Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
“Ahh.” I pick up my drink and take a big gulp. “No, actually.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and raspy. It does things to my insides.
He holds out his hand for me to take. “My name is Enrico Ferrara.”
I place my hand into his. Its big, warm, and holy hell, is this happening?
Enrico sounds so exotic.
“I’ve been watching you from the bar,” he says with a heavy accent.
“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.