Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
I didn’t learn much more about him that I didn’t already know, though, because he kept asking questions about me. Also, I was a little afraid to ask him about his family, because of the rumors.
All the students on campus who have taken Italian, or know someone who’s studied it, have heard the rumors.
Supposedly, Matteo Bestia has two brothers who look just like him. And, also supposedly, the three of them host wild orgies. No one is sure if the professor and his alleged siblings are gay, straight, bi, or what exactly, but everyone seems quite certain about the orgies.
I don’t believe it. Dr. Bestia is far too reserved for something as messy and unruly as that. And no one I’ve talked to has first-hand knowledge of any of it, not even whether he has any brothers.
If anything, I sometimes wonder if he might be a little repressed. He sure doesn’t come across like someone who cuts loose. Ever. Even though Italian men are supposed to be so romantic and such great lovers, I didn’t get so much as a platonic peck on the cheek after Thanksgiving dinner.
I’ve never seen him flirt with anyone in class, either. When girls come on to him, he politely shuts them down, acting as though he’s not aware of their intentions. And he’s never given any indication that he notices how I act around him.
Maybe he is gay. It’d be just my luck, not that I’d have a snowball’s chance in hell with him even if he’s straight. He’s been just as courteous to me this semester as he was in the fall, with no hint that we ever interacted in a different setting.
I suspect the outrageous rumors are the product of people’s fantasies – the man does look like sex on a stick, after all.
With a little sigh, I clear my place at the table and head out onto campus. I’m done with classes and my on-campus job for the day, and I don’t have any pressing school deadlines, so I decide to walk around downtown. It’s a clear, cold day, with a light dusting of snow on the ground, though the streets and sidewalks have been cleared.
After spending some time in my favorite bookstore, checking out new releases in both the history and romance sections, and a long browse through an antique shop, I’m heading toward the residential area when, through an open doorway, I hear the sound of someone cursing. Loudly.
In what sounds like Italian.
I’m too curious not to investigate. Who leaves a door open in January, anyway? Combined with the swearing and the language, I simply have to find out what’s going on.
The doorway leads down a short hallway that opens out into a large, bare room that appears to be an artist’s studio. There are blocks of stone in various stages of being worked on, and some finished sculptures lined up along the far wall.
They’re abstract works, from what I can tell. Art is not my strong suit. But what captures my attention is the man in the center of the room.
He’s tall, and solidly built, with muscles for days. I know this, first, because his faded denim jeans hug his strong thighs and amazing ass. Secondly, he’s not wearing a shirt, so I have an unobstructed, gorgeous view of the definition in his back and arms.
As I stare, entranced, he lets out another string of profanity. “Cazzo, ne ho le palle piene di te!” I happen to know that expression, a very colorful way to express being fed up with something. Definitely Italian.
Then he tosses aside his safety goggles and chisel and turns around.
My eyes get huge. My voice disappears.
This man looks almost exactly like Professor Bestia. Same beautiful eyes, same sultry mouth, same aquiline nose – except that this man’s has a slight crookedness to it. Same high cheekbones. Same face, minus the beard.
Either Matteo’s suits have been disguising all these muscles, and his courtly manners have been hiding a foul mouth, and he moonlights as a sculptor … or this is one of Dr. Bestia’s rumored brothers.
This man has different hair, too. It’s the same rich brown, so dark it’s nearly black, but where Matteo’s is trimmed into a stylish cut, this man’s mane is longer, and carelessly disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it.
He stops moving when he sees me. The frustration on his face is instantly replaced by speculation, the kind that sends a shiver down my spine. “Buongiorno, signorina. Please excuse my language. To what do I owe this very great pleasure?”
Holy hell. He’s looking at me like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, and I’m his appetizer, main course, and dessert all rolled into one.
This man would absolutely host orgies. And star in them.
I swallow, trying to unscramble my brain, willing my panties not to instantaneously fall off. “Hello.” It’s all that comes out, in a voice that’s trembling and hoarse, as if I’ve been shouting.