Italian Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story (6 page)

Except there were several key differences. First, I’d never been to this place before (though the aged Italian waiter with the silver platter looked rather like Giancarlo, so much that I thought they might be brothers).

Second, instead of a beautiful woman sat across from me, it was a handsome man. When we sat down, he’d undone the buttons of his cuffs and rolled the sleeves up almost to his elbows. I had to keep myself from openly admiring his muscular forearms.

And when he smiled and turned that full wattage on me, it was like the afternoon sun dimmed in comparison.

It took every last straining inch of my willpower to retain something like a level head. Besides, I didn’t think Liam was the type who appreciated googly-eyed airheads. And I wanted to be the kind of girl that he appreciated.

Horns honked down the street, and two men climbed out of their tiny Italian cars and began waving at each other. Some children kicked a soccer ball around down the other way, stopping their game briefly each time a car drove through.

For probably the first time since I’d come to Rome, I felt like I was in a movie. The streets looked exotic. The food smelled delicious. I was Audrey Hepburn having an adventure with a handsome man I’d just met.

“So I don’t want this to come across the wrong way,” I said, “But are you stalking me?”

Liam blinked. Then he smiled again. My heart jumped and a sudden heat blossomed very low in my stomach. “No, I’m not.”

“Then how did you find me?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re a spy trying to escape from me. You had me drop you off at the campus. I already knew you were a student of Dr. Aretino’s from our introduction at the fundraiser. All I needed to do was ask a few people where the pretty blonde American girl was and they pointed me right to the lecture hall.”

For a few seconds, my brain went haywire.
He thinks I’m pretty!
I kept thinking. Schoolgirl giggles attempted to burble up my throat, and it was all I could do to keep myself from melting into a giddy little puddle right there in front of him.

I couldn’t believe what had happened. I’d spent the night with a guy Hollywood would probably love to put in front of a camera. A guy who knew how to kiss. Who knew how to... well, do other things women like, who could (possibly?) cook up a frittata, and who had a smile like that. And now he wanted to spend more time with me.

It was too good to be true. I heard Isabella’s voice joking that he had to be married. And he had to be, right? There was no way a man of this caliber was just walking around single. No way a guy like this could show interest in a Plain Jane from St. Louis despite all the dark-haired Italian hotties wandering around.

“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. Sort 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 self-pity. 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.