had amused her. The knowledge was heady, intoxicating. He didn’t need anything to drink, not when he was in her presence. ‘What are you doing in Rome?’
‘I’m travelling for the summer, before I start college back in Illinois.’ She wrinkled her nose again, her smile wry. ‘I’ve always wanted to see the world, something people back home don’t really understand.’
‘No?’
‘No, in fact I think most people back home think I’m crazy.’ She adopted a stronger version of her own American twang. ‘What do you want to go travelling around the world for, Gracie? It’s dangerous out there!’ She threw her head back so her hair, in all of its curls and waves, cascaded down her back in a golden-brown waterfall. ‘Yep. That’s me. Certifiable for wanting to see a little bit of the world.’
‘I do not think you are the crazy one.’
‘That makes two of us, then.’ She grinned. ‘So what are you doing in Rome?’
‘Business with my grandfather. I am afraid it is most dull.’ He did not want to talk about himself. ‘So where are you from in America?’
‘Addison Heights. I don’t even know why it’s called Heights,’ she added with another laugh. ‘There aren’t any. It’s as flat as a pancake. Wishful thinking, I suppose.’
‘You’re different from your friends,’ Malik surmised. It was an obvious statement; she was different from everyone. He’d never met someone who shone with such life. He wanted to stand next to her simply to absorb her excitement, her interest.
But no, he wanted more than that. He wanted to touch her silky skin, kiss those petal-pink lips. The realisation shocked him. Sexual desire had been something that had been necessarily shelved for most of his life; now, at twenty-two years old, he felt its overwhelming force.
‘Hey, Gracie.’ A young man in a wrinkled polo shirt with a pair of beer bottles clutched in one meaty hand shouldered his way towards them. Malik tensed, resenting the intrusion. He was gratified to see that Gracie looked as if she resented it as well, her lips pursing, eyes flashing.
The man gave Malik a wary sideways glance before attempting to edge him out, half standing in front of him, as he handed a beer to Gracie. ‘Got your drink.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and took the bottle but not a sip.
Malik shifted his weight so his shoulder brushed the other man’s. The man flinched. At six-three, Malik topped the guy by a good five inches and was heavier and more muscular by several stone. He’d never had to use his size except in training situations, but he discovered he had no compunction about using it now. And neither did Gracie; her eyes glinted again with humour and she smiled, a smile that felt as if it was aimed for him alone, secretive and promising.
‘Actually,’ she told the man sweating next to Malik, ‘I’m not thirsty any more.’ She handed him the beer bottle as her gaze swerved to fasten on Malik’s. ‘What I’d really like is some fresh air.’
‘As would I,’ Malik returned smoothly. He held out his hand to Gracie, and she slid hers across his palm, causing a tingling, tightening sensation in his midsection.
‘Let’s go, then,’ Gracie said, her eyes sparkling, and Malik led her out of the crowded room.
* * *
What was she doing?
Gracie’s insides felt as if they were full of leaping, wriggling fish as she followed Malik outside the townhouse in Rome’s Trevi district. The June air was warm and balmy, the night full of sounds of city life: the distant buzz of a moped, the clink of glasses and laughter from a nearby café. They stood outside the townhouse, the air caressing their skin like velvet, the mood expectant and alive.
Malik turned to face her, still holding her hand. In the night she could only just make out his eyes, the colour of granite, the proud slashes of his cheekbones. He was the most physically arresting man she’d ever seen. From the second he’d walked through the door, she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him. He was tall, commanding, his broad shoulders and muscled torso encased in a crisp white button-down shirt, his long, powerful legs in charcoal-grey trousers. Next to the motley assembly of college grads and twenty-somethings decked out in dirty jeans and T-shirts, he looked magnificent. Regal. And he’d singled her out for his attention.
A thrill rippled through her. It wasn’t like her to be so forward, so bold. She was Gracie Jones from Addison Heights, Illinois, population three thousand. She’d never had a boyfriend, had gone through high school without even being kissed. She hadn’t minded; she’d always been waiting for something better, for life to really begin.
Was this it?
‘Where do you want to go?’ Malik asked. His voice was a low growl that reverberated right through her.
‘I don’t know. I only arrived in Rome yesterday. I’m as newbie as they get.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Do you recommend anywhere?’
His faint smile felt like a promise. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the city, either. I only arrived yesterday, as well.’
‘We’re both of us newbies, then.’ Although newbie didn’t seem the right word to describe this man. Powerful, assured, experienced were more apt. He was miles above her in every regard.
‘How did you end up at that party?’ Malik asked.
Gracie wrinkled her nose in a grimace. ‘I met that guy with the beers while I was sightseeing. He invited me along, and I thought I might as well go.’ She’d been both excited and nervous about diving into a strange and sudden social life, but this was better by far. ‘How about we go to a café?’ she suggested. ‘Get a proper drink?’
His eyes glinted with humour. ‘I thought you weren’t thirsty.’
‘I’m not,’ she agreed blithely. ‘But we need to go somewhere, don’t we?’ His gaze held hers and she felt a new heat bloom in her belly at the undisguised desire she saw there. Suddenly she was imagining all sorts of places they could go. All sorts of things they could do...
Which was ridiculous, considering the limits of her experience. And she barely knew this man. She wasn’t going to be that stupid, not on her first day in Europe. And yet Gracie couldn’t deny the attraction was there, amazingly on both sides, sparking between them. What would they do with it?
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Malik murmured. His fingers tightened on hers and he drew her down the pavement, towards a café near the Trevi Fountain, the Palazzo Poli providing a magnificent backdrop.
The pavement café was buzzing with people, but after Malik had a murmured word with the maître d’, they were led to a private table tucked in the back with an unobstructed view of the fountain.
Gracie sat down, revelling in the moment, from the fountain lit up from underneath the water, its surface shimmering with lights, to the magnificent palazzo to the even more magnificent man sitting across from her, his silvery-grey gaze fastened on her. She felt as if she had champagne bubbling through her veins, as if every nerve ending was tingling with anticipation.
What was it about this man that made her so excited, so eager? Admittedly he was far more handsome than anyone else she’d so much as said hello to,
