"Hey…" Gianna said in greeting when she reached the table, their eyes still locked, the word slipping out softer than she intended.
She hated the way her voice betrayed her, the unwanted warmth threading through it.
Didn't her mind and body understand that she couldn't have anything to do with this man—this man who made the reddish hue look more dangerous, more appealing than it had any right to be?
Hadn't they listened to her vehement decisions last night?
She wanted no trouble. Didn't want to be caught in some familial war that wasn't hers to fight. And yet here she was, sounding like all she wanted was his lips on hers.
"Hey, beauty…"
And that voice.
One hand clutched her purse tight, knuckles whitening slightly, while the other held onto the shopping bag in her grasp—the one containing his dried clothes.
That voice was sin, wrapping around her senses like a promise she knew better than to believe.
And why was he looking at her like that?
