What Love Tastes Like Page 2

  “To the administrative offices,” he replied. “I know someone there who can get us to a higher-up in airport security. We’ll be able to get this straightened out without all the hassle. You’ll have to fill out a report with the airport, and another with the police if you want this crime reported, which I suggest that you do. I won’t ask you what happened. You’ll have to repeat the despicable details at least twice as it is.” He gave Tiffany’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “By the way, I’m Nick Rollins.”

  His personable manners in the midst of madness brought a smile to Tiffany’s heart, if not her face. “Tiffany Matthews.”

  “Even though I truly wish the circumstances were different, Tiffany Matthews, it is a pleasure to formally meet you.”

  Just over an hour later, Nick was once again leading Tiffany, this time out of the administrative offices and down to ground transportation. As assuring as it was to have this six-foot-tall mass of obvious authority walking beside her, looking nice and smelling good, something about his take-charge manner made her uncomfortable. For the moment, she was too grateful to complain. If Nick hadn’t been there, Tiffany felt she’d still be sitting on her luggage, crying and waiting for God knew who to do Lord knew what.

  “Thanks for everything you did back there,” Tiffany said as they once again neared the elevator.

  “No worries,” Nick said comfortably. “I’m just glad I was here to help you. Trans-Atlantic flying can be exhausting. To have your purse stolen after having just landed is plain bad luck.”

  “I knew better than to turn my back on my cart, even for a second. But that woman, excuse me, that thief, distracted me on purpose, showing me a brochure of some famous fountain…”

  “Trevi, it’s the Trevi Fountain.”

  “It’s the trouble fountain in my book, because that’s what finding out about it cost me—nothing but trouble.”

  “On the good side, nothing was taken that can’t be replaced, and what’s more, your trip is bound to get better from here!”

  The next thing Tiffany knew she was in Nick’s chauffeured town car, getting whisked to the American embassy for an emergency replacement passport. On the way, Nick provided his satellite phone so that she could make calls to replace her traveler’s checks, cancel her credit cards, and turn off her cell phone—all the while thanking her mother for bugging her until Tiffany had promised to write all of her credit card, passport, and related telephone numbers on a separate piece of paper and place it in her carry-on luggage. While she placed all of these calls, Nick was a calming presence beside her, handling his own items of business on the car phone. When she ended her call, he was still on his, a business call of some sort, she deduced. She busied herself looking out the window, taking in this place that looked so different from the streets of LA. They passed several stately-looking buildings adorned with statues and accented with fountains.

  As she gazed out her window, Tiffany thought back over the past couple hours. How Nick Rollins had swooped in to save a modern-day damsel in distress. She remembered the deference those in the airline office had paid him, how the manager of the airport had referred to him as “Mr. Rollins.” How the police had appeared out of nowhere and taken her report right there in the airline office, precluding her from having to actually travel to the station to fill out the report. Nick was obviously well known in Rome, or at least well connected.

  It took just under an hour for Tiffany to fill out the paperwork regarding her stolen passport and the application to have a new one expedited to her. Throughout the process, Nick continued to be a reassuring presence beside her. His chivalry continued once they left the embassy and got back in the car.

  “Please accept my gift of a hotel room where I’m staying,” he said.

  Tiffany started, so engrossed in present complexities that she hadn’t begun to think of future challenges—such as eating, sleeping and navigating a foreign city with no money. “Oh, I couldn’t,” she muttered, her mind whirling with plan-B possibilities, of which there were none.

  “I insist,” Nick countered easily. “It’s in a very nice and convenient location, and has a great restaurant with shops nearby. It will be the perfect backdrop for your introduction to Rome, and will prevent you from having to scramble around for a room on credit.” There was humor in Nick’s voice as he spoke this last sentence, but Tiffany failed to find anything funny. She seriously doubted that there was a hotel on the continent that would extend credit to a traveling guest.

  “I can’t accept that kind of generosity,” Tiffany said again, this time with less conviction. When Nick remained quiet, gently stroking his wisp of a mustache, she continued, “Only if I can pay you back, every cent.”

