Page 9 of The Fake Date Deal

“What are you having?”

“Gin fizz,” I said.

“Great. Two of those. So, what are we drinking to? Our mutual nemesis?”

I blinked at him. What?

“Come on, don’t pretend you don’t hate him too. Prince Rafael, what an ass. Am I right?”

I should’ve slapped him, maybe. Defended Rafael’s honor. I’d been raised to do that, to be the bigger person. I snickered instead. Rafael was an ass, and Marco looked fun. He had a twinkle about him, a constant half-smile, like life was a joke to him and he loved to laugh.

“I do,” I confessed. “I hate him so much.”

Our drinks appeared and Marco raised his.

“To loathing,” he said.

“Loathing.” We clinked. Then Marco laughed, and his laugh set me tingling. It rumbled up sultry from deep inside him, a big throaty laugh that shook his whole body.

“They were throwing tomatoes at Le Vigeant.”

“What?”

“I raced him that day. The day of your wedding. These girls in the stands were throwing tomatoes. They didn’t hit him, but they were on your side. Most people are, I’d say.”

“Really, you think?” I grimaced, remembering the worst of the hashtags, #JiltingEve, #ThePrincelessBride. Marco moved closer, leaning up on the bar.

“I know,” he said. “How could they not be?” He leaned even closer, so close our cheeks brushed, dropping his voice to confound any eavesdroppers. “He might be a prince, but so is the devil. You’re the angel here. Who could deny it? Sei un raggio di luna fuggito dal ciel.”

I had no idea what he was saying, but it made my pulse race. His lips brushed my ear and I shivered all over.

“Let’s dance,” he said, and I felt myself nod. Next thing I knew, we were out on the dance floor, pressed so close together I could feel when he breathed. Lights of all colors rippled all through the club, from the ceiling, the floor, the huge waterfall. They streamed down his face, catching his cheekbones, all the sharp planes and angles that made him so sexy. I wondered what he’d do if I stole a kiss, if he’d go along with it or if he’d draw back. His full lips quirked up.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“That’s all they’re worth?”

“How about a euro?” He dipped into his pocket and came up with a coin, but somebody bumped him and it bounced away. We both laughed at that, and a slow song came on. I leaned my head on his shoulder as we swayed to the beat. He smelled good and felt good, clean and strong-armed. If he’d found another euro I’d have knocked it off him myself, because my thoughts in that moment weren’t the kind I could share.

Emma slid up at some point and wished me good luck, and when I turned to grab her, she was backing away. She and Gabriella both waved to me, and Emma tipped me a wink. Then they were gone, and Marco was smiling.

“Your friends left,” he said. “I guess it’s just us.”

“Well, and everyone else on the dance floor.”

He looked around, brows knit as though in puzzlement. “Everyone else? I only see you.”

I melted at that, at the spark in his eyes. At the way his gaze burned like he really meant it. Like in this temple to youth and beauty, he could only see me. I’d never felt so seen or so wanted. All I could think was, I wanted him too, not for a photo op or to hurt Rafael, but him in my bed tonight, rapt in only me. I wanted him to undress me with his eyes still on fire. To worship my body from top to toe. I swallowed, dry-mouthed.

“Should we… Should we go?”

His eyes burned so hot I thought I’d catch light. He didn’t say anything, just took my hand. He led me out of the nightclub, through the gauntlet of press, and spun me in close to him as the cameras flashed. I giggled as he dipped me, glowed at his kiss, and then we were dashing across to his car. Piling inside in gales of triumphant laughter. My lips still felt hot where Marco’s had touched them, and I couldn’t wait to kiss him again. I leaned across the gearshift and he took me in his arms. His kiss was rough, hungry, and scratchy with stubble. I pressed up against him, eager for more. His hand slid up my back. Tangled into my hair. I moaned without thinking, and he sighed deep and low.

“We should get out of here,” he said, when we pulled back at last. “A makeout shot’s one thing, but not a full sex tape.”

I stole one more kiss, then fell back. “Then drive.”

“Not till you, uh…” He nodded at my seat belt. “La cintura.”

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