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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 Ilikedgetting up at five in the morning just to have a swim? Did he think Ilikedvolunteering 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.”
