Indeed, the man before her boasted a radiant silken fall of jet-black hair that flowed nearly to his waist; framing a bronzed, chiseled face that featured full, moist lips, carved cheekbones, a noble cleft chin, and wide dark eyes.
Eyes that now probed her with an intense stare as he chuckled outright at her unique use of verbiage.
“Clawed feet,” he repeated, releasing his words in a thick Italian accent that sent quivers down her spine.
Naomi grinned.
“Yeah, aren’t they cool?” she asked, making a broad gesture toward the engraved accents that defined and finished the chairs before them.
She arched her eyebrows as the man before her made no verbal response to her question; only regarded her with an intense, unyielding gaze and a warm, sensual smile.
As she continued to drink in his surreal masculine beauty and the warm aura of mystery inherent in his eyes, Naomi felt at once unsettled, intrigued…and just a tad annoyed. Why wouldn’t this dude talk, she wondered?
Indeed, aside from making no further comment about the amazing clawed feet that graced the chairs in the lobby, he just wasn’t saying much at all. He just continued to stare at her with bare, unnerving intensity as he pinned her with a dazzling, white-toothed smile.
“So basically he and I are just standing here, grinning like fools at each other as our eyeballs—cue the music of the immortal Barry White—make mad, passionate love,” she scoffed in silence—again, thankfully. “That would be good and fine if we were stuck between the covers of some bloody romance novel, but—blast it—this is real life. So why won’t this seemingly silver tongued devil actually talk?”
“Um,” she said aloud, for once fumbling for the right words. “Do you happen to know the Italian word for toothpaste?”
Well there then, she’d said it. The most nonsensical, inane phrase she could possibly give voice to, had just passed the lips of her cherry red mouth.
Still, as she’d realized at the airport earlier that day, this was something that she did indeed need to know at this point. It also qualified as a simple, basic question that he should be able to answer.
“I mean, judging by that accent—which is dead cute and uniquely rhythmic, by the way—you are indeed Italian,” she said aloud, adding with a shrug, “I have some Italian blood and studied the language a bit in college—still I must be a little rusty, as I seem to be forgetting some very basic words and phrases. So could you please tell me, how do you say the word toothpaste in Italian?”
The man stared at her for a long, quiet moment, mouthing the word ‘toothpaste’ to adorable effect.
“Si, toothpaste,” Naomi replied with a gentle grin. “That stuff you apply to your teeth to clean it once in a while, that is so supremely sticky you don’t want to attempt to conduct a conversation throughout the course of its use but it also can taste quite yummy—depending on its flavor.”
The stranger guffawed outright.
“Toothpaste!” he affirmed, sturdy fist held triumphant in the air as he finally seemed to comprehend her words.
“Yeah!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in a show of victory. “So, could you enlighten me as to the Italian term for this amazing little wonder substance that we all use each day—twice a day, preferably and for the benefit of everyone who comes into contact with us?”
The man continued to chuckle as he affirmed, “Toothpaste. Dentifricio.”
Then she took in her breath as, continuing to stare deep into her eyes, the marvel before her took her hand in his and lifted it to his full, moist lips; gracing her with a gentlemanly kiss as their gazes met and locked.
Her breath suspended outright as suddenly she lost herself in the spectacle of his beauty; devouring a gaze as warm and steamy as her favorite hot cocoa, as well as the sweet but provocative upturn of those thick, sumptuous lips.
“Bellissimo,” he intoned, voice released in a scintillating purr as their eyes locked.
She said nothing, only shared his secret smile as their public surroundings dissolved around them and a mysterious bond seemed to form between them.
Finally and with a devastating smile he turned away from her; teasing her with a playful wink as he swept with a smooth flourish up a nearby staircase with a scrolled iron railway.
“And it is most interesting to watch him sweep,” she mused, pursing her lips in a show of keen admiration as she admired the fall of his long, silky dark hair down the length of his planed back, the firm and strong muscled set of his hips and shoulders, as well as certain other attributes.
