“Oh! You sent the drink—thank you.”
He held out his hand and I shook it. My dad always said you could tell a man by his handshake. I’m embarrassed to admit I never knew what that meant before now. Rome held my hand tightly, for a few more beats than necessary, while his eyes delved my soul. The air crackled with energy between us. I wondered if he felt it too.
I itched to run my fingers through his perfectly tousled hair. I wanted to place my other hand along the rough edge of his jaw and feel the prickly stubble beneath my fingertips. My eyes fluttered closed, the scent of his dark masculinity wrapping around me.
“Are you Persephone Wells? Everyone has a name tag but you—did you get your welcome packet at the door?” The short woman from the stage was now hovering at my shoulder, folder in hand and a frown on her face like a dutiful college administrator.
“Sorry, I was so distracted by…” I paused, catching myself before I blurted the truth, “your speech. It was great!”
Her eyes brightened, passing me the folder with my name on it. “Thank you. Welcome to the Royal Academy.”
I smiled back at her before she turned and disappeared in the crowd.
“Persephone Wells, hm? That’s a lot of name. Are you American?” His question caught me off guard.
“I am, but my friends call me Pixie.”
“Pixie.” His eye lingered on mine, like he had a thousand thoughts and wouldn't share one.
“Well Pixie Wells, you are a surprise. Is this your first time in Copenhagen?”
“My first time leaving America.” I confirmed, feeling his intense gaze on me, everywhere. I gulped the rest of my second glass of champagne. I was about to set it on a table next to me, but he took it from me. Sparks ignited when the pad of his thumb brushed my knuckle.
“Well Pixie Wells, welcome to Denmark. I do hope to see you again.” He flashed me an alarming half-grin. I was left standing dumbstruck, my heart pounding furiously in my chest. “If you find yourself in need of anything, please use my private number.”
He cast me one last glance, mischief darting in his beautiful green eyes before he turned and sauntered through the sea of partygoers and straight out of the door.
The fine fabric of his suit hugged all the right angles of him, one hand shoved casually in a pocket before he nodded once at the doorman. And every last woman watched him go.
“Rome.” The breath I was holding whooshed out of my chest. I was relieved that he was gone and I could breathe again, but something inside of me yearned for him to come back so I could live inside the sparks of energy that bounced between us.
“He’s probably too pretty to have a thought in his head anyway. The gorgeous ones are never smart,” I uttered to myself.
A woman overheard me and laughed. “Who’s wasting time talking as long as he’s talented with those lips?”
We chuckled together, before I wished her a good evening and walked slowly to the door. I just might spend every night of the rest of forever imagining exactly what Rome could do with devilish lips of his.
The doorman greeted me with a smile as I approached him. “Leaving so soon, ma’am?”
I shrugged, feeling the bubbly champagne in my head for the first time. I’d had a little too much, it’d definitely caught up with me. “I think I’m still battling jet-lag. Have a good night.”
He swung the door wide and just as I stepped out, the low kitten heel—the only fancy shoe I’d brought on this trip—caught in the uneven edge of the cobblestone walkway. I yelped, hands flailing as my clutch flew threw the air and my other tried to catch the doorknob to prevent my fall.
It all happened in a split second, my ankle twisting in just the wrong way that I was sure I’d be on crutches for the remainder of this trip. But before I could land the death fall, thick arms caged my waist and scooped me into the air.
“Hey!” I shrieked, shook from the nearness of a stranger.
“Nice to see you again, America.”
TWO
Rome
“Come home with me.” She was still in my arms. Now would be the time to let go if I was being appropriate and polite, but I wasn't either of those things. By choice.
“I can walk, I’m fine.” Her body was tense, but not as much as her words.
“Are you hurt?” I walked her to my idling town car and slipped her in the open side door. “Let me see.”
I bent and she let me take her foot in hand. Caressing the ankle softly, she winced once when I tried to move it side to side.
“Just a sprain.”
“Oh no,” she cried, “what happened to my shoe?”