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I watch him talk, unable to tear my eyes away. He’s almost unbelievably good-looking, tall, with a lean, strong body, broad shoulders, and a quiet confidence that comes off him in waves.
I’d noticed him the moment he walked into Gino’s Cafe with his self-assured stride and breathtaking face. A face made to break hearts.
He smiles at the cashier, and she spaces out for a few seconds. I know exactly how she feels. He has a mesmerizing smile. It literally made me dizzy every single time he flashed it at me.
What’s he doing wandering alone around Florence? He looks like he should be on a runway, on a movie set, or partying with celebrities on a yacht somewhere.
He comes to join me by the door, his eyes so blue they make me want to dive into them. Thick waves of black hair frame his face, highlighting sculpted planes, sharp angles, and sensual lips I know would feel amazing on my sun-heated skin.
I blow out a steadying breath through my lips. I’ve been in the country all summer, and somehow, I haven’t dated anyone. I haven’t even been close enough to anyone to hold hands, much less do anything intimate. Italy is supposed to be the country of romance, and yet romance has stayed far away from me.
“Tell me you’re not pushing all those Italian-the-Medici-looking hotties away because you’re hoping to get back together with Chase when you come home,” my best friend Marie said the last time we spoke on the phone. “He’s been screwing anything that walks.”
Also, the visual of my ex-boyfriend celebrating our breakup—which happened because I caught him with his dick in someone else’s mouth—by having loads of sex, should have spurred me to find a holiday hook-up at least, but I’ve spent most of my time in museums and galleries instead, immersing myself in art.
It’s not that I don’t want to be with someone. I just want to feel a spark, something intense…an attraction to stop me in my tracks…not just a pretty face and a great body with the possibility of good sex…something more.
And I haven’t felt that.
Until now.
“You ready?”
Tristan’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts. It’s deep and rumbly. Sexy, and oddly comforting. Like a warm duvet on a cold day.
“Yeah.” I wave at Gino, who puts a hand on his heart and makes a sad face. Laughing, I blow him a kiss before following Tristan out into the square.
He looks even better outside with the sun on his face. When he smiles down at me, something flutters in my belly.My eyes skip down his body, over his plain white t-shirt, dark-blue jeans, and a black jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. He’s cute, but I know tons of cute guys, and none of them makes me feel so…so confused, so inexplicably out of my depth.
I squint up at him. “Where did you learn to speak Italian?”
“College roommate,” he replies without hesitation, then his grin widens, showing perfect, white teeth and setting my belly aflutter all over again. “Nick. He’s Italian. He dared me to learn the language in two months and I did, at least enough to win the bet. I’ve been practicing ever since, whenever I get the chance.”
“Two months?” I’m hopeless with languages. Even with the compulsory Italian language module that’s part of my summer program, I still butcher my way through the simplest sentences.
Tristan shrugs his wide shoulders. “It was a dare, and I got a little obsessive about it.”
“A little?” I chuckle, wondering what kind of guy he is. What kind of guy takes a challenge to learn a new language in two months? What kind of guy wins that challenge? “Well, now you can be my interpreter.”
He smiles again.Oh God!“If you like.”
His eyes say he’ll do a whole lot more if I like. Something tightens in my lower belly. “I already planned to go to the Uffizi gallery today,” I tell him, slipping into my role as his guide. “Is there somewhere in particular you want to go?”
He makes a face. “I’ve…been using a system. For every day, I map out an area and make sure to see everything I can within that area.”
What kind of guy…?“Sounds thorough,” I say. “Where have you visited?”
He reels off a list of places and I stare at him, bemused. “Learning Italian is obviously not the only thing you’ve been obsessive about.”
He gives me a strange look, then grins. “You’re right. My method seems unnecessarily single-minded and fixated now that I think about it.”
“Doesn’t look like you need my help to see everything there is to see in Florence. How long have you been here?”
He hesitates. “About a week.”
He looks so endearingly self-conscious that I have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. Somehow, I know even the simplest contact will start something that can very easily spiral out of my control.
So instead of physical contact, I give him an understanding smile. “I don’t know…I think you’d appreciate the city more if you take it slow. Then you can savor and enjoy, you know?”
