Page 37 of Tour Wars
Why worry about the future? Why not have fun now?
For years, flings had been her default setting, especially as an undergrad. One-night stands, conference quickies, dig hookups—no problem. No ties, no promises, no tearful goodbyes. Just enough physical enjoyment to satisfy her needs without the risk of letting down her walls. The one time she’d opened her heart to someone, when she’d actually envisioned a future with him, he’d fucked her over, in more ways than one. It had ended so badly that she hadn’t gotten involved with anyone in two years.
If she could keep TJ in the “fling” category, then she’d be safe. But she suspected it wouldn’t be that easy. The more she opened up to him, the more she cared about him. If she truly let him in, there would be no turning back. And once it ended—because with her luck, itwouldend—she wouldn’t be able to pretend he didn’t exist. Not when she’d undoubtedly run into him on dig sites or at academic conferences. She didn’t need that kind of heartbreak.
But she didn’t want to shut him out, either. She’d had so much fun with him yesterday, giving their impromptu tour of the Forum and Palatine Hill. After dinner that night, they’d sat at the hotel bar until eleven, talking and sharing stories like old friends. Even today, he’d been texting her off and on for most of the afternoon. Tonight, they were free to have dinner on their own, so he’d suggested they try out a local pizzeria Cesca had recommended.
At the moment, he was out with the group on a day-long excursion to the Vatican and the Castel Sant’Angelo. Rather than join him, Emilia had accompanied the Golden Girls on a low-key tour of the Villa Borghese, a public park filled with gardens, statues, and fountains. The alternative outing had been Sylvie’s idea because she and her friends had wanted to sightsee at a relaxed pace. Since TJ had offered to take the rest of the group on the Buon Viaggio-sanctioned tour, Emilia had enjoyed a splendid morning with the four women.
Her phone buzzed with a new message.
TJ: Bought you two Pope-approved crucifixes at Vat City for your pops and your abuela, as requested. Need any other religious merch? Relics? A hair shirt?
Emilia: Maybe some holy water to douse my wicked thoughts?
TJ: Care to elaborate on these thoughts?
Emilia: Wouldn’t you like to know?
She was tempted to send him an image of the Trojan horse, just to tease him, but a familiar voice sent an Arctic chill rushing through her.
“Emilia. How lovely to catch you alone.” Luca made his way toward her table and sat down beside her.
As the cloying scent of his sandalwood aftershave filled her nostrils, she resisted the urge to shudder. She silenced her phone and set it in her pocket. “All done with your business dealings?”
“I am indeed. I thought you might be with the group, but I ran into Sylvie in the lobby. She said you took her friends on a private tour. How very thoughtful of you.”
“Alice had a hard time keeping up yesterday, so she and her friends asked if I could take them someplace less packed than the Vatican. I offered to escort them to the Villa Borghese.” Emilia twisted her hands together, worried she’d broken the rules. “I hope that was okay.”
“It’s fine. I don’t think Angelo would want you making a habit of it, but if a few guests wish to chart their own course, it’s wonderful if we can accommodate them.” He placed his hand over hers. “You did the right thing, bella.”
His closeness made her feel caged in. Trapped. She tried to pull away. “Thanks. I should get back to my room.”
“Why the rush? It’s lovely out here.”
It was, but not with him crowding her. Even if he’d given no sign he intended to pursue her, she didn’t want to be alone with him. She scrambled to come up with an excuse. “I…promised my friend Dusty I’d call her. It’s eight in Boston, but she’s an early riser. Probably built in from years of working on digs, where we had to get up at five in the morning. So…um…I’d better go.”
His hand tightened around her wrist. “Before you leave, I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“Is this about Davis?” Last night, he’d sat next to her at dinner. Since Luca had been seated at the opposite end of the table, he hadn’t been a part of their conversation. Even so, she’d caught him glowering at Davis a few times. “All we did last night was swap travel stories. I stayed on my guard, just like you asked.”
“It’s fine. That’s not what I wished to discuss.”
“What’s up?”
He stroked his thumb along the inside of her palm. “I’m tired of playing games, bellissima. By now, you must be aware of my feelings. I’m very attracted to you, and if my instincts are right—which they usually are—I suspect you feel the same way. Since we won’t have many chances to be alone, why not seize the moment? What say we indulge our secret desires in the privacy of my room?”
Ice water shot through her veins. She’d made herself too vulnerable, sitting alone in the courtyard like this. For the last half hour, she hadn’t seen anyone, not even a lone housekeeper.
Don’t be an idiot. He’s not going to attack you.
She should be relieved he’d made his intentions clear. Now, she could make it equally clear she wasn’t available. “I’m flattered, but I can’t take you up on your offer.”
He raised his eyebrows. “No? With all that spicy Latin blood coursing through your veins, you hardly seem the prudish type.”
Spicy Latin blood? What kind of bullshit was that? Heart pounding, she forced herself to ignore his blatantly racist remark. “Getting involved with the guests is against the rules.”
“What rules?”
