Even though I had registered the scent, I was not prepared for a hand to reach out. I screamed and then automatically turned to swat at whoever had grabbed me, but my hand stilled. “Ah,” I breathed out, trying to catch my breath. “It is you.”
Casanova’s eyes took me in as if I was the air he needed to breathe. His stare was so intense, I turned my face away from his, feeling my cheeks heat.
“Sistine.”
When he called my name with an Italian accent, almost like “Sistina,” his voice full of gravel, it was as if my eyes obeyed without my mind ordering them to.
Our eyes held, and his seemed to hold so much to say, but he seemed to be having a hard time expressing whatever it was he felt he needed to say. In the end, he said, “You are so beautiful, my Annie. Heartbreakingly beautiful. There’s so much more I could say, but I’m saving the truth for another time. Another place.”
I tried to find the words to answer him, but I ended up probably looking like a fish out of water—gasping. I finally closed my mouth on a snap and said, “You look beautiful, as well, Casanova.”
Lame. Lame.Sfigato.
It was all I could find to say. He had hypnotized me with his scent, his tux, and the look in his eyes. The absolute truth in his voice. Also, perhaps if I complimented him, he would not do the auction.
He lifted my hand, placed a warm kiss on my knuckles, and kept my hand in his as we walked to the waiting cars. It was apparent the compliment scheme had not worked.
What did this man want? My blood?
This was exactly what he wanted, and I sighed, turning my mind in another direction. I did not want to melt into a puddle at his feet from the inner heat inside of me at the thought of us…being together. His hands doing more than holding mine…
His hands.
I had realized time and time again how much bigger than me he was, but when his hand engulfed mine…I felt so…feminine.
To my surprise, he opened the door to a decked-out Cadillac, helping me in. He was driving me. Everyone else was driving in separate cars.
On the ride, my mind still lingered in the direction of his body. Mostly how it would feel to have him engulf me in the bedroom. His powerful body over mine, working mine to a stateof ecstasy that erased the world and only kept the two of us in the sketch.
He cleared his throat. “Your hair.”
He drove so smoothly…
Dannazione.I had to force my mouth closed, check for drool, and, again, force my eyes away from him. I had been staring. His eyes were still on the road.
“My hair?” I whispered. “The flowers?
“The color.”
I did not even take into consideration he would notice. “It is a small change.” I waved my hand.
“Could be minuscule, a fucking scratch that wasn’t there the second before, I notice everything when it comes to you, ah?”
I refused to bite. His tone was possessive, and I did not want to go down that route with him. “This is, ah, you could say, my natural color.”
“Don’t ever change it,” he said. “It does things to your eyes.”
“Such as?”
He was quiet for so long, I thought he was not going to answer. He cleared his throat. “Makes them more vivid. Don’t ever change it.”
Even if I wanted to, I would not. The way he said those words,don’t ever change it, it was as if he was telling me if I changed who I was, he could not live. It all felt very melodramatic, but the truth of it still hit me square in the chest. He was successful at this. Making me feel as if my bones were designed for him. Anything more or less would not fit him.
It was a compliment that made me breathless. “Grazie,” I whispered.
Hiseyes, the peridot color glowing from the car lights coming toward us, cut to mine, then his hands squeezed the wheel, the veins swollen and highlighted by the lights as well. He gave a slow nod.
The tension in the car almost felt as if a storm was upon us. I reached forward to turn on the radio to break it up, then let out a mini scream.
