Page 35 of A Game of Ruck
“Angel?”Luca’s voice, low and teasing.“You fall in?”
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
“Everything’s fine!”I call too fast, too high.
“Uh-huh.”
The knob jiggles.
I freeze.
“Donotcome in here unless you’re prepared to see an extremely flustered woman mid-wardrobe malfunction.”
There’s a pause.Then a chuckle.
“I’ve seen you in a bikini, remember?And nothing about you flustered me.Except maybe how hard it was to keep my hands to myself.”
My cheeks ignite.
Before I can reply, the door creaks open and there he is.
God help me,there he is.
Luca’s in black linen slacks and a white button-down rolled at the sleeves, top buttons undone just enough to hint at the kind of chest that could bring about global peace.
His eyes trail slowly over me, lingering in appreciation.And I think I might actually pass out.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs.“You look like a dream.”
I press a hand to my hip, trying to play it cool.“A dream currently losing a battle with her zipper.”
His grin spreads, slow and sinful.
“Then let me be your hero, Angel.”
And as he steps toward me, hands already reaching for the stuck zipper, I forget about everything else—Lisa, the dinner, the nerves.
Because with Luca this close, murmuring praise and touching me like I’m something soft and sacred, there’s just no pretending.
Only the very real possibility that I want this man.
With my eyes locked on his, I hear the thing as it finally zips.
“There.Perfect,” he murmurs.
I turn and glance at my reflection.
Not bad.
Hair’s decent.
Makeup’s passable.
Cleavage is aggressively present.
Perfect for distracting nosey aunts who want to talk about “healthy eating habits” like it’s a sport.
