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Why him?
Why Marcus Ravelli?
What made him different?
“Anneke—-”
I jerked. It was the first time for him to say my name, and the sound of it was—-
Unlike any other, I thought helplessly.
He made my name sound like an endearment that he alone had the right to use—-
I squeezed my eyes shut.
—-and I actually liked it.
Crap, crap, crap, but I actuallyreallyliked it.
What was happening to me?
“Anneke.”
There it was again, and oh, how it made my body ache in a strange, powerful way.
“Look at me.” His voice was tight. “Anneke, look at me.”
It was an order that I knew in my heart I would be better off ignoring.
But I couldn’t.
And so I opened my eyes, and his intense dark gaze immediately captured mine.
“I want us to be friends.”
My eyes widened.
“I know it sounds like a bad idea,” he said grimly, “but it’s what I want.”
I shook my head helplessly. “Why would you want to be friends with me?” And I really did want to know. “I’m different from my brothers, and just because you’re their friend doesn’t mean you have to be mine.”
“I want to beyourfriend.”
I threw my hands up in frustration. “Youcan’t.Youshouldn’teven want to. We live in very different worlds—-”
“Then let me inside yours,” Marcus cut in.
“Impossible.”
The word seemed to offend him, and he snapped, “Then I’ll snatch you out of yours and lock you in mine.”
His words were the height of arrogance, but instead of annoying or angering me, they made my toes curl hard instead—-
And that, too, was dangerous, wasn’t it?
I gazed at him in mute despair. “May I be frank?”
“You may doanythingyou want with me.”
