Page 7 of The Roman's Woman (A Singular Obsession)

“It’s no problem,” Sophia assured him. “I’m relieved you made it now. Your interview is important to Kelly. Her project met with some setbacks, and she had fewer participants than first estimated,” she continued brightly, handing him a thick manila envelope.

“Interview? I’m sorry, what’s this?” he asked, opening the envelope and fingering the thick sheath of papers inside. Had Charles forgotten to mention a PR commitment?

She leaned in again. “It’s more intimidating than it looks, but if you like I can go through it question by question. Can you read English as well as you speak it?”

He met her eyes, his brow creasing. “I’m proficient,” he said, trying not to sound amused.

Sophia blushed and adjusted the neckline of her shirt. “Sorry, I assumed you spoke it regularly as part of your work, but didn’t know if you had occasion to write it often. The questions are fairly self-explanatory. Most are quick ones that can be answered in a sentence or two. The only involved ones are about your personal history—how you got started as a street performer.”

Gio’s mouth dropped open and he pulled out the papers from the envelope more fully. A small notecard was paper-clipped to the papers with the nameGiovanni Berardineatly printed on it.

“Oh,” he said dismayed. “There’s been a mistake. I’m—”

A sudden burst of loud German laughter drowned out the rest of his words. Sophia reached out and took his hand. A shock of electricity shot through him, startling him with its intensity. Across the table, he saw her eyes widen, and her cheeks flush. She must have felt it too. Quickly, she tried to take her hand back, but he took hold of it, refusing to let go.

It was an instinctive move, a compulsion born from somewhere deep inside him. And suddenly he didn’t want to tell her his name. He didn’t want to see that light in her eyes turn to wariness and suspicion when he told her the truth of who he was.

Didn’t you wish for a chance like this?An opportunity to get to know her without the cloud of Maria Gianna’s crap accusations hanging over him?

It could be a completely clean start. What if he waited to enlighten her? There was a chance he could make some headway and secure a favorable first impression before he told her his name.Remember the latte…

“Can I take you to dinner?”

The words were out before he could rethink them. Across from him, Sophia’s lips parted, but if she made a sound, he didn’t hear it. The noise of the people around them was too high.

“It’s too loud here,” he added in a near shout. “You can go over the questions with me,” he said, gesturing to the folder for emphasis.

She hesitated. Her eyes darted around the busy cafe, and her color was high, but she didn't say no. And she didn't take her hand back.

“I was only supposed to give you those papers,” she said, running her teeth over her full lower lip before continuing. “I’m taking the train to Florence tonight.”

He gave her his most winsome smile. “I know of an excellent Florentine restaurant.”

Chapter3

Sophia couldn’t believe she was doing this. She was sitting across from one of the handsomest men she’d ever met, and he was trying to talk her into having dinner with him—in Florence, of all places.

Despite the noise, they had been talking in the cafe for nearly an hour, a surreal conversation where she’d been gently quizzed about everything she'd visited so far. And, for some reason, she answered every question, totally forgetting to discuss the extensive interview questionnaire in the process.

“It’s too far,” she protested with a disbelieving laugh when he suggested accompanying her to Florence.

But he persisted, prodding and teasing her gently about taking advantage of a native’s offer to act as tour guide.

Kelly had been right about Giovanni. Her best friend had warned her that the wily street performer was a born flirt. He relied on his charm to draw in an audience and make money.

According to Kelly, he made a lot of it compared to other street artists. Gio was practically an institution here in Rome. She was keen to include his interview in her study, a sociological comparison of the life of present day street performers to troubadours of old.

Mailing the documents had proved fruitless. Kelly had sent the papers twice, but Gio was not the kind of man to spend time on a mail-in questionnaire. When her friend had found out Sophia was going to Rome to accept her grant from the Morgese Foundation, she had recruited her to hunt down the elusive man in person.

And after seeing him in the flesh, finally, it wasn’t hard to see why he was so successful. The man was indecently handsome, with a square jaw and fine patrician nose. Behind simple wire-rimmed glasses were the most remarkable eyes—long midnight lashes framing irises the color of honey in sunlight. But his attractiveness wasn’t the most compelling thing about him. It was the way he looked at her, so earnestly, like she was the most interesting person in the world. That expression, coupled with his bright boyish smile, was completely disarming.

Gio was nothing like she pictured. He was clean-cut and fresh looking, as if the heat didn’t affect him at all. In contrast, she was covered in a sheen her mother would have generously described as a “glow,” when in reality she was a sweaty mess.

He was also a lot younger than she’d assumed. From Kelly’s description, she’d imagined a swarthy man in his forties or early fifties. But this man couldn’t have been more than mid-thirties, and he was almost fair for an Italian. With his wire-framed glasses, he looked more like a really attractive accountant, or someone she’d work with in the lab.

Someone you would have a mad crush on.

It was disconcerting, this instantaneous and visceral reaction to a stranger. Sternly chastising herself for her wayward thoughts, she tried to nip his flirting in the bud. He obviously tried to charm everyone—it was his bread and butter, after all. She couldn’t take this offer of dinner seriously. Although it was tempting…

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