Chapter 23
Emma
To say I’m struck dumb by Venice is an understatement.
From the landing of the plane—which was a bit terrifying when you seem to be landing on water—to the crazy taxi rank, boats all bobbing about.
You can see Venice in the distance on approach, the line of boats on their way towards the airport and then heading back to the city.
As I near the city, I can see the buildings. I’m smiling and I can’t stop. It looks like a movie set. Like it can’t be real. But it is. People walk along the fronts, boats pulling in and out. Yet it’s not loud. Even for all the activity.
The boat goes under a bridge and pulls up at a hotel entrance.
I spot Jude straight away. Even in a city with a lot of handsome, dark-haired men, he stands out.
Jeans, shirt, boots. He’s casual, but still elegant.
He looks like an old-fashioned prince. He moves with grace, and greets me, his eyes never leaving me.
It feels…potent. I’m not sure I can deal with all this intensity.
When my hand is in his, I feel a pulse of heat.
I’m dazed, and I can feel the flush start on my skin as my body starts to heat in response.
I think he thinks it’s the buildings. Well, to a certain degree it is.
The rest, though, is all Jude Greystone.
Tall, at six feet. Even with the shirt on, you can see his muscles.
Narrow tapered waist. Hair shorter, beard on point.
He has a serious grooming regimen going on.
It’s a good job Louise dragged me to the spa day.
I’m not in his league on the grooming stakes.
His voice is husky, and to be honest, I can hardly string a sentence together.
I’ve been relieved of my small carryon suitcase by the attentive hotel staff, and we’re headed towards a courtyard bar. My eyes are on stalks, taking in all the gorgeous interiors.
“Do you want to freshen up? Or shall we go out and see a few sights?” He looks down at my trainers. “Good footwear for Venice. You can rack up the steps here.”
He looks at me like he expects me to make a decision, but my brain is scrambled, in part by him.
But also because, in my experience, what I wanted was usually the last thing in the queue.
When on holiday with Nigel, it was what he wanted, no discussion.
I was browbeaten to go along with it, or emotionally blackmailed.
So to be asked what I want… A girl could get used to it. But the words won’t form in my mouth.
“Err….”
“Shall I tell you my thoughts and you can see if you want to go along with them?” I nod my head enthusiastically, but I’m still mute.
He shakes his head with a smile, and I can feel the avidity pouring out of him as he pulls me towards a table in the courtyard, signalling for a drink waiter to come take our order.
“I do like to be in charge.” That is said with maximum smirk.
My stomach drops. I know I might look a bit scared. I need to work on my poker face, not keep showing him how he shocks me.
“I’ve booked an early dinner at a place on the Grand Canal.
It’s a bar and restaurant, so we can stay there as long as we want.
But it gives us time to sightsee. You don’t have to change for it.
Tomorrow there will be more sightseeing, and dinner at my favourite Italian restaurant.
Again just off the Grand Canal, but opposite side of the Rialto Bridge.
Smart casual, no dress code. So we can please ourselves. ”
His smile is so wide, his teeth white and straight, but his eyes are like hot coals. The blue-green flecks seem to shine brighter. What on earth is he thinking about?
“That sounds like heaven. I’m good to go. Do we need to sort out the room?” I’m not too fussed, but just want a bit of a heads-up.
“No, I’ve got a suite, but have booked you the room next door, which can connect, or not. Up to you.”
His voice has gotten deeper, his eyes burning brighter. I want to answer with something cool, or sassy. But my brain is not getting beyond his full lips and square jaw. I’m a weakling, a poor specimen of a woman. His grin widens, as my speech still doesn’t come.
He leans forwards, his scent knocking out the remaining brain cell. Bergamot, sandalwood, and whatever that spicy kick is. It’s playing havoc with my mind and body.
“I fucking hope we’re connecting,” he growls at me. He runs his nose up the side of my neck, blatantly breathing me in. “Fuck, you smell so good. Good enough to eat. Never mind dinner.”
He pulls back slowly, and smirks at my face. My eyes must be twitching. He lifts two fingers to my jaw, pushing gently upwards, and I snap my lips together.
Pulling myself together, I dig deep. Channelling my bravado from the presentation debacle.
“Well, Mr Greystone. Let the negotiations commence.”
He rubs at his beard, as if contemplating that thought. And my god, I want to knock his fingers away and bite at that jaw.
