Spiraling Deception (19 page)

“
You do realize I was
speaking to someone on the other end of that call, Charlotte,” he
admonished sternly. An adorable frown masked his handsome
face.

I grinned, wide and unrepentant. “Yes, I
know.”

His frown deepened and he still did not take
the proffered cone.

I waited a beat and then sighed loudly.
“You’re missing out on all the fun. We’re in Verona, Roman, and
this gelato is the best I’ve ever tasted. Come on, you’ve got to at
least try it.” I held the cone up closer to him.

“
There will always be
work, but for God’s sakes, Roman, we’re standing at this very
moment in Verona, Italy!”

I waved the hand that still held my cone in
the air for further emphasis. Gelato melted down the sides of my
wrists. “A city that’s so inspiringly beautiful even Shakespeare
wrote timeless love stories about its beauty…and, well, it’s a
crime against history not to savor every single second of it. Now
take your damn ice cream and enjoy it.” I finished my mini-tirade
on an almost shout.

His frown cleared as his lips twitched and
he took the cone from my outstretched hand. “A crime against
history, huh?” he said, bemused. His free arm drew me into the side
of his warm body.

As we walked along the cobbled alleyway, he
added, “By the way, I’ll be needing my phone back at some point
today.”

“
Of course.” I smiled to
myself.

We spent the next few hours strolling the
old town center, arm in arm, with Seth inconspicuously behind us at
a distance. It was nice to see Roman fully relax and even nicer
that we could just be ourselves and enjoy each other’s company. His
quick wit and keen intelligence was captivating. Not only was Roman
the most stunningly handsome man I’d ever met, but also he had a
dry sense of humor that I found hilarious and his acute sense of
intuition fascinated me.

Knowing in my head that this was nothing
more than a holiday fling as we continued to stroll hand in hand
along the narrowed cobblestone streets of Verona, I couldn’t help
but wonder what it would feel like to be something…more. My mind
instantly rejected the idea; blaring warning bells rang in my head,
cautioning me of a dangerous no-go zone. Erroneous thoughts like
that could get me into a great deal of trouble, along with actually
falling for the charismatic Roman Knight.

Besides, the man had
secrets—secrets that piqued my infinite curiosity, and included
being shadowed by personal security everywhere he went. Not to
mention, Roman had
player
written all over him. I was definitely not
looking to get my heart broken any time soon—or ever, for that
matter. So for now and the foreseeable future, my emotions would
remain safely locked inside the vault of my heart.

Sensing my quiet, withdrawn mood, Roman
squeezed my shoulders. “You okay, Princess?”

I took a calming breath and shook my head in
an attempt to dispel my thoughts. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Verona was renowned for its amazing gnocchi,
so after I shared this little tidbit with Roman, he promptly
directed us to a small but busy little restaurant that advertised
with unabashed pride on several brightly painted billboards that
they served the best gnocchi in all of Verona. After he garnered us
a small table for two that faced the heart of the old town square,
we sat and enjoyed a crisp glass of white wine while we waited for
our meal to be served.

The meal, as expected, was
mouth-wateringly good and after our meal, the waiter insisted we
try the local beer. Even though I wasn’t a big fan of beers in
general, the local brew called
Rossa di
Verona
had a unique taste, which was
surprisingly good and refreshing.

After lunch, we toured the partial ruins of
the Roman Theatre that dated back to 1 AD, situated next to the
River Adige and according to the pamphlet we were handed upon
entry, to this day was still in use, with seating that rose sixty
meters above the stage. Our last stop was to the fabled house of
Juliet, where a bronzed statue of her likeness sat perched below
the famous balcony.

“
Legend has it, that if a
person strokes their hand three times over the right breast of
Juliet’s statue, they will have good fortune and luck in love,” I
told Roman, eager to join the other tourists who hopped up onto the
ledge of the statue to rub its right breast.

“
Is that so?” Roman
smirked in amusement.

“
Yes. Here.” I held out my
phone to him. “Can you take a picture of me?”

