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skillet. It was egg. Next, he sprinkled in some small bits of meat and veggies, followed by some shredded cheese. I’d been in Italy long enough to recognize a frittata. My heart seemed to expand to fill my whole torso. I could hardly breathe. Except I forced myself to inhale, the dish smelled so good.
    Liam heard the sound, glancing over his shoulder at me. He flashed a smile that made me want to take him right back to bed. “Hey, sleepy. Give me just one second...”
    He finished getting all the ingredients in before fiddling with the fancy digital settings on the range.
    When he turned around I saw how his housecoat had fallen open slightly, exposing a sexy V of flesh that definitely left me hungry in a way that frittata didn’t. He held out his hand and I took it. He pulled me close, me putting my hands on that bared skin of his, feeling his strong chest with one hand while my other palm went down to run over the washboard of his abdominals.
    “Hey, yourself,” I said.
    He looked at me wearing his bed sheet. “You know, I think that look went out of style in these parts about 1500 years ago.”
    “Really? I thought it suited me,” I breathed. I couldn’t help myself, he looked simply too delicious to ignore. I kissed the cleft of his chin, loving the tickle of his stubble against my lips. He put one finger beneath my chin and then lifted my face so that he could look into my eyes. Behind him, the egg started sizzling in the skillet.
    “Everything suits you,” he said, and then he kissed me.
    “He sounds like a good kisser,” Isabella said, licking her lips again. I could see the slight flush to her swarthy complexion and I knew just where her imagination took her.
    “Shh! No more interruptions or I won’t finish,” I scolded her. She made the motion of zippering her lips together and then tossing the imaginary key over her shoulder.
    I continued with my recollection.
    “Maybe this is more in style?” I said. I let my sheet-toga slip from my shoulders and pool around my feet. My skin pebbled with gooseflesh at the touch of the air for a moment before I pressed myself against him, my bare chest touching that naked V slash.
    He groaned deep in his throat, pulling me hard against him. His hands slid down my sides, cupping my ass. Sitting there at the bistro with Isabella, my cheeks still felt a little sore from how hard he squeezed them.
    “Now this look is always in style,” he said.
    “So you did it right there, in the kitchen?” Isabella said, forgetting how she’d zippered her lips moments before. When she realized, she clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening again in an expression that begged for forgiveness, begged me to not stop my story.
    I smiled, “No, actually. We didn’t.”
    She shook her head, forgetting herself again. “What? Why not?” Then she leaned forward conspiratorially, making sure that aged Giancarlo the waiter couldn’t hear, “Was there... a problem? Some men, they have problems...”
    “What? No. Not at all,” I said. In fact, from my recollection of the way his body pressed against mine, he didn’t have any problems in that department at all.
    It was the frittata he’d been preparing for me. Our kissing and groping grew more intense, and he must have shifted back against the range and bumped up the temperature setting.
    One moment I thought he’d be taking me right there on the counter. The next the egg started smoking and spitting in the skillet. Liam used his body to block any of the hot, semi-solid batter from scalding me while he picked the skillet up by the handle and doused the scorched contents in the sink. A cloud rose up, steaming the tile backsplash.
    After that we both laughed. He ordered room service for us.
    “I’ll never look at burning egg the same way again,” I said, smiling. After that, he offered me a ride in that rental Bimmer of his anywhere in the city. I had him take me to the campus.
    “And that is all?” Isabella