Where the hell did that come from? He’s making me think crazy thoughts. And I haven’t even had a drink yet.
“Negotiations, huh? Well, I’m always up to play games. Let’s see what you’ve got, Lincoln.” He sits back, brushing his hand on my leg as he does.
Oh holy god, what have I just unleashed? I can see the glee in his eyes. The brown is almost burning gold. His smile like a pirate setting out with a map in his hands. A huge X on it, and explicit instructions. His sexometer is running through the gears. And I might need a life jacket.
In the end, I drop off my large bag and collect a small purse to strap onto my body. Everyone’s warnings about being vigilant with your belongings are ringing in my ears. The room is divine. A suite, but with another bedroom for me. No pressure. Only myself.
I feel like I’m building the pressure, not Jude.
As if there are certain expectations on me.
I have to be funny, witty, sexy, sassy… and not boring.
I always felt as if I was in some sort of performance relationship with Nigel.
Where he needed to be entertained, and I was the performing clown. I’m heaping this all on myself now.
Jude, on the other hand, hasn’t batted an eyelash. He’s only interested that I have a good time. Full stop.
We set out into the sunny afternoon, and I’m not sure if it’s Venice, the buildings, the boats, the people…
or Jude. But I feel lighter. Happier. I can’t stop grinning, and I’m smiling like a fool at anything.
Everything. A view down an alley, even if it looks decrepit.
I love it. A gondola ride, from a quieter spot than the main lagoon.
And I am in raptures. Each building more beautiful than the last.
Jude is brushing and holding my hand in and out of the boats.
As we cross the Grand Canal in a gondola ferry, I nearly tip myself overboard.
Jude clutches me, draping his arm around me to keep me in the boat.
The water is choppy, the canal traffic much more frequent.
The bow waves make our little ferry bob crazily on the water.
The fact he has his arm around me, I don’t comment on, and I don’t remove it.
I snuggle in, checking out his broad chest. I know he knows I checked him out, as he smirks at me. And I am beginning to like that smirk.
His attention is solely focused on me, ensuring I have the best time. I don’t have this on my romantic Divine Checklist. But I might add it to just check it off. Being someone’s sole focus is a heady mix.
We do lots of the main sights, and eventually we cross the Rialto Bridge so we can go for drinks and an early dinner.
“Carter Maywood and Kasey Becker caused a stir here when the Venice Film Festival was on,” he tells me as we sit on the dock of the restaurant at the side of the Grand Canal. “Arrived by boat, and sat out in public. It was madness.” He’s shaking his head, but still smiling.
“I can imagine. I wonder what the guests thought when they turned up.” I’m looking around in awe.
It’s a beautiful spot to watch people and also the canal traffic.
The noise of the water lapping at the side of the buildings.
Voices on the breeze. The sun dropping low behind the bridge. I feel like I’m in a fairy tale.
“Carter loved it. You know how he reacted to your knit and natterers. He loves an audience. And Kasey is not far behind him. My sister has to tell them no cameras when they come to her house.” He grins at that.
“I saw that you were out with them in LA. Do you know them well?” I don’t want to sound like a stalker type.
And he is playing it very cool. I’m also thinking about Lindy—the woman Jude was with in London.
I decide to go for it. “Also, Lindy.” I look away as I say her name.
I don’t think I’m getting any points in this game.
He starts to chuckle. “Yes, Lindy as well. She’s with Kasey, have you seen the gossip?” My face again must be telegraphing my thoughts. “Did you think I was with her?”
I nod. “I— I didn’t want to pry. But I assumed you were. I was going to ask you. As regardless of the length of our—” I waft my finger between us.
“Our, what?” He grins, and I can see the laugh in his eyes. What a tosser. Making me define things.
“Well, our game. Our… negotiation.” I sit back and smirk at him. “I wouldn’t want to step on anyone's toes. I’ve had it done to me. And I wouldn’t knowingly want to do it to anyone else.”
He cocks his head on one side. “And you think I would ask you here if I was seeing Lindy?”
And here come the dimples. What the hell? How he can be so good looking and have dimples as well… Life is just not playing fair.
“Well, she was on London radio talking about you. At least, I assume it was you. Her hot London lover. And you did meet her in LA. But I believed you when you said you were visiting your sister.”