throw up on a man’s shoes. She wasn’t.
“That is the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. Ever,” she said, repeating herself for emphasis. “I mean like ever.”
“Why else would you feel the need to play some ‘gotcha’ game of nastiness with me?” he said, knitting his brow. “I have been nothing but nice to you.” He began enumerating on his fingers. “I helped you get into the nightclub when they were rejecting you. I waved to you in a friendly gesture during the fashion show, then later, I gave you a friendly ‘hi there’ wink. I even went out of my way to return your press pass when the bouncer gave it to me as I was leaving the club that night. And I provided you with the golden opportunity to interview me so that your editor would love you all the more, maybe even give you a promotion and a fat raise. And what do I get from you? You stick out your tongue at me, literally and figuratively. Which, for all intents and purposes means you’ve in a sense repeatedly flipped me the finger, God knows why. It’s like you’re determined to vilify me as if I’m some really horrible human being.”
Larkin sat down on the arm of the sofa, quiet for a minute. She bit her lip, trying to concentrate on what her motives were. How did she go from Larkin Mallory, perfectly genial reporter covering cheese-rolling competitions—where someone could get hurt, yet she didn’t use that sort of confrontational angle in that story—to playing Woodward and Bernstein to get the true story behind this guy she didn’t even know but was trying to stir up controversy about? The man had a point: he’d only been nice to her. Why was it her business who he slept with?
Oh, God. Had she gone too far? Had she committed the unthinkable crime in journalism: injecting herself into the story? Had she taken out her issues against this man she didn’t even know, undeservingly so?
She sort of slid into the crook of the sofa, feeling like such a jerk, tucking her knees up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them and hanging her head in silence. Her blond hair blocked her face, which was fine by her. She didn’t want him to see the shame that no doubt was written across it in bold red embarrassment.
Finally, Luca broke the silence. “Uh, anybody in there?” he said, waving his hands in front of her face, trying to elicit a response to no avail.
Larkin could feel hot tears of embarrassment pressing against her closed eyelids. How could she have put herself in this position? Not only did her behavior compromise her professionally—oh, God, what if he reports back to Piers?—but what about her integrity? What type of person was she if she’d just go after the man for no good reason but to satisfy her own preconceived opinion?
“Would it help you to know I’m not the player you’ve mistaken me to be, but instead, I’m just an insecure guy like everyone else out there, compensating for loss by trying to appear as something I’m not?”
She squinted up at him, barely able to see his face—his quite gorgeous face, dammit—through the fringe of hair that was protecting her from complete exposure.
“I’m serious.” He nodded. “I’ve not actually slept with anyone in so long I’ve lost count.”
Larkin could hardly believe he wasn’t actually mocking her, that he didn’t have a security camera trained on her, ready to transmit the footage to some huge social networking site to humiliate her, like they did to the Carrie White character in Carrie: bring on the buckets of blood, people. Instead, he was admitting that he was insecure, compensating, trying to look like a player? The truth could set you free, she thought. Just talk to him. Own up to your own truth. You owe him that much.
“The thing is,” she said, hardly above a whisper, struggling with her words, “I’m that girl. The one people like you never noticed. Ever. Well, you probably didn’t suffer through having to navigate the social strata in big public high schools where there were cliques and mean girls and people who mocked you if you weren’t perfect. And even if you did, you were probably pretty immune to them, given your lot in life. But I wasn’t. I was invisible. And when I wasn’t invisible, I felt so very visible because all of the pretty girls teased me and made me feel like a lesser human being than they were. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me: only that they were beautiful and I wasn’t—”
“Wait a minute,” Luca said, sweeping her hair back from her eyes, tucking it behind her ears so that he could look straight into her eyes. “What are you talking about, you ‘weren’t beautiful’? That’s crazy talk. Look at you. You’re absolutely perfect just the way you are.”
She shook her head. “I’m not so bad now, but you should’ve seen me then. I was gangly and gawky and I didn’t
dress the right way and I had glasses—”
“‘Not so bad now’?” Luca said. “Are you kidding me? You’re far more than not so bad, Larkin. You’re a very beautiful woman.” He pulled off her glasses and leaned in even closer so that his eyes were fixed on hers, their faces just inches apart. “Have you ever taken a look at your eyes? I could get lost in the shades of blue—they’re like a Caribbean-blue tide pool. I think they change with your mood, with the weather, with the color of light. And you hair—hell, women pay good money to try to artificially create soft, natural, sunshine- and seashore-blond hair like yours. And men like me fantasize about what they’d do while stroking it.” He ran his fingers through the silken, blond waves, the tips of his fingers swirling on her scalp.
