Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“Congratulations. That’s exciting.” I’d thought maybe he just came along to keep his brother company, but evidently not.
Fiero hasn’t said anything about Dr. Bestia, and Matteo’s never mentioned him either, so I don’t ask. Maybe they don’t get along. “Have you been working at your art for long?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Artists are born artists. I do not remember a time when I was not making art.”
That certainty of purpose fascinates me. It took me forever to decide on a major, and even now I’m not sure what I want to do with my life, outside of my hope for a husband and kids.
The waiter returns with a bottle of red wine, which he pours for both of us. Looking into my eyes, Fiero clinks his glass against mine. “All'amore a prima vista.”
My mind takes a couple of seconds to translate his words, so I’m mid-sip when the meaning registers. To love at first sight. I tip the glass higher, taking a longer swig of the wine, willing it to work quickly as my nerves flare.
Italian men have a reputation as passionate lovers, but I’d assumed that too was just a rumor, especially after my interactions – or lack thereof – with Professor Bestia. Maybe I misunderstood the meaning of his toast, but Fiero’s eyes convey his intentions loud and clear.
Of course, it’s not love, but he definitely wants to seduce me.
The food arrives, bringing with it an array of delicious aromas, and I realize I am hungry, even as my heart pounds and my stomach flutters. The dish the waiter sets in front of me features a stack layered with tomato sauce and cheese; it looks similar to lasagna, but somehow different.
I take a bite and am unable to contain the Mmmmmm that results. “This is delicious. What is it?”
“Melanzane alla parmigiana. How do you say melanzane?” He asks the question of himself as he searches his memory for the English word; he’s not expecting an answer from me.
“Eggplant.”
His brows lift, and his eyes sparkle with interest. “You speak Italian?”
“Un poco, a little.” I decide that underestimating my language skills will be best, because I don’t want to display my lack of real fluency in a conversation I don’t fully understand. I’m already in over my head in other ways.
Part of me is surprised my nerves haven’t led me to flee. I can imagine myself running all the way home, intimidated by this gorgeous man. Another part of me is surprised I haven’t jumped across the table, tackled him, and had my way with him.
Fiero’s eating spaghetti with clams. He holds eye contact as he brings the shells to his mouth and drinks the buttery broth from within. When he licks his lips, my nipples go hard, despite the fact that I feel like I’m running a fever of about three hundred degrees.
Somehow, I continue to eat and, between his sexy bites of food, Fiero continues to refill my wine glass. As a result, I’m a little tipsy by the time we finish, though the feeling could also be caused by the intense pool of lust flooding my body.
When the bill comes, I bring out my bank card, but Fiero won’t hear of it. “Never let a beautiful woman pay.”
I blush at the compliment, but can’t let the implication pass. “Only a plain one?”
“All women are beautiful.” He says it as a self-evident truth, like water being wet or the sun rising in the east. Then he takes my hand in his and rubs his rough thumb over my skin. “You, especially.”
My blush deepens as we leave the restaurant and amble back the way we came.
I’m not paying any attention to where we’re going, instead enjoying the crisp, cold air, the icy blue sky, the colorful displays in storefront windows, and, of course, the intoxicating presence of the man next to me, who’s tucked me back under his arm like I belong there.
When we come to a stop outside a small house on one of the avenues, I know what’s going to happen even before Fiero turns to me. “Will you come inside?”
For a moment, I consider being sensible. Despite my wholly unsuccessful dating life, I do try to keep my future in mind, and I usually only get intimate with men who show potential as husband material – which is why I’ve had so few lovers.
Fiero, an artist whose home is halfway around the world, is not exactly a candidate for a long-term commitment. He does, however, show a hell of a lot of potential for one very pleasurable night.
I deserve a night of fun. One wild evening to enjoy myself without any thought of future plans. One night with a man who, so far, doesn’t seem like the jerks I usually meet.
And not that I want to use Fiero, or consider him a substitute of any kind … but maybe being with him will put an end to all of my hopeless fantasies about Professor Bestia.