“You have?”
“Do you need some help?”
Help with what? Kissing? Undressing? Unzipping your trousers?
Stop it.
He smirks to himself as if knowing exactly what I was thinking. “Help with the menu.” He gestures to the menu in my hand. “I saw you frowning while reading it.”
“Oh, of course.” I giggle nervously and drain my glass. Idiot. “Yes, that would be great, thank you.”
He sits down opposite me and steeples his hands under his chin. His eyes are assessing me. “Come ti chiami?”
I don’t know what he just said, but fuck, it sounded good. “I don’t speak Italian, I’m sorry.”
“What is your name?” he repeats in English.
“Oh.” I shake my head, flustered. Honestly, this guy needs to go away, I’m embarrassing myself here. “Olivia Reynolds.”
He picks up my hand across the table and slowly kisses the backs of my fingers, leaving me to watch on. “Olivia,” he purrs. “What a beautiful name.”
Oh jeez. “Thank you.”
We stare at each other, and my heart is beating hard in my chest from the feeling of his lips. A trace of a smile crosses his mouth, and he’s clearly amused by my physical reaction to him.
Annoyed with myself, I snatch my hand away and open my menu. Unexpectedly, he does the same.
“What would you like to eat, bella?”
You. I would like to eat you. “What would you suggest?” I ask casually as I pretend to read through the choices. I can’t see a thing. I have double vision from the smell of his aftershave. Why does he smell so good?
He raises his brow at me. “You like meat?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes.”
His eyes drop to my lips, and I feel my insides clench.
Okay…what the actual hell is going on here? This guy is insanely sexual.
“When was your last meal?”
I look up into his stare…what are we talking about here? Food? Sex? It’s been twelve hours since food and twelve months since sex.
I’m basically fucking starving in all areas. “Too long.”
Arousal flares in his eyes, and I know in that very second that we are talking about sex.
He sits back and steeples his hands under his chin again. “You’re beautiful. Where are you from?”
“Australia.”
“Where is your man?”
I frown. “I haven’t met him yet.”
Our eyes lock as tension bounces between us. I’ve never encountered a sexual attraction to someone like this before. You read about it, but it’s never actually happened to me.
I break the silence. “Where is your… other half?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Oh.” I pretend to read the menu once more.
“What are you doing in Rome?” he asks.
“I’m on vacation.”
“Alone?”
“No. My girlfriends are back at the hotel,” I lie. Rule 101: never tell anyone you are travelling alone. See, Mom, I do remember some rules.
“Why are you here alone… in this bar?”
“You’re very nosey.” He frowns as if not understanding the term. “Inquisitive,” I add.
“I don’t understand.”
“You want to know everything.”
He breaks out into a broad beautiful smile. “I do.” He reaches over and picks up a piece of my shoulder length, honey-blonde hair. “So fair,” he says. “Is your hair fair like this everywhere?”
I swallow the lump in my throat as my heart has an epileptic fit.
He smiles as if fascinated and takes my face in his hands. “Blue eyes.”
“The opposite to you,” I breathe.
“Opposites attract.” His eyes drop to my lips again.
Okay, what the actual fuck is going on here?
I pull out of his grip and open the menu in a fluster. “The food,” I remind him.
He sits back, clearly annoyed that I pulled away from him. “I already know what you are eating tonight.”
“You do?”
His eyes hold mine. “And so do you.”
I begin to hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? “What’s that?”
“Pasta.”
“Pasta?” I frown.
“Yes, of course. What did you think I meant?”
I giggle and refill my glass.
“What were you thinking, Olivia?”
“I don’t know. You have me all flustered.”
He frowns. “Flustered?” I can see him trying to translate the word. “Like a chicken? You mean plucked?”
I laugh. “Yes, plucked like a chicken.”
He smiles and holds his glass up to clink it with mine. “I hope to pluck you many more times tonight, Olivia.”
The word play between P and F has never been so high. I smile goofily as we stare at each other, electricity buzzes between us, our glasses touch.
I need to change the subject. “What do you do for work, Enrico?”
“Poliziotto.”
“Huh?”
“Policeman?”
“Ah.” I smile. “Law enforcer.”
“Yes.”
I feel myself relax a little. If he’s a policeman, I’m safe.
A man approaches the table and says something in Italian. Enrico answers him, and then turns to me.
“Olivia, meet my brother Andrea.”
“Hello.” I smile as we shake hands.