That alone could induce an orgasm, she thought, glad he wasn’t aware of that little vulnerability on her part.
“How you can’t see that you are an exceptionally gorgeous woman is beyond me.”
Larkin blushed. She was thoroughly embarrassed having her looks dissected like this and didn’t know what to say. Which was probably okay because Luca seemed to be happy to fill that void with even more flattery.
“And the rest of you,” he said, sweeping his hand along her body. “If you want me to admit it, I will. I finally got a glimpse of what a great figure you actually have, but only because you were sitting in a particular position that pulled your sweater back so that it pressed up against your curves,” he said. “It’s obvious by the clothes you choose that you do so to mask the true you. And of course, that’s your choice. If you want to wear clothes that obscure your body, that’s your prerogative. But my suspicion is you’ve got a rockin’ body underneath all that protective gear that you’re afraid to let anyone see.”
Oh, my God. Did he just say I had a rockin’ body?
She wanted to make a mental note of the date, time, and precise moment of that comment because she knew she’d never hear such a compliment again in her life. The day that would live on in infamy. At least for her, it would.
Larkin shook her head, trying to make sense of this complete about-face to her day, which started out with trepidation over her intended confrontation with this impossibly hot prince who’d somehow gotten under her skin and now mysteriously had morphed into a veritable gush-fest over mild, meek, and mannered her.
“Protective gear?”
He laughed, giving a gentle tug on the hem of her generously oversized sweater. “You’ve gotta admit, this isn’t exactly dressing to highlight your assets,” he said. “But don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to insult you, just pointing out the obvious. And it’s okay if that’s what you want to do. But maybe it’s time to step out of your comfort zone a bit and stop camouflaging yourself.”
Larkin pictured herself dressed in the sort of camo gear men wear hunting. Then she started to laugh, thinking about how the fashion industry would flip that on its head and make it some sexy camo thong bikini instead. Maybe she should think like a fashion designer instead of a deer hunter.
She looked up at Luca, not really sure what to say. “Sooooo...” she said, twiddling her thumbs as a distraction. “You’re in a dry spell, then?”
Luca burst out laughing. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“You seriously haven’t slept with all of these perfect specimens of womanhood that the tabloids claim as your conquests?” she said, pointing to the balled-up magazine images lying at her feet.
“Well,” he said, hedging his words, “I didn’t say I haven’t slept with any of them. But I haven’t with most of them if that counts for anything. And the ones I might have, well, that was when I was at my worst.”
“Your worst what?”
He shook his head, leaning in toward Larkin. Since the distance between them had narrowed considerably, he could reach out and grab her hand. “You sure you want to hear my tale of woe?”
“I am awfully curious,” she said, clearing her throat. “From a reportorial perspective, of course.”
“Of course. It’s all about the story.”
“No. Actually, it’s not, nor should it be,” she said. “Off the record?”
He nodded. “That would be nice.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
Luca took a deep breath. “Well, it goes like this...”
Chapter Eleven
Luca couldn’t believe how the tone of this conversation had changed so dramatically. Larkin had morphed from crouching tiger, hidden motive to lounging kitty, exposed belly. He even had her empathetic ear after she’d spilled her own guts. Go figure. Now it was his turn to own his issues.
He’d never even discussed the end of Eleanor with his own family. When she was gone, she was gone, as if she’d disappeared into the vapor, and he wanted no conversation to remind him of her existence. It was not up for any sort of touchy-feeling talk therapy, no Ellie-bashing, no Ellie-mourning, no Elle period. And by that, he didn’t mean no Christmas. So for him to muster up the intestinal fortitude to share this with Larkin meant going so far out of his comfort zone he felt like he was adrift in rough waters on an emotional ocean. But he owed it to her.