“
While you’re copping a
feel?”

“
Yes, while I’m fondling
her breasts. Now shut up and take my damn phone.”

Dutifully, Roman snapped several photos as I
smiled brightly and groped the right breast of Juliet’s bronze
statue.

“
So you really believe
copping a feel will bring you good fortune and love?” His tone was
incredulous as he handed me back my phone.

“
Yes,” I deadpanned. “Now
it’s your turn.”

“
Oh no. Fuck no! Fortune
is something I already possess in abundance. As for love—well,
that’s a fool’s game and I’m no fucking fool.”

The vehemence in his voice made my step
falter and my gaze swung to him. “You don’t see yourself falling in
love someday? Sharing your life with somebody?”

“
No. Not really. I prefer
more casual arrangements.”

I studied his face—his usual impassive
mask.

“
But you do date? You have
had girlfriends?”

He frowned. “Of course I
date and yes, Charlotte, I’ve had my fair share of
girlfriends,
as you put
it.”

I nodded absently and bit my lip to stem the
sudden spike of jealousy I felt at the thought of Roman with other
women. Of course, I was being totally irrational; the man was
thirty-two. He’d probably been in many relationships before and
with his extremely talented and extensive bedroom skill-set, I
highly doubted he spent very many of those thirty-two years
celibate. And there was the fact that Roman and I were not in a
relationship—we were only lovers. This was a holiday fling, so why
should I care about any of his prior relationships?

God, Charli—get your freaking act together
here, girl!

Suddenly, a disconcerting thought crossed my
mind and I instantly had to know the answer. “You don’t have a
girlfriend now, do you? One waiting for you back in New York, I
mean?”

“
No. I don’t do long-term
relationships, Charlotte.” He grabbed my elbow and walked us from
the fabled courtyard. “It’s time we headed back to Venice.” His
tone was stiff and made it absolutely clear that he didn’t wish to
discuss the topic further.

“
But surely you’ve been in
love before?” I hedged, not willing to be dismissed so soon. The
relationship comment I would ask about later but first, I wanted to
know why he had reacted so strongly to my words. Roman’s lack of
forthcoming information about himself was maddening. The man was
locked up, tighter than Fort Knox.

He stopped abruptly and turned to face me;
his too handsome face was still the perfect mask of damn stoicism.
“I guess everyone’s thought they’ve been in love at one point in
their lives.”

He sighed with what appeared to be
resignation. “But eventually we grow up and see the world as it
really is.”

Whoa…

“
But that’s not what I
asked. I asked if you’ve been in love before.” I stared at him, not
knowing why his answer was so important to me but I was like a
freaking dog with a bone; for some reason, I needed to
know.

He held my stare; a muscle ticked
rhythmically along his jaw. Several seconds passed between us
before his features smoothed. A small smile tilted the ends of his
full lips. “I know. And I’m not going to answer you, Charli.” With
that, he grabbed my hand in his, turned and began to walk again,
dragging me along with him. “I’ll also have my phone back now,” he
said wryly. I huffed in frustration.

The man was arrogant, bossy, egotistical,
and guarded. He demanded to know all of my history without giving
anything away about himself. It was both infuriating and
exasperating; however, I’d never been so intrigued in my life.

What’s that old saying: Curiosity killed the
cat?

Well…meow, meow.

Our last night in Italy, which also happened
to be our final night together, got off to a rather somber start.
Roman disappeared the moment we arrived back at the yacht, so I
took a shower and packed up my belongings in preparation for the
morning’s early flight. We hadn’t spoken much on the car ride back
to Venice, both of us seemingly lost in our own thoughts, yet the
tender way Roman held me in the backseat of the car made me
feel…strangely content. With his arms wrapped firmly around my
waist, my back flush against the solid wall of his chest, he softly
traced continuous patterns with his fingertips along the length of
my arms, bending every so often to place a kiss on the top of my
head. Although previously ambivalent to constant displays of
affection, I liked how he held me, how he found little ways to
touch me frequently. As I thought back over the last couple of
days, I realized Roman had often grabbed my hand, placed a kiss on
my head, smoothed my hair from my face and I’d liked how those
small ministrations made me feel. I was fast becoming addicted to
Roman’s demonstrative affections. The thought was a disconcerting
one and so was the fact that I appeared to becoming a cuddler
too.

