Arabella

I had just stepped out of the shower, with a towel wrapped around my chest and another around my head, when my door flew open. I jerked backward, clutching the towel tightly around me.

Marco Falcone.

His dark, unruly hair was wet and damp, falling over his face. He was shirtless, wearing only grey sweatpants. His dark eyes landed on me and traveled the length of my body. I tried not to look at him.

I tried to focus on anything else. I chose to stare at the tattoos on his body; I had never seen them on full display before—maybe because I had never bothered to look at...