But this time, I noticed how, despite his age, he walked quickly and confidently, his polished shoes clicking off the pavement. He knelt to deposit a mug of espresso in front of a woman wearing an enormous pair of sunglasses, smiling as he did. I remembered that he always smiled, and that when his mouth smiled, his eyes did, too.

Liam’s smiles went to his eyes, too. I remembered that. A person’s eyes don’t lie, my dad used to say to me. Well, I definitely saw a certain truth in Liam’s eyes that night. And it was a truth that left the front of my stomach tingly and tight.

“Be careful. If Giancarlo sees you looking at him like that, he is likely to flirt with you,” Isabella said.

Heat rose to my cheeks while my eyes dropped to my latte. How strange I must look, I realized. Staring about like a tourist who’d just gotten off the plane.

“It’s nothing,” I said, “It’s just that everything reminds me of him.”

“Him? This Liam?” I liked the way his name sounded in her accent. Exotic, yet somehow familiar. “I think this was not just a one night stand, no?”

I shrugged, a sudden burst of frustration twisting my lips. “No, that’s all it can be. I’m just not in the right place for something like that... something like him in my life right now.”

“There is no place in your life for joy and happiness right now? Is that what you are saying? Because that is what I am hearing,” Isabella said, tracing the rim of her espresso cup with one long and lacquered fingertip.

I balked at that, hitching my shoulders higher, “Hey, come on, I’m happy.” I could taste the lie as it rolled across my tongue and then out through my lips. It was bitter. Not at all like Liam’s kisses.

“You aren’t a very good liar, Emma. Why do you resist the idea so much?”

I shrugged while shaking my head, getting the sudden urge to throw my hands up as well. Maybe Italy was rubbing off on me, after all. “I just can’t deal with it. Not on top of school.”

That made Isabella’s dark eyebrows climb her forehead, as though to say, “You don’t believe that. Why should I?”

And she was right, I knew. If it was just supposed to be a one night stand, why could I think of nothing but those lovely lips of his, of the way his eyes smiled with those lips?

Another tingle ran down my body, terminating in a place that had me shifting in my seat and swallowing heavily.

“Tell me,” Isabella said.

I blew my cheeks out. “I guess things just didn’t go like I thought they would. With him. Liam, I mean.”

“How so?”

“He was still there.”

Isabella raised her upturned palms above the level of the table and shook her head.

I sighed, knowing that I’d have to provide more details. Slipping back into that memory of him was like pulling on my favorite jacket, so easy I didn’t even have to think about it.

Liam had still been there, in the morning, when I woke up. My first feeling upon awakening had been how sore I felt, followed quickly by what had caused the soreness.

And then my hand slid across the smooth, now slightly rumpled sheets and found nothing beside me. My heart jerked up into my throat even as I thought that he had left. I opened my eyes expecting maybe a note on the pillow thanking my for the previous evening’s activities and to please show myself out.

Except there was no note. Only a pattern of wrinkles on the sheet and a slight depression on the pillow where it had cradled Liam’s head.

I remember feeling sick, disappointed. As though this wasn’t the way it was supposed to have gone. Then stupid, for thinking it should have been any other way.

But then I heard him. Humming an aimless tune while other things clattered and tinkled. Curious, I sat up, wrapping the silky sheet around my still-naked body, holding the slack in one hand.

“What was he doing?” Isabella said. She’d stopped drinking her espresso, and she leaned over the table, fascinated by every detail. Her question had interrupted my own pleasant memory, so I shushed her and tried to fall back into it.

I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the feel of the sheet against my shoulders and the way it whisked against the floor as I shuffled my feet forward.

I left the bedroom, following the sound of his voice and the clatter of dishes. I found him in the small, if well appointed kitchen, whisking something in a large stainless mixing bowl, a Teflon-coated skillet waiting on the range.

Isabella’s eyes widened, showing the whites. She licked those full lips of hers. Lips that normally made me jealous, but now couldn’t budge me from my memory.

“No, he didn’t?” Isabella said, obviously shocked.

“He did,” I nodded, “He cooked me breakfast.”

I remembered standing in the doorway, watching him in those few moments before he saw me. If anything, he looked even sexier in the morning light. His bed-head was tousled just right. The white housecoat he wore terminated at his calves, showing the way he curled his bare toes against the tile floor while he concentrated on cooking. It was adorable.

I could have melted right then and there.

Then he poured the contents of the mixing bowl into the skillet. It was egg. Next, he sprinkled in some small bits of meat and veggies, followed by some shredded cheese. I’d been in Italy long enough to recognize a frittata. My heart seemed to expand to fill my whole torso. I could hardly breathe. Except I forced myself to inhale, the dish smelled so good.

Liam heard the sound, glancing over his shoulder at me. He flashed a smile that made me want to take him right back to bed. “Hey, sleepy. Give me just one second...”

He finished getting all the ingredients in before fiddling with the fancy digital settings on the range.

When he turned around I saw how his housecoat had fallen open slightly, exposing a sexy V of flesh that definitely left me hungry in a way that frittata didn’t. He held out his hand and I took it. He pulled me close, me putting my hands on that bared skin of his, feeling his strong chest with one hand while my other palm went down to run over the washboard of his abdominals.

“Hey, yourself,” I said.

He looked at me wearing his bed sheet. “You know, I think that look went out of style in these parts about 1500 years ago.”

“Really? I thought it suited me,” I breathed. I couldn’t help myself, he looked simply too delicious to ignore. I kissed the cleft of his chin, loving the tickle of his stubble against my lips. He put one finger beneath my chin and then lifted my face so that he could look into my eyes. Behind him, the egg started sizzling in the skillet.

“Everything suits you,” he said, and then he kissed me.

“He sounds like a good kisser,” Isabella said, licking her lips again. I could see the slight flush to her swarthy complexion and I knew just where her imagination took her.

“Shh! No more interruptions or I won’t finish,” I scolded her. She made the motion of zippering her lips together and then tossing the imaginary key over her shoulder.

I continued with my recollection.

“Maybe this is more in style?” I said. I let my sheet-toga slip from my shoulders and pool around my feet. My skin pebbled with gooseflesh at the touch of the air for a moment before I pressed myself against him, my bare chest touching that naked V slash.

He groaned deep in his throat, pulling me hard against him. His hands slid down my sides, cupping my ass. Sitting there at the bistro with Isabella, my cheeks still felt a little sore from how hard he squeezed them.

“Now this look is always in style,” he said.

“So you did it right there, in the kitchen?” Isabella said, forgetting how she’d zippered her lips moments before. When she realized, she clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening again in an expression that begged for forgiveness, begged me to not stop my story.