my eyes from returning to where he stood. Violet had heard through the grapevine what had transpired, and she was bothering me for details, not wanting me to skip a second.
“Where were you, anyway?” I asked after I had given her the dirty details, throwing a glance her way. “What if I had been hurt?”
“Brando Fausti was here to save you.” She tapped her shoulder against mine. Her smile grew wider. “I would give anything to be knocked to the ground by Carlos the Perv if I got to have him come to my rescue. The man has muscles in his stomach that you can touch and count at the same time. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. And. Six.”
“How do you know him?”
“The Perv or Brando?”
“Brando.” His name came out softer than I had intended.
I stole another peek at him from my seat on the wooden crate by the fire. He stood in the shadows, barely allowing the light from the fire to touch his face. Mitch was deep into conversation with another guy around their circle, and they were steadily pumping back the beer.
I could see Mitch and his buddies hanging around here. Not Brando. He seemed too worldly, too old, though he was around my brother’s age, I knew. Twenty- two.
As far as I could tell, Brando had traded one sucker for another, alternately listening to his friends and watching me. Our eyes would meet every so often. He would grin or nod and I would look in the opposite direction.
Real subtle, Scarlett.
He was impossibly gorgeous—dark eyes to match tan skin, glowing bronze in the light of the fire, an angular face with sharp features, but softened somehow by the dusting of dark hair above his mouth, on his chin, and along his jaw. His teeth were almost blinding, and perfect in their placement in his wide mouth. His lips were the only claim he had to softness, apart from his hair.
A beanie covered his head, but pictures of him in Elliott’s room had shown raven hair to complete the perfect picture. His was the kind of hair that begged to be touched, to run your fingers through over and over. Some powerful Roman god had bestowed that hair upon him on a good day. Not just his hair, but that body too. He was the kind of fine that made good Catholic girls feel guilt by just staring for too long. There was something undeniably wicked about him, yet he had swooped in like an angel of vengeance.
A misguided angel.
I grinned to myself, thinking back. I had tried so hard to see him that night in the snow, just a glance, but he had hidden deep in the shadows. I had been afraid of him luring me, but not for the right reasons. I knew then that if he had held his hand out, touched me, I would have gone without a backward glance. Then, perhaps, he would’ve shattered my delicate heart with goodbye. The thought of his abandonment, even then, scared me into some semblance of sense.
Which was why I sat on the crate by the fire, attempting to steal glances at him instead of standing too close.
He removed his flannel jacket, setting it on a crate close to him. The fire brightened his thin black and white t-shirt, an old Led Zeppelin one that set off the color of his gorgeous skin. In the firelight, he seemed to shimmer bronze. The muscles in his arms flexed with his movements. When he lifted his arms to stretch, a glimpse of his stomach afforded me an even more impressive sight. He had muscles in all of the right places. Six-pack abs, as Violet had pointed out. And I could see the outline of a deep V carved into his skin. A true Adonis belt that was worthy of the name.
“Hello?” Violet snapped her fingers. “Earth to Scarlett.”
“Hmm?” I looked at her.
She laughed, a breathy sound. “Did you even hear me?”
I shook my head. No. How could I when an Italian god was standing just a few feet away from me, making intense eye contact? His dark eyes…oh God…they had the power to command me without speaking a word. I could feel them calling to me, but in a way that gave me the option to stay or to go to him. If he wanted it another way, his command was my will.
He was giving me this. The option.
“I don’t think there’s anyone in this town who doesn’t