“Mighty nice derriere, I must say,” she thought with eyebrows arched, pondering the complete and utter ridiculousness of using a distinctly French phrase to describe a distinctly Italian man.
And pondering in far more depth the intimate introduction that had just stole her breath and set her heart racing.
“I have to find out his name,” she mused, biting her lip as she immediately and inexplicably missed a man she barely knew, a foreign beauty who barely even seemed able to speak her own language. “I have to know this man.”
“Miss? Are you quite bene? That is to say, are you all right?”
Her rhapsodic meditation was disrupted by the sound of a soft, feminine voice, one that managed to penetrate her dreamlike haze and turn her in the direction of its soothing source.
She raised her head to come face and face with a lithe, petite Italian beauty that stood behind the long, brass bordered mahogany desk that formed a far corner of the hotel lobby.
“Bene?” The woman, who boasted a luxurious fall of midnight black hair and skin of rich cinnamon, widened her ebony eyes in Naomi’s direction as she repeated her question.
“Yep, I’m all good and bene,” Naomi affirmed, herself not so sure of this fact as she dragged her suitcases in the direction of the registration desk. “I also happen to be very thankful to meet someone who speaks more than a world or two of English. At any rate, I just arrived here from New York and need to check in to the suite I reserved here.”
The clerk nodded.
“And what is your name?” she asked, her manicured, ruby red fingernails flipping through the pages of her black, pleather bound ledger.
“Naomi Baker, very nice to meet you,” she declared with a smile. “I reserved a one bedroom suite for the duration of the week.”
The woman bowed her head low above her ledger, her wide dark eyes squinting in concentration as one of those immaculately groomed fingernails traced the line of names imprinted down the length of that day’s reservation page.
“Ah yes, Ms. Baker. Here you are,” she confirmed, greeting her newest guest with a brilliant white-toothed smile as she retrieved and handed over a crème colored card, “Here is your room key. I hope that you enjoy your stay here. Tell me, is there anything special you need, that will make your stay more comfortable?”
Naomi nodded.
“Actually I need two things, thanks for asking,” she told her, adding as she held up two fingers for emphasis. “No. 1, I need bellissimo—I mean to say, I need dentifricio—I think.”
The clerk chuckled.
“You need toothpaste,” she corrected her in a gentle tone, adding with eyebrows arched, “No problemo. And what, may I ask, is the second thing you need?”
Naomi grinned.
“Oh, it’s not a big request,” she assured her, adding as she made a broad gesture in the direction of the corner staircase, “As it turns out, though, aside from my much needed tube of Sparkly Gums I also happen to need that man that just walked up that staircase. No - correction. I happen to need that man that just floated up the staircase. I swear the man does not walk, at least not in the manner that we mortal humans do. He also does not happen to speak much English, blast him, which means that I never was able to ascertain his name. Or, for that matter, his room number.”
The clerk guffawed outright.
“Well unfortunately, as a responsible employee of this hotel I am not at liberty to divulge
the gentleman’s room number to you,” she revealed with a regretful pout, adding quickly, “but seeing as though he is something of a local celebrity, and especially given the way that he was looking at you just now, I suppose that I could tell you his name. He is Angelo Romano, a celebrated Italian male model who is shooting a big print ad for us this week. Isn’t he cute?”
Naomi snorted.
“Cute?” she repeated, adding as she raised a definitive finger for emphasis, “Girl, in the words of the immortal Joan Rivers, can we talk? Michelangelo’s Statue of David is cute. That man is a verified stunner.”
She and the clerk exchanged a festive high five as both women burst out in a hearty round of robust sisterly laughter.
“I quite agree,” the clerk declared with a nod. “And, if all goes well, perhaps you can get to know the stunner later on this week.”
Naomi nodded.
“All things considered, Miss, I’d far rather that we meet again sooner,” she quipped, “as opposed to later. Get my drift?”
Chapter Three
These words echoed in Naomi’s mind a few moments later, as she stood facing the second most beautiful, ebullient vision she’d witnessed that day.
