13
PARKER
Wonders never cease.
As it turned out, Isabella had a whole other dimension to her, a passionate and excitable alter ego who lived deep inside her.
All she’d needed to let it show was a trans-Atlantic flight and a stay in an Italian castle. Sure, I’d known people who were easier to please, but I’d also known people who were damn near impossible to satisfy.
Isabella, however, seemed more than satisfied. If anyone asked me to put a word to her demeanor right then, I’d have said she seemed ecstatic. Maybe even delighted. Definitely lighter. It was like she’d left the weight of the world back in the States, and like a fawn trying out its new legs, she’d wobbled a bit when we’d first reached the room we’d be sharing. Now it certainly looked like she’d found her feet.
With a brand-new pair of large black sunglasses on her delicate nose and a gelato in hand, her tongue peeking out every so often to take a lick of it, she looked like a completely different person than the uptight woman I’d met a little over a month ago.
She smiled up at me, her gaze tracking slowly over the length of my body. I could almost feel the heat of her eyes on my skin, it was so intense, but unfortunately, I knew she wasn’t checking me out. She might be showing me a different side of her, but I doubted it was quitethatdifferent.
As if she were reading my mind, she let out a soft laugh and shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to look at you like I’m about to jump you. I’m trying to decide how I feel about that color.”
I glanced down at my new shirt, a sea-green button-down she and the sales representative had both insisted I buy. “It’s not bad. It’s a lot more comfortable than I was expecting. I don’t even feel a little bit like I’m being strangled.”
The rest of our purchases were in the car, safely tucked away with our driver for the day. Alfonso had dropped us in the old town after we were done shopping, after giving us some tips on the must-see locations and assuring us that there was no need to rush.
Isabella laughed again, louder this time. “You were expecting to feel strangled?”
“Well, yeah? When was the last time you spent a day in a shirt buttoned all the way to the top? They’re usually fucking uncomfortable, like a hand wrapped around the base of your throat.”
“You’ve been buying the wrong size.” She smiled before lowering her head to peek at me above the rim of the glasses.
Those clear blue eyes, pale skin, damn freckles, and the disarming smile were gorgeous. The overall effect of the picture she made right then was devastating, and I felt it under the waistband of my brand-new slacks.Down, boy. We’re not going there.
It was a pity, but I planned on sticking to her “no crossing the pillow line” rule. Not because I didn’twantto obliterate the fucking line, but because she was right. There was nothing more between us than a professional relationship and an agreement of convenience.
I had been getting looks from a lot of women since landing in Italy, but I had ignored them. The only woman I was interested in was the one on my arm. If I’d been here alone, there were definitely a few beauties I might’ve approached, but I wasn’t alone, and I was finding it hard to be interested in speaking to anyone other than Isabella.
I chuckled and shook my head at her. “I have not been buying the wrong size. They obviously haven’t been making the neck hole in the right size.”
“Oh, so all the designers are wrong and you’re right?” She pushed her glasses up to the top of her head to let me see the smile in her eyes, despite her disbelieving tone. “When we make this sale, promise me you’ll get a personal shopper. Rich people have those, you know. You’d easily be able to afford one and they’ll keep you looking this good.”
“So youdothink I look good?” I lifted my arms up at my sides and motioned to my torso as I rolled my pelvis. “I knew you weren’t just checking out the color of the shirt before.”
A rosy flush spread on her cheeks and she brought her hands up to cover her face even as she laughed. “You’re an idiot. An idiot who has no shame. You can’t be comfortable dancing like a stripper in the middle of a historic city center in the broad light of day.”
“Why not? I’m willing to bet that these old streets have seen a lot more action than this.” I dropped my arms and flicked a pointed gaze toward a narrow alleyway to our left. “Do you really think Romeo and Juliet didn’t get it on right there? The streets would’ve been a lot less crowded back then.”
“Romeo and Juliet are fictional characters. They didn’t get it on anywhere in this city, and even if they had been real, they would’ve been more modest than that.”
I snorted. “Modest, my ass. The guy stood underneath the balcony we’re headed to right now and called up to her. Despite their circumstances, he didn’t give a rat’s ass who heard him. He wasn’t modest. As for them being fictional, sure. But somewhere in this city, there used to be a couple who inspired those characters. Bet on it.”
“No, it was actually the balcony that is said to have inspired Shakespeare to write the story,” she said. “Have you even read the play?”
“Of course I have. I might’ve skipped out on one or two of the classes when we were covering it in school, but I know enough to have a basic understanding of it. There’s no way that couple poisoned themselves instead of living without each other if they hadn’t gotten it on up and down these streets.”
“It’s called romance. Have you even heard of it? I think you skipped too many classes.”
I shook my head. “Fine. They got it onromantically. Hemade loveto her under the stars. The stars just happened to be shining down on a deserted alleyway. Or hey, maybe it wasn’t deserted. Maybe the dude was into having an audience.”
“You really need to go back and read the play again,” she said. “Just as soon as you’re done reading over my suggestions for your next pitch meeting.”
Faking a yawn, I glanced down at the map in my hand and looked around. “No, thanks. I’d rather make it up as I go along. I think it’s that way.”