5. Chapter 5 #2
His expression falters, and I could swear there’s a bit of uncertainty behind his eyes now. This guy has been nothing but cool and collected from the moment he first asked if I was okay on the plane, and nervousness was the last thing I would have expected from someone like him.
Putting some distance between us again, he drops his gaze to the stones at our feet. “I can back off,” he says, his tone so much softer than what I’ve heard before now. “If I was reading something that wasn’t there, then—”
“No!” Ah geez, do I have to sound so desperate? Taking a deep breath, I try to force my anxiety down to a manageable level. “I just… It’s been a long time since anyone flirted with me.”
He frowns. “What about that ex of yours?”
“We were together for six years. Flirting wasn’t really a necessity by the end.”
Chuckling, he looks down at my phone, still in his hand, and scans some of the texts again. “Flirting is always a necessity. Maybe you should follow your sister’s advice and let yourself notice someone new.”
Boy, have I noticed Benson. Though threads of attraction have been weaving their way through me since my first look at this guy, there are too many reasons why I shouldn’t indulge them. “I’m not…”
Man, there was once a time when I didn’t hesitate to say anything that was on my mind, but right now I’m terrified to speak the truth even though I get the sense Benson is an honesty kind of guy. He certainly didn’t hesitate to tell me about his interest.
Benson nudges my arm with his own. “You’re not what, Avery?”
I shrug. “I’m not a week-long fling in Italy kind of girl.”
“But you used to be.”
My eyes fly wide. “What? How do you know that?”
Laughing, he pulls up the camera on my phone and flips it to selfie mode. “Call it a hunch. What do you say we play with your sister a bit?”
I’m not sure I like the sound of that, but I’m too curious to argue. “How?”
He lifts the phone to take a picture of himself, which is genius. But then, too quickly for me to realize what he’s doing, he tucks an arm around my waist and pulls me close, and then his lips are on my jaw.
What is happening?
The kiss lingers more than I expect it to, and I can’t breathe or move or react in any way as I close my eyes and let my mind jump from one sensation to another. The feel of his hand on my ribcage. The smell of his cologne. The slight rasp of his scruff. The warmth of his mouth.
He might stay there for minutes or maybe it’s seconds, but it isn’t long enough.
Slipping his hand free and stepping back, he keeps his focus on whatever he’s doing on my phone as if kissing someone’s jaw is an everyday occurrence for him.
Maybe it is. Benson’s still a stranger, and he might be the biggest player on the planet for all I know.
He seems genuine, but maybe that’s how charmers like him come across to everyone they flirt with.
Benson chuckles at something on my phone, and I lean in to see Dani’s response. Multiple responses.
Dani:
Yes!!!!!!!!
Mason pointed out that your boy-toy missed.
Also, where’s the gelato?
“Missed?” I ask in bewilderment. Benson did not miss. I still feel a spot of fire where his lips caressed my skin. “You didn’t—oh.” The realization hits me hard, and I drop my face into my hands. “She’s the worst. I’m so sorry.”
“I thought about it.”
My hands slip, and I stare at him. “What?”
He shrugs. “I missed your mouth on purpose, but I almost didn’t.”
“Gah.”
Laughing, he tucks my phone into his pocket and asks, “Where are you off to now?”
We’re going to move on from the whole kissing comment like it’s nothing? Okay. “Are you stealing my phone?”
“Temporarily. What’s your plan for the day?”
It certainly wasn’t to flirt with the swooniest man I’ve ever seen.
I need to take control of this situation before Benson overwhelms my prefrontal cortex.
The logical brain was not built to withstand a man like him.
“Um. I was going to take a tour of the Uffizi Gallery, and I don’t want to be late for my booking, so I’d like my phone back. ”
He looks at me for a long moment, though I have no idea what he sees.
This interaction, every bewildering second of it, is the first time we’ve been face to face without distractions, and there’s something in the way he studies me right now that leaves me feeling exposed.
But it’s not a bad feeling, which is terrifying in and of itself.
The more good feelings I have about this guy, the more likely I’ll get myself into trouble.
“Who’s your favorite painter?” Benson asks, folding his arms.
I tilt my head. “Is this a quiz?”
“Sure. Name one of your top artists.”
If I could think of any, I would, but I will be missing out on this chance to impress the hot man.
Though, it doesn’t seem like I need to do that.
He has already admitted he’s interested, which is hard for me to swallow.
This guy is sexiness incarnate, and I’m an uptight publisher who owns too many pairs of slacks and forgot how to go through life without a plan.
“Honestly,” I say with a shrug, “I don’t know anything about art.
I’m more of a literature and architecture kind of gal. ”
“That’s what I thought. Come on.” He holds out his hand.
I stare at it, trying to understand what in the world is happening right now.
This man came out of nowhere, took a picture of us kissing—well, he did the kissing—stole my phone, and now he’s looking at me with the kind of look you don’t see except in movies and novels where the dashing hero grabs the innocent heroine and tells her to go with him if she wants to live.
Chuckling, Benson shifts closer, his hand still at the ready. “Relax, Avery. I’m just offering to help you live life in a different way from what you’re used to. A little spontaneity won’t hurt you.”
“But what if it does?” I can’t stop myself from asking. The more important question: what if letting go leaves me worse off than when I started? I can’t remember when I started living with caution, but it has served me pretty well for a while.
Hasn’t it?
“Whatever turned you scared,” Benson says, his voice low, “it didn’t follow you here to Italy. You have a week to be free and let the real Avery have her time in the sun.” He quirks his lips up in that irresistible smile of his. “Don’t waste it.”
How is a girl supposed to argue against that?