Page 45 of Ice To Meet You

I watched in absolute silence as he worked it into the flour. Every move he made was exact. Precise. But somehow, he added a flourish. A touch of flamboyance.

“I had no idea you were such a show pony.”

He looked up at me and winked. He worked his hands through the flour, kneading and moulding it, the corded length of his forearms doing all sorts of things to my insides. As I watched, my mouth ran dry. What I wouldn’t give for a…

“Would you like a drink?” I asked, heading over to a bottle of the ill-fated merlot.

He shook his head. “Are you trying to get me drunk? I don’t want to be accused of kitchen-negligence. To Italians, making pasta is sacred business.”

“Fine,” I said, opening the bottle and decanting it into a carafe. “But I’ll need to taste it to check it’s okay.” I tipped a small amount into a glass and swallowed it.

Matteo smiled. “What are you serving the pasta with?”

“Just a sauce I picked up.” I pointed at the Tower of Pisa jar that sat on the end of the counter. “No judgment, please. I didn’t have a chance to get anything else.”

He stared at the small glass pot like it was radioactive, though he said nothing.

After much kneading—and a lot of me drooling over his forearms—Matteo finally announced the dough was ready. “It just needs to rest for a while. You may as well go do something useful.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe prep for this evening? I’m assuming your dinner is for something important. Who are you trying to impress?” He stopped, hands around the ball of pasta. “Is it a new lover?” His eyes flashed, and I swallowed.

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Who then?” he asked, moving to the sink and washing his hands.

My gut rolled gently. Should I tell him about the Rossis? He might tell his grandfather I was talking to other investors about my new gallery. But I couldn’t imagine Gio would mind. There’d been no mention of exclusivity in the deal we’d discussed.

“I’m exploring investment opportunities for my gallery in Rome. Your grandfather aside, it would be comforting to have options.” My skin prickled as I waited for his response.

After a long beat, Matteo shrugged his shoulders. “That sounds sensible. As my grandfather would say, sometimes it’s good to hedge your bets. Spread the risks.”

I pulled my brows together. “I hope your grandfather doesn’t think I’m a risk.”

Matteo gave a tiny shake of his head. “He’s a bit like me. He thinks you’re amazing.”

At the glow in his eyes, my heart tap-danced against my ribs.

“So, I ask again,” he said. “Who are you trying to impress tonight?”

I let out a breath. “One of my regular customers and her husband. He’s the one interested in investing,andhe’s Italian.”

“Who are they?”

“The wife you’ve met.”

“Who?”

“Marianne Rossi,” I said.

A smile spread over his face. “I see. And her husband?”

“He’s a big art buyer. With the Italian connection, she thought he might be interested. He’s Alessandro Rossi. Do you know of him?”

Matteo shook his head. “Not personally, though I don’t move in the same circles as my grandfather.”

Matteo covered his dough, pausing to run his eyes over my hair.“Are you staying in that outfit?”

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