when dinner is ready.”
“Mmm,” Cary murmured, repressing a grin in response to Antonio’s faulty turn of phrase. It wasn’t all that difficult to control himself, since he was damn near asleep already and his wrist hurt like hell. Still, the thought made for some very sweet dreams.
Chapter 3
T RUTH I S
“S IGNOR T AYLOR ? Connor?” The voice was like chocolate. Better, maybe. Deep and sexy.
Cary kept his eyes closed. He wanted Antonio to say it again. Something like “Coh-noor,” only hotter. If his wrist didn’t hurt so fuck-shit-damn much, he’d definitely have flirted with the guy by now. Or at least attempted it.
As if he’d be interested.
“Signor Taylor? Dinner is prepared. Are you well enough to come to the table?”
Cary decided what he wanted, what he needed , was to hear Antonio speaking Italian. Not that the guy’s English wasn’t good, but he could just imagine that sinful bass-baritone voice speaking the world’s sexiest language. It would mean tipping his hand a little, but he had a few cover stories he used at the bars, along with the phony name. He hadn’t planned on sharing more about himself than was absolutely necessary, but hearing Antonio speak to him in Italian was more than worth a bit of the truth.
“ Mille grazie . But I’m fine. Is there something I can help you with?” Cary answered in nearly flawless Italian.
Antonio’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he responded in kind. “I didn’t know you spoke Italian. And you speak it so well.”
Oh so worth it.
“My mom’s family was Italian, so I decided to come here after graduate school,” Cary said. “I liked it so much I decided to stay. I’ve been in Milan about five years now.”
It wasn’t that far from the truth. He had come here to study at twenty-four, the year his trust account had become his own, free from his attorneys’ control. The profits from several recordings had been enough to buy the apartment, and he earned enough from his performing gigs to pay for living expenses and Roberta’s salary and still put some money away for a rainy day. And with a broken wrist, he figured it was pouring right about now.
The thought made Cary’s stomach turn. He didn’t want to think about reality. Not yet, at least. He decided instead to focus on the attractive man standing by the bed, looking at him with concern.
Antonio offered him a hand as he sat up. There was nothing overtly sexual in the touch, but Cary liked the contact. His gaze tracked a line from Antonio’s hand to his bicep, visible beneath his silk shirt, and his mind wandered. He imagined trailing his lips over the taut skin and inhaling Antonio’s scent.
Stop it. You don’t even know if the guy’s gay, let alone interested.
A quick inventory of his aches and pains and Cary decided he felt pretty good, all things considered. The meds had tamed the pain beast in his arm, as well as his chin and back, where he had been kicked. Using the bed for support, he stood up. His head spun, and he instinctively reached for Antonio’s arm.
“Better?” Antonio asked after a moment.
“Better. Just a little dizzy.”
He continued to grip Antonio’s arm until he regained his bearings. This close, he could smell Antonio’s scent on the air. He breathed it in as he tried to place it. Fresh. Citrusy.
A small picture frame by the bed caught Cary’s eye. Antonio and another man, dark-haired, attractive, with a neatly trimmed beard. Arm in arm, smiling. Antonio looked very young—Cary guessed he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five in the photograph. In the background were colorful houses and water that looked almost green. The Mediterranean. Cary knew of no other place that looked quite like that.
“So,” Cary asked as he took a few more deep breaths, “were you coming from a bar when you found me the other night?” He knew full well the only places open in the area at three in the morning were gay bars.
Real subtle. Might as
“Mmm,” Cary murmured, repressing a grin in response to Antonio’s faulty turn of phrase. It wasn’t all that difficult to control himself, since he was damn near asleep already and his wrist hurt like hell. Still, the thought made for some very sweet dreams.
Chapter 3
T RUTH I S
“S IGNOR T AYLOR ? Connor?” The voice was like chocolate. Better, maybe. Deep and sexy.
Cary kept his eyes closed. He wanted Antonio to say it again. Something like “Coh-noor,” only hotter. If his wrist didn’t hurt so fuck-shit-damn much, he’d definitely have flirted with the guy by now. Or at least attempted it.
As if he’d be interested.
“Signor Taylor? Dinner is prepared. Are you well enough to come to the table?”
Cary decided what he wanted, what he needed , was to hear Antonio speaking Italian. Not that the guy’s English wasn’t good, but he could just imagine that sinful bass-baritone voice speaking the world’s sexiest language. It would mean tipping his hand a little, but he had a few cover stories he used at the bars, along with the phony name. He hadn’t planned on sharing more about himself than was absolutely necessary, but hearing Antonio speak to him in Italian was more than worth a bit of the truth.
“ Mille grazie . But I’m fine. Is there something I can help you with?” Cary answered in nearly flawless Italian.
Antonio’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he responded in kind. “I didn’t know you spoke Italian. And you speak it so well.”
Oh so worth it.
“My mom’s family was Italian, so I decided to come here after graduate school,” Cary said. “I liked it so much I decided to stay. I’ve been in Milan about five years now.”
It wasn’t that far from the truth. He had come here to study at twenty-four, the year his trust account had become his own, free from his attorneys’ control. The profits from several recordings had been enough to buy the apartment, and he earned enough from his performing gigs to pay for living expenses and Roberta’s salary and still put some money away for a rainy day. And with a broken wrist, he figured it was pouring right about now.
The thought made Cary’s stomach turn. He didn’t want to think about reality. Not yet, at least. He decided instead to focus on the attractive man standing by the bed, looking at him with concern.
Antonio offered him a hand as he sat up. There was nothing overtly sexual in the touch, but Cary liked the contact. His gaze tracked a line from Antonio’s hand to his bicep, visible beneath his silk shirt, and his mind wandered. He imagined trailing his lips over the taut skin and inhaling Antonio’s scent.
Stop it. You don’t even know if the guy’s gay, let alone interested.
A quick inventory of his aches and pains and Cary decided he felt pretty good, all things considered. The meds had tamed the pain beast in his arm, as well as his chin and back, where he had been kicked. Using the bed for support, he stood up. His head spun, and he instinctively reached for Antonio’s arm.
“Better?” Antonio asked after a moment.
“Better. Just a little dizzy.”
He continued to grip Antonio’s arm until he regained his bearings. This close, he could smell Antonio’s scent on the air. He breathed it in as he tried to place it. Fresh. Citrusy.
A small picture frame by the bed caught Cary’s eye. Antonio and another man, dark-haired, attractive, with a neatly trimmed beard. Arm in arm, smiling. Antonio looked very young—Cary guessed he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five in the photograph. In the background were colorful houses and water that looked almost green. The Mediterranean. Cary knew of no other place that looked quite like that.
“So,” Cary asked as he took a few more deep breaths, “were you coming from a bar when you found me the other night?” He knew full well the only places open in the area at three in the morning were gay bars.
Real subtle. Might as
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