Page 50 of Burning Caine
“Could you pass my apologies on to your boyfriend?” My heart lodged itself in my throat at the prospect of her answer.
“Boyfriend? Nathan?” She wrinkled her nose, the best response possible.
“Really? He said you were his date.”
“He’s my stand-in big brother. And a little overprotective sometimes.”
Thank heavens. I slid the white box over. Was I about to overstep my bounds? “I was thinking of you this morning. I thought you might like this.” I picked it up and handed it to her.
“Oh?”
“Shall I open it for you?”
Her hands were unsteady, and she nodded. I undid the string slowly, our eyes locked. My breath became shallower, as I imagined undressing her the same way I undressed the box. She must have felt it, as well. Her pupils grew wide, and she didn’t even look at what I had given her. Not my intention but wonderful.
As I finished, my hands fell to the sides of the box, covering hers. Unlike at Caruther’s, this was a moment we were sharing. The slowness of time. The tilting of the axis. The rightness.
Someone in the room cleared their throat and we both immediately looked into the box. When she saw the cornetto I had brought from Russo’s, she laughed so hard she almost dropped it. I winked at her, unable to contain my pleasure.
“This, as well.” I handed her the thick, heavy envelope. “It’s something you may want to read sometime when you are tired and can’t sleep.”
She slid the document out and her eyes lit when she read the cover page. “Your doctoral dissertation? Oh my god, I can’t wait to read it!”
“You are trying to make me feel good, sì?”
She hugged it to her breast and shook her head. “You’re so thoughtful. I needed something like this today.”
“Bad day?”
“To be honest, the police closing the case bothered me more than it should.”
I had withheld from comforting her so many times already, but I didn’t care this time. I put my hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently with my thumb, wanting nothing more than to pull her into an embrace. Why did she have to be so perfect for me and yet so wrong at the same time?
I stepped closer, feeling her air, so close she had to look up. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?”
“You already have.” She smiled softly. Without a blush for the first time.
Chapter 20
Samantha
Itookoffworkearly on Wednesday afternoon after tweaking my schedule to wrap up by two o’clock. The Scott claim was weighing on me, as were the excessive hours I’d been keeping. I needed some time to relax.
Entering through the lobby of the hotel, I waved to the staff and snagged a complimentary cookie and bottle of water. Cass wanted me in an apartment, but an extended-stay hotel was furnished, had Wi-Fi, and was easier to leave at a moment’s notice. And housekeeping was included.
In my room, I kicked off my boots and crashed on the couch. I reached over to the table where Antonio’s dissertation lay. It was 342 pages on his method for conserving ancient frescoes, through the use of specific nanotechnology, bacteria, and short-pulse lasers. He wasn’t a talentless hack—he was brilliant. I’d made it through the first hundred pages but lost focus.
I wandered aimlessly around the rooms of my little suite. Bath? Nap? Food? Read?
Motorcycle. Yes! I grabbed my leather suit, threw on a tank top and pulled on the riding pants and boots.
Soon enough, I was on the road, heading out of town leaving my cares in the dust. Out to the cornfields, apple orchards, and the long straight roads of Michigan. No plans. No goals. Just me and the motorcycle. All the time and no one to answer to.
Until my phone rang. The wake word for my headset was out of my mouth in a second. But before I could tell it to decline, it read out the caller’s name. “Incoming call from Ferraro’s Fine Ar—”
I hit the call button on the side of my helmet before the name was finished. “Samantha Caine speaking.”
“Samantha,” came the deeply accented Italian, deliberate, like he was tasting each syllable of my name. “This is Antonio Ferraro calling, from Ferraro’s Fi—”