Designed in what the desk clerk described as classic Tuscan style, her deluxe suite radiated in tones of ivory, scarlet and greatest gold, with these lovely hues expressing themselves in the woods and fabrics that blended to create this dream of a suite.
The room’s centerpiece, a canopied four poster bed, came swathed in reams of lush red jacquard; an elite fabric that formed the textured comforter covering its surface, as well as serving to cover the canopy and throw pillows that completed the look of this elaborate resting place.
Just briefly Naomi’s rebellious mind conjured an unbidden image, one that placed the stunning Angelo square at the center of this luxurious bed, beckoning to her in a blatant invitation for her to join him between the sheets.
“I tell ya one thing. That man would not have to beckon or invite for long,” she mused with a grin, her wandering gaze taking in the shiny limestone columns, the marble walls and plush ivory carpeting, the sparkling gold leaf chandelier that lent a luminous cast to the entire suite.
“Bellissimo,” she whispered, her eyes finally coming to rest on yet another splendorous accent of this deluxe boudoir.
Displayed with grace on the engraved sandal wood table that bordered her bed, the bouquet of dew glistened, ruby red roses added another welcome accent of old world glamour to her intoxicating new atmosphere. Situated in a vase of gold hued jade and surrounded by sprigs of soft ivory baby’s breath, this lustrous bouquet brought light and luminescence to her already vibrant surroundings.
“It certainly is the most beautiful bouquet I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Naomi gushed, adding as she reached for the gold toned room phone that lay just beside the bouquet, “Of course, considering that my last bouquet came in the form of a weak sprig of three day old wildflowers, purchased at the gas station conveniently located next to my ex-boyfriend’s apartment complex, just about any bouquet that fails to feature poison ivy as a primary ingredient is pretty darned impressive.”
“Hello?” The same soft voice that had welcomed her to the hotel now resounded loud and clear at the other end of the line. “This is Rosanna at the front desk, how may I help you?”
“Hi Rosanna, it’s Naomi in room 10,” she greeted the clerk in a warm, cherry tone. “This room is beautiful and impeccably clean—you folks do a great job here! And the roses are such a nice extra touch—one I certainly was not expecting.”
Rosanna chuckled.
“Actually, Naomi, our staff didn’t send you the flowers. Angelo did.”
Naomi froze.
“Well that was sweet,” Naomi allowed, adding with a broad shrug, “but how on earth did he send flowers to a woman whose name he doesn’t know—and who, as an added bonus, doesn’t even speak his language? I AM SO CONFUSED.”
Rosanna laughed.
“Well as it turns out, your fantasy man returned to the lobby moments after you left,” she revealed, adding in a lowered, confidential tone, “He ordered a bouquet from our lobby gift shop and requested that it be sent to your room—along with a special card.”
Sending a sharp look in the direction of the bouquet, Naomi’s eyes widened as they beheld a piece of folded crème colored parchment protruding from its smooth silken petals; one emblazoned with the image of a lace trimmed favor heart that shone bright ruby red from the surface of the paper.
“Ah, I see it now,” her tone was vague and absent as she signed off for the call—turning her attentions to the bountiful bouquet that now held special meaning.
Lifting the card with delicate fingers from its place in her bouquet, Naomi unfolded the smooth crème parchment to read a simple handwritten message that—despite its brevity and simplicity—managed to make her heart pound.
“Bellissimo. 21,” read the cryptic missive.
“So once again, he tells me that I’m lovely. So far so good,” she mused, adding with a frown, “But what in the blazes is 21? Is that his age? His room number? Both?”
Regardless of the answer to this question, she decided that—after getting a good night’s sleep—she would pay a visit to room 21; so she could get to know its hopeful occupant a whole heck of a lot better….
Chapter Four
The number “21” shone forth in bold, shiny lettering from the surface of a solid cherry wood door; holding the attention of the woman who studied its intricacies with unseeming concentration.
