Page 31 of Kissing the Villain

After she left, I laughed at her eagerness to please him. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Salvatore?” I said under my breath and made a blowjob motion with my hand and mouth.

The corners of Marcello’s mouth lifted for a split second.

“Holy shit!” I threw out my hand. “Is that a smile?”

He pressed his lips together and glanced out the window, not the least bit entertained.

“You’re trying hard to ignore me. But I made you smile.”

His head snapped to me. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable with yourkidnapper.”

“No, you’re my stalker.”

“Not quite.”

With an irritated sigh, I lifted the flap of my messenger bag and removed my sketch pad and a charcoal pencil. Marcello’s gaze shifted to me briefly, and then he scrolled through his phone. Studying his handsome face and the hardness of his jaw, I found my inspiration. He didn’t know he was about to become my next subject.

I could still recall when his older brother allowed me to paint him. Like Luca, Marcello had pretty blue eyes that were so sad my chest ached. I wanted to know the reason for his loneliness.

Was it his job?

His family?

His mother?

He didn’t have a woman in his life. I’d never seen Marcello with a girl for more than a night. For whatever reason, I got jealous thinking of him with anyone else. The flight attendant was pissing me off, which was really fucking weird because I didn’t even like him.

Or did I?

Gripping the charcoal pencil, I flipped to a blank page and sketched the outline of his face. Marcello’s profile was severe, with clean lines and sharp edges—perfect for me to draw. He leaned forward, tapping a platinum ring on the table. Black onyx chips formed a serpent shaped into an S. Luca wore the same one.

Marcello’s eyes widened on my sketch. “Is that me?”

A minute later, I finished the piece and shoved the book at him. “I’m calling this one Lonely Boy.”

“I’m not a boy.”

“But you’re lonely.”

He stared through me and then flung his hand toward the back of the plane. “Go take your shower.”

“An artist can see what people are too afraid to say aloud. They can capture what words can’t convey. You’re angry because it’s the truth.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“She was a smart woman.”

Evangeline Franco tragically passed away when Marcello was seven and Luca was nine. She was one of the first artists I ever studied, and her work was featured in worldwide galleries. Known for contemporary Art Deco, Evangeline used geometric lines, shapes, and colors of the 1920s and added a modern flare.

She was a genius.

I wanted to be just like her.

At the back of the plane, I plopped onto the oversized bed with fluffy pillows and unzipped my suitcase. Sifting through my stuff, I found a pair of black leggings, a cream-colored tunic, and a few undergarments. I stripped off my dirty jeans and threw them onto the floor. With my clothes on the bed beside me, I laid back and stretched my arms above my head.

The plush mattress was so comfortable that I considered skipping the shower for a much-needed nap. I was so exhausted and desperate for sleep, but I knew I was in trouble when Marcello stormed down the aisle.

I sat up as he entered the bedroom and slammed the door.

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