It was either wolfish or shark-like; I couldn’t decide which simile was better. Either way, it was a predator’s grin.

I must have given the crook of Liam’s arm a squeeze. Or maybe he really was as good at reading people as he said, because he picked up on my nerves.

Dr. Aretino looked at me expectantly, clearly wanting me to give a brief introduction and then send Liam packing so that he could take me out on the dance floor and tell me that my grades were slipping (I knew that already) and that he knew a way I could bring them back up (like hell).

I swallowed heavily, my good, flirtatious mood washing away like so much water down the Roman aqueducts. Then I tried to smile. “Liam, this is Dr. Giuseppe Aretino, my professor of classical art history at Sapienza...”

Giuseppe gave a little bow, his chest puffing out at the same time.

“Dr. Aretino...” I continued before I was cut off.

“Giuseppe! How many times must I tell you it is Giuseppe! Dr. Aretino is so formal. Am I really so formal? No! So Giuseppe, if you please.”

I squeezed Liam’s arm again, the remaining muscles in my body following suit as though by clenching they could armor me against Dr. Aretino.

I started again, but Liam interrupted. Which was good, since I remembered that he hadn’t told me his last name, and I have no doubts the good professor would have had some lecture ready about being a young woman out and about in Rome meeting strange, handsome men.

Liam smiled, offering his hand, which Dr. Aretino accepted. “The Dr. Aretino? I have heard of your work. The university must think highly of you, asking you to appear at this fundraiser to court all the wealthy benefactors here tonight. Very important business.”

Giuseppe puffed up in pride to such a degree I thought there might actually have been enough hot air in him for him to lift up off the floor like a balloon. “You flatter me. I am but a modest professor... But yes, I am here to raise funds for the program. And you are...?”

Liam gave the slightest bow of his head, barely disturbing the expertly tufted black hair on his head. Again, I had the urge to run my fingers through it. I wondered if it smelled as good as his cologne.

All this wondering created a warm, excited tingle along the front of my stomach that I did my best to ignore. Why did Dr. Aretino have to be here, ruining this?

“I am Emma’s dance teacher, Dr. Aretino.”

“Dancing? I am an excellent dancer. Come, Emma, I will show you how it is done,” Giuseppe said, reaching for my hand.

Then Liam put his body between us, a wall to block out the professor’s advances. Before Dr. Aretino could bluster too much about this, Liam sprung his trap.

“I’m sure you’re an excellent dancer, professor. However, don’t you have much more important business? I see several lonely old Italian matrons whom I’m sure would love to donate to the school with only a small amount of your expert and esteemed coaxing required. And while you do that, I will teach Emma some of the basics so that when you cut in you can cut out those lessons.”

Liam didn’t give Giuseppe a chance to answer, assuming assent and beginning to lead me out to the dance floor. I was in awe. Liam had played Giuseppe perfectly. The small Italian didn’t know whether to puff up in pride again or protest. Besides, if he did protest, he would look ungracious.

Liam had it all wrapped up in a neat little bow the same baby blue of his eyes.

I could have kissed Liam then and there. And he knew it, too. I could tell from the way he looked down at me.

“That was...” I started.

“Bold? Decisive?” he supplied.

“Impressive. Maybe you are good at reading people, after all.”

We stood in the middle of the dance floor. Couples wheeled around us in time to the music in near perfect synchronicity. If I were to look down from the mezzanine it would have been mesmerizing. And there we stood in the middle of that maelstrom of dresses and tuxedos, the calm eye of Hurricane Armani, Bardelli, Rubinacci, and whatever other designers were represented.

“I don’t like to boast,” Liam said.

“I’m sure you don’t. So, if you’re so good at reading people, did you notice anything else interesting when you perused my table of contents?”

He slipped one arm around my waist and drew me in closer, our bodies touching. My throat tightened. He really did smell good. The other hand he slid slowly down my arm, the tips of his fingers leaving trails of gooseflesh like a farmer’s plough leaves churned earth. Then he threaded his fingers through mine and lifted our hands up so that we stood in position. But we didn’t start dancing, not yet.

Liam wet his lips, making them even more inviting. My heart thumped against my ribs so hard I knew he could feel the beats against his stomach. “I know that you don’t need any dancing lessons, Emma.”

I put my hand on his shoulder, the top of my thumb brushing against the starched collar of his shirt for a moment. “And how could you possibly know that?” A tingle that had started in my thighs began spreading its tendrils throughout my body, leaving me pleasantly warm all over.

“It’s in the way you move, actually. The way your hips sway, the way you walk. You’re graceful. You’ve had lessons.”

I hadn’t caught him looking at my hips, at my legs. But he had. He’d checked me out and he liked what he’d seen. That tingling turned to buzzing, low in my stomach. Despite the air conditioned air circulating around us, I flushed with heat.

“Care to prove that theory?” I said.

His smile grew, both corners of his mouth twitching up. He leaned in closer, his handsome face looming in my vision, his mischievous blue eyes latching onto mine and refusing to let go.

He’s going to kiss me! My heart tried to escape the prison of my ribs. Wouldn’t that be just the thing, too? A handsome, charming guy leaning in to kiss me and I ruin the whole occasion by bursting. At least I’d chosen the red dress for tonight. If I did burst, at least everything would match.

I responded, my lips parting in anticipation, my eyes hooding, my body ready to melt in his arms as soon as our mouths met.

But he didn’t kiss me. Instead, his mouth slipped past my cheek, dangerously close to grazing my skin. “I intend to,” he whispered.

Before I could protest, we whirled off in unison with the other dancers. He led expertly, never having to glance down at our shifting feet. His hand on the small of my back held me steadily against him, leaving no chance for escape.

We whirled and whirled. I didn’t think we moved fast enough to make me dizzy, but dizzy I became.

More than once, I caught sight of Giuseppe glaring at us from the sidelines. The first time, he spoke to an older man and woman, probably extolling the virtues of the department. But he appeared to pause in the middle of the sentence to shoot a look out at me, weaving his gaze through all the bodies marauding between us.

Then another time I saw him on the opposite side of the floor, speaking to a sharp-nosed woman who appeared annoyed when he turned his attention from her to me.

This wasn’t going to end well, I knew.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Liam whispered. Despite the volume of the music and the conversations all around us, a whisper was all he needed. He held me so closely I could hear him easily, could feel the warm tickle of his breath against my neck and shoulder.

“This isn’t going to end well,” I said, voicing my thoughts.

He considered that for another revolution of our bodies, then he leaned in closely so that his lips grazed my earlobe, sending a spark down my spine. “Who says it has to end?”

I’d been operating this entire time under the assumption that at some point we’d part ways that night. Maybe after another pleasant dance or two or however long Dr. Aretino could spend collecting donations for the school.