Italian Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story (5 page)

“What? No. Not at all,” I said. In fact, from my recollection of the way his body pressed against mine, he didn’t have any problems in that department at all.

It was the frittata he’d been preparing for me. Our kissing and groping grew more intense, and he must have shifted back against the range and bumped up the temperature setting.

One moment I thought he’d be taking me right there on the counter. The next the egg started smoking and spitting in the skillet. Liam used his body to block any of the hot, semi-solid batter from scalding me while he picked the skillet up by the handle and doused the scorched contents in the sink. A cloud rose up, steaming the tile backsplash.

After that we both laughed. He ordered room service for us.

“I’ll never look at burning egg the same way again,” I said, smiling. After that, he offered me a ride in that rental Bimmer of his anywhere in the city. I had him take me to the campus.

“And that is all?” Isabella said.

“Yep. I wish I’d gotten his phone number or his email or something.”

Isabella reached across the table and grabbed my hands. “You know what hotel he is staying at. Go and see him again!”

That sounded good, but the idea stirred at the pool of anxiety low in my stomach. “There’s that... But what if he thinks it’s just a onetime thing? What if I go to his room and knock on the door and when he opens it and sees me he gives me some look that’s asking why I’m there?”

I didn’t think I could bear a look like that. Not from him. Part of me just wanted to leave the whole experience as one of my only truly happy memories of Rome. At least if I did that there was no chance I could ruin it by making what should have been a one night thing something that it wasn’t.

“Why? Do you think he is married, or that he has a girlfriend? That maybe if you show up you’ll catch him with her?” Isabella teased.

“He’s not married. He wasn’t wearing a ring.” I knew because I’d been very careful to check.

“Then what is the problem? Go to him! If you don’t, perhaps I will. I have been looking for a good kisser...”

I jerked my hands back out of hers and she laughed. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Isabella started speaking again, but the tolling of a bell at a church down on the corner cut her off. My mind counted the chimes and when I realized the significance of the number my throat tightened.

“I’ve got class!” I said, scrambling up out of my chair, grabbing at my messenger bag with all my notebooks and papers in it.

“Go to him!” Isabella said, reaching out for me.

I smiled at her even as I started weaving my way between the bistro tables. I’d gotten so wrapped up in the story that I’d stayed too long. Now I was going to be late for Dr. Aretino’s class.

My stomach began tying itself in knots. Suddenly my latte wasn’t sitting so well. Just thinking about the look

“I’ll think about it!” I shot back at her, “It’s the best I can do!”

***

B
y the time I made it to the lecture hall my shirt clung to the small of my back from the sweat. I took a moment to compose myself outside the double doors, whisking errant strands of hair back behind my ears, trying to calm the throbbing of my heart.

Steeling myself, I pulled one of the doors open. This particular class had 30 students in it, barely enough to fill a quarter of the hall’s amphitheater-styled seating. I made my way down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.

A few of my fellow students glanced back at me when the door shut, sending a hollow boom down past me that made me flinch.

Dr. Aretino used a laser pointer to circle a bit of detail on an enlarged section of a painting I didn’t immediately recognize. I could feel his eyes on me as I slid into a seat just off the stairs.

It was my first class with him since the fundraiser. Rather, since he’d watched Liam guide me off the dance floor and out of the building. Was that reproach I felt in his eyes?

I got more sidelong glances from my classmates as I tried pulling out a pen and my notebook as quietly as possible. Isn’t it funny how trying to be quiet usually makes things louder? Like the scrape of paper on paper, or the sound of my bag’s zipper.

This is what boys get you
, I thought.
In trouble
. If anything, that helped me to decide against calling on Liam at his hotel. My grades were getting dangerously low. If I didn’t pull them up I’d be out of the program and back in St. Louis.

But isn’t that what you wanted?
Another voice nagged at me, reminding me again of that fundraiser where I’d wondered how Dr. Aretino would react if I told him I wanted to withdraw and go home.

Except now I didn’t. Not only had my night with Liam made me more appreciative of my surroundings, but it also made me feel a pang of anxiety at withdrawing and retreating.

