“Are you married?” I blurted out. I wanted to gobble the words back down right away. But I wanted to know the answer more.
Liam held out his hands and examined them, showing two bare ring fingers. “Not last I checked. Why? Are you?” One corner of his mouth ticked up in another small smile. I couldn’t tell if he was amused at me or with me.
I couldn’t blame him, if we switched places I’d definitely be wondering about the sanity of the mousy blonde sat across from me. And how to make a quick escape.
I couldn’t let him escape!
“No! Definitely not,” I said, holding up my own hands for proof.
“Why do you ask?” Liam said.
“Well, because you are hot. I mean really smoking. Like habanero pepper hot.” I couldn’t look at him anymore, so my eyes drifted down to the round bistro tabletop. I could see a silhouette of my reflection in it, as well as various white puddles of nondescript light.
Liam chuckled. It was a rich, throaty sound. It suited him, and I liked hearing it. “Habanero pepper hot? I’ve never heard that one. Thanks, I guess. What does my apparent hotness have to do with anything?”
“It’s just that I’m… I’m like mild salsa hot. Maybe medium on a good day.”
Liam sighed. I glanced up long enough to see that those eyebrows of his had knit together again. My heart plummeted into my stomach, which in turn fell down through my feet. This is it, I thought. He saw it now, too. Saw that my lukewarm mild salsa hotness did not compare at all to his.
“You’re wrong,” he said, followed by “Grazie,” when the Giancarlo-clone waiter came and set our drinks (Americanos for both of us) on the table. I barely looked up, worried that the heat in my cheeks had my face glowing cherry red.
“You’re definitely much hotter than mild salsa. You’re beautiful and funny and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since our night together. I want to get to know you, Emma. Now, how about some lunch?”
“So long as it’s not frittata,” I said.
He snorted. “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up!” He laughed again. It was an easy laugh. I think that laugh was what really did it for me. Not his looks, his smile, his kisses. It was because his eyes laughed, too. They scrunched up, made him look boyish and innocent. The eyes don’t lie, I remembered.
“How long have you been in Rome?” he asked.
“Two months,” I replied, “I’m here studying abroad for a year.” It was my first semester here. And, if I didn’t bring my grades back up, possibly my last. “Art history,” I volunteered.
“I’ve always loved Rome,” Liam said, “There’s just something about it…” He looked around at the old buildings, the narrow, winding streets, the fountain that burbled down in the middle of the intersection closest to the café. “So much history all in one place. Sometimes I think about it and it overwhelms me. Does that make any sense?”
“Yes!” I said, “If I think about it, it starts to make me feel smaller. But somehow better about myself, more secure. Kind of like looking up at the stars at night.”
“That’s it exactly!” Liam said.
At least, I used to feel that way. Before I came to Rome, before the reason for my coming to Rome, anyway. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time. But I did know what he was talking about.
I wondered if he did actually have a real interest in the city, or real knowledge about its history. I wondered if maybe this was some kind of line he ran on girls, trying to sound romantic and mysterious. If it was a line, it worked very well for him.
“So how long have you been in Rome?” I said, tossing his own question back at him.
“Five days, so far.”
“And what are you? Some kind of businessman, I’m guessing. Here for some important meeting for your boss.”
Liam tugged at one rolled up sleeve that had begun falling back down. “Business, yes.”
The waiter came back and Liam ordered antipasto for the both of us.
“Bold,” I said. Something light like that had been what I’d been thinking of ordering.
“I’m good at reading people, remember? I figured out where you’re from, didn’t I?. Don’t you think I can also guess what you like to eat?”
Still, I couldn’t let him have all the satisfaction. No matter how cute the dimples he got in his cheeks from smiling like that were. “Well, what if I told you I’m allergic to olives? Wouldn’t that have been good to know before you ordered something that has olives?”
“Oh God, you’re allergic? I’ll get the waiter,” he said, the grin disappearing, replaced with concern.
“Relax!” I said, “I’m not allergic. Not to olives, at least. You were just so smug is all.”
His grin returned. As well as a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Ouch. That hurts. Right here,” he said, jabbing a finger against his chest.
“You’re a big boy, you can take it.”
We kept chatting, no lull lasting more than a moment. All the while, we both laughed and smiled. I couldn’t remember the last person I felt this comfortable with. There was Isabella, I supposed. But certainly no other men.
I didn’t quite understand why, but I could tell that the two of us just clicked. Like two pieces in a puzzle that went together perfectly. I felt like I could be myself around him. More, it felt like he wanted me to be myself, and that he could just be himself.
But who did he have to pretend with, and what did he pretend? Stupid Isabella, I thought. Her teasing remark that Liam was already involved with someone still niggled at me.
Probably because I never thought of myself as particular special or good in any way. There were prettier girls than me. Smarter ones. Funnier ones. All better candidates for the handsome man sitting and laughing in front of me as he popped an olive into his mouth.
I suppose I’m probably just the kind of person who, when presented with a gift horse, would promptly open its mouth and count its teeth. What was the catch, here? Was there a camera crew nearby, ready to punk me right after Liam confessed he was never actually interested in me?
