Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
A man approaches the table and says something in Italian. Enrico answers him, and then turns to me.
“Olivia, meet my brother Andrea.”
“Hello.” I smile as we shake hands.
“Hello, nice to meet you.” He smiles. He’s slightly younger than Enrico, but with the same gorgeous bloodline: dark hair, olive skin, and big brown eyes. He, too, is deliciously handsome, though in a completely different way to his brother. He seems softer but the family resemblance is strong.
“Andrea is a doctor here in Rome,” Enrico says proudly.
“Oh, wow, that’s amazing.” I begin to feel at ease. He’s a cop and his brother is a doctor. Maybe Enrico isn’t a serial killer after all.
“Thank you. Are you English?” Andrea asks.
“Australian.”
“Ah, I see.” He smiles and turns to his brother. “Are you coming with me, Rico, or are you staying? I have to go now. I have work in the morning.”
Rico. They call him Rico. I like that.
Enrico’s eyes come back to me. “No, I’m going to eat pasta with Olivia, and then show her why I’m the best dancer in all of Italy.”
Andrea rolls his eyes, and I smile into my drink.
Sounds so fun.
“All right then, good luck, Miss Olivia.” Andrea bends to kiss my cheeks. “You will need it. It was nice to meet you.”
“Goodbye, Andrea.”
He disappears, and Enrico turns back to me with a satisfied smile. “What am I feeding you, bella? You need energy for dancing.”
I giggle and open my menu, this is the best night of my life. “Pasta,” I remind him.
“Ah, yes.” His eyes dance with delight. “That’s right. Pasta it is.”
“So, tell me about yourself.” He drops his chin onto his hand as his elbow rests on the table. “What is the Olivia Reynolds story?”
We’ve eaten, drank two bottles of wine, and now we’re sitting in the darkened courtyard, fairy lights are lighting up the space and the music now soft and romantic. I’m feeling very tipsy indeed.
“Well.” I sip my wine. “I’m here on a holiday… I guess to try and find myself.”
“Are you lost?”
“Perhaps.” I smile bashfully across the table at him.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I contemplate his question. “I feel like I’m searching for something, but I don’t know what it is yet. I’m here to try and figure that out.”
He gives me a slow sexy smile. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe you’re looking for an Enrico Ferrara?”
“Oh yes, that’s the logical answer, how many of you are there?” I giggle.
“Just one.” He smiles. “One is enough.”
“How long have you lived in Rome?”
“About ten years. I moved here when I joined the police force. Where do you live in Australia?”
“Sydney. Have you ever been?”
“No, it’s on my list, though. I don’t travel far.”
“Really, why not? I love to travel.”
“I prefer Italy. I travel around Europe regularly, but Australia is a long way from here. How long does it take to travel there by plane?”
“Twenty-one hours.”
“Twenty-one hours,” he scoffs. “On a plane? You must be crazy, woman.”
I giggle at his horror. “We’re used to it. Australia is on the opposite side of the world from everywhere. If we want to travel, it’s a twenty-four-hour plane trip to most places. That, combined with the terrible jetlag from time zones, it turns a lot of people off.”
He frowns and sips his drink. “Do you work at home?”
“Yes, I’m a fashion designer.”
He smiles, as if surprised. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What do you design?”
I shrug, embarrassed. “Well, I’m designing pyjamas at the moment for Kmart.”
“Kmart?” He frowns.
“It’s a department store.”
“What pyjamas would you put me in?” he asks. I watch his tongue dart out as he sips his drink, and my sex clenches in appreciation.
“I don’t think pyjamas would do you justice. I imagine your birthday suit is enough.”
His eyes have a tender glow to them as he watches me, and my heart constricts in my chest. He really is a beautiful man.
Embarrassed by my forwardness, I change the subject. “But it’s only temporary. I would love to work in fashion one day. That’s the ultimate dream.”
“Who’s your favorite designer?”
“Umm, let’s see.” I narrow my eyes. “Valentino or Dolce and Gabbana.”
“And you’ve applied to both of those houses?”
“Yes. Nothing back from them yet, though.”
“One day,” he replies.
I smile. “One day.”
“Finish your drink, bella. I’m taking you dancing.”
“Bella?” I frown. God, he doesn’t even remember my name.
He takes my hand over the table and lifts it to his mouth. “Bella means beautiful.”
He kisses my fingertips. “And you really are very beautiful, Olivia. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”
Oh, I like him.
“To be honest, I’m having a hard time staying on my side of the table. I want us to dance so I can have you in my arms,” he says softly.
Nerves dance in my stomach. “Then take me dancing, Mr. Ferrara,” I whisper.
He smiles darkly, tips his head back, and he drains his glass. “Let’s go.”