Page 43

But then again, Alexander wasn’t just anything.

He stood and pulled a chair out for me. I gave him a quick once over. He was killer as usual, in khaki pants and a charcoal gray poplin button-down.

“Good evening, Krystina.”

“Mr. Stone,” I greeted politely, discreetly wiping my damp palms on my skirt.

I tried to sit down gracefully and make myself comfortable in the offered chair, but it was hard to feel relaxed under his watchful eyes.

“I take it you’ve met Matteo already,” Alexander said, reclaiming his seat across from me.

“Yes. He was at the door when I arrived,” I said and gave Matteo a nod of thanks.

“Krystina,” Matteo said and bowed before me, taking me by surprise. He took hold of my hand, placed a feathery kiss on the backside of it, and murmured something in what I recognized as Italian. Then he looked back up at Alexander, his expression coy, and said, “I think we have finally found a name for my place!”

Alexander smirked at him and shook his head.

“It appears you have yourself a fan club, Krystina,” he said dryly.

Matteo let out a boisterous laugh and released my hand.

“No worries, no worries! It was only an observation,” he assured. “Now, mi scusi. I must go see to your antipasti,” Matteo declared with a loud clap of his hands, then hurried from the room.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his overly flamboyant performance, despite the fact I was totally confused by their interaction.

“What did he say?” I asked Alexander, curious about what Matteo had said in his native tongue that had Alexander looking so thoroughly annoyed.

“That you are a beautiful lady,” he answered, his eyes softening as he regarded me. “You really are lovely, Krystina.”

His voice was tender, all of the irritation with Matteo diminished.

I wasn’t so sure ‘beautiful’ was a word I would use to describe myself, and I felt a red glow begin to blossom on my cheeks.

“I love that you blush so easily. It’s refreshing.”

I’m glad you’re into the whole red in the face thing—I despise it!

Rather than give a voice to my embarrassment, I chose to cast my gaze down toward my lap and focus my attention on the soft melody playing overhead. I used the guitar’s wide acoustic range as a distraction from my reddened face. I found the music to be calming yet seductive at the same time.

I peered at Alexander through lowered lashes only to find he was still watching me. His stare was doing nothing to cool the mortifying flames refusing to leave my cheeks.

“This music is lovely,” I finally said, attempting to break his unnerving stare.

“I thought it might appeal to you. It’s a guitar compilation by Tadeusz Machalski.”

“I never heard of him.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would have. I stumbled upon him playing in the streets of Venice a few years back. I listened to him play for hours before I finally bought one of his CDs.”

“Venice, Italy?”

“The one and only,” he confirmed with a smile.

“Wow, I’m jealous. I’ve always wanted to go to Italy,” I said.

“Maybe I’ll take you one day.”

He said it casually while assessing me with those irresistible sapphire blues. His ability to constantly take me by surprise was astounding, and I struggled not to look like a gaping fish while I digested his words.