by Teri Wilson
* * *
HOW COULD THIS BE happening again?
Julia’s nipples had never felt this tender. The heaviness in her breasts bordered on painful, and a live wire somehow connected them straight to her center. She was on the verge of crumbling, closer to falling apart than the ancient ruins beneath her feet. And Mano had barely even touched her this time.
She watched, humiliated, as he took a backward step away from her.
Forget the Vestals and their secret lovers. Julia was the one who deserved to be flogged. For letting him do this to her.
“Um.” Say something. Anything. “I doubt that was the case.”
Really, the idea that a singular sexual encounter would be worth risking agonizing torture and death was ludicrous.
Wasn’t it?
Mano said nothing, but simply watched her with that searing hot gaze of his. They weren’t talking about the Vestals at all anymore, were they?
She felt the dark heat of his attention winding through her. A ribbon of need. And she knew without a fraction of a doubt that sex with this man would be like nothing she’d experienced before.
She inhaled a steadying breath, unsure how much longer she could handle what was happening inside her.
Hang on. Just hang on. The tour is almost over. One more stop.
One more stop, and she’d saved the sight she suspected he would like best for last. The day had been so . . . odd, for lack of a better word. She hoped and prayed that she could secure a good review from him before it was all over and possibly even put a smile on his face.
That seemed like a dubious prospect at best, seeing as he was currently regarding her with such intensity that she suspected he could grind coal into diamonds merely by the set of his jaw. But a girl could dream, couldn’t she?
“Moving on . . .” She forced her lips into a grin and turned her back on the remains of the House of the Vestals. If he mentioned virgins, chastity, flogging, or anything else remotely related to sex, she would ignite. And Rome didn’t need another Great Fire. “There’s one last thing I’d like you to see.”
“One last thing,” he said as if the words somehow hurt him. But they didn’t. She knew they didn’t. They couldn’t possibly. “Let’s proceed, then.”
She led him down a gravel path and blinked against the mist. The rain had stopped for the most part, but a fine, swirling haze had settled over the ruins, bathing everything in soft, ethereal color. Julia had always liked the Forum best in this light, when ghostly shadows seemed to move among the relics.
She stopped when they reached a modest-looking niche in the stone walls. “Here we are.”
Mano stood with his hands in his pockets and stared at the alcove.
“So this is the grand finale?” he asked, clearly unimpressed.
Julia grinned to herself. “Go inside.”
He shot her a questioning glance and stepped into the darkness. Julia followed him into the narrow space between two curved crumbling rock walls. She breathed in the familiar scent of rubble, soil, and sand. It was one of her favorite smells. She’d done enough digging in Italy to know that scent held the promise of other worlds. Years upon years of secrets.
For centuries the Romans had been building new monuments, completely new civilizations, directly on top of one another. Rome was a city of layers, divided by nothing but sand. She’d been on digs before where her spade had made contact with something solid after a mere two feet of digging. Marble columns. Temples made of gold.
Sometimes Julia dreamed about the people who lived in those hidden worlds. There was a romance to the past that helped her forget the mess of her present circumstances. But her passion for history was more than just an escape. Those people had been real. They deserved to be seen and remembered.
“Here we are.” Without even realizing it, she’d dropped her voice to a near whisper.
Despite the humble mound of dirt piled in the center of the dank alcove and the fine green layer of moss on the walls, there was something sacred about this place. Holy.
Rocks held the mound in place, but the stones were barely visible through the soil, as if the earth itself was trying to swallow up the past and keep its secrets. But that would never happen. Not here.
The mound was covered with flowers—long stemmed roses, modest carnations, and lush bouquets wrapped in cellophane. A red candle in a shallow brass dish burned near the edge of the pile, dripping wax onto the soil. Other mementos had been left behind as well—scraps of paper, two bright yellow Roman lemons, and a child’s stuffed toy. A row of dull gold coins had been placed near the edge of the relic, faceup to show the profile of a man with a laurel wreath situated atop his head and an inscription—Caesar IM P M, which stood for Caesar Imperator, Pontifex Maximus. Replicas, of course. An actual denarius from the Roman Empire was a rare find indeed.
Julia glanced at Mano standing beside her and realized he’d gone very, very still. Eerily so.
“What is this place?” he asked. His voice was rough, as if he’d just been awakened from a deep sleep.
“I know it looks like a pile of dirt, but it’s much more than that. This is Julius Caesar’s tomb, the place where his body was cremated.” She pointed at the mound rising out of the soil. “This was once an altar.”
“And the flowers?” He stooped to pick up a stray cluster of flowers from the ground—a bouquet of violets tied together with a frayed purple ribbon—and placed them gingerly on top of the pile. Then he picked up the stuffed teddy bear and stared at it for a long, silent moment.
Julia wasn’t sure whether she should answer him or step outside to give him some privacy. She’d hoped to get a reaction out of him, but this wasn’t at all what she’d expected. He seemed almost mournful.
