Page 45 of The Bonventi Rise

I might already be downstairs. Was hoping you'd be awake.

I shoot up, heat flooding my cheeks.

Give me 10 minutes to clean up?

I'm sure you look perfect, Firefly.

That nickname. Every time he uses it, something inside me melts, and I don't even know why he calls me that.

I rush to the bathroom, quickly running a brush through my hair and splashing water on my face.

I go to apply lip gloss. Wait. What am I doing? No one is wearing that at 3 a.m. at home. I don't want to give off?—

There's a knock at the door, and I jump. "I said 10 minutes." I quickly take off my sweatpants and throw on some black yoga pants. The oversized UCLA sweater will just have to stay.

I collect some papers, shut my laptop, and toss my mug in the dishwasher. I take a few breaths to calm myself because I don't want to open the door out of breath, looking like a weirdo.

He knocks again, and I open the door.

Marco stands there, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever in a casual button-down white shirt and dress pants. His hair is slightly disheveled, like he's been running his hands through it.He's a bit tan from his vacation, and it suits him well, bringing out his beautiful brown eyes.

"Hi," I breathe, sounding like I ran a race.

His eyes look me over before he speaks. "Hi, Alina," he says, his voice low. "Can I come in?"

I step back, letting him enter. As he passes, I catch his scent, and it makes my head spin and my body remember the delicious soreness he gave me.

"How was your trip?" I ask, closing the door behind him.

He shrugs and takes a seat in my sofa chair. "It was fine. Needed, I think. But I couldn't stop thinking about everything."

"Like?" I ask, sinking into the couch opposite him.

Marco looks at me, his dark eyes intense now. "The campaign. Sandra Reeves. You."

I swallow hard. "Me?"

He leans forward. "You," he confirms. "I couldn't get you out of my head, Alina. The way you felt, the way you sounded," he says with a grin.

I feel myself turning bright red as my breath comes in heavy bursts. I should stop this. We should talk about Sandra, about the campaign, about all the doubts swirling in my mind. But with Marco so close, his scent enveloping me, I can't think straight.

"Marco," I start, but I'm not sure what I want to say. Push him away? Pull him closer?

He stands and towers over me. He rubs the side of my face. "Tell me you don't want this."

I feel scared, nervous, and anxious all at the same time. "I... I can't."

He lifts my chin so I look directly into his dark, hungry gaze.

"Then tell me what you really want. Right now, in this moment."

My mind races. I want answers. I want to know if Sandra's claims have any truth to them. I want to understand what I'm getting myself into.

But more than anything, in this moment—like he's asked—I just want him. It's as if I need him.

I stand, and before I can speak, our lips crash together, and it's like a dam breaking. All the desire we've been bottling up these past few days comes flooding out.

Marco's hands slide down to my waist. He pulls me flush against him for a moment before he picks me up. I let out a moan as I wrap my legs around him while we make out in my living room.