I decided the best way to stop thinking about Liam was to concentrate on my studies. So I concentrated on Dr. Aretino’s lecture, my pen scribbling notes for the next hour. I even successfully answered two questions he posed to the class.

That burbling anxiety returned when he turned off the PowerPoint projector and began closing his notebooks that were open on the lectern. All around me, my classmates also began packing up.

If I moved quickly, I could escape with the pack out into the hall.

“Emma! Emma, will you stay a moment, please?” Dr. Aretino said, waving at me. I thought for a moment that I could pretend I hadn’t heard or seen him, but then I realized that if I did want to pull my grades around it would be best to stay on his good side.

So I went down the stairs and stood in front of the lectern, keeping it between us. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling reflected as shiny white patches on his forehead.

“Ah, my golden girl, I have been wanting to speak with you.”

“Dr. Aretino...” I started.

“Giuseppe! Always with this Dr. nonsense even though I have asked you many times to call me Giuseppe!”

“Giuseppe,” I started again.

He came around the lectern and put his hands on my shoulders. Then he gave me a once over,
tut-tutting
under his breath. Again, I felt the way his eyes slithered over me. “You are all right, yes? That brute did not mistreat you, did he?”

“Brute?” I said, realizing he meant Liam. “No, of course not. He was a total gentleman. Listen, Dr. Aretino, Giuseppe, I know you probably want to talk with me about my grades.”

“Grades?” he said, squinting for a moment and then widening his eyes. He still hadn’t let go of my shoulders. “Yes, yes. Grades. Emma, you are a smart girl. And beautiful. There is no reason your grades should be as they are.”

“I know,” I replied, that puddle of anxiety in the pit of my stomach flooding to become a full-fledged pool. “I’ve been having a hard time with some personal things, but I promise that if you give me the chance I will pull my marks up. I know I can do it.”

Giuseppe stopped smiling. He finally let go of my shoulders. Even though my shirt covered my skin, I knew he’d been gripping me hard enough to leave pale white finger impressions on me. He sighed, then leaned back against a table beside the lectern.

Something about his expression, about his body language, set that pool of panic roiling. Something is wrong.

“Emma, it is late in the semester. I am not certain that even getting perfect scores on the remaining assignments and exams in all your courses will be enough for you.”

My heart started lowering into that acidic pit. It seemed so ironic to me that now that I’d decided to stay I’d be forced to leave. “That can’t be true, professor.”

“I know how you feel. When I realized it, I felt a great sorrow as well. But I am afraid it is true... No, do not cry,” he said.

This confused me. I wasn’t crying. I didn’t feel anything but shock. But he reached out anyway, as though to brush a (non-existent) tear off my cheek. I stepped back reflexively.

“Do not be so shy. You are beautiful. There is always a way for beautiful girls to get what they want. Perhaps there is an arrangement we could make?”

Despite the numbing effect of the shock, I grasped what he meant immediately. This was his chance, he thought. He could see what a bad position I was in, and he would help me out of it. For a price, of course. For something he’d wanted from me ever since I’d come to Rome.

Perhaps it was also that numbness that permitted my next lapse. Dr. Aretino reached out and squeezed a lock of my hair between his thumb and index finger. He rubbed the strands, feeling their texture, that greasy smile of his coming over his face again.

Since I didn’t immediately slap his hand away, he took that for some sort of tacit consent.

“Emma...” he said, trying to wrap his other hand around the small of my back.

My senses came back to me finally and I jerked away from him. The sudden move yanked at the lock of hair he held, and sharp pain exploded in my scalp. So sharp I thought he’d managed to rip the hair out. “Dr. Aretino!”

When I looked down and saw that his hand wasn’t filled with my hair, that he hadn’t pulled any out, I felt relieved. Thank God for small favors, I suppose.

“I promise you it will be worth it,” he said.

I took an involuntary step back, realizing just how alone the two of us were in this big, empty lecture hall. Why couldn’t someone from the next class come in already?

