“‘Under no obligation?’ What is this? A contract?”
“No, no. Of course not,” he spread his hands in mock supplication, “I’m Liam.”
“Liam…?” I said, raising an eyebrow at him in invitation to fill the blank space.
“Just Liam for now. Maybe you’ll get the chance to learn my last name later on,” he said, pushing his fingers into his pockets and hooking his thumbs again.
My mouth went dry and an incredible tingle that couldn’t be ignored ran up my back. It had to be my dirty mind reading into something that wasn’t there. He couldn’t possibly have been implying what I thought he was implying, could he have been?
I was sure that Liam could have his pick of any Italian belle of this particular ball, whether they were married or not. Whether their husbands were present or not. That charming smile and that mischievous twinkle in his baby blues were completely irresistible. And I knew that Liam knew that, too.
So why was he flirting with me? Not that I minded that much. Stuck in my rut as I had been, going from class to bed and bed to class and eating sometimes in between, I’d declined all forms of male advances.
Maybe I should stop doing that, I thought, feeling the pull of his charm. After all, it had been so long. Maybe I really did need to shake things up in a big way if I wanted to change my course.
I realized I’d been standing in front of Liam chewing all this over in my head. “Liam is a nice name, too.” Liam is a nice name, too!? What kind of reply is that? I berated myself.
I wouldn’t have blamed him for smiling politely, taking his leave, and disappearing into the sea of people to neither be seen nor heard from again. Perhaps just the barest glimpse of him climbing into a flaming red Lamborghini with a smoldering Italian beauty to match hanging from his arm.
I mean, I was just Emma Weston from St. Louis. Who was I to him? Nobody, that was who.
“Come on, let’s get this party started,” Liam said. He offered me one of those warm hands of his, palm up so I could see the creases of the lines crossing it as though I could tell his future from them.
You’re going to flirt with a clumsy, directionless American girl at a posh party in Rome… I started, unable to help it. I beat back against my self-deprecatory urge. He’s your way out of this rut, take it! Climb on up!
“Climb on up what?” Liam said.
My breath hitched in my throat. I’d said that last bit out loud! I couldn’t believe how far gone I was. Maybe Liam was just what I needed.
“Nothing at all, forget it. Let’s get to party starting.” I took his hand. He squeezed my fingers for a moment, then gently guided my hand up to the crook of his elbow and began escorting me into the party proper.
It was a beautiful hall. Guests spoke and laughed and sipped drinks on the marble-banistered mezzanine, which they reached by means of an ornate grand staircase. Looking up, I saw some expert artist had reproduced Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel painting, Adam lifting a lackadaisical finger towards God’s outstretched, straining digit.
Liam didn’t let me linger long, sweeping me towards the dance floor, the quartet’s instruments clear and melodious this close to the source of the music.
Except someone intercepted him.
Chapter 2
I’d been so caught up in Liam’s spell that I’d almost completely forgotten about the reason for my being at this party.
I say almost forgot because the reason for my coming planted himself in front of the two of us, using his body as a barrier that would need to be conquered if we wanted to pass it.
“Emma! Ah, yes, I have found you.” Unlike Liam, he didn’t stop his eyes from wandering up and down my body. I could feel his gaze sliding down from my face, catching for a few moments on various parts of my body before continuing down like an obscene game of Plinko.
Professor Giuseppe Aretino stood before the two of us, his arms outstretched as though he meant to catch me up in an enormous hug. He was maybe a couple inches taller than I was. Which is actually one of the main reasons I chose to wear flats to the party rather than any sort of heel. Dr. Aretino could be somewhat touchy about his height (or lack thereof). He would take offense if I was taller.
An issue which became apparent a moment later, when he looked up into Liam’s face.
They examined each other quickly, in that way men sometimes do. Sizing each other up. Liam in his dark Armani that accented his body and Giuseppe in a grey three piece that had probably cost a quarter the price despite his somewhat prestigious position at the university.
They both had black hair, yes. But where Liam’s was soft and glossy Giuseppe’s was oily and slicked so that I could see the shiny expanse of his forehead. A forehead gaining wrinkles with increasing speed as the smaller Italian man found the scales swinging against him in this particular weigh-in.
Giuseppe was also considerably older. He was in his late forties while I doubted Liam had even seen thirty yet.
Anyway, all this arithmetic added up to one rather annoyed Italian professor of art history. An Italian professor of art history who had it within his power to fail me in his course, bringing my average down to an unacceptable level to continue my stay at Sapienza.
It was an old story: the professor uses his position of power to try and take advantage of his student. Except in my case I had stuck a bookmark before the part where the student gives in or falls prey to his wiles and did my best to put the story to bed. I didn’t intend on reading any farther than I had to.
I’m not stupid. I knew the game he wanted to play, and I did my best to keep myself benched, figuring (hoping) he would get the hint and stop.
I think he’d gotten it into his head that tonight was finally going to be the night when he’d win me over to his charms. In reality, I’d only really come to try and stay as much on his good side as I could.
And by showing up arm-in-arm with Liam here I’d just managed to jeopardize the whole shebang.
