Page 8 of Claimed At First Sight

Behind us, Isa and Mari groan, the spell breaking just enough for the world to move again. When I turn back toward my sisters, I can still feel him right there beside me.

And somehow, even now, that seems like the more dangerous part of this entire game.

Chapter Three

Mialina

The moment we leave the court, a warm hand settles against the small of my back.

I nearly miss a step.

There’s no hesitation in the gesture, no tentative brush of fingers or silent question about whether the touch is welcome. My unexpected playing partner simply places his palm there and guides me toward the terrace as though he’s been doing it for years.

It feels possessive.

Claiming.

No one has ever been that forward with me. Father would never have allowed it. Every man in Sicily knew better than to test the boundaries he drew around his daughters.

But that isn’t the only reason I don’t like it. No, the real problem is my reaction to it.

Heat seeps through the thin fabric of my dress, spreading outward from the place where his palm rests. A slow, traitorous shiver travels up my spine.

I grip my racket more tightly and keep walking.

The others are only a few steps ahead of us. Mateo has already caught up with Mari, who is loudly explaining that our victory should come with an asterisk because of the unauthorized substitution. He listens with the attentive expression of a man receiving vital information rather than a list of increasingly creative excuses from his wife.

My playing partner’s thumb shifts slightly against my back. It’s barely a movement, but my entire body notices.

I can feel him behind me. His breath touches my nape as we reach the terrace, and goosebumps break out across my skin.

That’s it. I step out of his reach the second we join Mamma, who’s talking to that man I saw from the lawn.

Whatever they’re discussing must be absorbing because neither of them appears to notice us approaching until I clear my throat. Mamma turns first, smiling at me.

“Well played,” the man next to Mamma says.

I resist the temptation to point out that he probably missed a few points because he was too dazzled by my mother.

“Yes, very well played,” Mamma agrees. “I thought Mari and Isa had you.”

“So did they,” I laugh. “But they always underestimate me.”

Mari arrives in time to hear me. “We did have you, but you only made a comeback because of your helper.”

Beside me, my playing partner accepts the congratulations with the easy composure of someone accustomed to winning. He isn’t even the slightest bit rumpled. His shirt remains perfectly fitted across his broad shoulders. The only thing out of place is a lock of dark hair that has fallen over his forehead, and even that only makes him look more aggravatingly attractive.

I, meanwhile, can feel several loose strands of hair sticking to my neck. Well, he only joined in toward the end. I played much longer than he did.

“I would have recovered on my own, thank you very much,” I tell Mari.

The man, who clearly fancies himself my knight in a tailored suit, watches me with that same faint amusement I saw on the court.

“We won as soon as I stepped in,” he points out.

I turn my head slowly. His confidence really is impressive.

“I must have imagined the points I scored on my own before that.”