I guess it all came down to me wanting to know how he could have possibly noticed me among all the possibilities.
But I tried to push that out of my mind, tried to tell myself to stop being so suspicious. To enjoy things and go with the flow. I’d done that at the fundraiser, and it had led me to one of the most incredible nights of my life. Maybe I could make it work a little longer.
Besides, I wanted to know everything about Liam. Although what surprised me more was that he wanted to know everything about me!
Liam’s foot slid under the table, the toe of his shoe bumping against mine. Was it an accident? Had he done it on purpose?
My heart raced, all the heat in my body coursing through me, converging at one single point between my thighs. I glanced up at him, my eyes tracing that strong jaw line, then down to that delicious slash of flesh revealed by his unbuttoned collar.
My throat tightened. I had the sudden urge to have him right there on the bistro table. I could already hear the platter of antipasto shattering on the tiled patio, olives leaving smears of oil to bake in the heat of the sun while we tore at each other.
Before I could work myself up into a lather over it, I forestalled the issue with another question.
“So any brothers or sisters?” I said, taking a cold cut from the plate in the middle of the table.
“A half sister. Younger. You?” I watched the way his lips formed the words, mesmerized by the way they shaped each individual syllable. I didn’t even need to close my eyes to remember how his mouth tasted against mine, or to recall the other hidden talents of that tongue.
You’re getting obsessed, I told myself. More, I wasn’t even certain why. No guy had ever driven me crazy like this. Especially not on the second time meeting him. Like I said, something about the two of us together just clicked.
Even though I knew next to nothing about him, I felt like I’d known him my whole life. Sor
t of like meeting a friend you haven’t seen in a long time and picking up right where you left off, despite the gulf of time between last seeing them.
Though, of course, Liam was more than a friend. Much more.
I shivered, a patch of goosebumps running up my back. “I’m an only child, actually. Couldn’t you tell?”
He shrugged, and I wished I could see the play of muscles beneath his shirt. “I was being polite. So, being an art history major in Rome must be amazing. I bet you’ve seen everything a dozen times each.”
That put a bit of a damper over my flame. A bashful weight pulled my chin down to my chest. I sensed Liam’s sudden confusion, but embarrassment kept me from setting him straight.
“What is it?” he said, the concern in his voice melting my heart.
So I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth, agreeing with my impulse to tell him the truth rather than to make some excuse.
“Actually I haven’t really done any sightseeing. The closest I’ve been to the Coliseum and the Forum is back in your hotel room.”
Just saying that brought images of two glistening bodies writhing together on a sumptuous king-sized mattress. The heat of the recollection helped to break up my embarrassment. A little.
He hadn’t answered me. Instead, he stroked at his clean-shaven jaw like some wizened Greek philosopher, plumbing my depths with those baby blues of his.
I felt the urge to fill the void in the conversation. “I know, pathetic, right? An art history major in a city full of art history for two months and I haven’t seen a single thing! Pathetic.” I repeated. Beating myself up was almost as easy as returning one of Liam’s blinding smiles.
He shook his head, the motion disturbing that perfectly tousled hair. I wanted to run my fingers through it like I had that night, feel the softness of it, use it to pull him harder against me.
Pathetic, I thought again.
“You aren’t pathetic. Don’t say that about yourself.”
“But…” I started.
Then his baby blues hardened into two chips of ice and froze me mid-rebuttal. “No. Pathetic people don’t have the courage to go half way around the world for a year, away from everything and everyone they know. They stay at home and wallow in their selfpity. So, you’re not pathetic. If anything, you’re brave. And too self-deprecating. You wouldn’t let anyone else call you that, so why beat yourself up?”
I don’t think I blinked through his little speech. The hairs on the back of my neck had stood up, though. In a good way.
Not pathetic. Brave, I thought, followed quickly by, he thinks I’m brave!
I realized then that I’d just gotten a glimpse of the hard, business-minded core hidden by the handsome exterior. He’d spoken with such confidence, too. I bet he got his way at all the board meetings.
I kind of wanted him to get his way with me, right then and there. “What are you? Some kind of self-help guru?” I nudged his foot beneath the table.
“I’m good at reading people. Don’t you believe me yet?” he said, the ice over his eyes cracking at the same time he smiled. It was a one-two punch, first the lecture delivered so clearly, then the smile to smooth everything over.
He definitely got his way in the boardroom. And everywhere else, I bet. I hoped his boss knew what they had in Liam. Whatever meeting he was in Rome for was in the bag, as far as I was concerned.
“I believe that you have a really high opinion of yourself,” I said, unable to keep my own lips from curving up into a matching smile. I could lose myself in those eyes of his. Escape my sliding grades, escape the memories from St. Louis. All of it.
“A well-justified opinion of myself.”
I slipped my shoe off and then ran my toes up his calf, loving the warmth coming off him, the smoothness of his khakis against me. Liam’s smile twitched. Reaching down, he ran his fingers up my calf, stopping right behind the knee.
He squeezed that spot. It was like he’d lit a pilot light inside of me. A furnace roared to life low in my stomach. It wouldn’t have surprised me if my panties burnt to ash with the heat of it.