“I’m not that kind of person, professor,” I said, crossing my arms across my chest tightly. I tried telling myself it was a gesture of defiance, but I knew it was really because I needed some comforting, some security, from this.
Maybe I’ll leave Rome after all
.

I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my integrity for better grades.

“You will come around,
Ragazza d’oro
. You will.”

The double doors at the top of the stairs burst open, letting in the flood of sound from the  crowded hallway on the other side.

“Emma?”

My breath caught.
It couldn’t be!
But it was. I spun around and saw Liam standing at the top of the stairs. He wore casual clothes, the collar of his grey button down undone as a way to deal with the Italian heat.

I didn’t care why he was there, why he stood at the top of the stairs like some classical hero, a living representation of some beautiful marble statue. I only cared that he was there.

“Liam!” I said, feeling Dr. Aretino’s eyes burning twin holes between my shoulder blades. I whirled back on the professor, whose eyes kept bouncing between Liam and me like a ball in a pinball machine. “I’m sorry, professor, but I really have to go.”

“Emma, I really do not like this man. There is something about him. Something not honest,” Giuseppe said.

Liam walked down the stairs, casually scanning the lecture hall, one hand shoved into the pocket of his khakis. “She’s right, though, we do have to go. We have that thing.”

“Yes, that... thing,” I said.

Liam came up to my side and draped his arm over my shoulders. Immediately, I felt more at ease in my own skin. Skin that currently luxuriated at his touch.
I’ve got it bad
, I thought. That really wasn’t a one night stand. Isabella was right.

“You remember, that lunch date we set?” Liam said.

“No, no. She is busy!” Dr. Aretino broke in, waving his hands at Liam like he’d wave at a fly buzzing around his spaghetti. “He is no good. Emma, don’t you see? He is no dancing instructor! He is a liar...”

“I’m sorry, professor,” I said, that pool of acid in my stomach evaporating, making me feel light enough to lift up off the polished hardwood floor of the lecture hall, “But I did set that date. I know there’s a way for me to improve my grades. We’ll discuss it later.”

Dr. Aretino’s already swarthy complexion darkened further. The broad expanse of his forehead kept crinkling and then pulling taut. Finally, he fixed a greasy smile to his face that never touched his eyes. “Of course. I understand.”

“Nice to see you again, Dr. Aretino,” Liam said, his hand slipping from my shoulder. His fingertips brushed against the small of my back, making the skin there tighten. He took hold of my hand in his and started leading me back up the stairs and to freedom.

W
e walked hand-in-hand down the broad hallway. It was a beautiful building, with marble floors and tall, arched windows that let in the light to play across the frescoes and decorations. But right then I only had eyes for Liam.

Other people had eyes for him, too, I noted. I squeezed his hand tighter and pressed my side against his while we walked, basking in the jealous gazes I felt from the other female students we passed.

Yes, he’s holding my hand. Yes, he’s as good a kisser as he looks. No, you can’t have him!

I put my giddiness down to the adrenaline rush of nearly being groped by my professor and then saved by the handsomest man in Rome. We continued down the hall, taking a turn that would lead us to one of the visitor parking lots.

“So, not that I’m not grateful, which I am. Very grateful, that is,”
Stop babbling!
The rational part of my mind said.
But he’s so good looking. You should kiss him again!
  The rest of me replied. Liam pretended not to notice. “But why are you here?”

His eyebrows knitted together and he glanced at me. “To take you to lunch.”

“We never had a lunch date.”

“Yes, we do,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a tiny, sly smile. I couldn’t help returning the expression.

“I think I would have known. Since when did we have this date?”

“Since you agreed to it in the lecture hall, of course.”

“Ah. Sneaky. Lunch does sound good, though,” I said. The crowd in the hall began thinning enough so that I could hear the sound of our footsteps off the polished floor.

“Yes, I’m quite sly like that, aren’t I?”

***

T
en minutes later, I again found myself sitting outside of a small Roman café. A large umbrella protected out bistro table from the noontime sun, which beat down hard enough that heat radiated in undulating waves off the patio stones.