by Teri Wilson
As surprised as Niccolo was to admit it—even to himself—he envied that man. Whoever he was.
Niccolo wasn’t prone to envy. He found it most unpleasant. At the moment, he could think of only one way to alleviate it.
“No,” he heard himself say. “Only me.”
Julia the non-reporter flipped her notebook closed. “Shall we go, then, or were you planning on finishing your drink first?”
This was it. The moment of truth. The seconds stretched between them, swollen with possibilities.
Niccolo must have been far drunker than he’d realized because suddenly he was having an out-of-body experience. He saw himself sitting at the café table, nodding and smiling at the tour guide as if he had every intention of accompanying her to the Colosseum. And despite the fact that finishing the drink was the absolute last thing he needed, he watched himself—this wild-eyed Niccolo he scarcely recognized—reach for the Bloody Mary and toss it back. Then he slammed the glass back on the table and the two Niccolos became one once more.
“Shall we?” Julia said again.
At least that’s what he thought she’d said. He couldn’t be certain, because the only words dancing through his consciousness were the ones she’d uttered a moment before. Whatever your heart desires.
Whatever my heart desires.
What did his heart desire? He didn’t even know. No one had asked him such a question before. Ever. His life was one of duty. Not desire. And on the occasions that he indulged in more desirous pursuits, he never went about it like this. With a total stranger.
But he’d never been quite this taken with a stranger. He couldn’t remember ever being instantly taken with anyone like this before. It was unsettling. And unquestionably intriguing.
Do not stand up. Stay right where you are. You’re a prince. You have a schedule to abide. You can’t go stomping around Rome with a woman who hasn’t been properly vetted by the palace. She could be anyone. Think of your position. Think of the orphans.
He stood. The orphans would have to forgive him. “Yes, let’s.”
Whatever my heart desires.
Perhaps it was time to find out exactly what, or whom, that might be.
CHAPTER
* * *
THREE
Something felt strange.
Not dangerous strange. Unless the intensity of her client’s arrogant gaze could be classified as dangerous, which Julia wasn’t altogether sure would be an unreasonable classification. When she’d first approached him, he’d looked as though he wanted to have her arrested simply for speaking to him. She’d been genuinely surprised when he’d deigned to respond. And as devastatingly handsome as he’d appeared from across the piazza, he was even more so up close. More than handsome, really. Potent. Powerful. Filled to the brim with intention. And more than a little full of himself, as well.
This is most out of the ordinary. I’m not talking to anyone right now.
Right. Nothing strange about that. Nothing at all.
What she couldn’t quite figure out was why those arrogant words had set her heart to racing.
Nerves, that’s all. He makes you nervous.
That had to be it. He had a rather commanding presence, after all. Stern, dark eyes and a resolute jaw, accented by a neatly trimmed beard that bespoke raw masculinity. And there was something about his lips. Something intriguing, as if they held a sensual, forbidden promise, despite the haughty words that had flowed from them.
Yes, things definitely felt strange. Her heartbeat seemed to have no intention of slowing to a normal range. If anything, it had kicked up another notch when he’d announced she would be leading him around unaccompanied for the day.
Only me.
Her mouth had gone instantly dry, while the air shimmered with a perilous heat.
Only him.
Julia would have made an excuse and bowed out of leading him around for the day if she’d feared for her safety, though. Sure, she needed the money. Didn’t she always? She’d been so far in the red for the past six months that she’d forgotten what black looked like. But she drew the line at risking death or dismemberment. Definitely.
Probably.
Thankfully, her current charge wasn’t exactly giving off a serial-killer vibe, dressed as he was in an impeccable coat and tie. And he was a guest at the most exclusive hotel in Rome. The last time she’d checked, the Hotel de Russie didn’t cater to ax murderers. Surely the impression that he could slay her with a single glance was only in her head. He definitely had an air about him, but it was an unusually elegant, commanding air rather than a threatening one. Even if he did keep looking over his shoulder as if he thought someone might be following them.
But what did Julia actually know about spotting a potential psychopath? History had proven that her judgment was less than impeccable. She didn’t exactly have the best track record in the men department. Case in point: Elio.
Or as Chiara liked to call him, l’enorme errore. The huge mistake. And that he’d been. The hugest.
Chiara had liked Elio well enough in the beginning, and for some crazy reason, Julia found that comforting. As if perhaps she hadn’t been the only one fooled by his charms. Valentina, on the other hand, had despised him on sight. There’d been a great deal of growling and carrying on the first time he’d slept over at Julia’s flat, which in retrospect should have been a sign. Then again, Valentina disliked all men.
Relax. This is a guided tour, not a date. The current situation couldn’t be further removed from romance.
She stole a glance at the man beside her as they crossed the piazza and caught him watching her. Studying her with piercing gray eyes, as though she were some sort of science experiment. Which at the moment was rather appropriate, since something electric had begun skittering through her. Rebellious sparks that set her skin aflame. God, what was wrong with her?
She looked away, fixing her gaze on the horizon, on the verdant cypress trees swaying behind the ancient Roman wall that surrounded the gardens of Villa Borghese opposite the Hotel de Russie. As much as she hated to admit it, she found this man’s cultured bravura unnerving.
