Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Marcus.
Marcus Ravelli.
My Marcus.
In the last three days, I had tried to convince myself that how he made me feel was just a figment of my imagination.
“Ciao, bambina.”
Heat wrapped around my body at the mere sound of his voice, the irrational but intense attraction I felt for him coming to life in an instant.
Obviously, I had imagined wrong.
Everything about him was just too sensual. His lovely words, his sexy accent, and even that smirk of his – all of it conspiring to overwhelm me—-
I forced myself to meet his gaze, and his dark eyes were in it, too, with the way his gaze caressed mine.
“Could you please release me?”
“Not a chance.” His tone was soft and devilish, and the sound had my insides knotting up.
“I mean what I said.”
“So did I.” His hands on my waist tightened as his spoke.
Crap.
It was stupid, really stupid, but his touch just felt so ridiculously hot I was tempted to check my skin for burn marks.
When I felt Marcus’ gaze trail down my body, I couldn’t help crossing my arms over my chest even though I was completely covered from the neck down.
“May I ask a question, bambina?”
The laughter in his voice made it easy for me to guess what he wanted to ask, and so I said with as much dignity as I could muster, “I’d rather you don’t.”
But he only chuckled and went on asking, “Has no one ever told you that scuba suits were meant to be worn when you’re...” He paused then finished casually, “...actually going for a dive?”
“I know that.” But I shouldn’t have bothered answering. Marcus was already too busy laughing to even hear me.
“It’s just my thing,” I said defensively. And I wasn’t lying. Not wanting Marcus Ravelli to see my not-thin body in a bikini could be a thing. Right?
When I looked back at Marcus, his laughter had receded, but his dark eyes were still gleaming with humor as he murmured soothingly, “You look cute in it anyhow.”
This time, I really had to roll my eyes. Here he was again, saying thing he couldn’t possibly mean.
“I mean it, bambina.”
“No, you don’t.” I forced myself to face him, saying challengingly, “Look at me in the eyes and say—-”
He didn’t let me finish. He simply lowered his head, and staring deeply into my eyes, he said succinctly, “You’re cute.”
Oh, crap.
There he went frying my brain again with those cunningly chosen words of his!
My knees buckled, and he let out a soft laugh. I tried pulling away, but his hands still had me chained in place.
“Not so fast, bambini.”
When he said it like that, it just made me want to escape even more. So I tried twisting away and shoving him back—-
Big mistake.
I froze, my hands on his bare chest.
I had seen my brothers in all states of undress, and logic told me that their naked chests weren’t any different from Marcus’. Their abs weren’t any different from Marcus’ abs.
I knew that...so why did the sight of Marcus’ bronze chest seem so enticing?
And why, dear God, why couldn't I seem to take my hands off his naked chest?
I stared at my hands, desperately willing them to move, but they remained on his hot, hard skin, my fingers becoming more and more sensitive with every second.
Danger. This was the very definition of danger. And yet I couldn’t move a muscle.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he muttered under his breath. “Haven’t you?”
“No.” Yes.
I felt his eyes narrowing on me. “You’re lying.”
Duh. What did he expect? Did he think I liked getting up at five in the morning just to have a swim? Did he think I liked volunteering my ass off at the festival just so I could fall into an exhausted sleep at night?
“It doesn’t matter,” I said finally. “It’s not like you’ve been lacking for things to do.”
His lips tightened.
Good. At least he had the decency not to pretend he didn’t know what I was talking about. Marcus had only been with us for a week, and countless girls had already phoned the house, asking about him.
Was he home?
Did we know if he was going to this party or that?
Could he have a girl back in Italy?
“Don’t let them get to you,” Marcus muttered. “They don’t mean anything to me.”
And I was supposed to believe that?
“Anneke.”
I bit my lip hard. Oh, crap. The way he said my name still got to me.
“I missed you.” When I shook my head at him, he said forcefully, “I’m not lying. I did miss you—-”
“Then you must also think I’m stupid!” How could he miss me when he had been painting the town red practically every night? How could he possibly miss me when he didn’t really even know me?
His jaw clenched, and I suddenly felt tired. I hated that he was making me act out again, but I just couldn’t help it.