When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1)

by Natalie Gayle

  I draw in a surprised breath and dare a glance at Rome. Energy between us? He merely shrugs as if to say he knew that all along and seems comfortable and in agreement with everything she said.

  Is she serious?

  “I watched you study the shelves, then once you spotted this piece, there was none other that held your attention. This is the crystal that speaks to your soul for the journey you’re currently on. Please feel free to wander and look at your leisure, but I know what you’ll be leaving with.” She gives a nod to the crystal which seems to be quickly warming in my hand and moves away.

  Am I being had?

  I’m not at all sure I’m comfortable feeling like a foregone conclusion for something.

  “Do you believe what she said?” I have a sense Rome knows far more about all this than he’s letting on as well. Am I the only one in the dark when it comes to the magic of crystals?

  “Sure. I certainly think there’s truth in what she said. Crystals are well known and loved by many, for their spiritual and healing properties. But even if you don’t believe it holds those powers, what does it matter? It’s stunning and you obviously love it by the way you’re caressing it.”

  I look at my hands, running over the crystal. Rome is correct. I am caressing it, even if I’ve been doing it subconsciously.

  “But it’s not as if I need a lump of pretty colored rock,” I argue practically.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Your soul picked it. Something about this crystal appeals to you, more than any other in the store. Regardless, whether you believe about the energies and resonance, which is a scientific fact, by the way, then at the very least, the colors really appeal to you. Is that not enough to make it yours, just because you want it? Occasionally, you need to throw practicality out the window and just go with something for the pure joy and the experience it brings.”

  His eyes are intense, and I know he’s talking about far more than the crystal I hold in my palm. Rome’s reaction is the exact opposite of what Phillip’s would have been. He would have mocked my attraction to a piece of rock and chastised me for even considering spending money on it.

  “Life is meant to be lived and enjoyed, Carlene, not viewed from behind the safety fence at a distance, nor forever locked away behind that fence through responsibility. More often than not, you have to take a calculated risk and step out to where it’s a little more dangerous. That’s where the real living and growing are done.” His eyes are soft and encouraging.

  The words are not new to me. I should know this lesson. Phil’s death is a very real example of it. How everything can be ripped away in a heartbeat. No more life to be lived or experiences to be had—love and lives to be shared.

  I’ve been tossing the reality of this around in my mind for eighteen months. It’s only now, coming here, embarking on this adventure, that I’m acting, rather than existing in limbo.

  Decision made, I turn and walk to the counter.

  “I’ll take it, please.”

  The woman just smiles and nods as if it was the most natural thing. “Of course. I knew you would. I hope this crystal guides you well on your journey.”

  Maybe she’s psychic; maybe I’m just easy to read. It doesn’t matter. I’m here to experience life and everything it has to offer. It’s time to step out from behind the safety fence, and now, I have a new crystal to remind me of that.

  Chapter 6

  Carlene

  “You’ve never eaten sushi! I can’t believe it.” Rome looks somewhere between surprised, or is it astonished, and horrified? “How can you not have tried sushi?”

  I shrug as he holds open the door of the Japanese restaurant he’s selected. This afternoon, we drove a couple of hours north to Santa Barbara, and I’m loving this seaside spot. “Can’t say Japanese is very popular in the outback. There are lots of Japanese restaurants where I live now, but I guess I’ve not ever been the adventurous type with food. I’ve tended to live on a diet of meat and three veg. Often, those vegetables were frozen.”

  “You have been sheltered! Japanese is almost a diet staple for me.” Okay, this intrigues me a little more. If he’s so keen on this stuff, then I’m happy to give it a try. Maybe there is something to it?

  The Japanese hostess shows us to our table which is more like a secluded, sunken booth. I’m glad I’ve worn capri pants and a pretty jersey top, when I realize I have to “climb” into the table. Ever the gentleman, Rome holds my hand as I attempt to slide in as gracefully as possible, which I’m not entirely sure I manage.

  The hostess passes menus to us, takes our drink order, and politely leaves us to study the menu. I open the front cover and scan down the pages. A few moments later, I close it and place it on the table.

  “You decided already?” Rome asks surprised.

  “Nope. That menu is way out of this country girl’s league. I’m going to trust you to sort it.” I sit back and watch the pleased look replace his initial surprise. He rubs his hands together in glee.

  “Awesome. Now I have you at my mercy! Puffer fish, it is!”

  “What?” My response is immediate and sharp as I reach for my phone to Google it. “Aren’t they those fish that are more poisonous than cyanide or something?” I say while I wait for the browser to load.

  “Very good. You don’t need Google, you sneaky thing, you know more about this than you let on. The dish is called fugu and is made from species of puffer or blow fish. The liver, skin, and a few other organs are highly toxic, but the flesh is a delicacy if the fish is prepared correctly. The chefs train for years before they’re allowed to serve the dish.”

  I shake my head no. “Thanks, I’m prepared to be a little adventurous, Rome, but that’s taking it a little too far.”

