“I’m nervous,” he said again. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
I froze.
Three years in this line of work, and nothing should have surprised me––buthedid.
That wasn’t what I expected.
I blinked a few times, then swallowed the jittery nerves that had climbed into my throat. Rain tapped softly against the glass, and I turned toward it. A cool draft whispered through the windowpane, brushing my skin. I took a too-large sip of my drink, emptying it, then set the glass on a nearby table.
Fat and rhythmic drops began to fall, pounding against the window as though the storm sensed my unease. The sound filled the space between us like white noise, softening the edges of the jazz drifting in from the other room.
“You don’t look nervous,” I said, trying the best I could to disguise the shake in my voice.
“Well, that’s good to hear.” He shifted on his feet to face me, “Because I’m scared shitless.”
I hid my smile, “Why’s that?”
“Doesn’t matter—” He reached into his breast pocket. “We need to get back to the party before anyone notices we’re gone.”
I blinked, my brows pulling together. “You’re the one who pulled me out here. Isn’t there something?—”
“Shhh…”
His finger pressed lightly to my lips, but before I could react, his other hand slipped something into my palm.
“Put these in your bag,” he murmured, his voice so close I could feel it against my skin.
He was inches from me—so close I could smell the spice of his cologne, feel the heat radiating off him. Some part of me—the foolish, reckless part—wanted to lean into that space between us. The smarter part wanted to take a step back and demand to know what thehellwas going on.
I didn’t do either.
I looked down instead. Finding a neat stack of business cards in my hand. “Vivienne Blackwood?” I whispered. “Who’s that?”
“You,” he answered softly.
“I don’t under?—”
Footsteps echoed from around the corner, and then he did something I wasn’t ready for. With a single touch, he tipped my chin up, guiding my face to his until the tip of my nose brushed the edge of his.
My breath caught. The world tilted.
It felt like the moment before a kiss… a collision.
His voice was barely audible, shaped against the air between us. “We’ve been dating for nine months,” he whispered. “We met in a bar in Florence, where you were sketching something in a notebook.”
“I don’t sketch,” I whispered.
The corners of his lips curving into an adorable smile. “It was raining out, and I came in for a drink. I saw you, and I couldn’t look away. You had this—” he exhaled, and the faint smell of his intoxicating breath floated down to me. “This glow about you…” he continued.
The couple exited the hall, then slowly, almost reluctantly, he stepped away from me again.
“You played hard to get,” he added after a pause. “But you accepted my drink.”
I glanced at him sideways, finding this story oddly familiar.
“I asked you if you wanted me to leave. You told me it was a free bar, and I could do what I wish.”
I couldn’t stop it, laughter burst out of me.
