"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended.
She grins like she just won something. "Thought so."
I want to argue. Want to tell her she's wrong and I have no claim on Marco Conti whatsoever. But the truth is sitting heavy in my chest—I don't want anyone else touching him. Don't want to imagine some other woman running her hands over that chest or hearing the low rumble of his voice in the dark.
Which is completely insane because he's not mine. He's my babysitter. My warden. The man currently ruining my life by camping out in my apartment.
I glance toward the bar without meaning to. Marco's watching me now. His eyes lock onto mine across the crowded space and something electric passes between us. Heat and challenge and unspoken want that makes my stomach flip.
I tear my gaze away.
Several drinks later, I'm feeling pleasantly buzzed. The bar is packed now. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor. The bass thumping through the floor.
I catch Marco's eyes again from across the room. He's still at the bar but he's not pretending to ignore me anymore. He's watching openly now. His expression dark and unreadable.
"I need to dance," I announce suddenly. "Or find a cute guy to flirt with. Something. Anything that's not..."
"Not him?" Becca finishes knowingly.
"Time to dance," I tell Becca, pulling her toward the dance floor.
We start dancing together, laughing and moving to the music. When a sexier song comes on, we get more seductive with our movements. Three attractive men join us, and while none of them compare to Marco—no one ever could, my alcohol induced brain thinks—they're decent enough for my purposes.
The third guy moves behind me, grinding against me as he whispers in my ear. "Hey, beautiful."
He smells good and has rhythm, and I find myself actually enjoying the attention. I glance toward where Marco was standing, planning to gauge his reaction, but he's disappeared.
Oh well. I'm having fun, and I'm not going to let anyone ruin it—not even the brooding man who's taken over my apartment and my thoughts.
CHAPTER 8
Marco
I'm not an idiot.I saw the way Elena's face lit up when I took a seat at the bar instead of hovering over her table like some kind of bodyguard. She actually looked surprised—like she expected me to ruin her night by inserting myself into every conversation.
The truth is, I don't need to sit at her table to know what's happening. From my position at the bar, I have a clear view of the entire place. I can see her laughing with her friend. Can read her body language. Can track every person who approaches their table.
And more importantly, I can give her the illusion of freedom while maintaining complete control.
She needs this. Needs to feel like she has some autonomy even if we both know it's temporary. The past few days cooped up in her apartment have been eating at her—I can see it in the way she paces, the way she stares out windows like a caged animal plotting escape.
So tonight I'm choosing my battles. Let her have girls' night. Let her drink and laugh and pretend I'm not watching. As long as she stays in my sight, we're good.
I order a whiskey and deliberately don't look at her table. Not at first anyway. I want her to relax. Want her guard to drop just enough that I might actually see the real Elena instead of the defensive, combative version that's been sharing my living space.
When I finally do glance over, she's mid-laugh at something her friend said. Her whole face transforms—eyes sparkling, smile genuine and unguarded. This is the Elena I've been catching glimpses of when she doesn't know I'm watching. The one who hums while watering her plants. The one who gets completely lost in her romance novels.
She's beautiful like this. Vibrant and alive in a way I haven't seen since I moved into her apartment.
Elena immediately starts scanning the room with those sharp eyes of hers. She spots one of my backup guys positioned by the door and actually smiles. Shakes her head like she's disappointed in his obviousness.
Then she continues looking around until her gaze finds mine across the bar.
Our eyes lock. The noise of the bar fades into background static. There's a question in her expression. I don't look away. Don't give her anything except steady eye contact that says exactly what I mean:I see you. I'm here. Get used to it.
Elena breaks our stare and pulls her friend toward the dance floor.
At first it's just the two of them moving to the music. Laughing and carefree. Completely lost in the moment.