Around seven, I decided to seek out the
missing Mr. Knight and found him out on the stern, leaned forward,
both hands clasp around the rails, as he stared out into the calm
waters of the lagoon. It was a reflective pose and I momentarily
hesitated, not wanting to intrude.

“
Hey,” I said softly as I
came up behind him and wrapped my arms loosely around his
waist.

Roman immediately turned his head and smiled
at me. “Hey.”

“
You looked deep in
thought.”

Ignoring my comment, he shifted around and
drew me into his embrace. With my cheek on his chest, I sighed and
absorbed the warmth of his body.

“
Hungry?” He placed a
tender kiss on the top of my head.

“
Surprisingly, yes. Even
though I ate more than enough gnocchi today to feed a small army.
That gnocchi was by far the best I’ve tasted.”

He chuckled. “Well, lucky for you, the crew
has prepared dinner for us. Although no gnocchi, I’m afraid.”

“
Thank goodness for that.
I’m all gnocchi’d out, and we should probably stop saying the word
gnocchi—it’s beginning to sound weird.”

He laughed and tightened his arms around me.
The sound of his carefree laughter made my heart constrict.

I inhaled his scent through the fabric of
his clothes and sighed. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I slipped into a
carb-induced coma on the drive back this afternoon.”

Thankfully, our meal was
not pasta; it was steak, cooked to perfection, and served with a
medley of freshly made salads and deliciously home-baked bread
smothered in garlic and drizzled with olive oil. The red wine Roman
selected was beyond superb, based on the evidence of the four
glasses I consumed on my own. Needless to say, I was well into
tipsy land by the time we finished eating, so when Roman suggested
an
early night
with a suggestive twinkle in his eye, I was more than a
little excited at the proposal.

“
Oh. My. God!” I screamed
unashamedly, my voice hoarse from the effort. This past week, I had
learned a great deal about myself, including the fact that,
apparently, I was a screamer between the sheets.

With toe-curling madness,
Roman drove into my sweat-misted body and with every powerful surge
of his hips, mine eagerly rose to meet him. The result caused such
indefinable pleasure; I thought I’d literally lose my mind. Sex had
never been this good—not that I had a wealth of experience before
Roman, but still…he was beyond incredible. In fact,
incredible
wasn’t the
right word—mind-blowingly brilliant would be a more accurate
description. I was on my back, in the large sprawling bed of our
cabin, my legs wrapped tightly around Roman’s waist and both his
hands were firmly entwined with mine high above my head.

“
Look at me, Princess,” he
demanded, momentarily halting his momentum.

What?

“
What? Don’t stop!” I
pleaded and writhed beneath him in frustration. “Oh my God, Roman,
I’m almost there.”

“
Look at me, Charlotte!”
he barked sharply. The whip of his tone instantly cooled my
passion. I tried to focus my eyes on him and when I managed to, I
inhaled sharply at the molten, unbridled heat that flashed in the
depths of his midnight-blue eyes—their color almost black from the
intensity in them.

“
Look at me when I fuck
you, baby,” he commanded hoarsely against my lips.

I couldn’t think; I couldn’t process—all I
could do was watch, transfixed and spellbound, as he resumed
thrusting his hips, slow and measured at first, and then harder,
faster, fiercer—claiming every inch of my body as he boldly
possessed my soul within his gaze.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK!

Something was clearly happening between us
in that moment. Something I didn’t understand, but knew
instinctively within the very heart of my being was both
frightening and all-consuming simultaneously. It was raw, primal,
and significantly potent—an indescribable desire connected us
together on a far deeper level than just a physical realm.