Page 27 of Marcus

Waiting for her.

Oh, that wouldn’t have been anything special, really, but it was how he looked standing there in that three-piece suit that seemed to hug his fit, muscular lines. Gold cufflinks glittered at his sleeves, and his tie and vest matched the color of her own dress. He’d gone to the effort of slicking his hair back, which only made the strong lines of his face even more prominent, dark, and handsome what with the shadows of the hallway falling over his features the way they did.

That jaw.

His lips.

He smirked, and she dragged in a quick breath.

Marcus stared at her with dark eyes that slowly drifted over her with damning intent.

Yeah.

He didn’t even hide how he drank her in.

Inch by inch.

There was nothing that could make a woman feel more beautiful than a man enjoying what he was looking at and even better if he could appreciate the sight of said woman in clothing. Because she could only imagine how he would stare at her if she wasn’t dressed.

Finally, he spoke.

And she wasn’t ready for that, either.

“Look at you,” he murmured.

She swore his words felt like they whispered over her skin.

Cella had to remind herself to breathe again. Just like that, she needed to take one single second to step back, and figure out what exactly was happening here. With this weekend, this night, and this man.

“Marcus?”

“Hmm?”

His gaze darted up to hers from where it had been lingering on that chain at her throat, looking as though he was more interested in the way it fell between her breasts than anything else currently. She certainly liked that, no doubt about it, but still …

“This isn’t a date, right?” she asked.

Marcus lifted a single, dark brow high. “Well—”

“No games. It’s been years since I went out with a man, and that man was my husband. So, I get that this started out as one thing, but that it might be something different now. All I want to know is if that’s the case, that’s all.”

His throat jumped with his swallow, an entrancing sight if there ever was one.

Yeah.

Cella was so screwed.

He smiled, then, slow and sexy.

She felt it all over.

“This qualifies as a date,” he said, “but only if you want it to. I did only intend for this night to be about you getting to know my mother, but there’s something you don’t know about that, Cella.”

She wet her lips, still enjoying the way he stared at her far too much. “And what is that?”

“We have rules—us Guzzi boys. Or we used to before all my other brothers got married and left me as the hopelessly single one of the bunch. We don’t bring women home, not unless we intend to bring them back.”

Ah.