  Nick smiled, and a blessed showing of even, white teeth sent her heart flip-flopping with a different kind of anxiety. She was quickly, quietly, falling in lust.

  Who is this man who’s rescued me? Tiffany pondered the question as she and Nick continued casual conversation. And what is he expecting in exchange for his kindness?

  3

  The hotel was quaint, and plush at the same time—about ten minutes away from what Tiffany would later learn was the hub of Rome’s city center. Tiffany’s second thought, after the first one of how beautiful the building was, was the fact that it would probably take a third of this trip’s budget to pay for one night’s stay. She’d reserved a room in a modest bed-and-breakfast, but an inquiring phone call to the establishment had confirmed her fears and Nick’s assumption that she couldn’t check in without a major credit card. The thought to throw herself on the mercy of the restaurant where she’d be interning was quickly extinguished. She knew those people even less than she knew Nick, which was hardly at all. Except for one phone call, the communication regarding the internship had been by e-mail. Not only that, but Chef Riatoli was her mentor, at the top of his game. She wanted to impress him. Begging him for money before she’d even entered his kitchen was not the type of impression she had in mind. Just one night. Then my traveler’s checks will be here and I can be on my way.

  A doorman in top hat and tails stepped up to the town car and made an exaggerated sweep of his hands as he opened the door. “Welcome back, Mr. Rollins, sir.” His accent was lyrical and his eyes twinkled. “Always a pleasure to have you.”

  “Grazie, Alberto,” Nick replied. He continued chatting but Tiffany couldn’t understand a word he said. What was perfectly clear, however, was how sexy Nick sounded speaking Italian. She tried not to be impressed, and failed, especially once they stepped inside the extravagantly appointed hotel lobby.

  Okay, maybe half my budget, Tiffany thought as they entered. The deep mahogany wood along the walls and the front desk gleamed under the sparkling light from pure gold chandeliers. Tiffany’s feet sank into plush, dark carpeting before the pile gave way to a bronzed, polished marble. All words escaped her as she tried to appear casual and nonchalant in what was rapidly becoming a fairy tale. But reality came crashing down around her when she heard the manager’s response to Nick’s request for a second room.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but there are no other rooms available.”

  “Excuse me?” Nick responded in English, obviously not used to being told no, no matter what the question.

  “All of the rooms are taken, sir. We are sold out,” the manager said, a look pleading for understanding in his eyes. “I can recommend another fine hotel that’s just down the way—”

  “Never mind that,” Nick interrupted, silencing the man with a wave of his authoritative hand. And then, seeing the fear in the eyes of an employee not wanting to piss off one of his richest customers, Nick softened. “It’s okay,” he continued in Italian. “I will work it out.” And then he turned to Tiffany. “You’ll stay in my suite.”

  “No,” Tiffany said, without hesitation. And once again, the vague feeling of discomfort that had plagued her at various times since their meeting surfaced. “I couldn’t do that,” she slowly continued. Not that bedding down with this f
ine specimen of human flesh wasn’t tempting—it was. It just wasn’t prudent. Tiffany was here to launch her career into the culinary world, a competitive, all-consuming endeavor. She needed to be ready to meet Chef on Monday morning, and didn’t need to be distracted by fleeting fancies of delusional love.

  Nick nodded curtly to the manager before grasping Tiffany’s arm and directing them both away from the desk. “This suite,” he began by way of explanation, “has two bedrooms, two baths, a nice-sized living/dining area, and fully furnished kitchen. You’ll be safe and secure in your own room, which is on the other side of the living room…if that’s what you want.”

  “I need my own room, not one in your suite.” Tiffany knew she was hardly in a position to make demands, but the feeling of losing control was increasing, along with her anxiety. She glanced over at Tuffy peeking out of her oversized travel bag, but squelched the urge to reach for teddy bear backup.

  Nick followed Tiffany’s gaze and released a long breath. He eyed her critically before walking back over to the desk and speaking to the manager. “He’s checking on the other hotel,” he announced when he rejoined her in the lobby’s sitting area.

