Page 8 of A Game of Ruck
She’s got this shoulder length riot of curls that some might call brown, but I can see about ten different shades from bronze to almost black throughout that perfect mane.
And her mouth?Fuck me.
She’s got a mouth that looks like it says whatever it wants and a smirk that says even more.
She’s nervous, though.
I can feel it radiating off her like steam.
The kind of tight, brittle energy you get before a big game.
Why so frazzled, Angel?Something or someone bothering you?
I want to ask, but I bide my time.Besides, I should probably take a moment to figure out why I’m so bothered by the idea that this beauty might have demons haunting her.
“So,” I say once we’re semi-alone in one of the side rooms of the event center, “this the part where I find out you’re a serial killer or a bored billionaire with a yacht full of unpaid interns?”
I mean it as an icebreaker, and I’m pleased when she receives it as such.
She snorts.Likeactuallysnorts.And I file that cute as fuck sound away immediately.
I want to hear it again.
“No yachts.No unpaid interns.But kind ofyesto the rest,” she says, clicking away on her phone.
“Yes, to what rest?You a bored billionaire, Angel?”
“Technically, Daddy is the billionaire.But yep, you got me.I’m just a desperate heiress with a destination wedding to get to and a serious problem you might be able to help me with.”
That grabs my attention.
She turns to me then, cheeks flushed, gaze direct.
“Look, you’re gonna have to explain that—” I say before she lifts a hand to stop me.
I rub the back of my neck a little on edge now—because what the heck is going on?
Then she hits me with it.
“Okay, I’ll just get this out of the way.Look here, Luca, I’m not trying to trap you into anything weird.I don’t want your number.I don’t want your DNA.Don’t want to take pictures of you wearing my underwear.I just need you to pretend to be my doting boyfriend for one weekend at a destination wedding for my obnoxious cousin.You know.Play the part.Smile for pictures.Pull out my chair.Dance with me a few times.Maybe glare at my cousin’s fiancé once or twice for good measure.”
I raise a brow.“So you mean, like afake datesituation?”
“Yes.”
“To a wedding?”
“Yes.At a beach resort in Playa de Sol that my uncle owns.”
“Playa de Sol?”
“Yes.”
“Soooo, you planning to murder me in Mexico?”
“I mean, I considered it, but it’s just not worth the risk.”
She’s funny.
