Chapter Two
Ella
My heart hammers in my chest and my insides quiver.
Did I really just run into the path of an oncoming car?
Holy shit.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome still has his hands on my hips, his touch searing even through my clothes. Heat floods me, lighting up every nerve.
His gaze is locked on the SUV as it speeds away, disappearing into the distance. Then, slowly, his attention shifts to me, and I realize I’m sprawled across him.
We’re way too close.
I roll off and push up on one elbow.
Whoa, my head spins.
“Are… are you okay?” The words stumble out.
He sits up, his suit jacket torn at the shoulder. A vein ticks in his neck.
People are staring, but no one dares approach us. Well, except for two large men in suits sprinting toward us, their faces tight with fury. But the man beside me doesn’t flinch. I guess we’re not in danger.
Then his head turns to me, and our eyes meet.
Boom.
The world vanishes.
Everything inside me tilts and rights itself in the same breath.
My heart stops and misses a few beats.
Warm, hazel-brown eyes hold me captive. They’re intense and oddly familiar. He stares as if he sees something in me no one else ever has. There’s recognition, and the unsettling sense that I’ve always belonged to him.
It’s ridiculous.
If I weren’t living it, I’d roll my eyes at the cliché. But it’s happening. Right now. To me.
There’s only him and me.
Trapped by the gravity of his stare, I can’t move. Can’t think.
Heat crawls into my cheeks. I drop my gaze, breaking the spell he so effortlessly pulled me under.
Air floods back into my lungs. Reality rushes in alongside the oxygen, and the world sharpens into focus.
What the hell was that?
I brush a strand of hair behind my ear, keeping my eyes anywhere but on him. But I feel his stare, and my body is humming like it hasn’t gotten the memo to calm down.
A guy built like a tank crouches beside him, murmuring into an earpiece, eyes scanning the street.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome waves him off, then stands and offers me his hand.
I take it. The second our fingers touch, a jolt shoots through me.
Seriously?
I thought that whole “electricity at first touch” thing was just something writers made up.
Apparently not.
And just to prove the point, my entire body erupts with goosebumps.
Cue my internal eye roll.
The gorgeous stranger helps me up gently. My legs are like jelly, barely holding me.
He towers over me, and I realize I’d have to tilt my head to look at him. Yeah, not happening. Those eyes are too intense.
So is this closeness. I pull back my hand, but his warmth lingers, and my skin still tingles.
I’ve never reacted like this to anyone.
But then again, I’ve never met a man who radiates this much masculinity and raw power.
It has to be the adrenaline. That would explain everything.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome places a hand on my lower back and guides me into the nearby café. Without a word, we slip into a private room.
Wait. Are we allowed in here? Does he own this place? He doesn’t exactly scream café proprietor.
He still hasn’t said a word. Maybe he doesn’t speak English. It’s hard to imagine, though. He seems too polished not to.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice sounding far away to my ears. “Your shoulder…”
“I’m fine,” he replies evenly.
How is he so calm?
And oh, he does speak English. Thank God.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, eyes scanning me. “Your hands are shaking.”
“I’m… a little freaked out.” I give a breathless laugh. “Actually, a lot freaked out.”
He turns to Suit Guy, who followed us in, and speaks rapid Italian. Not for the first time on this trip, I wish I’d stuck with the class Rhia and I had signed up for. But she’d learned enough for both of us.
Suit Guy leaves, and the room shrinks around me.
Shit, I’m alone with a stranger who exudes control like it’s built into his bones.
My pulse jumps.
Something deep inside me wants to bolt. But I can’t seem to move.
It’s like the air has been vacuumed from my lungs, leaving me lightheaded and flustered.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome draws in a slow breath. He stays near the door, his eyes sweeping slowly down the length of my body, taking me in from head to toe.
Oh. My. God.
My cheeks flush.
Jeez, it’s hot in here. I glance around for a window, desperate for air.
Then he moves toward me.
Each step steals a little more of my breath.
He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it aside. Muscles ripple under his shirt.
Oh. Wow.
I drop my gaze, afraid of being caught staring, and it lands lower than intended. I nearly do a double-take. Dear God. Is he…?
Too much blood rushes through me at once.
He pulls out a chair. “Have a seat.”
