Page 18 of For his Surrender

Twelve. Breath.

Thirteen. Marcos.

A blue look meets mine the instant steel ceases to be all that is in front of me.It’s stronger than me, I can’t stop my stubborn eyes from going up and down the big, muscular, and, let’s face it, hot body in front of me.Wearing simple shorts and a white T-shirt of fine fabric, which marks each of the lines that are interesting on his chest, abdomen and arms, Marcos hovers, imposing as only a man of this height and size could be, waiting for me.

It takes me two seconds to stop myself, but he doesn’t realize, too focused on his own inspection.I expected a mocking smile, an arrogant expression, or even a certain disdain on his part.But I didn’t expect the increasingly obvious surprised air on his face as his eyes roam my skin.

I also didn’t expect the strange shiver that runs through my spine from this or the attempt of my breath to get in an uneven rhythm.It’s strangely good, and as soon as I realize what I thought, I want to slap myself.

No fucking way, body! Pull yourself together! Because even if I have to have sex with all of São Paulo to keep you away from this man, we won’t lie in his bed! Period!

I remember I need to act.And although my first instinct is to raise one of my eyebrows, put my hands on my waist and ask ironically if he likes what he sees, since he insists on analyzing me inch by inch with his eyes, what I do is quite different.I lower my head, pretending to be embarrassed by his bald face, when all I feel is anger.Anger at him for fucking me with his eyes, anger at me for doing the same to him.Anger, a lot of anger at not knowing what affects me the most: wanting it or recognizing in his eyes the same unreasonable desire that I seem to be feeling.

Noticing my reaction and taking it for granted, Marcos clears his throat, and I take my gaze to his.He doesn’t seem embarrassed as he should, just uncomfortable, as if he didn’t understand his own actions.My anger is blown away by the amusement his surprise brings me. Asshole.

It took him eight months to realize my existence and eight months and three days to realize that I can wear skirts.I hope this doesn’t give you any ideas, Marcos!I comment to myself as I pass through the open doors of the elevator, exiting directly into the penthouse entrance hall.

It’s wonderful.

The first time I was here, I cried in the bathroom for almost half an hour.I missed what I had.I cried, because after I grew up surrounded by places like this, the only way I could step on one now was as a cleaner.I cried, because it was very likely that I could never give something like this to Bella.

Now, as my eyes stroll through the double-height environment, bright floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that cover the entire left side of the wide, open-plan, revealing a very alive, gray São Paulo twenty-three floors below us, I want to smile.Life is not easy, and I learned very early that we should not waste an opportunity when we are given it.

So, for the next two years, I will call this place my home and when the twenty-four months are over, I will be able to live in another one, not as luxurious as this one, but much more comfortable than the one I live in now.I sigh, as if recognizing the environment around me for the first time.

“We’re going to need some photos of you…” Marcos’ voice sounds very close to me and I realize he’s standing right next to me.

“Huh?”

“For affective decoration, you know? So people can believe you live here?”

“Two things, Marcos... If we want people to believe I live here, we’re going to need a lot more than affective decoration.But this is something we can talk about later, so let’s start talking about the contract.Can we?” I ask, raising my arm in the direction of the kitchen, where I imagine Carmen, the cook, served breakfast.

Marcos raises an eyebrow at me, and I realize how unsubmissive I sounded.

Fuck, Antonella! It hasn’t even been five minutes!That’s hard!Grazi’s voice sounds in my head like a drum, laughing, accusing me, and practically screamingI told you so.

I clear my throat and lower my head again.It seems to have worked before.Hell, it looks like until the damn wedding, keeping my head down will be my golden rule.

“Sorry...” I apologize. “I’m nervous...”

Unpredictably, Marcos’ hand touches my arm.I walk away suddenly, unprepared for the sensation that runs through me from the tip of my little toe to my scalp, and I scare both of us.I look at him, stunned, and he looks as surprised as I do, as if he had felt it too.His eyes narrow and I don’t understand why.It’s not like I’m using one of those shock buttons toy.

“Sorry, I… I…” This time I sound honest, because to anyone who saw the situation, my reaction would have seemed exaggerated.I just didn’t expect my body to react so unnaturally.He frowns, but he shakes his head, nodding in agreement.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry too.I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission.But you know that eventually this is going to be necessary, right?”

“What?” It’s my turn to frown.

He exhales heavily, he puts his hand to the back of his head, caressing that piece of skin, and the flexed muscles of his arm bounce, greeting me.The images that fill my thoughts are so absurd.Oh, my God, what’s wrong with me?I mean, apparently, I have some kind of inevitable attraction to fucking Asshole Marcos?

“You’re right, Antonella.If we want this to look real, we’re going to need a lot more than photos of you scattered around the apartment.Nothing explicit, but people need to believe that this marriage is real.Touches are part of the package, aren’t they?”

“So being touched by you will be part of my job?” I question, and I wish it were anger at the suggestion that dyed my face red, but God and my crazy thoughts know it’s not.

My lower belly twitches, trying to handle all the expectations it has created.Completely unfounded expectations and that there’s no way in hell my body can convince my mind to make them come true.

“Just enough for people to believe that we belong together.”

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