that tonight, though, I’ll be the one who’s conquered. I’m five foot three. Tall, well-built men are my weakness.
The strapping, dark-haired, Duke of Midnight across the room looks like he might be up for the job. I say a quick prayer that I didn’t misread things in the elevator this morning and that I’m not about to make a fool of myself and start toward him. As I weave my way across the moderately populated dance floor, I lose sight of him once or twice. But when I step off the other side off the dance floor, my view of him is completely unobstructed. When his eyes swing in my direction, they land on me right away. His eyes sweep up my body, his head’s angle marking their current position. My feet, my legs, my hips, stomach, my breasts, and on my face.
I feel a shot of confidence that propels me forward. I’ve never done anything like this before. But when I saw him this afternoon, I thought, mine.
Despite my little blip of doubt, I’m excited about the possibility of having a night with him. That’s all I really want.
Since we’ve been in Castigniocello, I’ve felt different—freer, happier. It’s the most beautiful place my admittedly limited travels have ever taken me. The sea’s perpetual whispers and roars lend an air of magic to the cove of neighboring villas we’re staying at this weekend. As soon as we stepped off the dreary shuttle that brought us the forty miles from the airport in Pisa, I knew this would be a trip I’d never forget. Until now, I thought it would be because of the spectacular views, the clean, fragrant air, and being with Cass. Yet, as I approach Mr. Tall Dark and Glorious, I know that this is going to be the experience that defines this trip. Lord knows, I was in desperate need of something glorious and unforgettable right now.
When I’m two tables away, his eyes come into focus. Like my mama would say, Lawd ha’mercy. While I’d been gawking at his body, the shadows in the hallway had been hiding the real treasure. They’re a heart stopping disc of pure hazel ringed in what could be a mossy green or nutty brown … the light doesn’t allow me to see clearly. They’re fringed by a thick tangle of lashes and burning with intelligence and ... wariness.
He stands up just before I reach him.
His tall, broad frame is a little leaner up close. “Hello,” he says and takes my hand. He presses a kiss to it and offers me a seat by pulling the one next to him out.
Holy Father. If this is how they make men in Europe, then I was born in the wrong place. Because this man is straight out of one of those fairy tales that I never believed in because I never saw a girl like me in one of them.
“Thank you,” I say demurely, the flutter in my stomach turning to a vibration as I plant myself in the offered chair.
“You’re welcome,” he says noncommittally and then just watches me. That trace of wariness grows as he observes me.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” I ask.
“I don’t dance,” he says shortly.
“Oh. Okay,” I say with a grimace of shame when he doesn’t speak. I feel a surge of mortification when I realize that I have, in fact, been too presumptuous.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say. I wish I could snap my fingers and make myself disappear. “I thought … maybe when we saw each other earlier on the elevator … that you seemed interested. I’m sorry. I’ll just ...” I start to stand up and pray I can run in these stupid shoes that I spent too much money on. I want to cry. I scrape my chair back and he grabs my wrist.
“No, don’t go. I’m glad you came.” His voice is deep and smooth like the molasses in my grandmother’s gingerbread cookies. And he’s American, too.
Thank you, God, I mouth down to my lap before I look up and smile.
“My mouth is good for a lot of things … small talk just isn’t one of them,” he says, gaze smoldering and yet so relaxed. I’m so startled by the innuendo that a bubble of laughter escapes me. I cover my mouth with my hand. He reaches over to stroke the back of my hand and then circles my wrist. He tugs my hand away from my mouth. “Your smile is beautiful.”
“Oh,