Page 45 of Steal My Heart
He’s all hard lines and beautiful olive skin and dark hair and a handsome yet sort of scary-looking face… Oh, alright, so it is a nice view.
“Come on, you can do it.” Angelo coaxes Nola by placing a treat on the top rung.
Nola uses her claws on the ramp’s material to leverage herself up and out of the pool, nibbling the treat.
“I based the design off a dog ramp, but modified it using coarse jute material; it gives Nola something to latch her claws onto,” he tells me.
“You designed it? That’s really cool,” I say with a grin before I catch myself. “Thank you, Mr. Calvani.” I enter the shallow end, taking a seat on the top step.
He walks off without a word.
“Um, you’re welcome?”
Nola jumps back into the water, and I watch with envy as she frolics in the pool.
Classical music begins playing on the speakers as Angelo returns, entering the pool on the other side of the railing.
Moving in front of me, he extends his large hand.
I just look at it.
He reaches forward, unzipping my life jacket as my heart threatens to implode. “What are you doing?”
“It’s not that you can’t swim; it’s that panic takes over, making youthinkyou can’t swim. You have to learn to control this fear, with no crutch,” he says matter-of-factly.
“I hate that you know my weakness,” I tell him quietly.
“You know mine, so we’re even.”
“No, I don’t,” I argue.
“Life vest off.” Not moving fast enough for Angelo’s liking—fine, so I’m not moving at all—he rips the vest off me.
I’m scooped up into his arms, and I squeal, wrapping my arms around his neck for dear life. “Don’t let go,” I beg as he wades us into deeper water.
“I’m not letting go,” he promises. “I want you to practice feeling at ease in the water.”
“I’m being held by you, Mr. Calvani. Nothing about that conjures feelings of ‘at ease,’” I inform him.
“Angelo. I want you to call me Angelo,” he tells me impatiently.
I shake my head. “We are strictly business from hereon out.”
“Are we now?” he challenges, glancing down to where my bikini-covered breasts are plastered to his bare chest.
“Kneecaps,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing.” On a sigh, I settle into the strong feel of Angelo’s arms, my head resting against his chest. Why does the man have to smell so damn good allllll the time? My eyes flutter closed, only to snap open when the water rises above my breasts. “Not too deep!”
“I’ll decide how deep you can take it.”
“Oh my God, you did not just say that.” I groan, my cheeks flushing.
His body vibrates with laughter.
I look up at him. “You really should smile more; it does wonders for your resting menace face. And why is that look menacing on a man, but on a woman, it’s ‘resting bitch face?’”