  “Yeah, not for your first Japanese rodeo,” he agrees, and I trust him. He doesn’t seem the type who would ever do anything unsafe, even if he is keen to push boundaries.

  “Have you eaten it before?” I ask, wondering.

  “I have, two or three times. It’s good, but it’s fish. The real thrill is eating something that could potentially kill you even though you know it’s been expertly prepared.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Yeah no, I’m pretty confident I can live without that experience.

  “Do you like seafood?”

  “Uumm, yes,” I say tentatively.

  “What does that mean?” His voice is full of humor.

  “It means, I like fish and chips, but beyond that, I don’t really know. Prawns are good, you call them shrimp?” He nods. “I guess seafood hasn’t been something I’ve eaten much of because there’s not much in the way of fresh fish getting around in the outback and nobody touches the stuff that’s not fresh.”

  “I guess not. Have you had oysters before?”

  “They’re those slimy looking things in the shells right?”

  “They are, some say a delicacy and an aphrodisiac.”

  “Nope. Haven’t eaten them, either. What do they taste like?”

  A naughty grin pulls up one side of his handsome face, and I get the feeling he’s debating exactly what he’s going to say.

  “They kind of taste like the sea. Salty and some can be quite creamy depending on where they’re grown.” Then his eyes twinkle a little bit more with mischief. “Some women say a little like a man’s semen.”

  I suck in a breath at his words then nod slowly, buying time figuring out how to respond.

  “Fair enough. I guess I can struggle through.” And I will. That lame comment is unfortunately the best I can do. I’m not sure I even know how to add something flirtatious or funny, which I’m sure the opening deserved.

  “Eating oysters or enjoying a man’s semen should never be a struggle. Maybe, you just need to experience it differently.” There’s a lot more to his words than just the obvious.

  His eyes are still twinkling, and I get the feeling somehow, I’ve inadvertently issued him with a challenge I don’t know about and one he’s all too keen to conque
r.

  “What else are you going to order?” I ask, in an attempt to move the conversation to a safer topic.

  “I’m not going to tell you.”

  Two can play at this, maybe. “Sure, go for it. I can always order room service later if I’m hungry.”

  “Certainly an option, Oz. One I doubt you’ll need to use, though. Unless it’s to order more strawberries and Champagne.”

  “Didn’t you order Champagne just before?”

  “I did, and here it comes now.” He motions toward the hostess as she approaches our table, before efficiently opening the bottle and pouring a flute for both of us. Then just as unobtrusively, she disappears. “Before you start to object, you can never have too much of a good thing, and Champagne is definitely a good thing.”

  “Really? What about hangovers?”

  He throws his hands up in amused disgust. “Wow, you’re tough. You always this practical? Do you ever loosen up just a little and not worry about the consequences?”

  I’ve only ever had one hangover in my life, and I hated the feeling so much, I vowed never to repeat it. He was right, though. I’m always conservative and take the safe road.

  “I don’t know how, I guess.”

  He picks up his flute. “I think we need a little toast.”

  “What are we drinking to?”

  “To letting loose a little, experiencing new people and new adventures.” We both clink our glasses and take a sip. The pale gold liquid is surprisingly delicious.

  “I like the sound of that, and I really like this taste of this.”

  “What? Didn’t you think you’d like it?”

  “Not really. I’ve only ever had the really sweet stuff. You know, it kind of tastes like lollie water with bubbles.”

  “What’s lollie water?”

  That shocks me a little, another of those weird Aussieisms perhaps? “You know, something sickly sweet to drink, cordial or something.”

  He chuckles politely but I’m not sure if he really understands. “Well, I’m certainly glad I could improve your view on Champagne. This is a good vintage.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Though I’m keen to learn more when we go to Napa.”

  “Napa’s great. You’ll love it.”

  A few moments later, a waiter deposits a black platter decorated with colorful morsels of beautifully prepared seafood, and a plate of oysters.

  It all looks great…I just don’t have a clue what it is.

  Ever the hero, Rome comes to the rescue.

  “Okay, these rolls with rice are sushi. Looks like tuna, teriyaki chicken, a shrimp one, and a California roll. These pieces here are all different varieties of raw fish, or as the Japanese call it, sashimi.” He gestures to the other side of the plate. “Then this plate is oysters done a variety of different ways. Natural, tempura, and some other way I can’t quite recall from the menu.”

  I watch him pour soy sauce into a little dish and push it over toward me then repeat the process.

  He picks up his chopsticks, and my stomach falls. I’ve only ever used them once and gave up after about five seconds.

  I pick up the two sticks to the right of me awkwardly. This isn’t going to be good.

  “Here, hold them like this.” Rome demonstrates, then takes the sticks from me and places them in my hand correctly. “It takes a little while to get used to them, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

  He expertly lifts a piece of the fish and dips it in the soy, then elegantly places it in his mouth. I have no hope of copying him.

  “Why don’t you try the sushi first?”