  They didn’t have long to wait. The hotel manager came over to where they sat, and Tiffany didn’t have to speak Italian to know his search had not been successful.

  “There’s a cardiologist conference going on in the area,” Nick translated after he and the manager had spoken. “All of the five-star hotels are booked solid.”

  “I don’t have to stay in a five-star hotel,” Tiffany said to the manager. “I’ll take anything.”

  Instead of talking to Tiffany, the manager looked at Nick.

  Why are you looking at him? Didn’t you just hear me say I’d take anything? Tiffany thought this but did not voice it. No money, no ID, and no place to go were standing in between her and her much-loved independence.

  Nick checked his watch. “That’s fine, but we don’t have time for that tonight. You’re welcome to stay in my suite, and if you still want to move to another hotel tomorrow, I’ll be more than happy to help you get settled in one that is more to your liking.”

  Tiffany hid a frown, stifled a sigh, and silently followed Nick as he walked over to the front desk to pick up the room keys. What choice do I have? She didn’t like the feeling of helplessness that had accompanied her unspoken decision to share Nick’s suite. This feeling warred with the thought that said she should be grateful that Nick was here to offer her a room. I can’t deny that, she thoughtfully concluded, trying to shake off the angst she felt and replace it with gratitude. After all, it’s just one night. Even so, she lifted Tuffy from the cart just as the bellhop pushed the container bearing their luggage toward the elevator, and snuck another look at the handsome man who’d become her savior. A squiggly feeling slid from her navel to her nana as she eyed the strong, capable hands, one clutching a briefcase, the other, an iPhone. Tiffany clutched the bear, hoping that more than protecting her from Nick, her furry friend could protect her from herself.

  4

  Later, Tiffany would congratulate herself on not gasping. Nick’s penthouse suite was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen. Unlike the small, almost claustrophobic European rooms she’d seen online and for which she’d prepared herself, this suite was spacious, with towering ceilings and silk-covered walls. A large living-room window offered views of a well-landscaped park and beyond that the sparkling city lights of Rome. A large marble fireplace anchored one wall, while a formal dining room occupied the other end of the rectangular space. The velvet couch and love seat, upholstered in a rich sienna, was soft and inviting—the perfect contrast to the ivory-colored carpeting that anchored the living and dining room area. Beyond that, a deep cherry wood adorned the cabinetry as well as the appliances. Tiffany could only imagine what the bedrooms and bathrooms looked like. She began to feel as if spending twenty-four hours in the lap of luxury might not be such a bad experience after all.

  “Do you like it?” Nick asked, basking in the joyful wonder that shone on Tiffany’s face. It pleased him that she was as appreciative of beauty as he was.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I fell in love with it the first time I stayed here. Especially this.” Nick stood at the large picture window and swept his hand to indicate the view of Rome, with the ancient ruins of the Colosseum outlined against a near-dark sky.

  “You come here often?” Tiffany walked over and stood by the window.

  “Not as often as I’d like. But when I do, I stay here.”

  They were silent a moment, taking in the greenery of the landscape, the water spouting from a fountain, a full moon overhead, and the city center’s beckoning lights.

  “What brought you here in the first place, to Italy?”

  Nick hesitated before answering. The memory of his first visit to Rome, ten years ago, brought with it subtle heartache. That trip was a thirtieth birthday present to himself, one that Angelica had encouraged. They’d been just friends then when she, along with eight of Nick’s good friends, had swept into the Eternal City like a cyclone, partied like it was 1999, took the tours, ate the food, and promptly fell in love with all things Italy.

  But as he stared out the window, watching the moon rise higher in the sky, Nick was all too aware that the woman beside him now was not Angelica. She was an exquisite woman-child, vulnerable yet independent, fearful yet determined, with skin the color of rich dark chocolate, the kind that even doctors agreed was good for you. Don’t go there, Nick cautioned himself, even as the thought to do so quickened his heartbeat. Now is not the time.

