Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
And for tonight and hopefully the rest of the week . . . he was mine.
He seemed to know I was there, because he turned in my direction. His smile fell, and a hardened, intense expression replaced it—and that was the look I preferred. His eyes roamed down my body even though he’d taken me against the headboard before he’d showered and gotten ready for dinner.
When I reached the table, he rose to his feet, something I didn’t expect him to do. He bent his neck and gave me a gentle kiss, even though I still must have tasted like him mixed with the cannoli. Eyes still focused on mine, he pulled out the chair for me and waited for me to sit.
It took me a second to shake off the magnetism in his eyes. To break the hold he had on me with just his stare. He could be such a gentleman but in a masculine way rather than a domesticated one.
He returned to the chair across from me, the candlelight highlighting the angles of his face. The sleeves of his collared shirt were pushed to his elbows to expose the chiseled muscles of his forearms, the black ink over beautiful tanned skin.
He grabbed the bottle and wordlessly poured me a glass.
I’d spent the whole day with him, but he looked so absolutely dreamy, it felt like the first time I’d met him. When I was so nervous I thought I’d throw up. When I felt completely unsure of myself, unworthy of his stare and his attention. I grabbed the menu just so I could break the connection between our eyes.
“Why do you do that?”
My eyes flicked back up to his, my heart in my throat like I’d been caught red handed robbing a bank.
He brought his glass to his lips and took a drink.
“Do what?”
“Pull away.”
“I was just looking at the menu.”
A smile moved over his lips, but it wasn’t the kind he’d worn before. It was knowing, sinister, his eyes suddenly turning a little sharp. “All right, sweetheart.” He took another drink of wine but continued to stare at me.
I felt a little weak at the comment, even more uncertain of myself now. I felt like I’d stepped into a poker match with a shit hand.
The waiter approached our table and placed a wooden table beside it. He returned to the kitchen and came back with a large tray piled with fresh fish before he set it beside us. “Our fresh catch of the day, sea bass. We can prepare it Sicilian way, baked with potatoes, tomatoes, vegetables, and oil. Is this something you’re interested in?” He glanced to me, then back to Constantine.
Constantine looked across the table. “Would you like fish tonight, or did you prefer something else?”
I set the menu down. “You’re the tour guide . . .”
I expected him to smile, but he didn’t. He turned back to the waiter. “We’ll split this one.” He selected one of the fish that was presented on the tray. “Sicilian style.”
The waiter nodded before he carried the fish back into the kitchen.
Constantine took another drink of his wine before he returned his glass to the table. “One of the things I like about this place. You get the freshest catch prepared authentically by people who take pride in their cooking.”
“I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” I grabbed the glass he’d poured for me and took a drink. I let the previous tension fade away at the change of subject. I felt grateful for it, because the way he’d looked at me . . . I’d never forget it.
I felt like I’d just met a different version of him. “So, where do you live in Rome?” I didn’t want to invade his privacy too much, but now that we’d spent the last couple days together, I felt like I could ask him.
He answered right away. “The Parioli area.”
“That’s a nice neighborhood.” Which convinced me even more that he was wealthy. Really wealthy. Like significantly richer than a millionaire. I didn’t have a ton of evidence for it except for the watch and the room he rented at the hotel, but his presence implied it.
“What about you?”
“The Prati area.” I was just across the river from the Pantheon and the Trevi Fountain. I could also see the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica through my living room window. Well, my old living room, because I’d be moving out the second this fuck-cation was over.
“Also a nice area. You must do well with your photography.”
“Not really,” I said with a laugh. “I can only afford it because—” I swallowed, realizing the corner I’d just backed myself into. “Because I have a roommate.” Because Enzo made good money working at his hedge fund company. I reached for my wineglass and took a drink, needing the bile of memory to be washed away.