Italian Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story Part 22

It took no effort at all to remember the way Liam's hands had felt on me. He'd had them on my bare waist, our bodies glistening in the dim light coming in through the cracks in the drapes.

No, it took no effort at all to recall how I'd gripped the headboard while I lifted my hips and then drove our bodies together, again and again until neither of us could take it anymore.

In fact, a warm tingle started racing up the front of my stomach at the memory.

Then there was falling asleep in his arms. I thought that I could fall asleep on a cold slab of concrete if I had his arms around me and the steady rhythm of his heart to soothe me while I rested my head on his chest.

And that those were the memories I used to strengthen my resolve when I thought about what I wanted to do that day.

Because it hadn't been the whole truth when I told Liam that I wanted to see the city in this golden morning light. I'd also wanted to steer clear of that psychic way he had with me.

He'd suss out what I meant to do, and he'd probably try and stop me. And since I knew he'd probably succeed (when didn't he?) I knew the best way to avoid that solution was to cut him from the equation.

I meant to go see Dr. Aretino at his office hours today. I wanted to give him one last chance before I put match to kindling and stopped his fire in its tracks.

Liam would tell me that it was pointless. Dr. Aretino wouldn't budge. And I had the strong inkling that he was right. But I still had to try, if only for the sake of my conscience.

Though when Liam had caught me up and gave me a long, deep kiss goodbye I thought he suspected my true reasons.

Maybe he knew it was something I had to do.

And that made me wish all this drama was all over so that I could get down to the real business of being with him. Soon, I told myself. Soon.

From there, I took a quick stop at my flat to pull on some clothes that weren't wrinkled and then it was another bus ride to the Sapienza campus.

I arrived outside Dr. Aretino's office in time to see a young woman step out. I recognized her from cla.s.s. Angelina or Annalisa, I couldn't remember which. She was normally quiet in cla.s.s, but when she did speak she always had something insightful to say.

And she was quite pretty. Dark hair that spilled in springy ringlets to her shoulders, doe eyes and full lips accentuating her heart-shaped face.

"Hey!" I said.

She either didn't notice me or deliberately ignored me, quickly disappearing down a bend in the hall. I frowned after her.

A pretty, young woman stepping out of Dr. Aretino's office with a troubled look on her face? It wasn't hard to see the good professor's modus operandi.

I wanted to go back, then. Maybe spend the rest of the day with Liam. I could hear Dr. Aretino rustling papers on his desk, hear the squeak of his office chair as he rotated it.

Just clear your conscience, at least, I thought.

So for once I swallowed my fear and knocked on his partially closed door. Angelina (Annalisa?) had swung it most of the way shut on her way out.

"Ci?" Dr. Aretino said from within.

"It's me, Emma," I said.

"Emma? Come, come. Yes, come in," he said, standing up and then opening the door the rest of the way. He waved me to the padded chair in front of his desk and then sat in his on the other side.

The back wall of his office was a large window that looked out across a quad lined with trees. It was a s.p.a.cious room, not like the janitor's closets-turned-offices of professors I'd had back in the States.

Bookcases lined both side walls, filled mostly with volumes on European art of the last 700 years or so. On his desk he had a plaque with his name on it, a slim computer monitor and keyboard, and a golden miniature of Atlas shrugging beneath the weight of a wireframe world.

And a picture frame, facing away from me. I suddenly wanted to know whose picture sat in that frame.

Dr. Aretino put his elbows on his desktop and clapped his hands together, the tips of his fingers tapping against each other. "What is it I can do for you, Ragazza D'oro? You look quite concerned. Have you perhaps come to realize the truth?"

I s.h.i.+fted in my seat, instinctively crossing my thighs. This close to him, I could smell the pungent oil he used to keep his thin, dark hair slicked back from his forehead. The glare from the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling dazzled on that s.h.i.+ny expanse of skin over his eyes.

"Dr. Aretino, I'm not changing my answer. I know that for a while, I let my schoolwork slip. I was dealing with some personal things. You must have seen how much I've improved over the past couple weeks alone?"

"Oh, yes, a great deal of improvement," he said.

"Then maybe you can do the right thing and give me the marks we both know I deserve."

Dr. Aretino shook his head, that splotch of light on his forehead s.h.i.+fting back and forth. "Such a pity that you are not willing to do what needs to be done to stay. And just as you are beginning to come into your own here in Rome. Exams are coming soon. I'm sure if you got the chance to take them, you would do quite well. A pity," he said, tsk-ing and clicking his tongue.

"You're going to force me to take matters into my own hands, professor," I said.

A shot of cold fear ran through me when I said that. I could hardly believe that I'd been able to get the words out.

The fear was there, but something else, too. Excitement, exhilaration. Was this how it always felt to stand up for yourself?

I could get used to that.

"I invite you to try," Dr. Aretino said. He waved at the walls, indicating the university as a whole, indicating that he had the faculty on his side. Indicating that he saw nothing I could do against him.

"So you're not going to change your mind?" I said. I wanted this absolutely clear. I couldn't go through with anything without that clarity.

That was why Liam hadn't tried to keep me from this, I knew.

He spread his fingers out and looked at me with the corners of his mouth downturned, as though his hands were tied.

My skin crawled. I'd heard people use that expression before, but never really understood what they meant. Then I did. It had me squirming, had me wanting to run out like Annalisa (Angelina?) had done only a few minutes earlier.

I made myself stay. If you want to catch a rat in a trap, you had to bait it, after all.

"I heard that there's another fundraiser coming up," I said. Did that sound casual enough? I hoped so.

Dr. Aretino smiled, and I realized that he must think that I'd finally begun to bend, finally seen the futility of my resistance. Yes, I definitely needed to see Liam after this. I'd have him wrap his arms around me and hold me until I forgot all about the good professor.