  “Here goes nothing,” I mutter with trepidation as I attempt to grip the California roll with the chopsticks. Awkwardly, I manage to raise the piece of sushi off the platter. Definitely through luck, rather than good measure.

  “Good, now dip it in the soy.” And that’s when the journey from the plate to my mouth goes pear-shaped. My grip on the sushi is lost, and it plummets back to Earth, landing in the soy with a splash. Fortunately, we’re both quick enough to sit back and avoid wearing the splash that has now turned the crisp white table cloth into something that better resembles modern art.

  We both look at each other for a moment.

  “Whoops,” I offer with a cringe, and duck my head. Rome bursts out laughing, and I’m soon joining him. No doubt, errant sushi bathing in a soy pool looks hilarious.

  The next thing I know, Rome has rescued the offending piece of California roll from the soy with his chopsticks and is offering it to me.

  “Here, lean forward. It’s kind of had a soy sauce bath. I don’t want to get any on your clothes.”

  I do as he asks, and he smoothly deposits the bite-size piece in my mouth.

  A little too much soy, but otherwise, surprisingly good.

  “Who’d have thought rice, seaweed, cucumber, crab, and avocado could taste so good.” He articulates my thoughts so easily.

  “Not me, but I’m happy to stand corrected. That’s really good.”

  I watch him load up a piece of bright orange fish, then offer it to me. “Try this one, it’s salmon.”

  I’ve had smoked salmon before, but as soon as I taste the raw salmon, I know I now prefer it to the smoked flavor.

  Rome is watching me intently and chewing on a piece he’s just taken for himself. “You like that?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s way better than I thought. The texture is different, but once I got over the initial shock to it, I really like it.” Then I glance up at him coyly. “I also like it way better when you’re in charge of the chopsticks.”

  That earns me a sexy eyebrow lift. “Great. Let’s try some oysters.”

  “Okay, so how do I eat them?”

  He spikes one of the natural ones with a tiny fork. “You can either pick it up with the fork or put the shell to your lips and just kind of suck it out.” I watch as he performs a combination of both, then takes a sip of Champagne.

  A look of pleasure settles on his face, and I wonder if he could be any more handsome. The man is seriously something else. Okay, that look on his face certainly encourages me to be brave and try one. Rome definitely looks like he enjoyed it, hopefully I will, too.

  “Which one will I try first?”

  “Start by taking a sip of Champagne then try the natural. The Champagne works with oysters just like with strawberries. It seems to really enhance the flavor or something.”

  I do as he asks, realizing I could easily drink a lot of the Champagne. It’s so good.

  Then I select an oyster shell and spear the slimy bundle of flesh with the dainty fork. I take a breath and put it in my mouth and chew.

  The texture more than anything is the weird part. Once I get past the texture, the salty flavor isn’t unpleasant.

  “What do you think?”

  “I can see what you mean by them tasting of the sea—men’s semen, I’m not so sure. Not that I’m an expert or anything.”

  He roars with laughter. “Oz, you’re priceless.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, but I’m glad I amuse you.”

  “Honey, you’re so refreshing.” And then I see him stiffen as he realizes he’s opened himself up to more than the moment and the experience we’re in. An awkward silence settles between us for a moment.

  “It’s okay, Rome. I get you’ve been with lots of women. It’s what you do. I’m not going to think any better or worse of you for your choice of lifestyle. That would make me a hypocrite for being here.”

  His eyes turn intense for a moment, and he silently studies me.

  “Right there. That’s the refreshing bit about you. There’s no pretense or games—just straight down the line.”

  I tip my head and offer a little coy smile. “I don’t know any other way Rome.”

  “And don’t change it for anyone. It’s rare and precious.”

  And these words of his are about one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received.

  Chapter 7

  Rome
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  Dinner progresses through a lot more taste sensations, firsts, and laughs for Carlene. I think she’s well on her way to becoming a convertee to Japanese cuisine. She’s also taken a liking to Champagne, and has more than helped me do justice to this fine bottle of wine.

  One thing I’m certain of, Carlene’s a great sport and happy to try things if the opportunity presents itself. I’m coming to realize with her, it’s very much a case of you don’t know, what you don’t know which has limited her experiences, rather than her not being willing to try new things. The more I get to know her, the more it becomes evident about the sort of life she’s lived. She’s been very cut off from many things that most people, and certainly I, take for granted every day.

  We’re walking back to the hotel hand in hand, when she hits me with a question that surprises me, although I am getting accustomed to Carlene’s direct approach.

  “How old are you, Rome?”

  “Thirty-eight. Why?”

  “I was wondering. There’s nothing about you on the Perfect Gentleman website. I guess you’re kind of a mystery. All the other guys had a write-up.”

  Shit, she’s been looking for me? I really try to stay in the moment and keep the focus on the experience rather than the fact this is what I do for a living. Some women find being with an escort exciting, for others, it pulls them out of the moment and more often than not, can be a mood killer.

  “I haven’t been taking clients for about six months, so they removed me from the site.” Almost correct. I removed myself—semantics.

  “How come you haven’t been working?”