“Ragazza d’oro, who is this man? Please, you must introduce us immediately!” Giuseppe said, irritation flashing in his eyes for a moment before he could cover it up with a smile that showed far too many teeth. That smile had always set me on edge.
It was either wolfish or shark-like; I couldn’t decide which simile was better. Either way, it was a predator’s grin.
I must have given the crook of Liam’s arm a squeeze. Or maybe he really was as good at reading people as he said, because he picked up on my nerves.
Dr. Aretino looked at me expectantly, clearly wanting me to give a brief introduction and then send Liam packing so that he could take me out on the dance floor and tell me that my grades were slipping (I knew that already) and that he knew a way I could bring them back up (like hell).
I swallowed heavily, my good, flirtatious mood washing away like so much water down the Roman aqueducts. Then I tried to smile. “Liam, this is Dr. Giuseppe Aretino, my professor of classical art history at Sapienza…”
Giuseppe gave a little bow, his chest puffing out at the same time.
“Dr. Aretino…” I continued before I was cut off.
“Giuseppe! How many times must I tell you it is Giuseppe! Dr. Aretino is so formal. Am I really so formal? No! So Giuseppe, if you please.”
I squeezed Liam’s arm again, the remaining muscles in my body following suit as though by clenching they could armor me against Dr. Aretino.
I started again, but Liam interrupted. Which was good, since I remembered that he hadn’t told me his last name, and I have no doubts the good professor would have had some lecture ready about being a young woman out and about in Rome meeting strange, handsome men.
Liam smiled, offering his hand, which Dr. Aretino accepted. “The Dr. Aretino? I have heard of your work. The university must think highly of you, asking you to appear at this fundraiser to court all the wealthy benefactors here tonight. Very important business.”
Giuseppe puffed up in pride to such a degree I thought there might actually have been enou
gh hot air in him for him to lift up off the floor like a balloon. “You flatter me. I am but a modest professor… But yes, I am here to raise funds for the program. And you are…?”
Liam gave the slightest bow of his head, barely disturbing the expertly tufted black hair on his head. Again, I had the urge to run my fingers through it. I wondered if it smelled as good as his cologne.
All this wondering created a warm, excited tingle along the front of my stomach that I did my best to ignore. Why did Dr. Aretino have to be here, ruining this?
“I am Emma’s dance teacher, Dr. Aretino.”
“Dancing? I am an excellent dancer. Come, Emma, I will show you how it is done,” Giuseppe said, reaching for my hand.
Then Liam put his body between us, a wall to block out the professor’s advances. Before Dr. Aretino could bluster too much about this, Liam sprung his trap.
“I’m sure you’re an excellent dancer, professor. However, don’t you have much more important business? I see several lonely old Italian matrons whom I’m sure would love to donate to the school with only a small amount of your expert and esteemed coaxing required. And while you do that, I will teach Emma some of the basics so that when you cut in you can cut out those lessons.”
Liam didn’t give Giuseppe a chance to answer, assuming assent and beginning to lead me out to the dance floor. I was in awe. Liam had played Giuseppe perfectly. The small Italian didn’t know whether to puff up in pride again or protest. Besides, if he did protest, he would look ungracious.
Liam had it all wrapped up in a neat little bow the same baby blue of his eyes.
I could have kissed Liam then and there. And he knew it, too. I could tell from the way he looked down at me.
“That was…” I started.
“Bold? Decisive?” he supplied.
“Impressive. Maybe you are good at reading people, after all.”
We stood in the middle of the dance floor. Couples wheeled around us in time to the music in near perfect synchronicity. If I were to look down from the mezzanine it would have been mesmerizing. And there we stood in the middle of that maelstrom of dresses and tuxedos, the calm eye of Hurricane Armani, Bardelli, Rubinacci, and whatever other designers were represented.
“I don’t like to boast,” Liam said.
“I’m sure you don’t. So, if you’re so good at reading people, did you notice anything else interesting when you perused my table of contents?”
He slipped one arm around my waist and drew me in closer, our bodies touching. My throat tightened. He really did smell good. The other hand he slid slowly down my arm, the tips of his fingers leaving trails of gooseflesh like a farmer’s plough leaves churned earth. Then he threaded his fingers through mine and lifted our hands up so that we stood in position. But we didn’t start dancing, not yet.
Liam wet his lips, making them even more inviting. My heart thumped against my ribs so hard I knew he could feel the beats against his stomach. “I know that you don’t need any dancing lessons, Emma.”
I put my hand on his shoulder, the top of my thumb brushing against the starched collar of his shirt for a moment. “And how could you possibly know that?” A tingle that had started in my thighs began spreading its tendrils throughout my body, leaving me pleasantly warm all over.
“It’s in the way you move, actually. The way your hips sway, the way you walk. You’re graceful. You’ve had lessons.”
I hadn’t caught him looking at my hips, at my legs. But he had. He’d checked me out and he liked what he’d seen. That tingling turned to buzzing, low in my stomach. Despite the air conditioned air circulating around us, I flushed with heat.
“Care to prove that theory?” I said.
His smile grew, both corners of his mouth twitching up. He leaned in closer, his handsome face looming in my vision, his mischievous blue eyes latching onto mine and refusing to let go.
