He smiled at me, and I could tell he didn’t really care. “I believe you. But to cut out all the things I enjoy in this world for a future statistic? I’d rather take a gamble. Sweets, wine, carbs, cigarettes—they all make me happy. Is that wrong?”

I studied him to make sure he wasn’t mocking me, but he looked serious. I considered the question. “No. But if we indulged in everything we wanted, the world would be a chaotic, greedy, lawless pit of debauchery.”

He gave a long sigh, pulled on the cigarette one last time, and threw the butt on the ground. He crushed it with the heel of his shoe and turned to face me. “But it could be fun for a while.”

He teased out a laugh from me. Oh, he was a charmer. I’d just need to make sure he respected the boundaries and knew I wasn’t here for a fling during my tour. “I’m more goal oriented. If you think long-term, it becomes easier to stifle those temporary urges for the greater good.”

“How delightful.” His dark gaze met mine, shredded past my usual barriers, and he looked intently at me. “You believe in the greater good?”

I blinked. “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t think so. Most would prefer to disregard consequences.”

“Like you smoking one cigarette even though it may give you cancer?”

“Or other things.”

His voice reminded me of soft, rich velvet. I shivered in the warm air. It’d been a while since a man seemed interested, but I hadn’t expected to feel so off-kilter because of his innuendos. Were all Italian men flirty? Or was he trying to come on to me? And if not, how embarrassing if I said something. But the conversation already seemed intimate, so I did anyway. “My daughter and mother are on this trip.”

He quirked a brow, probably at the sudden change of subject. “I know. I think it’s wonderful to experience a trip like this with family.”

“I’m just saying it’s not like I’m alone and free to engage in all sorts of pleasures that have consequences.”

His eyes widened, and then he grinned, shaking his head. “I think I gave you the wrong impression. I’d never make any of my tourists feel uncomfortable. I saw you rush out a little upset and wanted to make sure you were okay. Plus, I enjoyed your wit and I like to tease. Please accept my apology.”

His words seemed sincere, and I was grateful for the darkness that hid my hot cheeks. The compliment meant more than the insult of rejecting me, or at least, his rejection of my rejection. “No worries,” I said. “I’m perfectly fine. I think I’m overly sensitive and read too many things about Italian men being forward. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”