Page 31 of Unraveled

Gian Guzzi.

Leather driving gloves. Shined, leather shoes, untouched by the dirtiness of the winter in the city. Lazy grin. Confident posture.

Gian.

She didn’t have the slightest clue how Gian knew where she lived—she hadn’t given him her address that morning weeks ago, and she hadn’t even given him her phone number, despite his promise of coffee. She knew that him showing up at the restaurant when she was filling in for a bartender that night a few days back had been nothing more than happenstance, and even then, he still hadn’t asked for her information.

Almost like he didn’t have to.

Like maybe he already knew.

Cara couldn’t decide if she liked that, or not.

She stayed back a few paces, as he clearly hadn’t seen her get off the bus, and decided to watch him for a moment. He was exceptionally beautiful for a man, in a rough, cocky sort of way. When he tugged on the wrists of his leather driving gloves, Cara’s cheeks heated with the memory of taking them off, just so he could get his bare hands up her dress in a car.

Nothing innocent about this at all.

Gian both amazed and terrified Cara.

Never had a man had the ability to make Cara so entirely aroused, yet coy at the same time.

She was not shy, yet in a blink, he could make her that way. She was not loud, but he could easily make her scream. She was not controlled by selfish desires, but a big part of her still screamed want, want, want when it came to Gian Guzzi.

And that was bad all over.

Or was it?

Cara didn’t know.

“Are you going to stand there and stare at me all day, or come over and talk to me?” Gian suddenly asked, never once looking away from the opposite direction of where Cara was standing. “Not that I mind your staring, because, well … Tu as de beaux yeux, ma chérie. But I already have a big enough ego to fill this city, no need to go adding to my complex.”

That fucking French of his was going to kill her someday.

And she wasn’t even sure she understood what he said.

“Did you say I have beautiful eyes?” Cara asked.

Gian’s grin turned even sexier as his gaze finally landed on her. “I did—well done, Cara. Brava.”

And there went his Italian.

Cara sighed. “You’re Catholic, right?”

Sure, he was.

He was French and Italian.

He was a damned Catholic.

“Of course,” Gian said, turning to face her more. “Why?”

“Then you’re familiar with the Bible and sin. Tell me, is there any place in the good book that explains how much of a sin it has got to be that you can manage to be that attractive and charming in three languages?”

Gian laughed loud and hard.

Cara’s stomach tightened into a dozen more knots.

Fuck.