he just smiled.
‘Don’t apologise!’ he said softly, and she felt heat flood through her. Good grief, what on earth was happening to her? It was only a leg, and yet since the first touch of his knee against hers in the café this morning, every fleeting contact had been enough to send her heart into hyperdrive.
All day she’d been trying to forget it, but he’d made it impossible, constantly brushing into her, touching her—nothing in the least bit questionable, but it had kept her senses simmering all day, and then he’d offered her his arm and wrapped his scarf around her neck, still warm and heavy with the very male scent of his body, enclosing her in his essence, and the small amount of common sense she’d talked into herself had been wiped out in an instant. And now the heat of that solid, well-muscled leg against hers was setting it on fire and burning away the last fragments of reason.
‘Relax, bella,’ he murmured, his teasing eyes dancing. ‘I won’t eat you.’
Shame, she thought, and shut her eyes briefly at the images that leapt into her mind. Good heavens, this wasn’t like her! She’d never felt like this, never reacted so violently, so completely to a man’s touch.
But it wasn’t just his touch, it was his presence, too. She’d felt him at the café before she’d seen him, felt his eyes through the window stroking over her like little fingers of fire. And now, every time he looked at her, there was something there, something hot and dangerous and unbelievably tempting. And she was totally out of her depth. It had been so long since she’d dated anyone she’d forgotten how to do it, and a bit of her wanted to stop the clock and breathe for a few minutes, just to settle everything down again and remind herself why she didn’t do this.
But the clock didn’t stop, and Alfredo was coming back, weaving between the tables, a bottle of Prosecco in one hand, two menus in the other, and he filled their glasses with a flourish. Luca lifted his and smiled at her. ‘Welcome to Firenze, Isabelle.’
‘Thank you.’ She clinked her glass against his and sipped, the bubbles tickling the back of her throat as she met those hot, dark eyes. ‘And thank you for bringing it to life for me. It was fabulous. Much more fun than trailing round alone.’
‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, his eyes locked on hers.
Oh, help. ‘So—what should we eat?’ she asked lightly, trying to break the tension, but it lingered for another second.
‘The special’s always good,’ he said after a slight pause, and she dragged her mind back into order.
‘Let’s go for that, then,’ she agreed, and tried to concentrate on the food, but she could hardly taste it. She was too conscious of the pressure of his leg against hers, the warmth in his eyes, the soft sound of his laughter wrapping round her and making her ache because it was so nearly over.
And then at last it came to an end; they’d finished their food, dragged their coffee out indefinitely, and their conversation had finally run dry. The day was officially done.
He set his napkin on the table and smiled wryly. ‘Shall we make a move?’ he suggested, and she felt a surge of regret.
He held out his hand to her, and after the tiniest hesitation, Isabelle put hers in it and stood up, desperately trying to ignore the sensation that raced up her arm. Her leg was still burning from the heat of his body, and when he’d stood up and moved away, she’d felt the loss of his warmth like an arctic blast. Crazy. He was just a man, just an ordinary man.
No. That was a lie, and she’d never been dishonest with herself. He was gorgeous—witty, intelligent, disarmingly frank, and his body, tall and powerfully built, with those midnight-dark eyes, made her go weak at the knees. His hair was slightly rumpled from the wind; she wanted to touch it, to thread her fingers through it and test the texture, and then draw her hand slowly over his jaw, letting the rasp of stubble graze her palm.
His lips, so firm, so full, made her ache to feel them. On her lips, but also on her cheeks, her eyelids, her throat, her breasts. Everywhere.
Relax, bella. I won’t eat you.
Oh, lord! She looked away, dragging her eyes off him and bending to pick up her bag from the floor while she gathered her composure.
‘I need the Ladies’,’ she said.
‘Good idea, I’ll meet you back here,’ he said, and she made her way into the sanctuary of the quiet room with relief.
What was happening to her? She never reacted like this to men! Never in a million years. Or twenty-eight, more to the point. Over a quarter of a century, and no man had ever made her heart beat fast or her skin heat or her body ache with a longing so intense it almost frightened her.
But Luca did. Luca made her body sing with joy at the slightest touch, and when she rejoined him and he rested his hand lightly against her spine to usher her out into the street, she could have been naked the effect on her was so powerful. It was as if he’d touched her intimately, found her secret places and stroked them with the slow, sure hand of a lover.
And now she was being ridiculous! He was just killing time after his interview, indulging in a little mild flirtation, and she’d do well to remember it. It was nothing personal, he was just exercising his natural charm, and there was certainly nothing intimate, for heaven’s sake! And even if there was, nothing was going to come of it. She was only here for one more night, flying out in less than eight hours! She’d never had a one-night stand in her life, and she wasn’t starting now. But she wished there was more time…
‘Where’s your hotel?’ he asked, and she told him.
‘That’s good, it’s just near here.’
He tucked her hand into his arm again, his smile gleaming white against his olive skin in the darkness, and she caught the faint tang of his aftershave and that warm, male scent that was becoming so familiar—the scent that was also drifting up to her from the scarf, snuggled so softly and intimately against her skin, almost as if he was holding her.
She shivered, and he shot her a quick glance. ‘OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, but she wasn’t, because it was the end of their time together and she wasn’t sure she’d survive if he simply took her back to her hotel and dropped her off, whatever her scruples, because for some reason this night—no, this man—was different, and if he asked her…
Luca paused outside the entrance, staring down thoughtfully into her eyes, and she reached up and kissed his cheek, her warm breath whispering over his skin and setting it alight. ‘Thank you for the most lovely day. You’ve been so kind, Luca.’
He didn’t feel kind. He felt on fire, more alive than he had in years, and extraordinary reluctant to let her go, but there was no way…
‘What time’s your flight tomorrow morning?’
‘I have to be at the airport at five.’
He hesitated, not sure what was happening to him, just knowing he couldn’t walk away. Not from this, because this—this was different, and he’d deal with the consequences later.
‘It doesn’t have to end here,’ he said softly, and waited, his breath lodged in his throat, for her reply.
Isabelle’s heart was pounding now, because this was
