Page 8 of Betrothed
And I certainly didn’t have time for anything more, even if I wanted to end the dry spell era. Maybe living vicariously through her was the best it could get.
That’s why I was traipsing through the airport in search of the Plaza Premium where I would make good on my one day all-expenses-paid pass with a glass or bottle of very expensive wine. Hopefully, they served lobster or at least caviar along with a delicious wheel of brie. If the cost was transferred to my brother-in-law’s expense account, all the better.
He could certainly afford it.
Evidently, the enjoyment of whirlwind romances ran in the family since my sister had known Enzo for all of six weeks before he’d popped the question.
Maybe I should take comfort in the fact I was saving lives on a regular basis.
The slightly smug look I knew I was wearing lingered with me as I headed to a directory. I was still exhausted from staying out way too late the night before. But as I’d been reminded at least ten times, it was the last night of my vacation. Yes, I’d had heavy duty maid of honor duties, but I couldn’t lie that I’d done so in the lap of luxury.
By the pool while being served drinks. By handsome Italian men with buff, bronzed bodies.
In the upscale designer boutique where my sister had insisted on buying me a few stylish pieces to augment my wardrobe. Which was a juicy treat given I had a closet and dresser full of scrubs. Although they were in every color of the rainbow.
Or around a fabulous table out and about in the gorgeous Italian town where we’d feasted, indulged in wine, and danced for hours.
No, this girl shouldn’t complain.
And I wouldn’t, had it not been for the simple fact that while I could now speak some decent Italian, my reading comprehension was lacking. “Damn it.” While several other people clamored around the directory, I refused to give up my spot, leaning in even closer to try to decipher the location of the lounge.
Obtaining my bearings was made more difficult by the splitting headache I’d awakened with, the pain lingering long after my dose of Tylenol. With frustration increasing, I let out an elongated hiss. There were two things I couldn’t stand inmy life. Disorganization was the biggest and most captivating. Everything had its place in my world.
The second and clearly the most annoying was being unable to know exactly where I was going. That was intolerable.
“Posso fornire assistenza?”
The question came from just behind me, the man and his deep, commanding baritone so close I could almost feel his hot breath dancing across the back of my neck. Startled by the invasion of private space, I spun around and the inertia tossed me forward.
With a wry smile on his face, the stranger caught me with both hands, his grip on my arms firm, controlled. Much like the man standing only inches away. I sensed he was a control freak by the way he was dressed. His crisp white shirt and pressed trousers fit perfectly, tailored in such a way to highlight hours spent in the gym. Since he wore no confining tie, the shirt was open at the collar, several buttons unfastened, and I was rewarded with a breathtaking glance of his muscular chest.
His hair was the perfect shade of dirty blond most women would love to achieve but had never gotten quite right by any hairdresser. And certainly not from a storebought bottle. Slightly tousled as if wind driven and curled at the ends. He offered a sexy, powerful aura that was distinctive without being overbearing.
Yet with his sleeves rolled up exposing a series of tattoos on both forearms and a massive military-style watch on his wrist, there was an addition of danger that was wildly attractive.
So much so I blinked in response to his question.
He seemed amused that I’d yet to answer the simple question.
“Can I provide assistance?” He repeated the question in English, a little slower and a little more deliberate as if I was shellshocked.
No, just exhausted. At least that’s what I would tell myself. “I’m sorry.” I took a decided step away, but he seemed reluctant to remove his fingers. There was no denying a strong attraction between us, a spark that was rarely if ever experienced. When he finally curled his long fingers, he took a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs.
I mimicked his actions and in doing so, his intoxicating scent blindsided me. The aroma was like a dark ocean carrying the heavy weight of an incoming tide, with hints of charred cedar and worn leather mixing with a dash of exotic spices.
“I’m sorry. I was looking for the location of the Plaza Premium.” There was no reason for me to shudder my words except until this trip, first class anything hadn’t been on my radar for a very long time.
As his eyes bore into mine from continued amusement and a look that was entirely unsettling, I was momentarily lost in the emerald depths of his gaze. Heat rose excessively across my neck, threatening to embarrass me more than I’d been by almost bumping into him.
“Then please allow me. I happen to be headed in that direction myself.” The deep, rich tone of his voice was seductive, the accent catching me off guard. All week long I’d been engaged with men flouting their Italian twang. But this man’s tone held a deep resonance, heavy and almost guttural.
I could only imagine what his voice would sound like when speaking words of passion. Blinking, I shoved away thenonsense, offering a smile. “You don’t need to do that. You can simply point me in the right direction.”
He cocked his head as if no one had ever dared defy an invitation. “Nonsense. I’m looking forward to enjoying a drink before my flight. Perhaps the lady would like to join me.”
This was the perfect opportunity to be polite but forceful, allowing the stranger to understand very clearly that I had boundaries. There was one reason why I didn’t. I found the man beautiful to look at. Why not enjoy a drink with a handsome stranger who had a sinful accent? What could come of it other than a few enjoyable fantasies?
“Hmmm… I don’t know if I should,” I answered, more to see how he’d react.