The Italians had a word for it. Fascino fatale. Fatal charm. Julia’s father had been no stranger to it. With little more than a wink and handshake, he’d convinced some of the most powerful people in America to entrust their life savings to his investment firm. Even after his long list of misdeeds had finally been exposed, some of his clients still refused to believe someone so utterly charming could have stolen from them. It was mind-boggling.
Fascino fatale.
Elio had possessed it in spades, which was enough to make Julia wary of this new stranger. Because his elegant hands and penetrating gaze made Elio seem like a child.
Besides, the situation still felt odd. The bartender had stared openly at them when they’d passed. Her client either hadn’t noticed or had chosen to ignore it, but he’d hastened his steps. Even now, as they walked away from the hotel, she found herself hurrying to match his pace.
“Did you rob a bank this morning or something?” she asked, pausing at the curb where she’d parked her Vespa along the uphill path to Villa Borghese, Rome’s most frequented public park.
He turned, finally realizing that she was no longer beside him. “Pardon?”
“Why do I feel like we’re fleeing a crime scene? You’ve booked me for the entire day, remember? There’s no need to rush.” An entire day. How would she ever last that long with this overwhelming sense of awareness?
She wrapped her arms around herself. A barrier of sorts. His gaze darted around as if he was expecting someone to pop out from behind a nearby bush. Seemingly satisfied that the coast was clear—of what, exactly, she had no idea—he retraced his steps and joined her. She pretended not to notice the natural grace in his strides or the warmth that coiled in her belly as he walked toward her.
>
“You might want to slow down, especially given your footwear.” She pointed at his shoes. They looked new. So new that she could see her reflection in the shiny black leather.
He frowned. “What’s wrong with my footwear?”
“Nothing. They just don’t look all that comfortable, and we have a lot of walking ahead of us. Also, the forecast calls for rain.” She stared pointedly at his tie. That was a first. She’d never had someone show up for a guided tour in a necktie. Not once. “Are you sure you don’t want to change clothes? I can wait while you pop back round to your room if you like.”
“No, that’s not possible.” He shook his head so hard that she thought it might snap right off his neck.
And it was an awfully handsome head. It would be a shame to see it rolling down the cobblestone streets.
“I don’t mind waiting.” She glanced at her watch. Eight fifty-five. “We’re ahead of schedule anyway.”
“I’m fine like this. Perfectly comfortable.” He cleared his throat and loosened his tie an imperceptible fraction of an inch.
Way to cut loose.
“I apologize, miss. I’m simply anxious to begin the tour,” he said.
Miss? He was calling her miss? Who talked like that?
“Call me Julia. Please,” she said. Those seductive lips of his curved into a half-smile and Julia was struck with the immediate impression that he could swallow her whole, if he chose to do so.
She cleared her throat. “All my clients do, I mean.”
“Understood.” His eyes glittered, silver sparks in their moody gray depths. “Julia.”
Her name had never sounded quite as . . . delicious . . . as it did coming from his mouth. Like it was a delicacy. Something to savor. It defied logic. “All right, Mr. . . . ahh . . . I’m sorry. What should I call you?”
She flipped open her notebook again in search of his name. She’d jotted it down along with all of the other pertinent details when the scheduling coordinator at the touring company had called the night before.
“Call me . . . um . . . ah . . .” He frowned, and a rather intriguing muscle in his jaw tensed.
She told herself not to look at it, to focus her attention on one of his less appealing features. But it was hopeless. There was simply nothing unpleasant to zero in on.
“Yes?” She stared pointedly at his forehead and waited for him to tell her his name.
A group of nuns passed them, walking up the hill toward the gardens, their long, traditional black habits whipping around their legs in the spring breeze. They shared the narrow walkway with a young man wearing headphones and carrying a stack of pizza boxes. Rome, old and new, side by side.
“Call me Mano.” Her client cleared his throat, and the tense set of his jaw appeared to relax ever so slightly. His lips parted and, for a moment, Julia forgot what they’d been talking about, suddenly spellbound by the thought of kissing him. This man who she’d known for all of five minutes.
“Julia?” He angled his head, a wry half-smile curving his lips. “Are you quite all right?”
He knows.
Her throat grew dry. Why did it feel like he could see inside her head? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he doesn’t know. He’s neither an ax murderer nor a mind reader.
She swallowed. Hard. Where were they? Oh, yes. His name. “Mano.” Why did that sound odd? “That’s your name? Mano?”
“Yes. Mano.” His smirk vanished, and he nodded resolutely, the knot in his jaw tensing again. Not that she’d noticed or anything. “That is definitely my name.”
Julia flipped another page of her notebook and finally found the information she’d been looking for before her imagination had taken its inappropriate detour. Hotel de Russie. 9:00 am. 8-hour private tour. Rome highlights. Begin with Colosseum?
And then, the odd bit. Last name: Romano.
That couldn’t possibly be right. She lifted a brow and met his gaze head-on. “It says here that your last name is Romano. Are you telling me that your name is Mano Romano?”
