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happening, he
kissed her.
    Lips. Tongue.
Teeth. He devoured her right there in the hotel lobby as if he’d snatched an
appetizer off a passing plate.
    When he finally
broke the kiss, they were both gasping for air. Clare disentangled her fingers
from his hair—too dazed to consider how they’d become tangled there in the
first place.
    “I missed you,” he
said, allowing her a little space, but still holding her close.
    “Antonio….” She
glanced around the room. A few people stared at them. A few more tried to look
like they weren’t watching two adults making out in public, but most apparently
hadn’t found the encounter remarkable at all and had gone on with their
business.
    “Did I tell you
how much I like to hear you say my name?”
    “Yes, you did,”
she said, returning her gaze to his.
    He smiled, and her
knees turned to jelly.
    “Whoa, there.” The
muscles in his arm tightened against the small of her back, supporting her.
“Are you okay?”
    She pushed against
his chest. “I’m fine. Really.”
    His fingers dug
into the soft flesh at her waist.
    “Antonio,” she
warned.
    He loosened his
hold on her slightly, and she managed to create an inch or so of space between
them.
    “I was worried
about you earlier. I thought you might have changed your mind about helping
me.”
    She explained her
reason for being late and secretly vowed never to be on time if being late
would get her kissed like that. “I don’t know why you’re here. Downtown, I
mean. Doesn’t the traffic make you crazy?”
    “Babe, I’m from
New York. This is nothing.”
    He allowed her a
little more distance, and she took advantage, stepping away from him.
    She adjusted her
purse strap on her shoulder. “Shouldn’t we be going?”
    “I’d rather take
you up to my suite and forget the whole apartment hunting thing.”
    But he wouldn’t.
She knew that, even if her heart did do another acrobatic move at the thought
of mattress aerobics with him. “You can’t live in a hotel forever, Antonio. You
have a six-year contract.”
    “Okay. You
convinced me. Let’s get this over with.” He grabbed her around the waist again,
and they walked out hip-to-hip, despite her pleas for him to let her go.
    The realtor met
them at the first high-rise, where she led them through a penthouse apartment
that had recently become available. The place had about as much appeal as an
empty cracker box, and Clare said so.
    “It’s not you,
Antonio.”
    “Why not? It’s
big.” He strode over to the floor to ceiling windows. “There’s a view, and the
building has security. What’s wrong with it?”
    What wasn’t
wrong with it? “It’s cold,” Clare countered. “Even if you filled the place
with warm colors and furnishings, it would still be cold.”
    He shrugged and
asked to see what else the realtor had. Clare shot down two more apartments
before they called it quits for the day.
    In the cab on the
way back to his hotel, Antonio said, “Tell me what kind of place you think I
should buy, since I clearly don’t have a clue what kind of living space I
need.”
    “Are you mad at
me?”
    “No, just
frustrated. I thought you would like all of those places, but you hated them.”
    “I did. But if you
liked them, then choose one. You’re the one who’s going to have to live in it.
Not me.”
    He had draped his
arm over the back of the seat and allowed it to drop to her shoulder. With
little effort, he slid her across the seat toward him. “Describe your perfect
house.”
    “That’s easy. It’s
Georgian. Big, but cozy, with hardwood floors and high ceilings. Fireplaces in
all the key rooms, living room, den, dining room, bedrooms. Maybe even one in
the kitchen. It has a large yard dotted with hardwood trees that light up like
marquees in the fall. It’s on a quiet street where kids can ride bicycles. It’s
old, but not rundown old. It has history, if you know what I mean.”
    “You’ve given it a
lot of thought.”
    “Every little