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)
Crap. Manners forced me to fumble for something to speak, and I said the first thing that came to my mind—-
“How do you do.”
—-which, unfortunately, was also crap.
There was a slight pause, and then Marcus answered in a solemn voice, “I’m quite fine.”
Craaaap. He was laughing at me. I could feel it. He was totally laughing at me, and I couldn’t blame him.
“And you, Ms. de Konigh?”
Okay, now he was making fun of me.
I tried to think of something witty and clever to say – something maybe Fleur would come up with – but nothing came to mind.
“I am also doing well, thank you.” And with that, I ended up being myself, aka the most unimaginative girl in the planet.
Marcus cleared his throat.
Twice.
He was definitely still laughing at me.
“So...”
In the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for a typewritten piece of paper from the ground, and I froze. Crap.
“What’s this?” Pause. “And who’s Justin and Cameron?”
“No one you know.” I managed to snatch the typewritten piece from his hands without meeting his gaze. It was the only way to make it through this ordeal alive, the only way to make my heart stop beating so hard and fast like it was on steroids.
“Are you sure?” Marcus’ tone was musing. “They sound familiar.”
I shook my head vigorously. “You must be mistaken.” Anxiety had me back to speaking like the Queen of Contini, my grandmother, and I added emphatically, “It is doubtful you are acquainted with them.”
“If you say so.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“But are you really sure—-”
I froze.
“Because that line about crying a river made the poem sound like it was for Justin Timberlake and Cameron Diaz?”
And now it was my turn to cough, several times, while my mind scrambled for an excuse.
Marcus let out a surprised laugh. “I actually got it right?”
“I only intend to send it anonymously.” I mentally winced as I spoke, the words sounding defensive even to my ears. “I’m just happy that they’re together. As a fan. It’s not like I’m—-”
“Rilassatti, bambina.”
I fell silent, reacting more to the placating tone of his words, whatever it meant.
“I find nothing wrong with what you’re doing. Bene?” He leaned forward as he spoke, and my breath caught as the faint, unmistakable scent of his cologne teased and tantalized my senses. It was a unique mixture of sandalwood, vodka, and something else I couldn’t quite identify.
“Let me help you with that.”
“Excuse me?” It was hard to concentrate on his words, my senses all of a sudden acutely aware of how near he was. I reached for the last book on the ground, all the while trying to figure out what that last piece of the puzzle was. I was usually good with scents, but this one—-
Our fingers came into contact as we took hold of the last book at the same time.
Oh. So this was what he meant.
The contact was fleeting, but the heat of his touch burned and lingered, and all thoughts about the ingredients of his cologne were forgotten as I yanked my hand away. I rose to my feet in clumsy haste, trembling. What was happening to me? Why did he make me feel so weird?
My eyes still trained on the ground, I watched Marcus rock back to his feet gracefully, envying and hating him for his composure.
“Here you go.”
Marcus handed the book to me, and this time I took meticulous care not to let our fingers touch. “Thanks.” I dropped the book back into my tote bag, still not meeting his eyes. Now go away.
But of course he didn’t. “Jaak told me I could find you here.”
“Oh?” My aversion to rudeness forced me to raise my gaze—-
Crap.
I had been hoping he wasn’t as beautiful and sexy as I remembered—-
But he was.
His hair gleamed black under the sun, and the cream shirt he wore, which was tucked into a pair of dark shorts, only served to accentuate the bronze hue of his skin. He should have looked preppy and...and...foppish, I supposed, but instead he just looked breathtakingly sophisticated and sexy.
Maybe it was because he was Italian, and so everything about him was sensual.
Maybe...but something inside of me doubted it.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Marcus murmured.
He was?
There was a moment of silence, and then his lips slowly curved into a wicked smile. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
No. And this one I didn’t even have to think about. Never. And so I slowly shook my head. Marcus Ravelli was danger spelled in capital words, and danger had no place in my life.
His gaze narrowed, becoming speculative. “Sei una bella sfida,” he murmured.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You are quite a challenge.” Before I could understand what he was implying, he then reached for my tote bag, saying, “Let me carry that for you, per favore.”
“Oh, no, it’s—-” But he had already reached for the tote bag, and I said lamely, “Thanks.”