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Certainly not her. She didn’t do anything unexpected or impetuous. She lived a quiet life, working at the café, her closest friend its owner, an eighty-year-old man who treated her like a granddaughter. Her life was small and safe, which was how she wanted it. And yet from the moment Rafael’s hand had touched hers she’d been lost, or perhaps found. She felt as she’d been wired into a circuit board she’d had no idea existed, nerves and sensations springing to life, making her entire body tingle.
She felt, and after the numbness she’d encased herself in that was both good and painful, a necessary jolt, waking her up, reminding her she was alive and someone, someone was looking at her with warmth and even desire, wanting her to be there. The knowledge was intoxicating, overwhelming.
Rafael was still holding her hand, his warm, amber eyes on hers, his smile as slow and sensual as a river of honey trickling through her.
It was dangerous, letting herself be looked at like that. Dangerous and far too easy to float down that river, see where its seductive current took her. They were here to listen to music, but Allegra wasn’t so naïve and inexperienced not to realise what that meant. Why Rafael had really asked her up here.
Nervous and unsettled by her spiralling thoughts, Allegra tugged her hand from Rafael’s and walked around the suite, taking in all the luxurious details, soaring ceilings and marble floors, ornate woodwork and silk and satin cushions on the many sofas scattered around the large living area.
‘This place really is incredible,’ she said. Her voice sounded high and thin. ‘What a view.’ Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a spectacular view of the city on three sides. ‘Is that the Coloseum?’ She pointed blindly, and then felt Rafael come to stand behind her, his body so close she could feel his heat. If she stepped backwards so much as an inch she’d be touching him, burned by him. She wanted it, and yet she was afraid. This was entirely new, and new meant unfamiliar. Strange. Dangerous.
Except...what, really, did she need to be afraid of? Rafael couldn’t hurt her, not in the way she’d been hurt before, soul deep, heart shattered. She wouldn’t let him. She was nervous, yes, because this was strange and new, but she didn’t have to be afraid. She took a deep breath, the realisation calming her. She could be in control of this situation.
‘Yes, it’s the Coliseum.’ His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, and a slight shudder went through her, which she knew he felt. Daring now to prolong the moment, to up the ante, she leaned back so she was resting lightly against him. The feel of his chest, hard and warm, against her back was a comforting, solid weight, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. Making her want to stay there.
Rafael’s hands tightened on her shoulders and they stood there for a moment, her back against his chest so they could feel each other’s heartbeats. Allegra closed her eyes, savouring the moment, the connection. Because that’s what she wanted, what she needed now...to feel connected to someone. To feel alive.
So much of her life had been lived alone, since she was too shy to make friends at school, too confused and hurt to reach out to her mother, too wounded and wary to seek love from the handful of dates she’d had over the years. But this...one single, blazing connection, to remind her she was alive and worth knowing...and then to walk away, unhurt, still safe.
‘Shall we have champagne?’ Rafael’s voice was soft, melodious, and Allegra nodded. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she wanted to celebrate. Wanted to feel this was something worth celebrating.
‘That sounds lovely.’
He moved away and she turned, wishing she could get hold of her galloping emotions, her racing pulse. Feeling this alive was both exquisite and painful. What was it about this man that made her want to take a step closer, instead of away? That made her want to risk after all this time?
The pop of a cork echoed through the room, making Allegra start. Rafael poured two glasses, careless of the bubbles that foamed onto the floor. ‘Cin-cin,’ he murmured, a lazy look in his eyes, and he handed her a glass.
‘Cin-cin,’ Allegra returned. She hadn’t spoken the informal Italian toast since she was twelve years old, and the memory was bitter-sweet. New Year’s Eve at her family home, an estate in Abruzzi, snow-capped mountains ringing the property. Her father had given her her first taste of champagne, the crisp bubbles tart and surprising on her tongue. The sense of happiness, like a bubble inside her, at being with her family, safe, secure, loved.
