She crawled out of bed. Woken by the sharp rapping at the door. Her fingers tentatively lingered on the door handle.
"Who is it?" she called.
"Room service," came a reply. Not Alejandro. As if sensing some hesitation, on her part, the voice called out again in halting English. "I have brought breakfast."
Natasha was suddenly aware of the gnawing hunger in her stomach. She wrenched the door open. A young waiter stared at her open-mouthed.
Natasha glanced down at herself. The sweatshirt barely grazed mid-thigh. Her feet were bare. Embarrassed she jumped behind the door and held it open.
The waiter wheeled in a cart piled high with platters. The delicious aroma wafted past her nose and she lifted the silver food cover. An American style breakfast, complete with eggs and bacon.
"Ah, grazie." She sighed in delight. The young waiter smile courteously and Natasha tipped him generously before he bowed slightly and left the room.
Natasha's hand was on the door handle when the door across the hall opened and Gianni Angiolini stepped out into the hall. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway, cocking her head.
He didn't see her right away. His keys jangled as he locked the door. He turned stopped short when he saw her standing there.
Her dark brows rose and the corner of her lips lifted. "Following me?"
He managed to affect an equally surprised look. "Natasha?" he grinned uncertainly coming towards her and stopping before her doorway. "What are you doing here?"
She stared at him incredulously and fixed him with a skeptical look. "I'm staying here while my uncle is away." She said. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugged. "I'm in the process of moving. I'm staying here 'til things get settled in my new place." It wasn't a complete lie.
Natasha looked at him. He looked good in black leather Ameriranian-style jeans and plain tightly fitting t-shirt over black motorcycle boots. His hair was mussed and he was unshaven, lending him a slighlt unkempt but irresistible look.
"Going out?" she asked.
"I was just going to breakfast." He gestured to the elevator. "Would you like to join me?"
Natasha glanced back into her room. "Um, actually a wonderful breakfast was just delivered. It could feed a small army." She laughed.
"Oh?" Gianni grinned at her.
"Join me?" she asked boldly. There was a bit of a challenge in her tone.
He glanced down the hall. "Sounds great."
Natasha stepped back and allowed him entrance to her room.
He let out a low whistle, looking around. "This is nice."
"Thanks." She said and closed the door.
He turned to face her. His eyebrows lifted and an amused smile slid over his face. His hands slid into his pockets and he stood, regarding her. "This is an American style?"
Natasha's face flamed. She tugged at the hemline on the sweatshirt.
The movement illustrated her slight discomfort, inflaming Gianni's protective instinct. An instinct which, at the moment, was in direct conflict to his body's desire. He was trying hard to ignore the throbbing that had invaded his loins.
Christ. How long was he supposed be endure her company...this beautiful, charming young woman, the expanse of her golden unmarred skin bare to his gaze... Yet he couldn't make her his?
She smiled at him shyly. "Give me a second." He watched her long slim legs take her into the bathroom. He'd give her forever.
She emerged in a pair of worn blue jeans, a tear across the knee.
"Bella." He praised with a smile.
She cast him a dubious grin.
He meant it. He liked her this way. In her designer finery, she was a goddess, beautiful and seemingly untouchable. In a sweatshirt in jeans she was a bit out of place amidst the luxury of the suite but no less beautiful. She looked like the college kid she was. In these clothes she was relaxed, slightly shy. She was human.
They ate out on the terrace. It was a beautiful day.
"Malto Bene." Gianni said leaning against the iron railing and looking out over the rooftops. Natasha leaned on the railing next to him, their shoulders touching. She nudged him. "So you like American food?"
He turned dark eyes on her seriously. "I like many things American." He said softly looking at her intently.
She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. "You are trouble, sir," she admonished.
He smiled thinly but eyes remained on her as she returned her gaze to the scenery. "I have to go." He said suddenly and pushed himself back from the railing.
"Already?" she sounded disappointed. "What about breakfast?"
He slipped an arm around her waist. "Alas, but I must!" he said theatrically.
Natasha threw back her head and laughed. Gianni admired the smooth column of her throat. He drew from his pocket a business card and handed it to her. "This is my club. Come tonight." He wrote a number on the back and became suddenly serious. "This is my cell phone. If you need anything," he said, "Absolutely anything...call me."
