The Italian

Braciolone

Bresaola

Brodo

Cacciatore

I frown as I look down at the choices, and I turn the page. A million delicious things on the menu, and I’m about to no doubt order something crap that I’ll hate.

I glance back up to the Italian Stallion and he’s gone. My heart drops.

“Looking for me?” I hear a deep voice say from behind me.

I jump and turn and see him standing behind me. “W-what?” I stammer as I stare up at the god.

His eyes hold mine. “I asked if you were looking for me.”

I stare at him, electricity zaps through the air between us. I’m unable to think because of his close proximity. He’s even more delicious up close, if that’s even possible.

“Ahh.” I pick up my drink and take a big gulp. “No, actually.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and raspy. It does things to my insides.

He holds out his hand for me to take. “My name is Enrico Ferrara.”

I place my hand into his. Its big, warm, and holy hell, is this happening?

Enrico sounds so exotic.

“I’ve been watching you from the bar,” he says with a heavy accent.

“You have?”

“Do you need some help?”

Help with what? Kissing? Undressing? Unzipping your trousers?

Stop it.

He smirks to h

imself as if knowing exactly what I was thinking. “Help with the menu.” He gestures to the menu in my hand. “I saw you frowning while reading it.”

“Oh, of course.” I giggle nervously and drain my glass. Idiot. “Yes, that would be great, thank you.”

He sits down opposite me and steeples his hands under his chin. His eyes are assessing me. “Come ti chiami?”

I don’t know what he just said, but fuck, it sounded good. “I don’t speak Italian, I’m sorry.”

“What is your name?” he repeats in English.

“Oh.” I shake my head, flustered. Honestly, this guy needs to go away, I’m embarrassing myself here. “Olivia Reynolds.”

He picks up my hand across the table and slowly kisses the backs of my fingers, leaving me to watch on. “Olivia,” he purrs. “What a beautiful name.”

Oh jeez. “Thank you.”

We stare at each other, and my heart is beating hard in my chest from the feeling of his lips. A trace of a smile crosses his mouth, and he’s clearly amused by my physical reaction to him.