Page 6 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince
“I must’ve hallucinated it then.”
“Yep–oxygen deprivation from the snorkeling. You should be. More… careful. Ah!”
She gasps when the boat spins almost entirely over. I go flying overboard. But so does she. We splash into the water together. The oars float away. I quickly swim after them, return them to the boat, then swim up behind Siena as she attempts to clamber back onto it.
“Need a hand?” I say.
“No,” she snaps, but she clearly does.
“Don’t be so proud.”
“Fine, but hurry.”
I climb onto the boat, then reach down and grip her under the armpits, lifting her and placing her inside. For a moment, we stay like that, my hands on her dripping wet body. Hunger stirs in me.
She takes a step back, water sliding down her form, her pink bra visible through her shirt now. My fantasy has come to life.
“Okay, Dario, that was fun and all, but I seriously need to get back to work.”
“Say no more.” I lower my goggles, then jump back into the water, treading and keeping my head up. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Isincerelyhope so.”
“That sounded like sarcasm.”
“You’re a very perceptive man, aren’t you?”
“I can perceive how drop-dead gorgeous you are, if that’s what you mean.”
“Barf, Dario,” she says, grabbing the oars and paddling away.
“Say that like you mean it,” I call after her.
I watch her go, then swim in the opposite direction, my head filled with Siena Walsh.
This trip just got way more interesting.
CHAPTER 3
SIENA
As I row the boat back toward the shore, I think about the strange interaction with Dario, Mr. Whoever He Is. He made me laugh far easier than any man ever has, and there was something interesting about his pushy, but nottoopushy attitude.
Mostly, I think about what he said right at the end. He called me drop-dead gorgeous. I’m not sure what he thinks is going to happen between us–most likely nothing–but the compliment was welcome. And we had fun.
But that means nothing. Having a sun-filled romance is not on my to-do list.
Back at shore, I drag the boat up the beach and stow it behind the hut. The island is coming to life now, with people walking hand-in-hand down the bone-white sand, snorkelers in the crystal blue, and a few people playing volleyball further down the beach.
My cellphone rings from my waterproof fanny pack. It’s Veronica.
“Hey,” I say.
“How did it go?” she asks.
“They gave me the runaround about the pre-tour, so I did that myself. I think it will be fine. There’s not much in the way of landmarks, but just rowing around the island is an experience in itself. It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, great,” Veronica says, sounding distracted. “Could you come to my room? I have something I’d like to discuss.”
