I inch closer to the box. Maybe one cookie would make up for… I glance down into the wastepaper basket on the floor, sitting next to the desk, and spot an empty Oikos container. Bastard.
“Lying liar who lies.”
Marco chuckles, leaning forward, propping his elbows on the tattered wood desk. It’s irritating how good his forearms look. I have to pinch myself to stop staring at them, which was stupid because now I’m looking into his dreamy, blue eyes.
“I didn’t eat you,” he says, licking his lips, and I swear I heard him whisper, “Yet.”
Wait, did he say I didn’t eat you? “What’s this?” I bend and pick up the empty container from the pail and plunk it on the desk in front of him.
“Dessert.”
“What?” I ask in an annoyed voice, demanding an explanation. “This is my yogurt. Or, was my yogurt.”
“Huh.” He scrubs the thick, dark stubble on his jaw. So hot. “I thought it was some new pudding snack. I don’t even like yogurt, but that was like a chocolate dream.” He shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal. “Let me buy you dinner to make up for it,” he says with a crooked smile—his blue eyes sparkling. I can’t help getting lost in them as they bore into me, making me forget why I came in here.
“Ugh!” I throw my hands in the air frustrated. “You’re impossible,” I want to straddle him on his chair and fuck the yogurt right out of him. Or maybe fuck him with yogurt all over his body. Christ, what is wrong with me?
“Why don’t you like me, Mila?”
“Because you’re irritating.”
“I think it’s all an act. I think you do like me.” He grins. “I think you want to have dinner with me. I think you want to marry me,” he singsongs in a deep, gravelly voice.
“Pffft. Goodbye, Marco.” I swipe the bakery box from his desk as he watches me with amusement. “I’m taking your cookies,” I say like a petulant child before flipping him off.
I leave his office quickly, knowing I need to stay far away from Marco because he’s going to be a problem. He can easily charm my pants off without even trying.
I head to my locker so I can hide the cookies I’ll be enjoying later. Serves him right.
I need to get out of here for a few minutes and collect myself. I decide to head across the street and treat myself to some of the delicious pizza Marco suggested. By myself.
I slam the locker closed. A shiver runs down my spine when someone places a hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off, annoyed, and take a deep breath, needing a second to calm my nerves.
I hate I’m always looking behind me on high alert. I turn around, expecting to find Marco, but it’s not.
“Hey, I’m Vincent,” a short guy with slicked-back hair says in a creepy voice. He steps back, holding up his hand when I jerk my shoulder away.
“Uh, Mila,” I say awkwardly, holding out my hand after he juts his out for me to shake. I’m immediately put off by his touch, or perhaps it’s his pointy chin and exaggerated smile.
“You Marco’s new girlfriend?”
What? “No. I work here.” I tug my fingers from his.
“Ahh. I thought you were here to pick up guys,” he states in a monotone voice. His eyebrows waggle more than his muscles when he tries to flex them.
“Uh...no.” My forehead wrinkles. I’m used to being in a room full of testosterone, but this guy takes the cake.
He places his hand flat on my locker and leans in; the smell of his foul breath is nauseating my empty stomach. “You look familiar. Maybe I don’t recognize you with clothes on.”
Alarm bells begin to go off and my body stiffens. Maybe I’ve been found. “Lay one hand on me, and I will kick you right in your tiny Italian sausage, asshole,” I hiss. I duck out from under his arm and head for the doorway.
“Your face would look pretty good with a mouth full of my Italian sausage.”
“Motherfucker,” I whisper under my breath. I turn around haltingly, clenching my fists. I’m about to bash his ugly face.
“Come on, babe. I like ’em feisty,” he goads.
“You’re kidding, right?” I say, inching forward. I’m going to pounce on this creep like a mountain lion.
Strong arms wrap tight around my waist, wrestling to hold me back. “Not another word to the lady,” Marco says in a controlled, threatening voice from behind me. “Calm down, little firecracker,” Marco’s deep, sexy voice growls in my ear, immediately soothing my temper.
“M-marco…hey,” the asshole stutters and his face grows pale. “I was just saying hi to the new girl.” He backs away sputtering.
“At first, when I came in here, I was worried about her safety…but honestly, I fear more for yours if I let her go.” He’s still holding me as I struggle in his arms. “Get the fuck out of here, and don’t come back if you value breathing.”
The dick sidesteps and scurries past me with his head down. He leaves the room quicker than a jackrabbit, and Marco releases his hold.
“What the hell, Marco?” I let out the harsh breath I was holding in.
“I was saving the guy’s life and you a long prison sentence. I don’t think orange would be a good color on you,” he says with a grin.
“I could have handled the creep. I don’t need a protector.” I scowl, but the tenderness in his eyes cools my anxiety.
Some days I’m so stressed over my situation. My stomach is in knots all the time, and my chest is so tight I find it hard to breathe. It’s easy for me to fly off the handle over the littlest things. I honestly have no one in my life.
As I look into Marco’s intoxicating blue eyes, I feel like I can trust him. “Thank you, but I could have handled that creep.” For some reason, when I’m around Marco, I need to keep reminding myself not to trust a man ever again. I need to keep telling myself why I’m here. I need to save as much money as possible and get lost forever.
“I think I’m growing on you,” he teases, laughing when I roll my eyes at him. Truth is I’m attracted to him. I want him. I haven’t felt this way about a man in a long time, and it’s scaring the shit out of me. What I wouldn’t give for a night with Marco. “Careful…you might start to like me.”
“Pfft…I’ll take my chances,” I say, walking past him to leave. I know he’s right. Marco is growing on me.
Even with his caveman antics, Marco’s a charming guy.
Marco Antonio Campos is sweeter than a maraschino cherry, and our chemistry is off-the-charts dangerous.
Chapter Five
I’m thankful for the distraction this morning when Dad called, bright and early, to ask if I’d help him at his Long Island home. I took the train out to Port Washington to help him secure everything in the yard, since we’re expecting a tropical storm this weekend with possible high winds.
The past week I’ve been walking around with a permanent hard-on. Working around Mila is driving me crazy. My head is full of wild, NSFW thoughts of Mila’s full, pink lips, and her mouthwatering curves. No fault of her own, she’s just so damn aesthetically pleasing to the eye, like a perfect little present wrapped up beautifully that I can’t touch.