Page 59 of Vicious Behaviors

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t back away. And neither do I.

Marcello looks at me as if trying to decide whether to kiss me or kill me. And God help me, but I’d take either right about now.

I’m supposed to expose him for his evil ways, not crave his stare as if he already owned me.

“What is your problem with me?” I ask, my voice coming out soft and tentative.

“You’re trouble. I can smell it.”

“You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

“No,” he murmurs. “But I’m close.”

Marcello steps forward again, forcing me back until my shoulders hit a brick wall behind me. His hand lifts, and for a terrifying, thrilling second, I think he’s going to touch me.

“I don’t know what your game is,” he rasps, placing his hand flat on the wall, his face just inches away from mine. “But you’re playing with fire.”

My nervous laugh comes out short and breathless. “Is this your attempt to scare me away again?”

“No.” His eyes fall to my lips again, and this time I can’t help myself but to stare at his mouth too. “If I really wanted to scare you, I would have already. I wouldn’t have a choice.”

For one split second, I forget who I am. Forget the hours of surveillance. Forget that this man is my target. Forget that he is the enemy.

“We always have a choice,” I say on bated breath.

“Not me.”

When his other hand accidentally brushes mine, every nerve in my body lights up. My heart beats a mile a minute as I stareinto his eyes, a sparkle of life now embedded in that stormy sea of blue.

We’re so close that I feel his breath fanning my cheeks. My lips part, just a little, and I find myself inching closer, as if baiting him to kiss me. But he can’t kiss me. And I shouldn’t want him to.

My hand finds purchase on his chest to keep him back, not because I’m afraid of him, but because I’m afraid of myself.

“I should go,” I breathe out before I make the biggest mistake of my life.

“That’s the first smart thing you said all night.”

Marcello doesn’t move. And neither do I. His fingers continue to brush against mine—lightly, deliberately—as if testing the fragility of the moment between us. When I don’t pull away, his hand lingers, the pad of his thumb tracing a slow line across my knuckles, then to the inside of my wrist, drawing little circles on it. My breath catches at his light touch. His other hand pulls away from the wall just enough to play with the end of my ponytail, winding the strands slowly around his finger, then letting them fall.

“You’re not leaving?” he murmurs, his voice a smoky whisper that wraps around me like a second skin.

“Neither are you,” I reply, just as breathless.

His eyes flick to my lips once more, only this time he leans down until his mouth hovers over mine, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath, the tension between us vibrating like a live wire.

However, Marcello doesn’t kiss me. He just stays there, suspended in the ache, tormenting me with the possibility. My heart slams against my ribs as I yearn to close the distance between us. His mouth is so close that I can almost taste him. It’s only when I close my eyes, giving him my silent permission for him to take me out of my misery, that he speaks again.

“Then let me help you.”

Just like that, he steps back, turns away, and walks off, leaving me alone in the alley, flushed, breathless, and burning with everything he left undone.

Chapter 13

Marcello

I feel a loving hand stir me from my slumber. My lashes cling together, heavy with dreams, until the faint shift of weight on the edge of my bed tells me someone’s in my room. The mattress dips just enough to stir me fully awake.

“Dad?” I croak, my voice rough, scraped raw with sleep.