Page 30

On the contrary, his eyes are not on mine.
They're staring at the very, very expensive lingerie that's shaping my body.
I'm halfway out of the jumpsuit, so he hasn't seen the sorry excuse of lace that's covering me there, but he can certainly see what's on the top.
I'm kind of afraid to look away.
Also that would mean that I'm the one who looks away first.
"I don't like this shit, Marco," I say, deciding to break the tension.
I'm doing it on my terms.
And definitely not because his eyes are making me heat uplike a furnace.
"You don't like what, Roisin?"
"Looking like... this," I say.
His eyes darken. They literally seem to turn an impossibly deeper shade of brown, until his irises are practically black.
He steps forward, and I resist the urge to shiver at the heat rolling off of him.
"You look good enough," he murmurs.
My nostrils flare in the mirror, and I can practically feel my heart beating in my chest.
"I look like a doll."
"If that's what you think," he murmurs.
The low rumble of his voice is enough to make my skin break out in goosebumps.
I don't want it to.
But unfortunately I have absolutely no control over that.
Marco leans down. He smells good. Expensive. He managed to change into a fully black outfit, which is somewhere between formal and murderous, and I can't really tell which direction it goes in.
Because I can't see it at all.
Because I'm trying so hard not to stare, but also to watch him, because his nose is dipping toward my neck...
"I think they look pretty fucking good," he growls.
He growls it.
Holy mother of god, I can't do this.
I go to take a step, but Marco's hands drift over my shoulders. He's not gripping me tightly or anything, I could easily walk away if I want, but...
The illusion is...
I shudder.
"Your skin is so soft, Roisin," Marco murmurs. His eyes catch mine in the mirror, and I lock our gazes. Slowly, his fingers drift up and over my shoulder, trailing down the strap of my lacy bra.
I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning.