Page 83 of Legacy

His mother though, damn it. That’s rough. His face when he said that. His eyes.

Damn him and those eyes. Those stupid gorgeous eyes.

I can barely breathe in this space—his scent is all around me.

Heavy.

I’m drowning in it.

That voice and that damn smirk. Angelo Amato is sex on legs and I hate him.

I hate him.

But Dios, this food. I take a bite of the paella. It’s divine. I don’t even care who Clara is, the woman can cook!

The silence is deafening and without this meal being this delicious I would explode. I can feel his eyes on me.

“I’m glad you like it.”

I freeze.

Did I say that out loud?

No.

My eyes meet his.

I have to swallow the fucking shudder that runs through me when he looks at me like that. Like he canseeme.

“It’s good,” I say simply, grabbing a napkin to wipe my mouth.

He smirks.

“I can tell, you’re making that humming sound that you make when you really like something.”

My heart flutters.

He remembers.

No. Ice.

I am ice.

I have to be ice.

I place the napkin down and take a breath steeling my resolve.

“Let’s continue negotiations.”

He arches an eyebrow, puts his fork down, and stands.

“Over a drink,” he offers, extending a hand to me.

I look at his hand—memories clawing up from the past like vines trying to strangle me.

I stand without his help and gesture in front of him.

“Show me the way.”