“People from all over the world come here and leave flowers, notes, and little trinkets,” she said.
He bent and inspected a few of the small pieces of paper half-buried beneath the piles and piles of bouquets. Roses, peonies, and wisteria. The handwritten notes weren’t just in Italian but other languages, too. They always were.
“I wanted to bring you here since you took such offense to the disparaging things I said about the emperors while we were at the Colosseum. I thought you’d get a kick out of knowing that Caesar was . . . is . . . so beloved.” She searched his face for a trace of pleasure, a glimmer of a smile.
Nothing.
He’d disappeared into himself. The faraway look in his eyes suggested he’d gone someplace else, someplace where Julia couldn’t follow.
And despite every logical thought in her head that warned against it, she wanted to go wherever he’d traveled. As drawn to his commanding presence as she’d been since the moment she’d first seen him, she found this glimpse of hidden vulnerability even more compelling. She felt as though she were seeing the real him, the man beneath the posh clothes, the charming accent, the skillful mouth, and the provocative advances.
And he was forbiddingly beautiful.
She looked away. It was all too much to handle. The secrets behind his eyes made her heart thud hard against her rib cage. The idea that she could see his inner self made her eyes go blurry.
She needed to get out of here.
She stepped outside the shelter of Caesar’s temple and back into the drizzle. After a moment or two, Mano followed.
Whatever had happened to him as he’d stared down at the flowers appeared to have passed. The heated distance had returned to his gaze, calm and menacing. But the pull she felt toward him was stronger than before.
She had the sudden urge to rise up on tiptoe and press her wet lips to his until the rain consumed them.
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
But the tour is over. He’s not my client anymore. Technically speaking.
She was splitting hairs and she knew it. The real reason she couldn’t kiss him again ha
d less to do with the fact that she was his hired guide and more to do with protecting her heart. Far more.
She wasn’t ready. Not yet. She wasn’t sure she would ever be ready.
It was a sobering thought. Was she really prepared to spend the rest of her life alone? She’d been lied to by her own father and then again by Elio, the only man she’d ever allowed herself to trust. She had every right to be wary. She had every right to question her own judgment.
But for how long?
She swallowed. Hard. The idea of never being kissed like that again was almost too much to bear.
She pulled in a ragged breath. It was time to go, before she found she couldn’t. “This concludes our tour. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself.”
“Enjoyed myself?” He looked at her for a long, loaded moment. “That I have. Thank you for a lovely day. It was unexpected.”
Unexpected.
She would have thought that a strange way to describe a tour that he himself had requested, but for the kiss. “I could say the same.” Why was it so difficult to say good-bye? “When does your flight leave?”
“To tell the truth, it was scheduled to leave two hours ago.” He regarded her as if trying to memorize her.
She couldn’t take that look. Not for a second. It made her bones ache.
She aimed her gaze at her feet. “Oh.”
“So I really must be going,” he whispered.
A lump formed in her throat, which made her feel beyond ridiculous. She shouldn’t be feeling this wistful. She shouldn’t be feeling a lot of the things she was experiencing at the moment.
“Of course. You have a plane to catch.” Deep breaths. You just have to make it through the next two minutes. “As soon as I collect payment, you’ll be a free man.”
“Payment.” A tantalizing muscle in his jaw clenched.
Clearly he’d forgotten the tour wasn’t prepaid. She could understand how that might have slipped his mind. Ordinarily the touring company collected payment in advance or at least a deposit. But posh clients from high-end establishments like the Hotel de Russie were spared this routine.
She pulled out her notepad and flipped to the information she’d jotted down about his reservation and waited for him to retrieve his wallet from his pocket.
Except he wasn’t reaching for his wallet. He was just standing there looking vaguely uncomfortable. Uncomfortable, albeit still far too handsome for a mere mortal.
She thrust the notepad toward him. “Yes. The agreed upon price was two hundred fifty euro.”
He frowned at the spiral-bound pages. “I’m afraid that might be a problem. I don’t have two hundred fifty euro in cash on me at the moment.”
She shrugged and flipped the notebook closed. “That’s not a problem at all. I can take a credit card.”
It was then and only then that Julia began to worry. Because he still wasn’t reaching for his wallet, and that make no sense at all. He owed two hundred fifty euro for the tour. He could clearly afford it. He was staying at the most exclusive hotel in Rome. The Cartier strapped round his wrist probably cost more than she made in an entire year.
She glanced at his arm and found his wrist was bare. No watch at all, just a pair of understated silver cuff links on the French cuffs of his dress shirt. That was strange. She was sure she’d seen him glancing repeatedly at a fancy wristwatch earlier, before he’d snuck out for his urgent visit to the barber.
Maybe she’d been mistaken. Anyway, whether or not he wore a watch didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was still standing there empty-handed.
Why isn’t he reaching for his wallet?
The wings of panic began to beat against the inside of her rib cage.
