Page 18 of Arturo's Temptation

“Lucky you, you get me for an additional hour.” I could tell he took great pleasure in that sentence, but I couldn’t figure out why since I was on time.

"Wait, what? Why?”

“You call that being dressed to work out? You’re not even wearing your trainers yet. And is that a fuckin’ bloke’s t-shirt?”What crawled up his ass and died?

”Not that that’s any of your business, but yes. Oh and for the record, we call thesesneakers,” I enunciated slowly.

"Take it off, now." His tone was deadly as he stepped towards me.

What was his deal?!

“You are seriously deluded if you think you have a say on what I wear.” I shoved my way past him to the treadmill.

"Oh, Isabella, try me," he growled, stalking after me, one of his strides easily matching two of my own.

“Look, pretty boy, I’m here to train, so I’d appreciate it if you keep your comments and hands to yourself.”

I had just climbed onto the treadmill when he seized the hem of my shirt and jerked it over my head from behind, tossing it on the floor.

“What the fuck?!” I whirled to see him staring at me with his arms folded.

“You had no right?—”

"See, princess, that's where you're mistaken." His hand slid between me and the treadmill as the warmth of his breath caressed my skin. "I had every right." I blanched as the treadmill beneath my feet began to move. Grabbing the rails, I righted myself before starting to walk at a brisk speed. “Ten minutes, light jog. Then two minutes of sprintin’.”

“That was rude,” I huffed. I searched for a cease-fire on his face, but there was none. There was nothing except a weird intense hunger. “Can I at least have my shirt back?” Without blinking, he pulled the tank he wore from behind his head and tossed it at my face. As I reluctantly yanked the thing over my head, I had to bite my cheek to refrain from staring at his tattooed chest.

I couldn’t deny it, he was beautiful. Line after line of muscle shone in the early sunlight coming through the window. The delicate ink covering every inch of his skin made my fingers itch to trace them.

“Once you’re done. I'll help you stretch. Your thighs are too tight."

Blinking, I pulled myself back to the here and now. The absolute last thing I needed was his hands on me. That would be humiliating.

"I think I can stretch by myself," I mumbled.

"I'm sure you can. But it wasn’t a request," he smiled, leaning back against the window and folding his arms again. "Now, be a good girl and do as you're told," he said.

“Look, I’ll stretch but I don’t need your help.” His lip hitched up in a brief smile before his eyes hardened.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” I said, turning up the speed so I was jogging. I liked running. This I could do.

“I’m helpin’ you stretch. No arguments.”

“Yeah? Well what if I refuse, huh? You gonna tattle on me to my dad?”

Arturo smirked, before his tongue flicked out to play with his lip ring. An unconscious habit I had no doubt. Shrugging he walked over and leaned on the front of the treadmill, staring into my eyes. "Isabella, if you refuse, I’ll assume that you're deliberately misbehavin’.”

I swallowed and picked up my pace. “Fine, and?”

“And…” he grinned. “There’ll be consequences. Choice is yours, princess."

Consequences? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

10

WatchingIsabella on a treadmill was like watching a movie in slow motion. Her ponytail swished down her back with each graceful stride. I hadn’t been able to tear my gaze away from her from the moment I saw her sleeping peacefully in her bed. The image was now burned into my retinas. Smooth skin, a pert little nose, and pouty full lips. The tank top and tiny shorts she’d had on had left little to the imagination. Cursing, I cracked my neck and tried to refocus.

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