I comply without hesitation. My legs are too wobbly to do anything else. For one horrifying second, I’m eye-level with his crotch.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
He crouches in front of me, his broad chest rising and falling with each breath. His aftershave hits my senses. Dark. Woodsy. Male.
God, he smells incredible.
I want to nuzzle into his neck and breathe him in. My body leans forward on autopilot, but I catch myself just in time.
“Come ti chiami?” he asks, breaking the silence. “What’s your name?”
“Ella,” I manage, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Ella Rose O’Neil.”
Why did I give him my full name? This isn’t a job interview.
He pauses. Something like surprise registers in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can put a finger on it.
Then he smiles. “It’s a pleasure, Ella Rose O’Neil. I am Gualtiero Leandro De Marco.”
I repeat his name silently, letting the sound roll through my head. It’s strong. Powerful. Like it belongs to someone who commands rooms without trying.
Yep, it fits him.
I’ll have to look up the meaning later, when my heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of my chest.
We stare at each other for a long moment. It could be seconds or minutes. I really can’t tell.
He lifts a hand and cups my cheek, surprising me. His fingers trail across my skin in the lightest of touches.
I forget how to breathe.
What is he doing?
This is too intimate. But I don’t stop him.
A knock at the door pulls him away. He drops his hand and stands.
I exhale, dazed, and glance at the exit longingly.
I need to get out of here. Now. I’m in way over my head with this man.
“Avanti,” Gualtiero calls out, his gaze still fixed on me.
Suit Guy returns, carrying a tray with a bottle of water and a shot glass of something amber. He puts it down on the table beside me and stations himself by the door.
“Leave us,” Gualtiero says curtly, and he complies immediately.
What did I just think about commanding a room?
“Drink this,” Gualtiero says, though it sounds more like an order.
“What is it?” I ask, eyeing the contents of the glass suspiciously.
“Puni.” At my raised eyebrow, he explains. “Italian malt whiskey.”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m not a big drinker.” Particularly not hard liquor. The last time I had whiskey was in Scotland, and that didn’t end well.
But Gualtiero doesn’t take no for an answer and pushes it toward me.
“Trust me. It’ll help.”
Reluctantly, I take the shot glass, our fingers brushing again.
Great. More goosebumps.
I toss the whiskey back. It burns all the way down.
I cough, pulling a face as if I had bitten into a lemon.
“That was awful.”
He chuckles. Oh my, he looks… boyish. And ridiculously handsome.
He uncaps the bottle of water and hands it to me. I don’t hesitate, gulping it down to wash away the burning sensation in my mouth.
Watching me closely, Gualtiero turns serious again.
“You saved my life.” There’s genuine gratitude in his voice.
Have I mentioned his voice yet? Seriously, it should come with a warning label.
It’s rich, deep, and velvety, laced with a faint Italian accent. I melt just listening to the few words he’s spoken.
Imagine him reading me a bedtime story. Now that’s a delicious thought. I wouldn’t fall asleep though. Quite the opposite.
The deep timbre alone could wake my girly parts from a coma. No, scratch that. They’re already awake and very much alive. My damp panties are proof.
“Any decent person would’ve done the same,” I reply, trying hard to ignore the heat building between my legs.
He studies me for a long while, his expression hard to read.
“Let me take you to dinner. As a thank you.”
Run, run, run… a tiny voice in my head screams.
He takes my hand and brushes his thumb slowly over the back. I’m hypersensitive to every movement of his fingers. Each stroke scrambles my thoughts into useless static.
My core clenches, and the simmer under my skin turns liquid.
Jeez, stop touching me.
“Honestly, it’s not necessary, Gualtiero,” I manage, though my voice is more breathy than firm.
It’s the first time I’ve said his name out loud. It feels strangely familiar, and he senses it too. His eyes spark the moment it rolls off my tongue.
“I insist.” His tone leaves no room for argument. I get the impression he always gets what he wants.
His gaze simmers with undeniable heat, and everything inside me screams get out now.
Gualtiero watches me expectantly, but no words come.
He’s too close, his stare too intense. I’m sweating.
Rattled, I let my gaze fall to the floor. But all I see are his shiny black dress shoes. Maybe I could count the specks of dust on them to distract myself.
“Ella.” My name falls from his lips like silk sliding over bare skin.
He waits until I lift my eyes.
“Ella, have dinner with me,” he repeats softly.
Yet in the recesses of my mind, alarm bells keep ringing.
Why?