“A very well deserved opinion,” I said while teasing electric fingers ran up and down my back. If only we hadn’t been in such a public place.
I wondered if I could be brave enough to ask him to take me back to that lovely hotel room with its equally lovely, large bed.
His hand slipped away, leaving the back of my knee cool and aching for his touch again. Liam crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, regarding me with that philosopher’s gaze again.
“Tell me something about you I don’t know. Something good.”
“Like what?” I said. I’d be his open book if only to feel his eyes discover me.
“Anything. Ten seconds. Something I don’t know.” He then jerked his watch out from beneath his cuff, actually counting off the seconds.
I opened my mouth, smiling hard enough that my cheeks hurt. But nothing came out. It was crazy. We hardly knew anything about each other. There was an entire ocean of life behind me I could tap, but I didn’t know when or where.
“Five…”
“Liam!” I said, laughing around his name. It was a nice name. Lyrical.
“Four…”
“I don’t know!”
“Three…” He couldn’t keep his own smile off his face, amused at the way he’d put me on the spot.
Desperate, I picked something. “Before I came to Rome I’d never been on a plane before.”
He frowned. “Something interesting.”
“Once, in third grade, I made a boy I had a crush on eat a worm.”
The frown disappeared, replaced by that winning smile. “Remind me never to play in the dirt with you.”
“So you think I have a crush on you?” I said, leaning across the table.
He smiled again, but didn’t answer. Probably because the answer was obvious. I definitely had a crush on him. Third-grade me would have tried to force-feed him a whole handfuls of wriggly worms.
Of course, now that that memory had surfaced, I recalled that the boy in question ran away from me every time I approached him on the playground after that.
“Your turn,” I said.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he replied.
He started saying something else, but his cell began beeping furiously in his pocket. He pulled it out, frowning at the screen. He sighed, and I knew instantly that he had to go.
I wanted to beg him to stay, to hang out with me some more, to tell me about himself. But instead I let him go.
“I have to attend to some matters,” he said, his voice and eyes switching back to that confident businessman mode I’d gotten a glimpse of earlier. “But first you’re going to tell me where you’re staying.”
I scribbled the address of my little flat onto a napkin and pushed it across the table to him. He picked it up, folded it neatly, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. He also took out a few bills and tucked them under the antipasto plate.
When he stood, I did, too.
“I want to see you again,” he said.
“I want that, too.”
Then he pulled me close, his hands clasped at the small of my back. His lips found mine. He tasted of olive oil and desire. It was the sweetest kiss I’d ever had, and I didn’t want it to end.
The way his hands squeezed against me, I didn’t think he wanted it to end, either. But it had to.
“Until next time,” he said, his cheeks flushed and his dark pupils dilated. He was breathless.
I hated to see him go, but I loved to watch him leave.
Chapter 5
I missed Liam. I missed the feel of his skin against my fingertips. I missed the way my heart fluttered in my chest when he smiled.
I missed him so badly that I’d started writing a sentence about the Renaissance painted Giulio Romano about fifteen minutes earlier and gotten no farther than typing his name out. It was supposed to be a
paper exploring Romano’s tutelage under Raphael. Similarities and differences between the styles of student and teacher.
Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to type another word. I’d rather write something about the perfect symmetry of Liam’s face. I’d focus on his eyes first, I thought. That light, baby blue shade that deepened the more you looked into them. As though you could fall into their fathomless depths.
It was kind of funny, actually. I’d been putting this paper off again and again, giving myself a new excuse every time I looked at the assignment sheet and the ever-approaching due date.
I’ll get to it tomorrow. There’s still a month left. There’s still two weeks left. There’s still a whole business week left. You know that sort of thing.
And the closer that deadline crept, the heavier the rock in the pit of my stomach became. And since the only way to relieve the pressure of that weight was to give into temptation to put writing the paper off again, I did it more and more easily each time.
Since I’d wanted to leave Rome and the program anyway, that made it even easier. Except now I didn’t want to leave.
Now, I wanted to stay. Ever since I’d met Liam, I wanted to stay. And staying meant writing that damned paper.
Somehow, deciding I needed to write it resulted in my sitting to write it and instead commencing to daydream.
That had to stop.
Leaning my elbows against my desk, I cupped my chin with my hands and put myself through a little artist’s meditation I’d learned back in a sophomore art class in high school.
Art, paintings, sculptures, frescoes, and the like, my teacher, Mr. Drayton had told us, weren’t just visual. An artist needed to be in touch with all their senses if they truly wished to tap into their creative spirit.
This, of course, was back in my more idealistic days when I thought I could be an artist myself, rather than a studier of artists. But I’d always found the exercise helpful.
So I closed my eyes. Immediately, I saw Liam projected onto my mind’s eye. I concentrated harder.
Follow your senses, all of them, not just sight, I heard Mr. Drayton’s voice as I dredged it from my memory, let them pull you into the present. Life happens in the present. There is no past. No future. Only here and now. Art happens in the here and now. Be there.
Italian Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story Page 5