Page 8 of Perfect Match
She blinks up at me, her high cheekbones blushed pink.
“Good night, Tori,” I murmur, then leave, stopping briefly on the way out to say goodbye to Emilio and make sure he charges everything to me.
Chapter four
Tori
Wow.It’s not hard to see the difference between this five-star hotel and my basic three-star one down the road. Even the shoes of the guests don’t make a noise as they glide across the shiny white-tiled floor. I stroll toward the seating area, skirting the edges of the vast space rather than the shortest possible route across the middle. My backpacking wardrobe of jean shorts and a loose pink shirt with Birkenstocks is completely out of place among the opulent surroundings.
Two women in Valimare resort wear saunter by with identical Gucci bags slung over their shoulders. They glance my way and then, in the blink of an eye, dismiss me as unimportant, averting their gazes and proving my point. I’m an anomaly in this fancy hotel foyer.
Bitches!
Maybe agreeing to meet Gio here was a bad idea when he’s obviously way out of my league. But I’ll admit I have a weak spot for sexy, smooth-talking Italian men, and when one invites meto spend the day with him on the Isle of Capri, then I’m going to jump at the chance.
As I sink into the buttery-soft tan leather chair, I struggle to hold in the sigh of pleasure. I don’t feel so conspicuous hidden in the generous proportions of a piece of furniture that probably cost a small fortune.
I check the time on my phone; he should be here any minute, and at the distant ping of an arriving elevator, I look up to see Gio striding toward me. He looks even more handsome than I remember from last night: His dark-chocolate hair no longer slicked back but falling in loose strands over his forehead. His Henry-Cavil-like chiseled jaw softened by a day’s worth of stubble. His eyes are more sapphire than gray today, probably picking up the color from his navy linen shirt, the top three buttons undone to give a teasing glimpse of a muscular chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing corded, bronzed arms. One hand is tucked into the pocket of his white cargo shorts, contrasting his tanned athletic legs in two-toned leather loafers. Today, he’s got the more casual look of the cover ofGQmagazine, and it’s as droolworthy as the suit last night.
The two Valimare women from earlier track his progress across the foyer. I stand, and when he reaches me, the butterflies in my belly scatter. Gio leans in to kiss my cheek in a friendly greeting. He smells so good, a fresh forest-pine scent like he’s showered in a mountain stream rather than a fancy hotel.
Those women continue to stare with their overfilled Botox lips pouting like a goldfish. They can’t believe that he is meeting me, the girl in the outlet shirt and shorts. I can’t resist reaching up to hook my hands on his shoulders, staking my claim. It was meant to be a light, casual touch, insignificant, but the moment his warm hands land on my hips, it becomes so much more. My skin tingles where our bodies touch, and when our lipsbrush, we linger. His mouth pressing more firmly to mine. Until, reluctantly, we pull apart.
“Good morning,” he says in a smooth, deep voice that zaps another blast of heat through my already-buzzing nerve endings.
“Hi,” I murmur on a sigh.
One dark eyebrow quirks in amusement. “Are you ready for a day in Capri?”
“So ready.” I grin up at him, realizing that I’m still holding on to him. I withdraw my hands, dropping my arms to my sides, at the same time as he removes his from my hips.
“Let’s go, then.” He bends and scoops up my bag like it weighs nothing, which is impossible given the souvenirs I’ve already collected along the way, then takes my hand in his much larger one.
We exit through the rotating doors onto the street, where a Porsche SUV is waiting. A man dressed casually in shorts and a polo shirt stands beside the open rear door.
“Thank you,” I mumble, climbing into the back seat. Gio hands my bag to the man and then hops in behind me, and I quickly shuffle across, my legs sticking uncomfortably to the leather.
After a short ride along the Riviera di Chiaia to the other end of the harbor, we pull up to a marina. There are no pretty little fishing boats tied up here. This is where the big yachts are moored. A blast of hot, salty air hits me once I exit the car’s cool interior. It’s still early, and already, the sun’s heat has the power to burn. I move to the back of the car to get my bag, but Gio takes my hand, tugging me gently in the opposite direction.
“It’s all right. Rocco will carry your bag on board.”
The wooden decking of the pontoon sways gently beneath our feet as he leads me to a gleaming white luxury yacht that sparkles with the brilliance of a diamond on the azure water. It’s huge—at least two hundred feet long—and more impressive thanany of the yachts I’ve ever seen cruising on Sydney Harbour. I stagger to a stop, causing Gio to pause beside me.
“Is this your boat?” I stutter, surprised I can even get the question out. “I mean, yacht.” Something that big deserves a title, like luxury cruiser or super yacht.
“Not technically,” he admits, then takes a pair of Aviators from the top pocket of his shirt and pops them on, hiding his gaze from mine. I give him a side-eyed look, which he chooses to ignore.
“Come on,” he encourages with another tug on my hand, propelling my feet forward.
If I felt out of place in the hotel lobby, this is going to be even more awkward.
At the gangway, he stands aside for me to go first, and curling my hand around the shiny silver handrail, I walk on board.
Wow!This is the next level of luxury, and I wish I had my sunglasses handy to cover my wide-eyed expression. I want to play it cool in front of Gio, but everywhere I look, I’m blown away by how shiny and fancy everything is.
“Would you like me to show you around?”
I nod, then follow him mutely into a sitting area. Dark wood paneling runs from floor to ceiling anywhere there aren’t smokey glass windows and doors. The bright sunshine from outside is dimmer and certainly cooler in here. On one side is a U-shaped, built-in cream leather sofa, with a low square coffee table in the middle. The other side has a bar and an oval dining table with eight chairs around it. A pretty blonde woman around the same age as me appears from behind a partition.
