So I opened my other senses to the world. The rich smell of the small bakery I lived above wafted through the air, the smell of the dough so pungent now that I paid attention to it that I could almost taste it.
There was something so very comforting in the smell of baking bread.
That made me smile. An old lady called Mrs. Rosselini owned and operated it. It had been handed down father to son for the last 150 years. But Mrs. Rosselini’s father had only the one daughter, and she did her best to keep the family business going.
She also offered me a fresh roll every morning, banging on the door and greeting me with a smile each time.
I always tried to be polite, thanking her as she clicked her tongue at me, fussing and telling me I was too thin.
I always ate the roll, but now that I thought about it, I never really tasted it. That, I resolved to change.
What next? Touch. I let my hands fall to my keyboard, slid them down the smooth plastic keys, feeling the little humps over the F and J. Soon they touched the desk. It was an old wooden thing that creaked alarmingly if you dared lean against it. The varnish was rough and worn. But the wood itself was warm, alive.
One of the drawers was missing the little brass knob so that I couldn’t pull it out. And someone had long ago shoved an old Italian coin beneath one of the feet to keep the whole thing from rattling.
It took no effort at all to remember the warmth of Liam’s bare skin against mine. The heat of it.
A shiver running up my back made me suck a sharp breath in through my teeth.
Next, I concentrated on what I could hear. There were the normal city noises, of course. The rush of traffic outside. Shrieking car horns. The buzz of engines. Children laughed somewhere.
I thought of Liam’s smooth voice. It was the type of voice that resonated in your chest when you heard it. I remembered the first time I’d heard him say my name in that voice. I wished I could hear that voice right at that moment.
Finally, I opened my eyes and let them play across my small flat. Back home, folks would probably call it a studio apartment (or a bachelor pad, if I’d been a man).
A Euro-style kitchen with the washing machine to the right of the sink, a tiny stove and an equally small fridge.
My desk sat beside my bed, which was a creaky affair. With no air conditioning to speak of, I always kept the single window open.
I’d always thought of it as cramped and spare. But now it seemed homely and warm and the thought of leaving it all behind gave me pause.
Mr. Drayton’s exercise worked, it seemed. When I looked back at my laptop, I started tapping away feeling focused and confident.
I’d gotten two-thirds of a page done when the knock came from the door. The sudden, sharp noise jolted me.
“Coming!” I said in Italian, expecting to see Mrs. Rosselini on the other side.
Instead, when I pulled the door open I found Liam waiting on the other side. The door to my little flat was at the top of a set of steep and narrow stairs that always left me uneasy. Yet Liam had his hands in the pockets of his khakis while he leaned easily against the wall like there wasn’t a neck-breaking fall just a few inches beyond the heels of his shoes.
My throat tightened and my heart lurched, leaving me standing dumbfounded there in front of him for I didn’t know how long. Too long, anyway.
“Hey,” he said.
“…Hi,” I replied, my shocked brain finally remembering that I’d given him my address. However, I also remembered scrawling my cell number there.
“Not expecting to see me?”
The shock of his appearance on my doorstep wearing off, I rallied, “Well, I was sort of expecting a call first. A text, even.”
He smiled, glancing around me into my small, one-room flat. He could have fit it into the kitchen of his suite back at the hotel with room to spare, and I felt myself get defensive about it, getting ready to rebuke anything he cared to say.
Except I didn’t see disdain in his eyes, or amusement.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“You need an invitation? Are you a vampire?”
Amusement did sparkle in his eyes, then. “I hope not. I enjoy sunshine and garlic far too much.”
He wore a polo shirt a few shades lighter than his eyes, the buttons undone to give a tantalizing tease of the body the rest of the shirt hid. I leaned against the doorframe coyly, my hands pressed against the small of my back. Right then, those hands started clenching with the desire to touch him again.
“So why did you come?”
“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”
“Just to see?” I said, all thoughts of Italian Renaissance artists and school papers forgotten.
“Should I leave and give you a call? Set this straight?”
He turned and grabbed the handrail a though about to start back down the stairs.
“No!” I said, reaching out and grabbing his hand, sudden panic setting in. I knew somewhere that he was just teasing, but part of me couldn’t bear the thought of such a fleeting visit with him. Not after I’d just spent all morning thinking of nothing but him.
Liam turned back to me, pulling me close, our hips touching. “Good, because I don’t think I could stand the wait.”
Then he kissed me. Lightly, so that I could feel the soft smoothness of his lips and the warmth of his mouth. He tasted sweet.
A tingle ran down my chest and stomach, bursting into incredible heat when it reached its final destination.
Just when it began getting really good, just as my knees began turning to jelly, he pulled back from me.
“Hnh?” I said, unable to put a real word to my confusion. Part of me hated the effect he had on me. That complete disarming of all my defenses.
It was a small part. The rest of me wanted him to fold his arms around me and hold me against the heat of his body for the rest of the day. And the night. And the next day.
“Come on, get your shoes and let’s go.”