“I’m afraid this is a bit awkward.” He raked a hand through his damp hair. Hours in the mist and rain, and the man’s hair still looked perfect. Was nothing in the universe fair? “I don’t actually have any credit cards with me either.”
“A checkbook?” she asked hopefully.
Did people even write checks anymore? It was old school but it would do. She’d take anything at this point.
He shook his head.
This was not happening. Absolutely not. Mano had already nearly gotten her in trouble with her boss. She absolutely couldn’t go back to the office and tell Giuseppe that he’d walked out on the bill. He would be furious. Losing her job would only be the tip of the iceberg. He’d probably bury her alive like one of those non-virgins.
She narrowed her gaze at Mano. She was getting to the bottom of this. Right now. “Exactly how much money have you got with you, more or less?”
“More or less?” He smiled. Finally. But it was overly solicitous. Julia felt faint all of a sudden. Behind Mano, the world began to spin in a blur of hazy color and agonizing memory. “None.”
CHAPTER
* * *
NINE
“I never carry money,” Mano said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to say.
Julia stared at him like he’d lost his mind. She didn’t believe for a minute that he was serious. He couldn’t possibly be. Who refused to carry money? This was surely his attempt at some sort of bad joke. He might know his way around a kiss, but his sense of humor needed work. In a big way.
“That’s a bad habit,” she said, deadpan.
“It’s not a habit. I have people who take care of those matters for me,” he said in that stirring tone that was his and his alone.
My God. He’s telling the truth. He really can’t pay me. “Where exactly are those people now?”
“Not here, I’m afraid.” He held her with his cool gray gaze. So impassive. So sure of himself. Even now, when the words coming out of his mouth were so nonsensical.
“No kidding,” she snapped.
“Listen, Julia. Calm down.” He spoke with exaggerated slowness, which in no way made her feel like calming down. “I have every intention of paying the bill.”
Did he expect a medal or something?
Normal, honest people paid their bills. On time. With real money. Was that truly such a difficult concept to grasp?
Apparently so, if her past history with men was any indication. First her father, then Elio . . .
And now Mano.
Was there even such a thing as normal and honest? How could she be such a gullible fool? Again.
“I assure you that I’ll have my staff take care of the bill the moment I get back to the hotel.” He sounded far too smug for her liking.
She shook her head. She was finished playing the fool. Absolutely done. “Not good enough.”
He raised a dark brow. “I beg your pardon.”
“I’m supposed to collect payment here, now, at the conclusion of the tour. I’m sure that was explained to you when you made your reservation.” And then, because she couldn’t stop the stream of annoyance from flying out of her mouth, she added, “Or maybe you never called at all. You probably have people to take care of things like that, too.”
“Julia.” He said her name like a warning.
She’d angered him. Well, that was just too bad. She had every right to be upset. If anyone should be angry here, it was her. “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave without rendering payment.”
“What are your plans? To kidnap me?” His lips quirked.
He found the situation amusing, did he? She wanted to grab hold of his elegant silk tie and strangle him with it.
Yet somewhere beneath the heat of her fury, she also still wanted his hands on her. Everywhere. She could feel his every glance as if it were a caress. But it wasn’t enough, and it never would be. She was hungry for his touch. On her. In her.
How could he still be getting to her this way?
Maybe she needed therapy. No, she was pretty sure what she truly needed was for him to pay his bill, climb aboard his plane, and
leave the country. Immediately. “Kidnapping? If that’s what it takes, yes.”
“So you would have me bound, gagged, and subservient to your will, would you?” His eyes flashed, dark and dangerous.
Oh my God.
Julia squared her shoulders, determined not to let on just how very much he rattled her. “This is serious. I could lose my job, and unlike you claim to have, there’s not a staff of people running around paying for things on my behalf. It’s just me.”
It’s just me.
Her voice cracked at those three simple words, and she hated herself anew. The absolute last thing she wanted was to be vulnerable in front of him.
But sometimes it was so difficult to keep moving on, keep pressing forward after everything that had happened. The only parent she’d ever known was in prison. She’d lost her childhood home and all its contents. Picking herself up after that disaster had been bad enough.
She’d come to Rome for a fresh start. It had seemed like the perfect place to finish her degree. She had so many childhood memories of Rome. Good memories. Memories of a time when life was simple and happy, before her father’s misdeeds had come to light. She could lose herself in the past here—a different past than the one she’d fled in New York. A more beautiful past, filled with art and architecture and memories of dramatic centuries gone by.
Then she’d met Elio, the only serious boyfriend she’d ever had. Three months later she’d come home to find all traces of him gone. The only reminders he’d left behind were the debts he’d accumulated in her name and the big fat goose egg in her bank account. He’d done to her precisely what her father had done to his clients. She supposed there’d been some sort of sick, twisted poetic justice to it all.
But she was still here. Still surviving. On some days, though—days like today—it felt like too much to bear all on her own.
It’s just me.
She blinked back a wave of tears. She would not cry in front of this man who’d so royally turned everything upside down.
