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    Hearts in Florence
    Hearts in Florence
    Hearts in Florence
    Ebook89 pages1 hour

    Hearts in Florence

    By A.M. Willard

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    About this ebook

    It's Valentine's Day, and I'm stuck in Florence, Italy with Mr. Dark and handsome. Did I mention I don't know him, and he wants the same thing I came here for? Except at some point the lines cross, and what he wants is more than the canvas- it's me. 

    Every time he looks at me, I forget the real reason why I'm here. This trip isn't for pleasure, no it's meant to be all business. But I can't help but think what it would be like to have a night with Pierce where we both give into our desires. 

    Can we embrace the passion that's ignited over our holiday weekend, or will it crumble to pieces once we return to the states? 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherA.M. Willard
    Release dateJun 1, 2016
    ISBN9781536589276
    Hearts in Florence

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      Book preview

      Hearts in Florence - A.M. Willard

      Hearts in Florence

      Hearts in Florence

      A.M. Willard

      Copyright 2016 – A.M. Willard

      All rights reserved. Except as permitted under US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

      A.M. Willard

      P.O. Box 22822

      Savannah, GA 31403

      The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real person, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

      Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: amwillardauthor@amwillard.com

      Cover Design: Annelle Willard @ MadHat Books

      Edited by: Silla Webb

      Proofed by: Leticia Sidon

      Contents

      NEWSLETTER SIGN UP

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Thank You

      Excerpt from Frosted Sweets

      Other Books by A.M. Willard

      About the Author

      Acknowledgments

      Newsletter

      Dedication

      Some might find it odd that I’ve written about a place I’ve never been to, or something that I’ve never done before. To me, I’ve been there a million times over. It’s been within the walls of an art museum that I’ve traveled a lifetime of places. It’s been a play that could bring me to tears from the words, or scenery before us. For this I’m thankful to the great artist in before us all.

      Last but not least, to women who raised me and showed me the colors on a canvas. Some of my best childhood memories are with you as I saw something for the first time. Still to this day I can look at either a new painting, statue, or a piece that I have hanging in my house and see something different. Thank you for showing me the colors of the world.

      Epigraph

      Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing. Salvador Dali

      Chapter One

      I can’t believe that the auction house messed up our order. Here I am pacing the office of the manager who doesn’t speak much English. The other buyer is calmly sitting in the black Italian leather chair bouncing his leg while he bores holes through me. For some reason, he’s been finding this funny as all get out, while I’m personally worried about my job. I had strict instructions: arrive in Florence, Italy and retrieve the artwork, then return back to New York. I’ve messaged my boss to explain that we’ve had a delay in my return since the auction house is stating that it’ll be Monday at the earliest before we can get to the bottom of it all.

      As I circle back around the office we’re in, I take a moment to ask, Do you know if there are any hotels nearby? I don’t have a reservation and since I won’t be leaving tonight, I need a place to stay.

      Si, si… here, he says as he hands us both a business card of a local hotel then explains, They’re expecting you both.

      Somehow as he says this I know this isn’t going to be what I expect. It’s Valentine’s Day weekend, I’m single, and in a foreign country where I should be enjoying this with someone other than myself. My eyes immediately cut to the guy that will be tagging along with me.

      Well, let’s get a move on it, I say and head out the door toward the lobby. It’s not his fault, but something in me wants to make it his. His eyes are as black as a stormy night, intense, and travel the length of my body every time he stares at me. Have you ever had someone stare so intensely at you that the nerve endings of your body stand at attention and burn like someone lit a match? No? Then let me explain how intense it is… It makes me want to rip my skin off my body and hand it over to him. I know it sounds morbid, but it’s like he’s cast a spell over me and I’d do anything and everything this stranger asks of me. Or I should say, anything within reason.

      Standing out on the sidewalk as I wait for a taxi, I scrutinize my boring navy blue skirt, white blouse, and matching blazer. Even my heels are ugly in comparison to the other women I witness walking about around me. My long hair is pulled up into a tight twisted bun at the top of my head, my neck is adorned with a beautiful strand of pearls and matching stud earrings dress the lobes of my ears. Then I glimpse over at him and all of a sudden I feel small and not so beautiful.

      He’s tall, dark, and oh so pretty. That’s the only word that can describe him. I want to wrap him up in a glass box and put him on display in the gallery for all women to admire and lust after. In my heels, I’m around five-foot-eight, and I have to glance up at him which puts him around six feet. Dark jeans, a crisp royal blue button up shirt, with a deep navy blazer, and Italian leather shoes cover his body. His jet black hair matches his natural curls, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t shaved in a few days. Next to me, we’re polar opposites. If we were back in New York in the same bar, he wouldn’t look my way. The type of women he could attract would be the ones you envy on a fashion runway.

      Thankful the car has approached, he holds the door open for me as I slide in the back seat. I listen as he instructs the driver in Italian the address of the hotel, and yes I admit that I’m half tempted to pull my phone out and video this for later. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him unbutton his blazer and lean back in the seat as he tries to get comfortable.

      I’m Pierce Ashton by the way, and you are?

      I swallow the lump in my throat and turn toward him extending my hand out and answer, Raven Bloomberg.

      Raven, that’s different.

      Yes… I say,

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