The food smelled so good. "Another favorite place of yours?" I said, nodding at the bag.

"I don't know. I've never tried it before. It comes highly recommended, though."

"It smells delicious," I said. And the wine. I couldn't believe that he'd actually stopped to get wine and glasses, too.

"Needs to breathe," he said, driving the corkscrew in, the wax seal fracturing and crumbling around the neck of the bottle, and then he grimaced slightly as he yanked it out. He held it under his nose, inhaling it, and I realized that I didn't know anything about wine other than that it came in white and red.

And that clearly he knew far more than that.

What can you offer him? Abby's snide voice echoed.

He saw me watching him and mistook my expression for curiosity. He offered me the cork. "Would you like to? It's Vespolina. 2007. A good year. It should go nicely with the red sauce. I thought you'd appreciate something nice."

I took the cork and put it under my nose, imitating him. It smelled of alcoholic grape juice. I thought maybe I could maybe detect a tartness to it, and perhaps an earthiness below that. But it could very well have been my need to find something about it.

I pictured Abigail's cruel, mocking grin.

Apparently my consternation also showed itself and Liam smiled. "Don't worry. Just trust me that it will be good."

"I will."

Then he went about setting the table. The cloth he'd wrapped the wineglasses in was just wide and long enough to cover a stripe in the middle of the desk, its edges hanging off the front and back.

The doggie bag from the restaurant contained disposable plastic cutlery and plates, and the food itself had been parceled in plastic-topped Styrofoam containers currently clouded with steam.

"High dining at its best," I said. It was pretty funny to me, in a sad way, watching a man worth billions set the table and then eat using throw-away dishes.

It was nice though, him being there, showing concern for me.

"So what happened?" he said. He sat on the mattress, which, combined with the height of the desk put his plate and wineglass at chest level. He didn't seem to mind. He'd insisted that I take the chair.

"What?" I said, a few pieces of penne speared to my fork and halfway to my mouth, "Oh, yeah, school. It was just a hard lecture and I thought it would make me feel better to talk through it with you."

Then I ate the penne from my fork. It was good. And the wine really did bring out all the flavors in the red sauce.

"It really was important, what I had to go do today. You have no idea how badly I wanted to just curl up with you in bed for a few more hours."

That gave me my opening. My penne-bearing fork drifted back down to my plate, forgotten. "What was it? What did you have to do?"

He answered without hesitating. "I had to meet with someone regarding a potential merger that could really give Mass Systems a solid foothold in southern Europe."

"Sounds pretty tense... Probably lots of sterile board rooms and sweaty pitchers of ice water on the table?" I said.

Why did I want to catch him in a lie so badly? Because it would make all this so much easier, I knew. It would justify anything I chose to do.

"Not at all," he said, "Actually we went to that little gelato shop I showed you. Fratelli's. Although now I wished it had been in a boardroom. She was pretty handsy."

I'd been trying to think of some way to ask if it had been a man or woman that sounded natural, but he'd done my work for me. It also seemed that Abigail hadn't told him I'd been there after all.

Why do you have to be so perfect? I thought. He wasn't giving me any way out here at all, no way to any sort of moral high ground.

"She?" I said.

"Lisa di Firenze. She's..."

"The head of the biggest media conglomerate in Italy," I finished for him.

He nodded, impressed. However, that made me feel worse. It was borrowed knowledge, stolen, even.

"That she is," he continued, "But like I said, handsy. I was glad when it was over and I could come see you. Actually, that reminds me. She wanted to meet again tomorrow, but I told her I had another important engagement."

"What?"

"You, me, and that wing of the Capitoline museum we missed. I didn't tell her that, of course."

I dropped my fork, splattering a bit of sauce on the white cloth. "Why did you do that?" It came out more intense than I'd intended. "You shouldn't have done that."

Liam took a serviette from the doggie bag and dabbed at the spilled sauce. It sopped up the excess, but left little dark splotches that looked like dried blood. "It's no big deal, really. Like I said, you gave me a great excuse. I intend to thank you properly for it later." His voice dripped with secret and sexy promises that had my body responding before I could stop it, the inside of my thighs throbbing and hot.

He slid his hand across the desk, intent on touching my fingertips with his. I pulled back. He moved faster, catching my hand, trapping it. It was so nice to touch him.

But was it only nice because I knew that I shouldn't?

"Liam, I don't want to get in your way here. I don't want to keep you from doing what you came here to do."

"There's something wrong here," he said, not letting go of my hand, "Something you're not telling me. And I mean more than a tough lecture."

"I hate how you do that."

"What?"

"See right through me. Read me like an open book. Whatever."

"I love that you're an open book, that you don't try and hide what and who you are." His thumb traced gently over my knuckles. It felt nice, so nice.

"That's nice... Look, I don't want to talk about it right now, okay?"

"Okay. I'll be there when you're ready," he said.

I knew he had to be at least partially right about me. Otherwise it wouldn't have been so hard to repress the urge to tell him that I'd seen him today at Fratelli's, to tell him what Abigail had said to me.

Because I knew if I did he would disagree. And that he'd have good reasons. Probably good enough to sway me away from the conclusion that I'd arrived at as soon as he came in with that doggie bag of delicious pasta and that bottle of red wine that tasted better than any wine I'd ever had before.

"You're too good for me," I said.

He squeezed my hand lightly. "Don't say that. Never say that. If anyone should say something like that, it's me."

I couldn't look at him anymore. "This is really good. I mean it. But... do you think that..."

"I could go?"

"It's just that if I want to fix this mess with school I really need to concentrate on it for now. Thank you for visiting. It was really sweet of you."

For a second, I thought he might press the issue, thinking of how he'd wanted to "thank" me for delaying that second meeting. And I wanted him to try. Not only because I knew I would give in like my body demanded, but that I could also use it to justify to myself that he only wanted me for said body and its demands.

But of course he was too good for that. I should have known. I did know, somewhere.

"I understand," he said, "I know you'll figure this out."

Then he lifted his wine glass and my heart sank. There was still a mouthful of wine sloshing at the bottom of it. "To you, Emma, and to digging yourself out of this mess."

I picked up my glass. There was still a little wine in it, too. He clinked them together lightly, the vessels making a sharp, sweet sound that contrasted with the slightly bitter aftertaste of the wine they contained.