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“How old are you, Tia?” he asks, his eyes scrutinizing me perceptively.
It’s a fair question after mine, but that doesn’t make me any less mortified to tell him. “E-Eighteen,” I lie. I mean, I will be soon enough, but I don’t want to sound any more childish than I’ve already managed in this conversation.
Leo’s hazel gaze holds mine with a steady silence that seems to slice through my untruth with the ease of a hot knife through butter. Still, he doesn’t challenge me. “And you snuck out of your father’s house to come to this party looking for an adventure?”
Biting my lip as my nerves get the better of me, I nod. I’ve made such a fool of myself. I must look like a child to him. I am a child to him, with not just a seven-year age gap but a world of experience that stands between us. But his crooked smile that follows wipes the thought away.
“Well, then, the least I can do is show you around,” he offers, leaning close to place a hand on the small of my back once more.
His proximity sends my body into an unexpected frenzy as my breath catches in my throat. I detect the hint of sandalwood, vanilla, and amber cologne in the air around him. The scent quickens my heartbeat, and I can’t help but take in the sight of him once more as a heady dose of attraction pounds through my veins. Leo Moretti is nothing like the demon I had envisioned. He’s just… hot.
“Where do we start?” I ask breathily, trying to regain my composure.
“How about the library? People come from all over to see it.”
“That sounds… wonderful.” In truth, that’s where I feel most at home. After so many hours immersed in the books that provide my only source of escape, I’m confident a library will put me at ease.
Once again, the party guests move fluidly out of our way, like the Red Sea parting as Leo escorts me down the elegant hallways. He stops before two oversized double doors and slowly swings one open, gesturing that I should enter first.
I stop short as soon as I step inside the two-story library filled with rich cherry-wood shelves that hold leather-bound tomes. The sight of all that knowledge packed into one vast room takes my breath away.
“You like books,” Leo observes as we linger in the quiet room that no one else has ventured into.
I nod. “It never ceases to amaze me that something so small can take you all over the world—even to worlds you couldn’t find in a million years—with just a few slips of parchment and a well of ink. What’s not to love?”
When he doesn’t respond right away, I glance up at Leo and find he’s standing closer than I had expected. My heart skips a beat as he studies me, his devastatingly handsome face close enough to touch, and I find myself trapped inside his intelligent green-gray eyes.
“What?” I breathe, unsure of why he’s looking at me that way. All I know is I like it.
“I wouldn’t have figured you for a poet, Signorina Guerra.”
Heat pools in my cheeks at the flattering statement, and I glance around to distract myself before I say something embarrassing. “Do you have a favorite book?” I ask, following a row of hardcovers with curling gold print embossed along their spines.
My fingers trace lightly across them as I note their geographical categorization.
“It’s been some time since I’ve read a book for pleasure,” Leo admits, following beside me with smooth, long strides. “But Treasure Island was always my favorite growing up.”
I glance sharply up at him, studying his proud features. “Really?”
The hint of a smile tugs at his lips as Leo stops and turns to me. “Again, you doubt me? It’s a wonder you braved my home at all if you’re so confident I would lie.”
“No, it’s not—sorry, I’m just surprised because Robert Louis Stevenson is my favorite author. I’ve probably read Treasure Island fifty times.”
“A brilliant book about adventure. ‘Hang the treasure! It’s the glory of the sea that has turned my head,’” he quotes, his eyes dancing. “Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me that you like it.”
Is it entirely wrong that I find his ability to quote Stevenson on a whim entirely too appealing?
The energy shifts between us, that electric tension transforming into something more like a magnetic pull as Leo’s posture softens. The conversation takes a more personal turn as we stroll around the empty room, talking about the characters that inspire us and the books that hold a special place on our hearts’ shelves.
As Leo’s tour carries us back out into the hall, our conversation continues. I find myself surprisingly relaxed, my composure reclaimed as our discussion shifts from literature to history, geography, and culture. Things I’ve cultivated knowledge about through my top-tier education and thirst for information, while he’s learned much firsthand.
“I’ve heard great things about the Guerra daughters. It’s an honor to finally meet you and discover for myself that the rumors are true.”
My stomach flip-flops dangerously. “What rumors?”
“That you’re as intelligent and charming as you are beautiful,” Leo says.
The statement is casual, as though he’s completely oblivious to what his words might be doing to my body. But hearing a gorgeous, older man like Leo call me beautiful does strange things to my insides. I can’t quite tell if my heart is in my throat or if that’s the butterflies trying to escape my tummy.