Natasha took the card surprised by his sudden seriousness. "I thought you were in stocks and trading?" she asked.
He chucked her under the chin. "I'm a man of many interests," he said dismissively.
She led him to the door. Before he left he grasped her hand unexpectedly and brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Arrivederci."
"Ciao." She said and closed the door with a soft click. She leaned her forehead against the smooth wood of the door. Yes. She was in trouble.
***
Natasha went shopping. She returned to the Via Condotti. From Gucci she bought a shimmering mesh halter dress. The gold metallic color along with her skin made her seem to glow. It was shockingly short and made her legs appear to go on forever. From Prada she bought matching handbag and golden stilettos.
Her hair was pressed straight to hang like a dark curtain nearly to her waist. She lined her eyes with kohl and glossed her lips. She dusted her body with ultra fine glitter and sprayed a hint of Dior's Poison at her wrists and throat.
Tonight she didn't feel like herself, like the somewhat bumbling girl-child not even out of college who joked to escape her discomfort. She was striking.
At twelve she left her room. She sauntered through the lobby past a group of businessmen who halted their conversation to watch her pass by.
Signore Valeriani's mouth opened and closed like a fish.
"Not a word." Natasha hurled at him as she strode by.
She lowered herself with carefully into the seat of the Beemer conscious of the eyes that watched her and the shockingly short dress. She smiled a mockingly sweet smile at Signore Valeriani and the car lunged away from the curb.
***
The black Z8 pulled up to Berimbau. A neon sign throbbed pink, blue, green, and orange lights over the people lined outside the building. The sounds of Brazilian music which had overtaken Rome throbbed through the warm night air.
Natasha stepped out of the car and handed the valet her keys. Heads turned and watched her as she walked to the end of the line. Great.
She spread her hands through her hair and arched her back. As long as they were going to stare, she might as well give them a show. She twisted her body and stuck one long leg out and her skirt slid up her thigh. Men smiled and she saw a few mouths drop open. She smiled coyly and stretched her arms in a sexy pose. The women mostly turned away, pretending they hadn't been checking out their competition.
A tall dark man in a suit approached her, obviously security. "Miss James?"
"Yes?"
"Mr. Angiolini is expecting you inside." He offered her his arm and led her past the line of ogglers and into the club. Reggaeton and Merengue music pulsed through the room. The security guard pointed to one of two balconies overlooking the dance floor. Black velvet curtains shielded its interior from view. "He's waiting there."
Natasha smiled her thanks and began to wind her way through the dance floor when a hand closed around her wrist. Natasha, whirled expecting to see Gianni, was disappointed. A complete stanger leered at her. "Ballare con me." He slurred, pulling her closer.
Natasha shook her head, no, but pasted a polite smile on her face. "Nessuni ringraziamenti. No thanks."
Instead his grip tightened around her wrist and he dragged her into the crowd.
Natasha was pulled tightly up against him. She squirmed and pushed against him but it was like pushing against a brick wall.
His hands roved brazenly over her body. His breath reeked of alcohol. He pulled her hard against him and ground himself against her. His lips came down towards her. She turned her head abruptly and he planted a sloppy wet kiss upon her cheek. Natasha felt sick. And angry. He'd probably ruined her make-up.
She thrust her knee up into his groin and she watched with grim satisfaction as his eyes bulged and he bent over. His stunned expression quickly turned angry and he made as if to reach for her when he suddenly froze. His eyes were fixed somewhere over her shoulder. He straightened with some difficulty, his eyes tinged with fear, and with a chagrinned air he held up his hands and disappeared into the crowd.
Natasha stood trembling, half unnerved and half enraged. She flinched as a light hand touched her shoulder and Gianni came around to face her. He lightly touched her cheek as his eyes held hers. "Are you alright?"
Natasha smiled weakly. "Bene."
He smiled and surveyed her quietly. "Bene."
His arms slid around her and he held her close, engulfing her in the strong safety of his arms. They danced to the slow sensual beat. His body, tall and muscular, fit perfectly with the slim, sensual curves of her body. She felt secure in his arms.
He turned her in his arms settling his hands on her hips as she moved to the beat. As he moved to pull her back against his body she reached up and wound her arms around his neck. Her fingers strayed to his dark locks as he reverently pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.
But someone watched them from the balcony above, his eyes lingering on the woman nestled against Gianni Angiolini.
