Page 34 of The Temptation

“It looked like dancing to me.”

She plants her hands on those small hips of hers, narrowing her eyes until they resemble slits. “It wasn’t dancing,” she says flatly. “I was shimmying. Big difference.”

“Dancing and shimmying are the same fucking thing, Lucia.”

“Shimmying isn’t even in the same league as dancing. It’s just one little move. You can’t wiggle your shoulders and call it dancing. They’re like distant cousins at best.”

My eyebrows rise at her analogy. “Distant cousins?”

She lifts one shoulder and turns her face to the side, avoiding my gaze, and fuck me if I don’t love her profile just as much as the full-frontal version.

Her flawless skin, that small symmetrical nose … those full fucking lips that I’m aching to kiss. She’s like sweetness and sin wrapped in a teeny tiny parcel of perfection.

“Maybe first cousins,” she mumbles, side-eyeing me. “But still not the same. Dancing is done with your whole body; shimmying is not.”

I want to argue with her, because that delectable arse was definitely moving, along with her hands and her shoulders, but I keep that observation to myself.

“Why were youshimmyingthen?” I ask sarcastically. “Was it for my dog’s entertainment?” I move towards him as I speak. “Come, boy,” I grumble, curling my fingers around his collar. “He’s a guard dog. He doesn’t have time to waste on meaningless shit like that.”

“No, it wasn’t. I … I was trying to shake my blues away,” she answers in a voice so soft I barely hear her.

Those words have me freezing mid-step.

She’s blue?

Why does that thought twist in my gut like a knife?

“Blue?”

“You know, sad, depressed …”

“Why?” I ask, glancing at her over my shoulder.

My question has her throwing her hands up in the air. “Why? Are you kidding me right now, De Luca?”

It’s the first time she’s ever referred to me by my last name, and it instantly pisses me off. I prefer it when she calls me Romeo. I love how the syllables roll off her tongue with that sexy accent of hers.

“Metaphorically, I’m stranded on a deserted island with the man of my dreams, and it’s nothing like I imagined. If I’m being honest with myself, it sucks donkey’s balls.”

“Donkey’s balls?” I ask, ignoring the fact that she just referred to me as the man of her dreams.

“Yeah, donkey’s balls.”

I shake my head as I let go of Killer’s collar and turn to face her. “I admit our circumstances aren’t ideal, Lucia, but like me, you’ll have to make the most of it.”

Personally, I think her books are distorting her reality. I am not the man she’s built me up to be in her head. She can do so much better than someone like me, and deep down, I think she knows it too.

She imagines me as this brooding hero with a heart of gold. But that’s not who I am. I grew up in a life where I was constantly let down and betrayed. That takes a toll on someone over time. I’m flesh and flaws, and there’s no plot twist where I suddenly become perfect.

“I’ve tried that,” she yells. “But it’s a little hard when you keep pushing me away.”

“I’m not the right man for you, so it’s about time you faced that fact. I never have been and I never will be.”

Her mouth gapes open as her big, brown eyes blink a few times, and I see the moment my statement finally hits its mark.

“I’m starting to believe that,” she says, tears welling in her eyes.

I tilt my head back and groan. “Fuck, don’t cry.”