Page 140 of Mine Again
Seriously, I swear my lungs forget their job.
My mouth goes dry. My thighs clench without permission. A flush creeps up the back of my neck and settles low in my belly, deep and throbbing.
I need to look away. But I don’t. This is too good to miss.
My fingers itch to reach out and trace the lines of sweat across his skin. I want to press my palm flat against his chest and feel the rhythm of his heart beneath it.
He moves like the rope is an extension of him. Fast. Controlled. Effortless. Single jumps. Doubles. Crosses. Side swings. His rhythm shifts easily, fluid and sure, as if he were born for this.
The rope flicks, snaps, glides. He doesn’t miss a beat. His damp hair is pushed back, revealing the sharp line of his jaw and the unrelenting focus in his eyes.
I’ve never seen anyone look this good working out. Not in real life. Not in movies. He’s a contained storm in motion. Beautiful. Fierce. Impossible to look away from.
And then I focus on something else.
The tattoos.
They cover his chest, his arms, his shoulders. Ink and shadows.
When we parted, the only mark he had was the De Marco crest. A rite of passage. A symbol of blood and loyalty. Now, it’s a single note in a larger story, one he has written across his skin.
He spins into a final set, chest heaving, rope snapping at the floor. The music fades.
His eyes find mine.
A slow grin spreads across his face. Cocky. Unbothered. Entirely too pleased with himself.
“Enjoying the show?” he asks, grabbing a bottle of water from the bench and gulping half of it without breaking eye contact.
I open my mouth, but my throat is too dry to speak. That grin of his deepens, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Which, of course, he does.
He lets the silence stretch to make me squirm, then says wickedly, “I usually work out in the afternoon, but I had to blow off steam after waking up to you watching me in my morning glory.”
Well, I’d like to deny I did that. But I can’t.
Heat flares across my cheeks, and my brain scrambles for something to say. Anything to tilt the balance back in my favor.
But then he starts walking toward me. Slow. Unhurried. Lethal in his focus.
I’m not sure where to look first. His eyes, which are dark and locked on mine, or his still glistening chest and the tattoos drawing my gaze like a magnet.
Up close, he’s even more overwhelming.
I step back on instinct, and he smiles like that’s the exact reaction he was hoping for. My pulse thunders in my ears as he closes the distance between us, every step a slow unraveling of my will.
“You keep looking at me like that,farfalla,” he murmurs, his voice a slow stroke of velvet, “and I’ll have to skip the cool-down and go another round.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Luca
Isa stares at me with wide eyes.
Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted like she forgot how to close them. I should probably feel guilty for how much I’m enjoying this. I don’t.
She’s always been beautiful, but right now? She’s devastating.
And I didn’t even touch her.