“Go?” the word was alien to me. The word I liked most at that moment was Stay.
He saw the effect he had on me. A quick tug on my hand pulled me close again, and once more his mouth found mine.
His hands slid down my back, moving over the swell of my hips. Grabbing my ass, he pulled our hips together. Hard. I throbbed for him. Ached. Deep inside, deeper than I thought possible.
I felt him come oh-so-achingly close to tearing off my clothes right then and there, putting that creaking bed frame to the test. But close isn’t all the way. And sometimes the smallest gap can feel like a Grand Canyon’s worth of space.
Like then, when he forcibly parted our bodies. This time, he looked just as flushed as I felt. It was a good look on him. Clean and natural and without pretense.
“You’re making this really difficult,” he said. I could practically see his heart thumping against his ribs.
“Why does it have to be difficult?” I said, eager to escape school and papers and life for a few more blissful moments with Liam.
“Well, I wanted to get you out into the car before I said anything…” His cheeks dimpled with his smile. A somehow still vocal and cynical voice inside of me wondered how many women had fallen prey to those dimples and the eyes that sparkled above them.
I told that voice to shut up. Over thinking things had never helped me in the past. And I’d already promised myself to try and live more in the moment, to be impulsive, to try and enjoy what life had to offer.
“Say anything about what? What are you planning, mister?”
Liam traced the tip of one finger over my cheek, smoothing a few stray strands of hair back behind my ear, his hand cupping my jaw. I knew he could feel the way my pulse hammered beneath the thin and sensitive skin of my neck.
I closed my eyes again, letting myself fall into the moment again, fall into the sensation of the warmness of his palm.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about something you said to me.”
With my eyes clos
ed like that, focusing my other senses, I got the full effect of that resonant voice of his. I smiled. “What did I say?”
“Come on out and I’ll show you.”
“Or we could just stay in…” Rationally, I knew that we shouldn’t. I’d still only known Liam a handful of hours. I knew that we should take it slow. Yet I couldn’t shake that impression that I’d known him my entire life, and that there was no reason to take it slow.
That hot throbbing started again.
“You have no idea how much that tempts me,” Liam said, “But I really want to show you something.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Just like that? Okay?” he replied, his brow crinkling in a mix of surprise and confusion.
“Yeah, just like that. It’s something I’m trying out.” I left it at that, afraid he might tease me about my newfound decision to go with the flow for once. “So, what are you going to show me?”
Rather than say anything, he led me out of the apartment, letting me pull my shoes on first. I chose a pair of sensible and comfy flats, not entirely certain what it was he had planned. He gave me nothing to go on but a mischievous smirk.
The narrow staircase groaned and complained beneath our combined weight as we made our way down. At the bottom, he held the door for me and we stepped outside.
That grey BMW of his crouched at the curb, its modern-chic Euro appeal contrasting sharply with the old world visage presented by the cobbled, narrow street the bakery faced.
Out here, the warm and homely smell of the bakery was particularly strong and I thought momentarily about how much I now looked forward to the fresh-baked roll Mrs. Rosselini would be delivering tomorrow morning.
“So what is it?” I said, looking around. Aside from his car, I saw nothing that I didn’t see every time I left my flat to go grab the bus for school.
Liam thumbed a button on his keychain and the car chirped. Then he pulled the passenger door open and gave me a flourishing bow while waving me in. “Rome. I’m going to show you Rome.”
“Why?” I said, poised to sit in the passenger seat.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about how you’re an art history major living and studying in Rome without going to see any of the art the city has to offer. And then I knew I had to show you.”
“You had to?” I couldn’t quite keep the incredulity out of my voice. Old suspicions are hard to shake. The cynic inside me wanted to think this was all some ploy to get me in bed.
Except that didn’t follow. We’d already had that incredible night after the fundraiser. And I hadn’t exactly been trying to slam the door in his face when he came up to my flat.
And then there were his eyes. I kept looking at them, trying to find some twinkle of a lie in them, some deceit or deception and kept coming up with nothing. The eyes don’t lie.
“Yes, I had to. It’s practically a crime that you haven’t seen anything. Now sit down.”
I gave in, plunking my butt down on the comfy leather seat. Liam closed my door and walked around the raked hood of the car, climbing behind the steering wheel.
“Are you ready?” he said, the BMW thrumming to life around us. He looked happy and excited and I knew he wasn’t trying to lie to me or trick me.
I caught that excitement, my heart racing, little trembles racing up and down my arms and legs. I wanted to see all Rome had to offer. And I wanted him to show it to me.
For just a moment, a thin strand of guilt ran through me when I remembered my partially completed essay on Giulio Romano.
It’s a field trip. A research trip, I told myself. My paper would be better for going.
“Yes. Let’s do it.”
Chapter 6
Even though the car had air conditioning, neither of us wanted to use it. Instead Liam thumbed the button to roll the windows down all the way, letting the fresh Roman air spill into the car.
