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country, sightseeing opportunities, and who knows what else.
Night had descended, but the airport was brightly illuminated, allowing a breathtaking sneak
peak at the mountain scenery I had seen outlined through the plane s window. I smiled and nodded
politely as he opened the door for me, and I jumped onto the back seat of the car. He paused in his
conversation for all of five seconds, or as long as it took him to pull out of the parking lot. As we
headed up the highway he resumed his chat.
You had a nice trip but very long? I nodded, and he laughed. But now it s over and you ll
have a beautiful vacation. I didn t want to point out that I wasn t on vacation, so I just nodded again.
The driver continued his half-English, half-Italian monologue through the drive to Bellagio. By the
time he pulled over thirty minutes later, my head was reeling, and not from the fresh air and stunning
backdrop I had glimpsed outside the window. I jumped out on shaky feet, my hand clutching the car s
door for support, as I gawked at the hotel in front of me.
The architecture was definitely neo-classical, reminding me of Ancient Greek and Rome with
its little columns, capitals, and beautiful sculptural bas-reliefs that my fingers itched to touch. It was
big but not oversized, about five stories high with a beautiful illuminated fountain spewing up water
onto two embracing angels from which a thick, red carpet was stretched out to the heavy glass door.
As I entered my home for the next two weeks, my breath caught in my throat.
Holy cow.
The reception hall, though not big, was absolutely stunning. Glass candelabra dangled from
the high ceiling, illuminating the polished ivory marble floor below and accentuating the flower
reliefs adorning the ivory-colored walls. But what impressed me most were the two Corinthian
columns behind the reception desk.
Silvio passed my luggage to a uniformed bellboy and instructed him to bring it straight up to
my room, while I waited at the reception desk to check in.
The receptionist smiled. She was a woman in her thirties with glowing olive skin and glossy
hair to die for.
Welcome, Miss Stewart, she said in heavily accented English. You ve been booked on the
upper floor. This is your key. She held up a white piece of plastic the size of a credit card. The
restaurant s open from seven to midnight. Room service is available around the clock. If you have any
questions, I ll be happy to answer them. Let me show you the way.
I shook my head and returned her generous smile. That won t be necessary. I think I ll be
fine. Architecture had always been my thing, only I never had the chance or money to visit a place
this grand. I didn t want to have to make small talk when I d rather gawk at every single detail
without anyone watching over my shoulder.
But I insist. The elevators are over here. She pointed behind her at the narrow corridor
leading past the columns and around a corner. I followed her upstairs while listening to her
recommending Italy s must-see sights and excursions. And then she let me into my room and closed
the door as she left, wishing me a pleasant stay.
I tossed the swipe card on the nearby coffee table realizing I hadn t thought of tipping her, the
bellboy, or the driver. Oh, crap, I muttered. Was it too late to run downstairs and do it now? Should
I wait until the morning? I had never stayed in anything remotely expensive, so my knowledge of
proper tipping etiquette was rather limited.
Are you okay? The male voice coming from my right startled me. I shrieked and jumped a
step back, dropping my handbag in the process. My head turned in the intruder s direction, and my
mouth opened to let out an earsplitting sound, but what came out resembled more a surprised grumble
that slowly turned into a sensation of anger pounding against my skull.
Are you following me? I was so angry I almost choked on my words.
I could ask you the same question, since I was here first. Mystery Guy cocked a brow and
moved closer until he stood mere inches from my face. From this distance, or lack thereof, I could
take in each and every detail of his face. His luscious lips were slightly curved in the most arrogant
smile I had ever seen. Almost hidden by his day-old stubble were two tiny indentations in his cheeks,
which I knew could turn into full-blown dimples. Dimples were my weakness. My fingers itched to
reach up and touch them, touch his skin, feel his stubble to see whether it was as deliciously scratchy
as it looked. His beautiful green eyes shimmered. His lips parted slightly, and I knew he could either
sense my naughty thoughts or had some of his own. Maybe he remembered something I didn t about
our night together. My cheeks were on fire.
Swallowing hard, I looked down his delicious body and instantly regretted it. His shirt
stretched over broad shoulders, leaving no doubt that the guy worked out. A lot. A dark patch of curly
hair peeked from beneath his undone top button. It was the same color as his happy trail I had
glimpsed when he didn t bother to cover up in my bed.
In my bed.
God, I liked the sound of that. My cheeks flushed again as I cringed inwardly at my thoughts.
What was wrong with me? The guy had trouble written all over him, and yet I behaved like a
pubescent teen in heat, unable to control my own hormones. I had to find my wits, or what was left of
them, before the guy s ego grew bigger than the Eiffel Tower.
What are you doing here? I asked bending down to pick up my handbag from the floor. His
gaze followed my ass and stayed glued to it a bit too long. I hurried to straighten up but not fast
enough. A low, appreciative growl escaped his throat.
Looking at my favorite spot. Need help with that? He pointed in the direction of my heavy
suitcase, but his gaze remained glued to my ass. My clothes seemed to evaporate into thin air. I fought
the urge to shrug into my coat and keep it on for the rest of our unsolicited conversation.
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