He’s going to kiss me! My heart tried to escape the prison of my ribs. Wouldn’t that be just the thing, too? A handsome, charming guy leaning in to kiss me and I ruin the whole occasion by bursting. At least I’d chosen the red dress for tonight. If I did burst, at least everything would match.
I responded, my lips parting in anticipation, my eyes hooding, my body ready to melt in his arms as soon as our mouths met.
But he didn’t kiss me. Instead, his mouth slipped past my cheek, dangerously close to grazing my skin. “I intend to,” he whispered.
Before I could protest, we whirled off in unison with the other dancers. He led expertly, never having to glance down at our shifting feet. His hand on the small of my back held me steadily against him, leaving no chance for escape.
We whirled and whirled. I didn’t think we moved fast enough to make me dizzy, but dizzy I became.
More than once, I caught sight of Giuseppe glaring at us from the sidelines. The first time, he spoke to an older man and woman, probably extolling the virtues of the department. But he appeared to pause in the middle of the sentence to shoot a look out at me, weaving his gaze through all the bodies marauding between us.
Then another time I saw him on the opposite side of the floor, speaking to a sharp-nosed woman who appeared annoyed when he turned his attention from her to me.
This wasn’t going to end well, I knew.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Liam whispered. Despite the volume of the music and the conversations all around us, a whisper was all he needed. He held me so closely I could hear him easily, could feel the warm tickle of his breath against my neck and shoulder.
“This isn’t going to end well,” I said, voicing my thoughts.
He considered that for another revolution of our bodies, then he leaned in closely so that his lips grazed my earlobe, sending a spark down my spine. “Who says it has to end?”
I’d been operating this entire time under the assumption that at some point we’d part ways that night. Maybe after another pleasant dance or two or however long Dr. Aretino could spend collecting donations for the school.
Only that at some point in the very near future we would part and this would be nothing but one of my only pleasant memories of my time in Rome.
But maybe this was what I really needed. I knew I needed something, some change, some drastic event. Maybe Liam was that change? That brush that would sweep across the dusty chalkboard that was my life here this past semester and give me the second chance I needed.
So many little warnings and caveats popped into my head, my tendency to over think things over thinking this. But that was my problem, too. Maybe my life was the way it was because I never took chances, never went on impulse. It was time for me to act on impulse.
I can give in. Just for one night, I can give in. Because that was all this could be, just one night. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
Except for one niggling caveat. One whose eyes I could feel drilling through Liam and into me from the other side of the room.
“What about Professor Aretino?” I said. Surely if Liam could read people as well as he seemed to, he must have apprehended how things went between the good professor and me.
“Don’t worry about Aretino. Not tonight,” Liam said, his lips so hot against my ear.
That warmth helped break through the final barricade, to burst the dam and down the shrill warning voices.
“Okay,” I said, my body beginning to shake against his.
“Come with me now,” Liam whispered.
“I will.”
He kissed me, then. Lightly on the neck, just below my earlobe. Soft, pliant, and warm lips pressed against the sensitive skin there, followed immediately by the light and delicious prickle of his stubble.
Liam finished the dance, each shifting step more aching than the last for the both of us. It was the best foreplay I’d ever had, the burning, secretive looks we gave each other. The light touches that could only go so far with all these people around. The feeling of his hot breaths against me and the sensation of his lips on me when he dared place another d
elicate, trembling kiss on my throat.
By the time the quartet announced a break I could barely stand, Liam holding most of my weight against him by main strength. My legs felt like two worn out rubber bands.
And we haven’t done anything but dance yet! I kept thinking. Who was Liam? He could flirt, he could flatter, and he could dance. He danced better than my instructors had. What else could this body of his do?
He let go of my waist, but kept a strong grip on my hand. This grip he used to lead me through the crowd, the two of us weaving around the other dancers and guests like a warship twining its way through mines bobbing in the ocean.
Dr. Aretino’s eyes tracked us the entire way, but he couldn’t catch us. He’d been speaking with an older man in a military dress uniform when the quartet had stopped playing, and he could do nothing but watch.
This isn’t going to end well, I thought again as we slipped into the foyer where I’d bumped so serendipitously into him. The same doorman saw us and opened the door, letting the warm air of the Roman evening spill into the room. “Your car will be ready, sir,” he said.
Liam didn’t drive a Lambo, as I’d imagined. It was a new BMW M3 coupe, the same ashy grey as a cloudy sky in the evening, and it was a rental.
So I learned more about mysterious Mr. Baby-Blues. He didn’t live here (but then again, neither did I). And he had a suite at a place called the Inn at the Roman Forum. A five star place, of course. We pulled up and I could actually see the lights the government used to illuminate the Coliseum. Which I actually hadn’t been to see yet since arriving at the beginning of the school term.
I hadn’t seen much of the city at all, really.
A valet came out and took the car and I forgot all that, though, suppressing the nagging, concerned voice at the back of my mind yet again.
***
We got into his room, the beep of his cardkey against the electric lock the sweetest sound I’d heard all evening. There was a fireplace. Several tapestries, all copies of various Renaissance artists.
Italian Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story Page 2
