Gaining Visibility. Pamela Hearon

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СКАЧАТЬ along the way, replaced by hot pricklies that caused her blouse to stick to her chest and back and underarms, making the areas alternate from itch to burn.

      She stomped along a walkway built on yet another incline, albeit gradual, up to the sign that indicated the office. In front of the door, two men blocked the path, discussing something that apparently had to do with the swimming pool. From their wild gesticulations and heated tones, one of them had released piranhas into the water.

      If you stop, you drop, Julia reminded herself. But it was the sight in front of her more than her mantra that inched her closer.

      Adonis—or whatever the Roman mythology equivalent was—had come to life. Stripped to the waist, his torso was an ocean of waves and ripples that made her mouth so dry she longed for a taste. Long legs defined with muscles bulging from the shorts he wore pivoted him gracefully toward the pool and back to the other man whom he towered over.

      Julia drew close enough to appreciate the sunlight glistening on the perspiration that poured from the black curly hair onto the wide, sculpted shoulders and chest. Despite the angry undertones, his deep voice had a smoothness that glided across his tongue like caramel gelato.

      This was the man, rather than Howard, who should’ve been hooking up with Miss Italy. At thirtyish, he was the perfect age—the perfect everything—and Julia released the breath she’d been holding with a sigh.

      “Um . . . excuse me. I need to get through here.”

      Adonis swung toward her, pinning her with a sullen gaze from eyes as dark and rich as mahogany. “Mi dispiace, signora. I did not see you.”

      Julia drew another sigh and shrugged. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

      His dark eyes filled with confusion. “You expect the surprise? A package perhaps?”

      Her sarcasm had obviously gotten lost in translation. Julia brushed her fingers through the top of her hair to get the sweaty strands out of her face. “No—never mind. You’ll have to excuse me. It’s the jet lag talking.”

      “Americana.” Adonis pinpointed the accent, and Julia nodded. “But . . . the jeta-lag, she is the . . . ? He twirled his hand as if it could wind out the word he was groping for.

      Julia would’ve filled in the blank if she’d known what he was going for. But the fogginess in her brain wouldn’t allow the foggiest notion to penetrate the surface layer.

      He finally gave up. “English.” He spat the word. “She is the confused language.” His sullen manner pinned all the blame for that on Julia.

      The shorter man finally lost the exasperated glare he’d been using on Adonis and turned his attention to her. “You wish to check in, signora?”

      Julia nodded. “I’m Julia Berkwith.

      “I am Signor Moretti, the owner.” His tone slid into smooth hospitality as he opened the door to the office and held it for her.

      Adonis’s disgruntled frown said he hadn’t finished the conversation with Signor Moretti that she’d interrupted, but he directed a pointed look to the hotel owner before stomping off.

      Julia breathed a relieved sigh when she stepped into the cool office—out of the heat of the day and away from the heat of their argument, not to mention the heat Adonis generated simply by his presence.

      Thank heavens, everything was in order and check-in was easy. She could tell her brain had started to misfire as she signed her name the last time and left out the k.

      “You will check out on Sunday, just ahead of the crowd.” Signor Moretti’s English was much better than Adonis’s. “That is when all of Italy come to Lerici.”

      “I read that this is a prime vacation spot for Italians. In fact, it’s the main reason I chose this place,” Julia admitted. “If you want the best restaurant, you ask a local. I assumed it would be the same for vacation spots.”

      “Sì, signora.” Signor Moretti beamed at the compliment. “Leave your luggage. I bring it to you.”

      “I’ll get it,” she assured him, though not sharing the reason why. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to wait even an extra ten minutes to take a shower. “Thank you, though.”

      “As you wish.”

      He gave her the directions to the room and held the door open for her again.

      Before she made the left out of the office, she was treated to one more quick view of Adonis’s perfectly sculpted backside.

      Melissa would describe him as a total hottie, and for once, Julia thoroughly understood the term.

      * * *

      By the time Julia dragged her bags all the way to her room, she was nearly delirious with exhaustion.

      She showered, hoping it would revive her, but the warmth made her almost catatonic, so she lay down for a short nap and awoke to different lighting.

      Her foggy brain took a minute to explain the discrepancy. She’d gone to sleep with streaks of afternoon sun casting long shadows in her room. She awoke to darkness . . . and hunger. The clock on her bedside table told her it was barely after eight in the evening.

      She slipped into one of the new knit dresses she’d bought for the trip and smiled at the bit of cleavage showing in the scoop neck—certainly nothing that would draw attention, but enough to make her marvel at how normal she looked . . . as long as she kept her clothes on.

      The scrumptious scent surrounding the hotel led her to its restaurant. She stopped in the doorway, taking in the white linen tablecloths and candlelight—much more romantic than her single status called for. She started to turn away but got caught by the maître d’s greeting.

      “Buona sera, signora.”

      He asked her something in Italian, which she didn’t understand, but she held up a hesitant finger. “Uno?”

      “But, of course,” he answered in English, and his unruffled elegance eased her discomfort a notch. He led her to a table for two but made quick work of dismantling the extra place setting and directing a server her way.

      As she waited for her glass of wine, a twinge caught between her shoulder blades—that distinct feeling of being watched, though no one around her seemed to be paying her the slightest bit of attention. She was about to chalk it up to a mild case of woman-traveling-alone paranoia, when her eyes wandered to a dark corner and met with a brooding stare.

      Adonis. Showered and changed into different clothes . . . sipping a glass of wine . . . no doubt waiting for a hot date.

      Julia glanced away, discomfited by the impression he was looking through her rather than at her. She took a sip of wine, trying to carry off a nonchalance she didn’t feel. She scanned the room, letting her eyes drift toward the dark corner again. Yep, still staring.

      Maybe it was some kind of game with him. A form of “Who’ll blink first?” She wasn’t about to be drawn in by something so childish. She fished her phone from her small clutch and absorbed herself with checking for nonexistent texts, calls, and e-mails while the gentle rhythm of the Beatles’ “Across the Universe” played СКАЧАТЬ