“Eleanor and I were friends then sweethearts on and off as children,” he said. “Her parents ran in the same social and, well, for lack of a better term, professional circles as mine. We ended up at the same boring functions, the same parties, the same press events. When we were little, we’d disappear into the bowels of the palace to play hide-and-seek with the other children who were stuck at those grown-up functions. When we grew older, we played on a coed football team together—not your American football, mind you, but rather what you would call soccer.”
Larkin shot him a “no duh” look. “Seriously, I couldn’t live in Rome and not know that. I mean, I’ve spent plenty of time swooning over the Azzurri, and I even wangled a ticket for the Rome Derby in the spring. Cheered on my boys from Roma, even though Lazio won.” She was referring to the veritable blood match that is the battle between the two Roman football teams called the Derby della Capitale.
“Why, Larkin Mallory, you continue to amaze me with your revelations,” he said. “You? Swoon? Over athletic men? Somehow, I took you as too serious a woman for such frivolity. Besides,” he said, arching an eyebrow, “Roma? When you could be cheering on the Monaforte Griffins? Much better-looking men in Monaforte, from what I hear.”
She gave him a playful shove. “Stop with the mockery and on with your story.”
He fake pouted. “My diversion didn’t work, did it?”
She shook her head. “Not in the least. Continue.”
“I tried,” he said with a shrug. “Onward, then. So, where was I? Okay, when we were young, we played hide-and-seek. When we were older, we played football. When we were older still, well, let’s just say we played doctor.”
Larkin laughed. “How cliché.”
“Okay, okay, fine,” he said. “At least I didn’t say we played hide the salami. But seriously, folks... We started dating as teenagers but we attended different boarding schools, and, well, you know how that goes.”
“Nope. Not the dating and not the boarding school part either.”
He squinted at her. “My bad on the boarding school bit. But you didn’t date at all in high school?”
She blushed and swatted at a fly that buzzed by. “Don’t make me sound like such a freak. I told you, I was the invisible girl. No boy looked at me, let alone dated me.”
“Their loss,” he said.
She frowned. “I wouldn’t have known what to do with them anyhow.”
He turned to look at her more closely. “Like as in really?”
She opened her eyes wide. “I’m telling you, I missed the boat on all of that stuff when I was young. Clearly, this is beyond your comprehension, but not everyone grows up perfect.”
He held up his hands in surrender. While his life wasn’t perfect, it had always been as close to that as possible. It was a point he could never defend, especially with someone who
experienced a very different childhood.
“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?” he said, reaching for her hand, gently stroking his thumb across the top of it. “I’m sorry for what complete and blind idiots those boys were who failed to notice you. I’m sorry for the fact that you never experienced that blush of very young love—although it’s more like lust, really, which is a hell of a rush. And, I’m sorry it left such a lasting impression on you.”
Luca’s fears that he was running the risk of the tabloid-reading public seeing an article penned by one Larkin Mallory about what a fraud he was in the romance department seemed to have evaporated. So did his bigger worry that Eleanor would see it, cementing her decision to drop him for the barista because she’d much rather the sexy-but-impoverished (albeit hirsute, but women loved those huge, hairy beards now, didn’t they?) coffee maker over the insecure prince who supposedly had the world at his fingertips.
Because he could truly see that Larkin wasn’t the tough reporter who wanted to string his balls up to use as garland on her Christmas tree but rather was a vulnerable young woman, a little fragile, maybe even someone who deserved to have a man fall in love with her properly, with all of the lovely experiences that go hand in hand with that. And suddenly, what Eleanor thought didn’t matter so much to him, supplanted as it was by how Larkin felt, which seemed to take on enormous importance to him.
The vibe in the room had gone from supercharged with animosity to electric with undeniable physical attraction. Something about this little kitten was irresistible, especially when her claws were retracted and she purred instead of growling.
He was suddenly terrified by what he was about to do but somehow couldn’t stop himself from the impulsive need to do it. He reached his pointer finger to her chin, pulling her face toward his.
“I think it’s high time we fixed that problem.”
With that he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, closing his eyes, remembering to breathe and not worry that she might pull a one-eighty and freak out on him. But instead, he felt her lips soften, heard her release a sigh that he was pretty certain was one of contentment, and so he opened his mouth, tracing his tongue along the seam of her lips, asking for an invitation to come in and play.
A Court Gesture Page 5