  Nick’s silence caused Tiffany to look away from the sensually dusky scene out the window and over to the picture of perfection standing less than five feet from her. She almost did gasp this time, the reality of her situation suddenly hitting her like a bolt of lightning. She was in the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel in Rome, Italy, with one of the finest men she’d ever seen up close and personal. She guessed he was around six feet tall, solidly built, his muscular frame perfectly proportioned. He had the type of body that in hugging, a woman could lose herself, Tiffany imagined. One that could communicate “Don’t worry, I’ve got you” with one good squeeze. She followed Nick’s tongue as he unconsciously licked a set of lips that were just the right size, casually nibbling on the lower one as he pondered some event to which Tiffany was not privy. His brow was furrowed slightly, and Tiffany took in the perfect arch of his thick, black eyebrows and the long, curly lashes that framed the bedroom eyes that had melted her in the airplane aisle. Before she could stop herself, her eyes traveled over his broad shoulders, down his strong back, stopping at his nicely rounded derriere before continuing to peruse a set of sprinter’s legs and big feet that hinted at the promise of…

  Promise of what? Tiffany mentally shook herself and hurried away from the window. The air had suddenly grown heavy and she found it hard to breathe. Where is Tuffy? In that moment she realized it wasn’t her teddy bear, but the bear of a man on the other side of the room that she’d rather hug and squeeze right now. And just as quickly, she extinguished the thought. While she hadn’t seen a ring on his finger, she was sure nonetheless that he belonged to somebody—maybe several somebodies. She thought of Joy, her best friend, and figured she was more the type of woman Nick would go after. Joy was a Tyra Banks type: tall, beautiful, long hair courtesy of European and Native grandparents instead of a weave, and confident beyond belief. And here she was, Tiffany, looking for an old-ass teddy bear! Get your head out of the clouds, Tiffany! Janice Matthews’s voice rang in her head. Her mother was right, and Tiffany decided to obey her.

  “Look, I’m going to—”

  “Would you like to join me—”

  Nick and Tiffany spoke at once, both silently aware that somehow, surreptitiously, the atmosphere between them had shifted.

  “I—I was just going to thank you again for everything you’ve done, and then take a shower and lie down. It’s been a
long day.”

  “Surely it has, but aren’t you hungry?” Nick knew that while there was food service in coach, it was nothing like first class.

  “Not really.”

  Tiffany’s stomach chose that exact moment to become vocal, and a loud, sustained growl emanated from its core. The sound of this base bodily function chased away the discomfort they both felt—brought about by unsolicited and unwelcome thoughts.

  Tiffany’s eyes went wide with embarrassment. How dared her body betray her, sounding common in front of this classy man and calling her a liar with pronounced vigor. “Ooh, excuse me!” she muttered, even as she pressed a hand against her flat stomach, mentally daring it to speak again.

  Nick’s laugh was deep and unfettered. “You may not be hungry, but your stomach is. Join me for dinner. I’m going to one of my favorite restaurants and I detest dining alone.” Actually, Nick was quite comfortable eating solo, and once through the doors of AnticaPesa, he was rarely alone for long. But he felt not one twinge of guilt playing the sympathy card to get Tiffany’s agreement to be his dinner date. Something about her hesitation—and again, that flash of trepidation quickly replaced by resolve—made him want to be the one who relaxed her, who helped her feel comfortable in what was for her a strange, new place.

  Thirty minutes later they were on their way to fine dining in the center of Rome. The slight discomfort returned, and was reflected in their silence as they waited on the chauffeur. Tiffany tried to still the nervousness combined with physical need that sprung up as soon as she walked from her bedroom to the living room. Nick was there, standing in front of the window, talking on the phone. It gave her a moment to behold him in all his glory: dressed casually in a black silk pullover and black pants. Joy would probably know the designer, Tiffany thought as she stopped and sipped the sight of him like one would a tumbler of fine brandy. Even with her lack of knowledge of all things fashion, Tiffany was sure the outfit had been tailor made. There’s no way that any piece of clothing could come off the rack and fit that perfectly. She forced herself from the hall into the main living area and thanked her best friend for forcing her to pack the jersey dress she now wore.