“Hello, nice to meet you.” He smiles. He’s slightly younger than Enrico, but with the same gorgeous bloodline: dark hair, olive skin, and big brown eyes. He, too, is deliciously handsome, though in a completely different way to his brother. He seems softer but the family resemblance is strong.
“Andrea is a doctor here in Rome,” Enrico says proudly.
“Oh, wow, that’s amazing.” I begin to feel at ease. He’s a cop and his brother is a doctor. Maybe Enrico isn’t a serial killer after all.
“Thank you. Are you English?” Andrea asks.
“Australian.”
“Ah, I see.” He smiles and turns to his brother. “Are you coming with me, Rico, or are you staying? I have to go now. I have work in the morning.”
Rico. They call him Rico. I like that.
Enrico’s eyes come back to me. “No, I’m going to eat pasta with Olivia, and then show her why I’m the best dancer in all of Italy.”
Andrea rolls his eyes, and I smile into my drink.
Sounds so fun.
“All right then, good luck, Miss Olivia.” Andrea bends to kiss my cheeks. “You will need it. It was nice to meet you.”
“Goodbye, Andrea.”
He disappears, and Enrico turns back to me with a satisfied smile. “What am I feeding you, bella? You need energy for dancing.”
I giggle and open my menu, this is the best night of my life. “Pasta,” I remind him.
“Ah, yes.” His eyes dance with delight. “That’s right. Pasta it is.”
“So, tell me about yourself.” He drops his chin onto his hand as his elbow rests on the table. “What is the Olivia Reynolds story?”
We’ve eaten, drank two bottles of wine, and now we’re sitting in the darkened courtyard, fairy lights are lighting up the space and the music now soft and romantic. I’m feeling very tipsy indeed.
“Well.” I sip my wine. “I’m here on a holiday… I guess to try and find myself.”
“Are you lost?”
“Perhaps.” I smile bashfully across the table at him.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I contemplate his question. “I feel like I’m searching for something, but I don’t know what it is yet. I’m here to try and figure that out.”
He gives me a slow sexy smile. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe you’re looking for an Enrico Ferrara?”
“Oh yes, that’s the logical answer, how many of you are there?” I giggle.
“Just one.” He smiles. “One is enough.”
“How long have you lived in Rome?”
“About ten years. I moved here when I joined the police force. Where do you live in Australia?”
“Sydney. Have you ever been?”
“No, it’s on my list, though. I don’t travel far.”
“Really, why not? I love to travel.”
“I prefer Italy. I travel around Europe regularly, but Australia is a long way from here. How long does it take to travel there by plane?”
“Twenty-one hours.”
“Twenty-one hours,” he scoffs. “On a plane? You must be crazy, woman.”
I giggle at his horror. “We’re used to it. Australia is on the opposite side of the world from everywhere. If we want to travel, it’s a twenty-four-hour plane trip to most places. That, combined with the terrible jetlag from time zones, it turns a lot of people off.”
He frowns and sips his drink. “Do you work at home?”
“Yes, I’m a fashion designer.”
He smiles, as if surprised. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What do you design?”
I shrug, embarrassed. “Well, I’m designing pyjamas at the moment for Kmart.”
“Kmart?” He frowns.
“It’s a department store.”
“What pyjamas would you put me in?” he asks. I watch his tongue dart out as he sips his drink, and my sex clenches in appreciation.
“I don’t think pyjamas would do you justice. I imagine your birthday suit is enough.”
His eyes have a tender glow to them as he watches me, and my heart constricts in my chest. He really is a beautiful man.
Embarrassed by my forwardness, I change the subject. “But it’s only temporary. I would love to work in fashion one day. That’s the ultimate dream.”
“Who’s your favorite designer?”
“Umm, let’s see.” I narrow my eyes. “Valentino or Dolce and Gabbana.”
“And you’ve applied to both of those houses?”
“Yes. Nothing back from them yet, though.”
“One day,” he replies.
I smile. “One day.”
“Finish your drink, bella. I’m taking you dancing.”
“Bella?” I frown. God, he doesn’t even remember my name.
He takes my hand over the table and lifts it to his mouth. “Bella means beautiful.”
He kisses my fingertips. “And you really are very beautiful, Olivia. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”
Oh, I like him.
“To be honest, I’m having a hard time staying on my side of the table. I want us to dance so I can have you in my arms,” he says softly.
Nerves dance in my stomach. “Then take me dancing, Mr. Ferrara,” I whisper.
He smiles darkly, tips his head back, and he drains his glass. “Let’s go.”