Page 16 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

He pauses, glancing at Camilla.

“Actually,” he adds lightly, already stepping outside, “we’ll give you two a moment.”

The doors close behind them, and Rosalia turns toward me.

“I’m really excited about August,” she says, stepping closer.

I nod with disinterest, already turning to leave.

“Michael,” she says, touching my arm.

I look down at where her hand rests. It moves to my chest, and then she rises on her toes. She’s trying to kiss me.

“Rosalia,” I say firmly, grasping her shoulders and moving her back. “You need to remember what this engagement really is.”

She swallows.

“A business arrangement.”

The smile slips from her face. Then she forces it back.

“Of course.”

I open the door and walk out.

Chapter 6

Katie

Istudy my reflection in the mirror and tilt my head slightly.

Not half bad, Katie.

My curls are actually cooperating tonight—real curls, not the wild mess they sometimes turn into. I twisted the top half up into a loose knot on top of my head, letting the rest of the dark brown curls fall down my back. A little shimmery eyeshadow and black mascara make my blue eyes pop more than usual.

The outfit is simple, but it works. I’m wearing a cropped black tee and white ripped skinny jeans that hug in all the right places paired with my black Vans. I tied a black-and-white flannel around my waist in case it gets cold later, though it mostly just makes the whole thing look a little cooler. A small black purse hangs from my shoulder, and the gold cuff bracelet on my wrist catches the light when I move. I turn slightly, checking the whole thing one more time.

I check my phone—five till seven. Right on cue, my doorbell rings. At least he’s punctual. When I pull the door open, he’s leaning against the frame, one shoulder braced casually against the wood.

Suddenly I understand something I hadn’t fully grasped last night. This man is tall. Really tall. When he walked me to the door before, he’d stopped at the bottom of the steps. Now he’s standing right in front of me, and I have to tilt my head all the way back to meet his eyes.

“Hi,” he says, a smirk forming.

“Hi.” I’m embarrassed at how breathy it sounds.

He straightens a little when I open the door, pushing off the frame. Tonight he’s traded the suit for what I told him to wear—dark jeans and a dark blue V-neck T-shirt. The fabric pulls across his chest and shoulders in a way that makes it very clear this man does not spend all his time sitting behind a desk. Black ink and a hint of chest hair peek out at the collar.

My gaze slides down his arm. His entire right arm is covered in tattoos—black ink winding from his shoulder to his wrist. It’s a full sleeve. Of course he has tattoos because apparently the universe decided this man wasn’t already attractive enough. My stomach does an annoying little flip, and he notices me noticing.

“That better?” he asks, glancing down at himself.

I roll my eyes, even though it very much is. “You look all right.”

His eyes drift back up to my face, but they don’t stop there. They move higher, lingering at my hair. His expression shifts slightly.

“You never wear it down at the bar.”

My hand instinctively moves toward my curls, suddenly very aware of them spilling down my back.