“I always did wonder as to how much time it would take to cut out and cast such perfectly formed letters,” she mused, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “OK Naomi, ex nay with the stallin’. Go on and do what we’re here to do.”
After finally locating her translation book last night, she had researched and learned to say the following phrase: “Good morning, thank you for the lovely roses. I know you have a job to do here, and probably intend to spend the day pouting, posing, and generally lookin’ hot. If however you have some extra time this morning, I’d love for you to join me for a little bit of sightseeing.”
She’d practiced this spiel several times this morning in front of the mirror, as she dressed for the day in a satiny ruby red sundress that flattered and accentuated the curves of her rubenesque form. Then, after applying a coat of her signature ruby red lipstick and running a brush through the strands of her ebony hair, she headed out to the ever illusive room 27; where she hoped to find the man who’d filled and haunted her dreams the evening beforehand.
When her soft knock on the door before her resulted in the appearance of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, she nearly forgot her spiel. Yet eventually she recited it, encouraged by the warm smile of greeting that heralded her arrival.
After wildly applauding her awkward turns of phrase, an impressed Angelo—dressed fetching that day in a tight, form fitting back silk shirt and matching pants--immediately agreed to a day of sightseeing. And, after summoning that mysterious vehicle known in various places (or so she’d recently learned) as a taxi, the couple soon found themselves standing stock still before one of the eight wonders of the world.
Naomi gaped outright as she beheld the tall golden spectacle that was the Roman coliseum, a classically designed amphitheater whose outer wall stood more than 150 feet in height.
“Bellissimo,” she praised, smiling in awe as she witnessed before her the wondrous landmark that stood so tall and proud before her admiring eyes.
She took in her breath as her quiet companion turned to her with a single smooth flourish and agreed in a low, sultry tone, “Si, Naomi. Bellissimo.”
Naomi froze, once again lost in the depths of his boundless dark eyes as he once again seared her with that hot, unyielding stare.
“Why do I get the idea that he’s talking about me?” she mused, her own gaze seeming to seek the meaning and truth in his. “And not the Coliseum?”
C
learing her throat loudly and seeking to ease the thick sensual attention that seemed to hold them captive, Naomi began to recite some facts that she had learned as a docent at her art museum back home; delivering these fascinating factoids in a bizarre mixture of Italian and English as she lead him by the hand into the monument that marked and defined the city of Rome.
“The original name for this amazing structure was the Flavian Amphitheater, as it was built by emperors of that particular dynasty,” she reported, trying to ignore the heat of his intense stare as they made their way to the interior of the structure. “At one point it could hold up to 80,000 people, who came to see everything from classic mythological dramas to incredible gladiator competitions.” She paused here, adding in a softer, wistful voice as thrilling tingles coursed the length of her spine, “I still can see them down there in the pit, Angelo. I can see those big, handsome gladiators, confronting one another with such pride and ferocity. It’s very exciting, when one thinks about it.”
Angelo nodded.
“Naomi es ex-cit-ed?” he purred, moving just a bit closer to her in the broad aisle overlooking the Coliseum. “She es eccitato?”
Turning toward her companion with a single smooth flourish, Naomi finally met his eyes in full as she whispered, “Si.”
Her excitement grew and enhanced seconds later, as—holding her gaze—a flirtatious Angelo stripped his ultra-tight black shirt over his head and tossed it off to the side; revealing a hard, massive bronzed chest that gleamed in the rays of the sun above him.
Naomi watched enrapt as her enthralling companion flexed the muscles of his chest and arms, his firm flawless pecs and washboard abs flexing and rolling for her pleasure as he struck a pose worthy of a classic Roman gladiator.
Then he threw his head back as reams of his dark silken hair flared wild in the breeze around them; finally settling loose around his bulging shoulders as he stared at her through narrowed eyes.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, her hungry gaze devouring his muscular perfection as he posed and pouted for her pleasure. “You look so much like a gladiator in your natural element. I am so, what was the word you used, eccitato. You are bellissimo.”
ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) Page 85
