I'd taken my ticket back from the valet, and now we’re in the parking lot at Gianfranco’s car. I smile bashfully. “Well, what do you have in mind?”

“Let me take a closer look. Will you?” He steps in my direction.

I timidly turn my hip toward him. He bends and looks at my leg, brushing his hand across my dress to expose the extent of its split.

“Here,” he says with his index finger circling in the air. “Turn into the light.”

I twist my body while my thigh remains his study.

A few seconds later, he stops. “This is not a problem, I think.”

I feel my eyes light up. “That’s good. But what are you going to do?”

He looks at me with that glimmer in his eyes, and again, my body is flushed with warmth and intrigue. “We will make art.”

“What?” I say hesitantly, almost laughing at the same time. “What do you mean?”

He goes to his trunk—or the hood rather—of the Ferrari and pops it open. Gianfranco asks me to take a seat on the passenger’s side while he removes a small case from the trunk. He opens the case in my direction so that I can see an air brusher with several different colors. “And now it’s time to make art.”

I laugh bashfully. “Okay.”

He takes out an alcohol wipe. “May I?”

My heart melts from the care and excitement in his puppy-dog eyes. “I suppose.”

He reaches around the back of my right knee, turning my leg ever so slightly to the side. My body shudders from his soft, firm touch. I can feel that he has strong hands. I relax, allowing him to guide me into position before I feel the cold alcohol-soaked cloth rub across my flesh. Tingling sensations run up and down my leg while he presses gently into my thigh.

“It is okay?” His deep green eyes peer up at me from the level of my waist.

I nod slowly, then look around. For anybody passing by, this has to look like some sort of prime-time entertainment.

He lifts my skirt almost to the top of my thigh while maintaining eye contact with me. My heart beats a mile a minute. I’m hot with anticipation and never dreamed I’d be in the parking lot having my thigh painted by a super-sexy artist.

Gianfranco grabs his small air brusher, flips a switch, and lightly brushes strokes of yellow paint across my leg. The sensation feels like a mildly chilled breath blowing slowly up and down my leg. I watch him methodically move the wand, concentrating deeply.

He leans back to observe his work before reconnecting with my eyes. I smile, which he returns.

He switches colors and begins again. Each of the light, methodical strokes splashes tiny dollops of paint across my leg and sends chills farther up my thigh and into my body. For several more minutes, I enjoy his artful brushing. By now, the tingling sensation has penetrated my entire being. Then he flips a switch and turns off the machine.

I swallow as the intensity drains from my skin.

He stays where he is, looking at what he has done. “I think it will be good, no?”

I look down and slowly fold my dress down to its original length. “It’s perfect.”

When he stands, still holding the gun, his face is remarkably close to mine.

“Grazie,” he says, blowing his warm breath against my lips.

I gulp, nearly choked by desire. “Um, no, thank you.”

Finally he cracks a tiny smile. “I will put everything away.” He backs up, still staring into my eyes.

I feel my chest rising and falling.

Gianfranco puts the equipment back in the trunk and returns to stand in front of me. This moment is so wonderfully awkward.

I break eye contact to look at my feet. “So should we go back inside?

He grunts thoughtfully. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

I look at my mask and twist the stem between my fingers. “But then what will I do with this?”

“If you like, I can put it in my car.”

I look up to gaze into his eyes, then out at the moon over the ocean. What a perfectly wonderful night it is. With all the loud music coming from the colosseum, why would we want to go back there?

I hand over my mask to Gianfranco. “Then let’s walk.”

His smile brightens his face. He takes my mask and sets it on the front seat. After he closes the door, he holds out his hand, and I take it. Our connected hands swing gently as we head for the shore.