Page 12 of Hexed
“Calm down,” I retort.
“She’s a vain bitch with a pretty voice and killer legs. What’s there to calm down about?”
I grin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
A snapping sound makes my heart jump. I glance up and twist around, looking back at the mansion. There’s nothing there, but when I face forward again, there’s a figure in the distance.
It’s a woman, leaning against the brick of the mother-in-law suite, and she’s staring directly at me. I lift a brow as I meet her gaze, and she straightens, running her nails down the front of her lengthy,tightblack dress.
She’s… I don’t even know how to explain it. Her long hair is bright, so light blond that it’s a silvery white, the ends of which kiss the top of her ample cleavage perfectly, and when she moves toward me, her saunter makes everything touching her skin seem like silk cascading down her fine-as-fuck body.
Jesus Christ.
Giovanni’s mumbling something in my ear, but I’m definitely not listening.
The woman stops a few paces in front of me, and her bloodred lips spread into a slow smile, accentuating the dimples that crease the apples of her cheeks.
“Is there a point to your call, Gio?” I interrupt Giovanni’s rambling.
“Listen, you rude motherfucker?—”
“Reception’s bad here,” I reply, still keeping my gaze locked on the mystery woman. Her eyes spark like two swirling black whirlpools, sucking me down until I can’t break for air.
She swipes her tongue along her bottom lip, and my stare drops to her mouth.
I hang up before Gio can say anything else.
And then we’re both just standing there, silent, watching each other, and it’s the strangest thing, but I swear every timeone of us breathes, the air grows taut like a rubber band, pulling and stretching until it’s about to snap.
“No need to rush off the phone for little ol’ me,” she finally says.
The way she enunciates every syllable in a slow, controlled way makes her voice trickle over me like a heat wave. Her Southern accent is strong, and I don’t know why it surprises me, other than the fact Aria doesn’t have one at all.
I slip my phone into my pocket. “Well, you seem like a woman who demands my full attention.”
She grins.
My stomach lurches forward violently.
“Enzo Marino,” she states.
Usually, I hate hearing my full first name. It reminds me of being a kid with my ma yelling that as long as I was under her roof, I’d have to follow her rules.
But the waythiswoman says it feels like honey dripping onto my skin.
“I think I’m at a disadvantage,” I remark.
She takes a step closer, peering up at me from beneath long black lashes. “I can’t imagine a man like youeverbeing at a disadvantage.”
I’m not sure if she’s stroking my ego or insulting my stature, so I tell her as much.
She shrugs. “Up for interpretation, I guess.”
The corner of my lip twitches, and I take inventory of her again, soaking in the soft angles of her body and how even the breeze seems to cling to her plentiful curves.
“You’re interesting,” I voice.
“That’s what they tell me,” she replies.