I hadn’t grabbed anything to tie my hair with, so it whipped and lashed about my shoulders, streaming back over the headrest. And I didn’t care. It felt wonderful, feeling the air like that.
“Where are we going first?” I said.
“Just trust me,” Liam replied.
We came to a stoplight at one point, the wind stilling around us so that I could hear again. His phone started buzzing, and he fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. He frowned at it. Something about his expression sent a sliver of worry through me.
Was it all over? Was he going to cancel as soon as our little adventure had begun? He was here on business, after all. I knew that much. And it would be unfair of me to monopolize his time when he should be going his job.
Even though it would be unfair, I still wanted him all to myself.
“Has something come up?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant about it.
The phone continued ringing in his hand. The muscles in Liam’s jaw and temples worked. And then he thumbed the red button, sending the call to voicemail. “Nothing as important as showing an art history student some actual art history.”
Putting the phone on silent, he shoved it into his pocket just as the light changed. As usual, the hyperactive Italian drivers in their tiny Fiats immediately began honking while Liam accelerated the BMW smoothly through the intersection.
“My hero,” I said. It wasn’t flowers or jewelry or a nice dinner, but it was somehow more romantic than all that. He’d chosen me over his job, put me ahead of whatever business he had here.
And it felt so good to feel important to someone again. It had been so long since anyone had done anything of the sort for me. And doesn’t everyone need to feel important to someone?
“Don’t worry about it. Really. I love this city, and I want to share its beauty with you. And your beauty with it. I just can’t believe that you haven’t seen it yet!”
Despite my well-honed flirt-shield, I couldn’t stop the hot wave of the blush as it crept up my throat and into my cheeks.
“Stop it,” I said, feeling foolish with a big smile spread across my lips. My hot cheeks hurt from that smile.
He glanced at me, then back to the road. “What? Complimenting you? I won’t, thanks. Because it’s true.”
We passed a row of parked cars, and I watched my reflection flicker across their windows. Long blonde hair thrown into disarray by the wind. A goofy grin on lips I’d always thought were too thin and a face I always thought generous to call anything but slightly above average.
He couldn’t really believe I was as beautiful as he claimed me to be. Yet I still saw nothing in his eyes to suggest otherwise. I wished I could see myself as he saw me.
At the next stoplight, a group of four young men chatting and laughing around a bench looked up and saw us. They started waving and whistling.
“Bella signora!” I heard one dark-eyed boy calling, blowing kisses at me. The heat in my cheeks intensified.
“You see?” Liam said. The light changed and we pulled away again.
“That’s just what Italians are like,” I said. It had taken some time after getting to Rome to acclimatize myself to that bit of culture shock. You had to be careful to avoid pinches to the rump and overenthusiastic, full-body hugs. And I’d long since learned to emulate the way the native Italian women ignored the catcalling.
Not that I didn’t find it all entirely unflattering. You could be your own women, liberated and all that, and still appreciate a little attention.
Liam slammed the steering wheel in mock irritation, “You have an excuse for everything, don’t you?”
“Not quite. So, where are we going?”
He shrugged a mysterious shrug and then started up one of Rome’s prominent hills.
It wasn’t long before the marble-columned facade of the Pantheon rose up, as if it had grown from the ground itself fully formed.
“Oh!” I said, unable to keep the gasp entirely to myself.
He pulled the BMW into a visitor parking lot and we made our way into the square in front of the ancient building. It wasn�
��t exactly tourist season—it was a little too late in the year for that—but there were still a fair number of people milling about in that stone square.
Even from the other side, I could make out the letters hewn into the marble facade. “‘Marcus Agrippa built this when he was consul for the third time,’” I said, almost inaudibly. A little shiver ran up my back, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand. I couldn’t believe I was actually there.
“You read Latin?” he asked.
“A little,” I said. It dovetailed pretty well with Italian to the point where if you puzzled over it for a bit you could figure it out.
“I’m impressed.”
Almost unconsciously, I reached out and took Liam’s hand.
“We can go inside, you know,” he said.
I realized I’d been standing rooted to the spot at the end of the square for far too long. We went and passed the large fountain out in front of the main doors. And then we were in the rotunda. It was massive. The weight of history pressed down in the hundreds of tons of concrete making up the overhead dome. I could almost feel it on my shoulders.
“I get that every time I come here,” Liam said.
I remembered then when he spoke about how he loved the history in the city, how it helped put his life in perspective. I could see why, now. How could anything I ever do compare to a place like that?
He led me around eagerly, taking me from one statue to the next, pointing out frescoes and paintings.
I had to say, I was impressed. I’d still been having the suspicions that this was all some big con to sleep with me again. That suspicion disappeared, changing into one that wondered how Liam came to know all this.
I spent almost as much time looking at him out of the corner of my eye as I did looking at the history around me.
More than once, I caught him looking at me, too. Our eyes would touch and then dart away from each other like when you forced the same pole of two magnets together.
“Raphael is buried here,” I said, remembering something I’d read in my research.
Italian Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story Page 6