"You know," I say, moving a little closer to Marco, "I don't think we've ever really talked. Just the two of us."
Marco looks confused. "Uh... no, I guess we haven't."
"That's a shame." I let my free hand rest lightly on his arm. "You seem like you'd be interesting to talk to."
The confusion on Marco's face deepens, and there's something almost uncomfortable in his expression. But from where Dante is standing across the room, all he can see is me touching another man's arm and smiling up at him.
"Sofia, I?—"
"You have really nice eyes," I interrupt, leaning in slightly. The wine is definitely affecting my judgment now, but I don't care. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"I... think maybe you should?—"
"Should what?" I ask, batting my eyelashes in what I hope is a flirtatious manner. "Should get to know you better? I think that's a great idea."
Marco looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world, but he's too polite—or too confused—to just walk away. "Sofia, you're a very nice girl, but?—"
"Woman," I correct, taking another sip of wine. "I'm eighteen. Officially an adult."
"Right. An adult. But I don't think?—"
I don't get to hear what Marco doesn't think, because suddenly there's a firm hand on my elbow and Dante's voice, low and dangerous, right next to my ear.
"Excuse us."
CHAPTER 10
Dante
The sightof Sofia's hand on Marco's arm hits me harder than it should, and the intensity of my reaction surprises even me.
This is just professional, I tell myself. She's making a scene, embarrassing herself, making me look like I can't control my assignment. That's all this is. It has nothing to do with the way she's looking up at him with those green eyes, or how she's leaning in just close enough that any man with a pulse would notice.
It has nothing to do with the fact that I want to be the one she's looking at like that.
Bullshit. Even I'm not buying that line of reasoning.
Marco looks like he'd rather be getting a root canal, but from where I'm standing, all I can see is Sofia touching another man and smiling that smile—the one that's been driving me crazy for the past week. The one that made me nearly lose control at breakfast this morning.
The rational part of my brain knows Marco isn't interested. Hell, the guy looks like he's about to break out in hives. But rationality isn't exactly driving the bus right now.
I'm across the room before I fully realize I'm moving.
"Excuse us." The snarl in my voice takes us both by surprise as I wrap two fingers around her elbow and drag her toward the balcony. "Now."
"What the hell is your problem?" she demands, pulling her arm free the moment we're outside. The wind whips around us, cold and sharp against the heat of my anger.
She takes a step back until she's pressed against the railing, and something primal in me snaps. I follow her, planting a hand on either side of her, effectively caging her in. She's several inches shorter than me, her head roughly level with my chin, and I can smell that floral shampoo again mixed with the wine on her breath.
"What the hell ismyproblem?" I ask, my voice low and dangerous. "What the hell areyoudoing, Sofia?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." She answers smugly, crossing her arms and bringing them practically flush against my chest. The contact sends electricity shooting through me, and I have to grit my teeth to maintain control.
She knows exactly what she's doing. And it's working.
"Whatever you're planning—it's not going to work. There are only so many places you can run before I'll find you."
"We'll see about that."
