I could have melted right then and there.
Then he poured the contents of the mixing bowl into the skillet. It was egg. Next, he sprinkled in some small bits of meat and veggies, followed by some shredded cheese. I’d been in Italy long enough to recognize a frittata. My heart seemed to expand to fill my whole torso. I could hardly breathe. Except I forced myself to inhale, the dish smelled so good.
Liam heard the sound, glancing over his shoulder at me. He flashed a smile that made me want to take him right back to bed. “Hey, sleepy. Give me just one second...”
He finished getting all the ingredients in before fiddling with the fancy digital settings on the range.
When he turned around I saw how his housecoat had fallen open slightly, exposing a sexy V of flesh that definitely left me hungry in a way that frittata didn’t. He held out his hand and I took it. He pulled me close, me putting my hands on that bared skin of his, feeling his strong chest with one hand while my other palm went down to run over the washboard of his abdominals.
“Hey, yourself,” I said.
He looked at me wearing his bed sheet. “You know, I think that look went out of style in these parts about 1500 years ago.”
“Really? I thought it suited me,” I breathed. I couldn’t help myself, he looked simply too delicious to ignore. I kissed the cleft of his chin, loving the tickle of his stubble against my lips. He put one finger beneath my chin and then lifted my face so that he could look into my eyes. Behind him, the egg started sizzling in the skillet.
“Everything suits you,” he said, and then he kissed me.
“He sounds like a good kisser,” Isabella said, licking her lips again. I could see the slight flush to her swarthy complexion and I knew just where her imagination took her.
“Shh! No more interruptions or I won’t finish,” I scolded her. She made the motion of zippering her lips together and then tossing the imaginary key over her shoulder.
I continued with my recollection.
“Maybe this is more in style?” I said. I let my sheet-toga slip from my shoulders and pool around my feet. My skin pebbled with gooseflesh at the touch of the air for a moment before I pressed myself against him, my bare chest touching that naked V slash.
He groaned deep in his throat, pulling me hard against him. His hands slid down my sides, cupping my ass. Sitting there at the bistro with Isabella, my cheeks still felt a little sore from how hard he squeezed them.
“Now this look is always in style,” he said.
“So you did it right there, in the kitchen?” Isabella said, forgetting how she’d zippered her lips moments before. When she realized, she clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening again in an expression that begged for forgiveness, begged me to not stop my story.
I smiled, “No, actually. We didn’t.”
She shook her head, forgetting herself again. “What? Why not?” Then she leaned forward conspiratorially, making sure that aged Giancarlo the waiter couldn’t hear, “Was there... a problem? Some men, they have problems...”
“What? No. Not at all,” I said. In fact, from my recollection of the way his body pressed against mine, he didn’t have any problems in that department at all.
It was the frittata he’d been preparing for me. Our kissing and groping grew more intense, and he must have shifted back against the range and bumped up the temperature setting.
One moment I thought he’d be taking me right there on the counter. The next the egg started smoking and spitting in the skillet. Liam used his body to block any of the hot, semi-solid batter from scalding me while he picked the skillet up by the handle and doused the scorched contents in the sink. A cloud rose up, steaming the tile backsplash.
After that we both laughed. He ordered room service for us.
“I’ll never look at burning egg the same way again,” I said, smiling. After that, he offered me a ride in that rental Bimmer of his anywhere in the city. I had him take me to the campus.
“And that is all?” Isabella said.
“Yep. I wish I’d gotten his phone number or his email or something.”
Isabella reached across the table and grabbed my hands. “You know what hotel he is staying at. Go and see him again!”
That sounded good, but the idea stirred at the pool of anxiety low in my stomach. “There’s that... But what if he thinks it’s just a onetime thing? What if I go to his room and knock on the door and when he opens it and sees me he gives me some look that’s asking why I’m there?”
I didn’t think I could bear a look like that. Not from him. Part of me just wanted to leave the whole experience as one of my only truly happy memories of Rome. At least if I did that there was no chance I could ruin it by making what should have been a one night thing something that it wasn’t.
“Why? Do you think he is married, or that he has a girlfriend? That maybe if you show up you’ll catch him with her?” Isabella teased.
“He’s not married. He wasn’t wearing a ring.” I knew because I’d been very careful to check.
“Then what is the problem? Go to him! If you don’t, perhaps I will. I have been looking for a good kisser...”
I jerked my hands back out of hers and she laughed. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Isabella started speaking again, but the tolling of a bell at a church down on the corner cut her off. My mind counted the chimes and when I realized the significance of the number my throat tightened.
“I’ve got class!” I said, scrambling up out of my chair, grabbing at my messenger bag with all my notebooks and papers in it.
“Go to him!” Isabella said, reaching out for me.
I smiled at her even as I started weaving my way between the bistro tables. I’d gotten so wrapped up in the story that I’d stayed too long. Now I was going to be late for Dr. Aretino’s class.
My stomach began tying itself in knots. Suddenly my latte wasn’t sitting so well. Just thinking about the look
“I’ll think about it!” I shot back at her, “It’s the best I can do!”
***
By the time I made it to the lecture hall my shirt clung to the small of my back from the sweat. I took a moment to compose myself outside the double doors, whisking errant strands of hair back behind my ears, trying to calm the throbbing of my heart.
Steeling myself, I pulled one of the doors open. This particular class had 30 students in it, barely enough to fill a quarter of the hall’s amphitheater-styled seating. I made my way down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.
A few of my fellow students glanced back at me when the door shut, sending a hollow boom down past me that made me flinch.
Dr. Aretino used a laser pointer to circle a bit of detail on an enlarged section of a painting I didn’t immediately recognize. I could feel his eyes on me as I slid into a seat just off the stairs.
It was my first class with him since the fundraiser. Rather, since he’d watched Liam guide me off the dance floor and out of the building. Was that reproach I felt in his eyes?