‘Besides music, I haven’t fallen in love with anything in my entire life.’ Carly twirled a strand of silky hair behind her ear. ‘Good luck.’
Michelangelo took that as a challenge. Whether to make her fall in love with Italy, or with him, he wasn’t sure.
Chapter Two
Carly hoped Michelangelo couldn’t see her heart beating like a metronome on vivace. She read the next e-mail, trying to focus and ignore how the hottie tour guide may have just hit on her.
Honestly, she must have read him completely wrongly, because they’d had about the worst introduction she could think of, and she’d watched a whole ton of romantic comedies in her day with Melody; While You Were Sleeping, Groundhog Day, Pretty Woman, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. She could go on and on—they’d even come up with their own top-fifty list.
Wait a sec. Didn’t they all have rough starts?
Michelangelo leaned over and his eyes glanced down as if reading over her shoulder.
Sighing, she shut the screen off. She’d have to wait until they reached the hotel if she wanted any form of privacy.
‘How long is this trip?’ Her tone came out more annoyed than she would have liked. All the unread e-mails, the conversation with Dino, and her embarrassing introduction to Michelangelo had raised her anxiety to momentous levels. Thank the hotel gods for mini bars.
‘It will take us about thirty minutes to reach the center of Rome, where the Villa Borghese is located.’
Great. Thirty minutes of spine-cringing awkwardness.
She turned to the window. Lush hills spread before her in blankets of emerald, accented by pointed, dark shrubs and patches of red and white wildflowers. An old farmhouse made with bleached stucco and red-orange tiled roofs claimed the side of a hill. Italy really was gorgeous.
Her phone vibrated with another new message.
Too bad she couldn’t appreciate it.
Michelangelo gestured to her phone. ‘You’re a wanted woman.’
‘Right now I am. Give it two weeks, and we’ll see if they still call.’ Carly tucked her cell in the front pocket of her purse, wishing she could control her mouth. Why was she spouting her problems to this man?
Michelangelo pouted his thick, velvety lips, a look which came across as sultry and alluring. ‘You’ve got some fickle friends.’
She forced herself to stop staring at his lips and focused on his two-tone, blue-amber eyes. ‘It’s the nature of the bizz I’m afraid.’
‘Sounds as risky as owning a vineyard.’
Oh yeah, right. Wandering through the vineyard and taste-testing great wines. Like he could really compare all the competition, the hours spent practicing, the expensive instruments, and the twenty-four-seven gig schedule? She crossed her arms and turned toward him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The crop yield all depends on weather, pests, and the quality of the vines. One late frost, swarm of aphids, or disease can mean thousands lost. And that’s just the beginning. Even if you have a good yield, you have to protect against bacteria, make sure the tanks are all sanitized, and check the bottling line systems and drainage systems. There’s always something that needs fixing or replacing.’ For a moment he looked older than his years—which couldn’t be any more than hers.
Carly tried to lighten the mood. ‘No wandering through the vines drinking Chardonnay?’
Michelangelo laughed and looked at her as if he wished there was, just so they could do it together. ‘More like being knee-deep in grape must or crawling into the tanks to sanitize them.’
Carly batted her eyelashes. ‘How romantic.’
‘You’re telling me.’ Michelangelo grinned.
OMG did I just flirt?
It had been a few years since she’d thrown herself out there, and she blushed like a giggly schoolgirl. Geez, she had to pull herself together or she’d end up on some crazy fling. Like that would last longer than the two-week tour.
Carly turned back to the window to cool things off, and they rode in silence.
The rolling hills had morphed into beige, white and pink stucco buildings interspersed with grand stone facades in the arched and domed architecture characteristic of Rome. Carly marveled at the bustling, narrow streets. The farthest she’d traveled was Disneyland in Florida as a kid. The absence of Starbucks, McDonald’s, and any other US clothing and food chains gave the city a timeless, classic look.
I’m not in Kansas anymore.
The intercom buzzed as Michelangelo turned it on. He opened his hand, then closed it again and stuffed his palm into his pocket. Was he nervous? After all the tours he must have given, this should be old school for him.
Michelangelo took a deep breath. ‘Up ahead we’ll cross the Tiber river, which is the third-longest river in Italy. It comes from the Apennine Mountains in Emilia-Romagna and flows four hundred and six kilometers through Umbria and Lazio to the Tyrrhenian Sea. The king Tiberinus Silvius was said to have urinated in the river, which was subsequently renamed in his honor.’
Carly laughed out loud, then covered her mouth.
Michelangelo raised a dark eyebrow in question as he turned the intercom off and sat back down.
‘Men. They have to mark their territory.’
He widened his gorgeous eyes. ‘Is this how you view all men?’
Somehow, Carly felt as though he’d use her answer to judge every single thing about her character and whether she was available or not. It had to be good. And firm. It had to draw the line between them.
‘Only the ones I’ve met so far.’ Carly’s heart sped. Why the hell would she say that? It was practically an invitation. Somewhere between America and Italy she’d lost her brain filter, and her mind.
‘I see.’ Michelangelo smiled as though he had a tasty secret on his luscious lips and gazed at the road ahead. Carly tried not to notice the way the fabric of his cotton shirt lay against his smooth chest, or the strength of his jawline.
They passed over the glassy Tiber river, and into downtown Rome. Residents watered their plants on the balconies and set up their storefronts under bright awnings. Carly could see why Michelangelo claimed everyone that visited wanted to come back. The city charmed her on a grand scale while still claiming its historic roots with pride.
The bus pulled up in front of a stone building with arched windows and striped, rounded awnings that reminded her of fancy candy wrappers. A red carpet lined the path to double glass doors. Carly breathed with relief. The air between them had grown thick with tension, and she was eager to get off the bus, get a drink and read her e-mail.
Michelangelo stood and addressed the entire bus. ‘Welcome to the Villa Borghese. I’ll see to it your luggage is deposited at your room. You may go directly to the front desk and check in.’
Carly stretched her legs and stood. She’d been sitting down all day, first on the plane, then on the bus and it felt good to move around. While Michelangelo helped people with their bags and answered questions, she took the opportunity to sneak away.
‘Have a good stay, signorina.’ A hint of playfulness danced in his voice.
She whirled around. Michelangelo