There was a loaded pause.
He’s lying.
She told herself she was being paranoid. Why would someone lie about something as inconsequential as their first name? Furthermore, why did it matter? She was giving him a tour of the city, not bearing his children.
Bearing his children. Her face grew instantly hot, along with a few more intimate body parts.
Mano Romano’s sensual mouth curled into a rare smile. “I suppose I am, Miss Costa.”
And just like that, butterflies took flight in her belly. Not just a few. An entire swarm. When he smiled, that whole polite sophistication thing he had going turned full-on charming. Too charming. Far too charming for a man with a name as silly as Mano Romano.
Fascino fatale.
“I think we should get going,” he said.
“As you wish.” She slid her backpack off her shoulders.
Mano’s foot tapped nervously on the pavement. He cast another quick glance at the nuns.
“And it’s Julia, not Miss Costa.” She squared her shoulders. She’d never much cared for butterflies. What were they really, other than glorified moths? Winged grief. “Remember?”
“Very well. My apologies, Julia.” His gaze lingered on her for a minute or two, just long enough for the pleasant warmth coiled in her center to ignite and become uncomfortably scorching. “We really should get this thing underway. Is a car en route to collect us?”
The tour. The reason they were standing there, even speaking to one another. She’d almost forgotten. Where in the world was her head? “A car? No. A chauffeur isn’t exactly included in the package.”
“I see.” He frowned, distinctly displeased at this news. “How are we to get to the Colosseum?”
She plunked her backpack down on the tan leather seat of her Vespa. “On my scooter.”
He eyed the Vespa dubiously. “This thing?”
Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad, was it?
“It runs perfectly fine.” Aside from the occasional overheating problem . . . and the way it tends to stall on steep uphill inclines. Her cheeks grew warm. “It’s just a tad on the old side.”
He glanced at the rusty spot on the front fender. Rather, the place where the rusty spot had been before she’d accidentally touched it. Now it was simply a hole. “You mean the ancient side?”
She forced a smile. She didn’t want to be rude. He was a client, after all. But Mano Romano, or whoever the heck he really was, was beginning to work her last nerve. Handsome could only go so far.
“It’s a classic,” she said primly.
A smile crept to his lips once more, and despite every effort to the contrary, something unwound in Julia. A satin ribbon of longing. “It’s a dinosaur.”
“It’s vintage. For your information, vintage is quite quirky and charming these days,” she corrected, hating the way that smile of his brought the butterflies back in swarms.
He shrugged. “In a Deinonychus sort of way perhaps.”
She blinked. Deinonychus. Impressive. She would have assumed he’d zero right in on the obvious—Tyrannosaurus rex.
But why was she thinking about dinosaurs when she was supposed to be taking Jason Bourne here on a tour of the Colosseum? “I can have the hotel fetch a taxi if you’d prefer.”
“No.” His posture stiffened again. “That’s not necessary. The Vespa will be fine.”
“Look on the bright side. We’ll get there much quicker this way.” She unlocked the scooter’s under-seat storage compartment and fetched her helmet. “Since you seem to be in such a hurry and all.”
He breathed out a frustrated sigh that left no question as to how he felt about suffering such an indignity. No doubt he’d expected her to summon a limousine. Or possibly a helicopter.
He held out his hand. “Very well. Just gi
ve me the keys and we’ll be off.”
Think again, Prince Charming. “Sorry. I can’t let you drive. You can ride shotgun.”
He looked abjectly horrified. “You can’t be serious. You expect me to ride on the back?”
“I have no choice. It’s a rule of the touring company. Something to do with insurance and the like.” Even if that weren’t the case, she would have insisted on driving. She wasn’t about to put her life in the hands of a man she’d known for a matter of minutes, even if he did possess a rather impressive knowledge of dinosaurs. Besides, he’d insulted her scooter. And she still harbored a vague suspicion that he was running from the law. Albeit running in a remarkably well-dressed, mouthwatering fashion.
“I’m not a man accustomed to following rules.” He glared at her, and everything about that glare told her that he was telling the truth . . . about this, at least. He was accustomed to making the rules, not following them.
She lifted her chin and feigned confidence as best she could. She would not let this charmer with his posh accent and chiseled good looks get her fired from her job. “You’re going to have to follow this one, unless you’d like me to fetch that taxi.”
“Miss Costa.” He took a step toward her.
Goodness, he was tall. He seemed even taller up close. So close she could see the fine weave of his perfectly knotted silk tie as he stared down at her with hostile eyes. “Julia . . .”
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. Not with him bearing down on her like this. They were standing on a public street, opposite one of the busiest piazzas in Rome. She had no reason to be nervous, nothing to fear. Yet she had a feeling she was standing on a very dangerous precipice, and everything in her head was telling her to back away.
But her body seemed to have a will all its own. And that will was making itself heard. Screaming, with every pounding heartbeat, every delicious shiver.
Rules were made to be broken.
She was vaguely aware of something—a noise, voices maybe—occurring outside the riot taking place inside her body. Mano apparently heard it, too. He backed away, and she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.