"Yes, there is," he said, "I had almost forgotten about it," Sure you did. He continued, "Perhaps you would allow me to escort you there?"

I made as good a show of it as I could, letting my eyes run across his desk, working my jaw, ending it all with a reluctant sigh, "Yes." Who knew that it could be so difficult to get a single syllable out?

Think of Liam. Think of talking to him. Think of looking into his eyes, I kept repeating.

"Good. Very good," he said, clapping his palms together, "You won't need your dance instructor this time, either. I will email you the details. Is there anything else?"

He seemed so very pleased with himself, as though he saw victory approaching fast. The crawling feeling worsened, and I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

There was one more thing I needed to do before I got out of there. So I smiled, hoping my lips didn't look too bloodless. "You have a great view of the campus!"

"What? Yes, I suppose," he said, standing up as I did.

I slipped between his desk and the bookcase and went up to the window. It actually was a nice view, but I couldn't enjoy it.

"A lovely view, yes," Dr. Aretino said. I could feel him standing behind me.

I counted to five in my head (five seconds never felt more like five minutes in my life) and turned around. I dodged around him, my eyes searching for that picture.

It was a portrait of an older woman. Still pretty, the age just beginning to show in the corners of his eyes. I wondered how Dr. Aretino could sit behind his desk and talk the way he did to his female students with the eyes of that woman watching him the whole time.

"Your wife?" I said.

"Yes. Do not worry; she won't be at the fundraiser," Dr. Aretino said.

"Good to know," I said.

Then I excused myself, pulling his office door closed behind me. I understood now why Angelina (I was 90% certain it was Angelina, now) had done it. Who wanted to feel those eyes of his following you down the hall?

I took a few turns, found the staircase, and then stopped on the landing. The excitement and fear mingling in my stomach had stirred themselves into a sick sensation, and my knees kept trembling.

I did it! Dr. Aretino wasn't going to give up. So that was it. I committed myself to bringing him down. Now all I needed to do was figure out the how of it. I knew the where and the when, with the fundraiser.

Also to start studying for my exams. I'd nearly forgotten how close they were, and for a time there they hadn't seemed that important what with being on the verge of deportation and all.

But what I really needed was a shower. And Liam. A shower and Liam at the same time. That sounded nice.

Chapter 18.

"I'm going to steal you away for the day," Liam said. He sat on the edge of his bed, nothing but the fluffy white hotel towel wrapped around his waist.

It was more than enough to tear my eyes away from the screen of my laptop. He'd dried himself almost completely, and he smelled so fresh from his shower.

A bead of moisture he'd missed slithered its way down the shallow cleft dividing the two columns of his abdominal muscles. I wanted to go lick it off him.

"You know that I can't," I said, trying to tear my eyes away from his sculpted torso and failing. He leaned in closer, the movement wafting his aftershave my way. I almost fainted.

"I know that you can. Can and will," he said. He stole a kiss, leaving my lips tingling and my throat dry. I tingled all the way down to my toes.

I'd spent the morning here with Liam. Studying, or trying to. I had my browser open to a digital version of a Renaissance art journal and I'd barely managed to make my way through the abstract.

The fundraiser raced towards me, and exams, and final a.s.signments for my cla.s.ses I knew I'd at best get Ds on if I didn't fix this whole thing with Dr. Aretino.

It would be nice to get away from it all, but I knew I couldn't. I resolved not to let Liam sway me, no matter what method of persuasion he chose (I hoped it would involve him dropping that towel to the floor and putting this bed to better use).

Somehow he'd managed to read my mind again.

"One thing no one seems to remember in this age of constant effort and work," he said, nudging my laptop closed with his fingertips, "Is that taking enough rest and breaks is just as important."

"Is that so?" I said. His cheeks and chin looked so smooth from his shave. I kept wanting to see just how smooth by pressing my lips to them. It wasn't fair at all. I wanted to get work done and all he needed to do to distract me was to exist and to be close by.

Not fair at all. I found myself wis.h.i.+ng I was a better artist so that I could sketch him, paint him, sculpt him.

"It is," he said. He leaned over my closed laptop and kissed me, gently, carefully, so that only our lips touched. His lips were soft and supple and tempting.

Resolve. Failing. I thought.

Then he pulled back. "Tease," I said.

He shrugged. I watched the interplay of the muscles under his skin involved in the movement, some of my own muscles twitching and quivering in response.

"Just a little. Have I convinced you? Say yes," Liam said.

"But... Studying..." I said, reaching out for my laptop like a drowning man straining for something, anything to keep from slipping below the surface of the water.

Liam got it first, pulling it back so that my fingertips touched nothing but the smoothness of the high thread count duvet.

"Cruel, so cruel," I said.

"So?" he said. Then, almost like he didn't mean to do it (almost) he clasped his fingers behind his head and stretched.

I couldn't help the little animal noise that escaped through my lips, my eyes drinking him in, devouring the sight of his flexing biceps, the tightening of his abs, the V-shape of his torso. That strand of muscle that ran down from his hips, leading beneath the towel. Many women referred to it simply as "the V." I'd learned long ago from an art text that it was actually called the Belt of Adonis.

"That's no fair," I said.

"If it's a fair fight you're doing something wrong," Liam replied.

"Fine. What is it?"

He glanced at the designer digital clock on the nightstand. "Looks like I've got just enough time to get dressed and get us over there."

"Over where?"

"The train terminal. I have our tickets in an envelope by the door."

"Train?"

It wasn't just any train, either. It was the Frecciarossa, or Red Arrow. A bullet train. It was long and sleek and smooth, its aerodynamic exterior hinting at just how fast it could go.